Three Rogues and Their Ladies - A Regency Trilogy

by G. G. Vandagriff

  Jack cursed roundly, and, leaving Kate in the care of Johnny, raced for the stables where his horse, restive from the explosions, awaited him, saddled and ready. Pausing only to reload his pistol, he mounted with a bit of difficulty and shrugging off the sling, he seized the reins and kicked the animal’s sides.

  “Zeus, we have our work cut out for us! Let’s move!”

  * * *

  It took the better part of an hour for Jack to overtake Walsingham. He speculated that the spy’s horse, though it could only be a carriage hack, was so startled by the gunfire and firecrackers that it was racing for dear life. They were closer to the coast now, and the fog was almost impenetrable, but Jack had seen no other traffic on the road. He recognized the bay gelding, though the rider in the black greatcoat could have been anyone. Fortunately, Jack’s wound was not in his shooting arm. Using almost the very last of his strength, he drew to the side of the bay, and, aiming his pistol at Walsingham, cried, “I am arresting you in the name of the Crown. Pull over to the side of the road or I’ll shoot!”

  Walsingham raised his own pistol and let off a shot. Both horses reared. Jack fired his pistol to wound the earl only, but the movements of the horses caused him to miss. Both men needed two hands to hold onto the reins and, as such, they lost their weapons. Each horse’s panic communicated itself to the other, and soon both men were on the ground. Jack was scarcely aware that a carriage had pulled up as he scrambled for the weapons. He managed to retrieve his own; however, the horses’ dancing hooves prevented him from reaching the earl’s. Walsingham managed to get it, and raised it to shoot. Before he could aim, Jack shot through the horse’s legs and caught the earl in the chest. The traitor’s final look was one of surprise.

  For Kate. For England.

  Jack’s elation lasted only seconds. He slumped, unable to rise and steady the horses. Sweat from his forehead dripped into his eyes and he swiped at it. Only then did he become aware of the carriage. A gentleman wearing a top hat was walking toward him.

  “What goes on here?” he demanded.

  Head spinning with dizziness, Jack struggled to pull the arrest warrant out of his inner pocket. After handing it to the gentleman, the swirling darkness in his head overtook his senses.

  * * *

  Sometime later, Jack regained consciousness to find the innkeeper’s wife kneeling beside him with sal vitale pushed under his nose.

  “Ugh.” He shook his head away from the repulsive stuff.

  “Come to yerself, then. That’s all right. Come here, Johnny. Help me carry his lordship into that carriage. He’s a might long, but I’ll hold whatever part of him doesn’t fit on the seat in my lap. Poor man.”

  “I shot Walsingham . . .”

  “That we saw. Can’t just leave him in the road. What’ll we do, my lord?”

  Jack could not think. “Can you get him onto the back of my horse?”

  The gentleman he barely recalled having passed the warrant to bent over Jack and said, “I’m Somerset. Believe you’re Northbrooke.”

  “Aye.”

  “Injured. Arrest warrant says fellow you shot is Walsingham. Dead as mutton.”

  “He was a traitor. Making for the coast and then to France.”

  The innkeeper’s wife was not the least cowed by Somerset, apparently. She said stoutly, “He’s lost enough blood to kill a man, my lord. And now, if I’m not mistaken, he’s cooking up a fever.”

  “I’ll live,” Jack said. “Thank you for coming after me.”

  “I had to come. Lady Kate was nigh hysterical. I caught her trying to take one of the horses to go after you, but she was such a pitiful sight, I told her Johnny and me would come.”

  Jack gave a small smile. So Kate was not completely impartial to him, after all.

  “See here,” said Somerset. “On my way back to London. Don’t like it, but no help for it. I’ll take the corpse. Who wants it?”

  “Good of you, man. Get it to the Home Secretary. Tell him I tried to bring him in, but he made it into a shooting contest.”

  “Right-oh. Tell him you are wounded.”

  “I’ll be nursing the poor man at the Hoof and Sail, our inn. Down this road some miles,” Jack’s nurse said. “Johnny’ll help you with the corp after we get his lordship here into yon carriage.”

  Talk of arrangements for the horses floated in and out of his head. At length, he was settled in what had been Walsingham’s carriage, apparently brought to the inn by Farmer Littleton, who was trying to give chase with his rabbit rifle. The upper half of Jack’s body rested on his rescuer’s lap.

  I’ll just close my eyes for a bit.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IN WHICH OUR HEROINE

  CONTEMPLATES HER RUIN

  It was near noon when Kate heard the jingling harness and hoofbeats that signaled the arrival of the carriage. Rushing out into the stable yard, she reached the conveyance and flung open its door.

  Jack was white as a sheet, his eyes closed.

  “Is he dead?” she demanded in a high voice that was not her own.

  “No, just swooned,” Polly answered. “Fetch Mr. Potter to help Johnny carry him into the parlor.”

  “What happened? Did he catch Walsingham?”

  “Just you go fetch my man. We’ll talk about it all when we’ve got the poor soul settled. He needs a lick of brandy, and some of my broth.”

  Kate took a long breath to steady herself. The wait had been interminable. She had guessed the marquis was not in plump currant when he left, but Potter’s account of the serious nature of his condition had alarmed her. The knowledge that he might yet die in the pursuit of her kidnapper had cut through her like a hot knife. She had instantly flown out to the courtyard to saddle a horse. She did not know how she could be of assistance, but she had known that she must try to help.

  Polly had convinced her to make the harder choice: to stay behind and wait while she and Johnny took the carriage. The marquis had not risked his life for her merely so that she could endanger herself once more.

  Once Jack was safely ensconced in the parlor on the sheet-draped sofa, she placed her hand on his forehead. “He is hot to the touch!” she exclaimed. “Polly, we must cool him down. Help me to get his coat off. It is as tight as a second skin.”

  While they wrestled with his clothing, Jack regained consciousness. “Confound it! What are you trying to do, Kate? Hasten me into my coffin?”

  “It is you who would have your top coat cut in the latest mode so that I cannot prize you out of it without a boot jack!”

  “Cut the thing off me, if you must, but then leave me in peace!”

  “You have a fever, Jack. I am going to remove your waistcoat and shirt, as well. Potter has taken off your boots, but I will leave you your breeches, never fear.”

  “Are you absolutely certain you have no designs on my virtue or my life?” he asked.

  “Only a wish that you not become delirious. I should not like to hear your most private thoughts babbled about. You would not like that either, would you, my lord?”

  “I warned you not to my lord me. Confound it, you are removing my clothes! Can you not address me by my name?”

  “Jack, calm yourself. You are making a great fuss, and it is not helping your fever.”

  Though she longed to know what had become of Walsingham, she did not ask him for fear of further agitation.

  When he was stripped down to his bare chest, Kate knew, in part of her mind, that the last nail had been pounded into the coffin that contained her reputation. She thought she had ceased to care. It was only when the Marquis of Somerset was ushered in by Polly that she realized she was well and truly beyond the pale. He had the reputation of being the worst gossip in London.

  Polly said, “His lordship, the Marquis of Somerset, is here to check on our patient. He saw the whole battle and is taking the corp back to London.”

  So Walsingham was dead. That, at least, was a relief. Kate tried to hide her face as she swathed Jack’s
forehead with cool water. Even in his present state, Jack apparently took notice, for he said, “Somerset, this is my fiancée, Lady Kate Something. Name escapes me.”

  Kate’s heart jerked and then beat a frenzied tattoo. The roly-poly marquis merely chuckled. “Almost worth being shot, what?”

  “Kate, you may leave us.”

  She fairly ran from the room, her cheeks crimson. Finding her way into the kitchen, she cried at Polly, “Whyever did you show the marquis into the parlor? My reputation is in shreds!”

  “Sorry, luv. He wanted to see your marquis most particular.”

  “Sorry! Now Jack has told him I am his fiancée! And I happen to know that he does not want to marry me in the least!”

  The combination of all that had taken place in the last two days caught up with Kate, and she choked on a sob.

  “Now then, milady.” she took Kate into her arms, clasping her to her ample bosom. “All these things will work themselves out. If we aren’t up to the mark, we’ll have another corp, and that’s the truth. Happen there’s time to worry about your reputation if’n he lives.”

  Sniffling, Kate realized how absurd her concerns were in light of the situation. Indeed, what mattered her reputation in comparison with Jack’s life? In that connection, however, she certainly did not want him burdened with the notion that he must marry her. As soon as Somerset left, she would put Jack’s mind at ease.

  She peeked out the kitchen door. Somerset was just leaving. Polly spoke behind her. “We must build up his lordship’s blood. I have heated up this beef broth. You’ll have to spoon-feed him. Don’t let him try to drink it or anything foolish like that.”

  When Kate entered the invalid’s parlor, however, he lay back with his eyes closed. He did not stir when she smoothed the flannel dipped in water over his face, neck, and chest. A flush had crept into his white face. Fever. Unstintingly, she continued her ministrations. Still, his fever climbed. By evening, he had not awakened. His pulse was fast but strong. A Corinthian is not so easily felled. The thought reassured her, though she still worried he would become delirious.

  Polly clucked when she saw the untouched broth.

  “Have you many guests tonight?” asked Kate.

  “Only one old gentleman, and he’s been fed. Time for you to get some rest, milady. Mr. Potter and me and Johnny will take turns sitting up with him tonight.”

  Wearily, Kate rose from her stool next to Jack’s sofa. She dearly wished for a bath and a change of clothing. She was very dirty, indeed.

  It was as though Polly, amid all her other concerns, had read her mind. “Your room is to the right of the staircase. I’ve filled a tub for you, and there is a clean shift on your bed. If you leave your gown out, I’ll try to brush it a bit.”

  “Thank you, Polly. You are a dear. I’m sorry we have foisted our drama on you!”

  “A change is as good as a rest. Off with you now.”

  * * *

  It was not until Kate had bathed and donned the shift that she suddenly remembered her aunt. How worried she must be! What did she think had happened to her? In the little desk in her room, she was relieved to find some foolscap, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. What a superior hostelry they had chosen in which to be stranded. Setting her candle on the desk, she proceeded to write her aunt a long letter. When finished, she was drooping with exhaustion. Setting it outside her door on top of her dirty, folded gown, she finally got into bed and thought she would drop off immediately.

  However, now that she was still, she found that her mind could not be kept from worries about Jack. He had looked so handsome lying there, his broad, muscled chest bare, his handsome face in repose with its modeled cheekbones and broad brow. She missed the animation she had seen there, only briefly, when she had wrestled with his coat.

  * * *

  Morning brought the news that Jack’s fever had broken, her letter had been sent on the Mail Coach from Dover, and her brown gown brushed almost clean of its dust. When she walked into the parlor, Jack was partaking of tea, eggs, bacon, and toast from a tray across his lap. His shirt had been restored to him, but it was open at the throat. Merciful heavens, he is good to look at!

  “Well, you certainly have improved,” Kate greeted him. She sat down in a comfortable leather chair across from him. A small fire in the grate took the chill off the May morning. “What a difference a day makes.”

  “Yes. And how do you fare, Kate? You had a dreadful time with that rascal. It was a pleasure to shoot him.”

  “I am well.”

  “We need to have a little talk, you and I.”

  Guessing what was coming, she looked down at the hands in her lap. “You need not think you must offer for me. I know how repugnant a marriage of convenience is to you. You made that quite plain.”

  “And I know that you love another. Is this love of yours going to offer for you? Or will your sullied reputation scare him off?”

  She had forgotten her words on the Bottomley’s terrace. Still keeping her eyes on her lap, she said, “My father put a clause in his will to the effect that if I married Francesco, I could not receive my fortune.”

  Jack was silent for a few moments. She looked up. His forehead was creased in a frown as he forked a piece of bacon.

  “Are you still game for a marriage of convenience, then? I cannot help but blame myself for the loss of your reputation.”

  “It is not your fault that Walsingham abducted me.”

  “He did so because of my attentions to you. He guessed that would make you a valuable hostage.”

  She was quiet.

  “As soon as I have recovered my strength, we will return to London. Somerset will have set it about that we are affianced. He is a great gossip. We will be married by special license. We will go down to Wiltshire to my estate. As soon as you receive your money, you may make your own life however you choose. You may leave the estate, or you may stay. I dare say, I will probably return to London after a few weeks.”

  Closing her eyes, Kate drew a deep breath. After all the anguish she had endured on his behalf, she was hurt by the dry, cold proposal. There had been some tender current of feeling between them, but his words had severed it. He thought her in love with another, however, so perhaps it was more than she had any right to expect.

  “There is one more thing I should perhaps mention,” she said. “I have a stepbrother at Eton. The principle reason I have wanted to marry as soon as may be is that my marriage will give me guardianship of him. I wish to have him to live with me, and hire a tutor.”

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  “I promised him I would. He, well, not to put too fine a point on it, he stutters dreadfully. He did not want to go to Eton, and is very unhappy there.”

  “He may surely make his home at Northbrooke Park. I would welcome a younger brother. How old is he?”

  “Twelve.”

  Though full of trepidation about all the things they had not discussed, Kate managed to give him a smile. Perhaps it was enough that her reputation was saved and that Joey would be with her again soon. And she knew in the depths of her heart that Jack had just sacrificed his dreams for her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IN WHICH OUR HERO IS DESPONDENT

  Jack did not wish to be nursed by Kate. Her hanging over his bed and brow brought her too temptingly near him. Her scent was of ordinary soap, but it intoxicated him. He longed to kiss the smooth, milk-white skin above the neckline of her bodice. Knowing that she was merely using him to gain her ends had not destroyed the passion he felt for her. Now that they were to be married, he could scarcely wait to take her to his bed, to introduce her to the enticing delights he had had in mind since the first time he had seen her. She was very strong minded, however, and did not want that kind of marriage. He would never force her, but could he win her?

  He could not foresee returning to the greenrooms of London, seeking the acquaintance of new actresses, either. In fact, he foresaw years of terrible frustrati
on. If Walsingham’s actions had not placed Kate beyond the pale, he never would have proposed such a sterile marriage.

  Lying in his bed in the inn, his spirits took a dive. Happy-go-lucky Jack had come to a pretty pass. Who the devil was Francesco? Some Latin Lothario she had met in Florence? An artist possibly? Some sort of soulmate?

  When Kate next came to his room, carrying a bowl of steaming water, he said, roughly, “Have Polly minister to me. It is not proper for you to do so.”

  “Since when did you care about what was proper? I am your fiancée.” Ignoring his request, she sat next to him on her stool and began to redress his wound. “It is looking vastly improved,” she said. “Have you tried sitting up?”

  He struggled to a sitting position, putting his legs over the edge of the sofa, his feet on the floor. “I’m not as dizzy today.”

  “That is excellent news!” Her eyes sparkled as though she were truly glad.

  “I have made up my mind that we shall leave tomorrow,” he said. “Johnny can be our driver. I will send Walsingham’s carriage back with him as my gift.”

  “Are you sure you will feel well enough?”

  “I wish to get home to my bed and my valet. And your Aunt and Caro will be worried about you.”

  Kate arranged everything, and by the next morning, all was in readiness. He said his good-byes to Polly and Potter, thanking them for their care, and leaving them with the store of guineas Somerset had found on Walsingham’s body, trusting them to divide them with the Littletons. Even half this largesse was more than a lifetime’s earnings for people in their stations of life. The couple was overwhelmed by this boon.

  “You probably saved my life, Polly, by coming after me and bringing me here. Not to mention staying up all night sponging my brow until my fever broke,” he told her.

  “But Lady Kate would have done both things, had I allowed it.”

  He gave her his half smile. “Yes, and her reward is somewhat dubious. She is to be saddled with me for a lifetime. But it is a sad fact that life is not fair.”