Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  “Can’t believe it,” Blue Kerchief muttered. “I’m a crack shot.”

  Jared suddenly felt cold. Seven was gone? A thought hit him. Who had posed for the portrait of Duke Eight back at home in the twenty-first century? Not Seven’s son?

  Red Kerchief gave him another shove. They had almost reached the clearing. No time to worry about Eight now.

  “What are you planning to do with me?” he asked Blue Kerchief, though he already knew the answer.

  “Shoot ye good and dead this time,” the big highwayman hissed.

  “Better make it his ’ead,” Red Kerchief suggested.

  “I told ye to snap yer chops! That be far enough, Yer Grace.”

  Jared did not miss the world of contempt in that sneer. There would be no negotiating with this one, but he needed time. Every minute he kept these two talking was a minute he remained alive. His gaze shifted right and left, searching everywhere for something to use as a weapon.

  “Why are you trying to kill me here in England?”

  “The boss sent us to do clean-up, when ye showed up alive after Waterloo,” Red Kerchief volunteered.

  “And you are the boss?” Jared nodded at Blue Kerchief.

  “Me?”

  Both Kerchiefs chortled.

  “Thas a good one. Ye’re a funny nob,” Red Kerchief said, “fer a duke.”

  “If you’re going to kill me anyway, you may as well tell me why and who ordered you to. Consider it my last request.”

  Maybe if he could get close to one of the columns he could use it for cover. He only saw the one pistol. If the highwayman missed him, Jared could make a run for it while he reloaded. If the man had a knife…well, Jared would just have to take his chances.

  Blue Kerchief stared for an interminable moment, then nodded. “The boss got worried when yer body weren’t never recovered after ye was shot.”

  “By you.”

  “Right.”

  “Frenchies came along, and he had to bolt after he shot ye. No time to check and be sure ye was dead,” Red Kerchief explained.

  “The boss had folks watchin’ Haverly for yer return just in case, and he sent us once a month to check wi’ them,” Blue Kerchief added and shot a glare at his partner. “He had just sent word for us to come back in when our contact claimed ye’d come home.”

  Jared had eased toward the perimeter columns as Blue Kerchief told his tale, but that last comment brought him up short.

  “Who exactly was watching Haverly?” he demanded.

  “Wouldn’t ye like to know?” Blue Kerchief sneered.

  “You still haven’t told me why your boss wanted me killed.”

  Blue Kerchief gave him that you-must-be-daft look Jared was coming to hate. “Ye knew about our plan to get Wellington, so we had to get rid of ye before ye tol’ someone.”

  Dear Lord!

  “The Duke of Wellington?”

  Blue Kerchief stared suspiciously at him.

  “What plan?” Jared demanded impatiently. Had Seven actually known about a plot to assassinate one of the greatest defensive commanders of all time? Obviously, an unsuccessful plot since Wellington lived to be a very old man.

  “Ye’re not funny anymore. Now step back in the clearing, so I gets a clean shot.”

  Jared stepped past the perimeter of columns and statues and stopped in the center of the clearing. Red Kerchief followed him in, then rotated toward the perimeter. This was the end. He never guessed he would die at the hands of two thugs. And in the nineteenth century, for God’s sake! His gaze darted about the clearing to search for a means of escape.

  Nothing. Blast and damn.

  A thin layer of clouds crossed the moon dimming the light in the clearing. Blue Kerchief raised his pistol.

  “This time I won’t miss, Yer Grace.”

  Jared locked gazes with him—determined to force his executioner to look his victim in the eye—and watched the highwayman blast off a wild shot as he collapsed against a Doric column. David’s statue head bounced once and rolled into the clearing.

  “I didn’t miss either, you bloody bastard,” came a voice from the shadows.

  Ariana.

  Jared jerked to life. Red Kerchief yelped and raced for the garden path when his partner slumped onto the pavers. Jared swiped at the fleeing highwayman but only grazed his arm as he fled past.

  “We still have one of them.” Ari dusted off her hands as she stepped into the clearing.

  Jared snatched her up into his arms. “Are you crazy? What are you doing attacking an armed highwayman? You could have been killed!”

  “But I wasn’t. I will be if you keep squeezing me so tight,” she wheezed.

  Jared loosened his hold only a mite. “What did you hear?”

  She gazed curiously at him. “Not all that much. The sound of muffled voices and yours, so I came back. I heard one of them tell you to step back, so he had a clean shot. I knew I had to do something.”

  Thank God, she hadn’t heard the part about Wellington. He hugged her tight. “You should not have come back.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely, “thanks to you.”

  She swept a palm down his cheek, leaving a trail of heat behind. “Glad I could be of service, Your Grace.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, fighting hard for control of the primitive impulse to take her, devour her right here in the clearing out of his need to feel alive again after facing his own death. His little Regency beauty had saved his life.

  What a woman!

  “Jared! Ari!” a voice hollered from the shadows of the garden path.

  “That’s Dexter,” Ari said against his lips.

  Jared growled his displeasure, then set her on her feet seconds before Dexter stormed into the clearing and dragged Red Kerchief along with him.

  “What the deuced hell is going on?” he demanded.

  “The highwaymen attacked again, but we caught one,” Ari said, so proudly Jared wanted to hug her again for the courage she had shown. This was no weak, simpering miss—his Ariana.

  “I caught this one running up the path as I was coming to look for you,” Dexter told Ari.

  What the devil was he doing out here in the dark looking for Ari?

  Jared glared. “How did you know to—”

  “I make it a habit to snatch men running past me at night wearing kerchiefs over their faces.”

  Jared didn’t care for the smile Ari tried to hide. “Right. Well…”

  “Now do you believe I am your friend?”

  “No. You were close by again. More like, I believe you to be in league with these brigands.”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Dexter shook the highwayman hard. “Do you know me?” he roared in the man’s face.

  Red Kerchief wailed, “No, m’lord! Please don’t hurt me. He made me do it.” He pointed at Blue Kerchief’s prone body. “It was all him.”

  Dexter glared at Jared. “Well?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why is it so hard to believe I am your friend?” Dexter looked genuinely confused.

  Jared stared. Why indeed? Because I don’t have any? Oh, men called him friend, but they only wanted him to make his famous investment choices for them or to play with Jared’s toys—collectible cars, yachts, horses.

  “We need to get information out of these two,” Dexter said, and shook Red Kerchief again. “What’s your name? And don’t even think about lying.”

  The earl hoisted the young man up on his tiptoes. Two eyes blinked hard above the kerchief. Once. Twice.

  Blue Kerchief groaned and started to roll over.

  Jared leaned down and popped the rogue a hard right cross. “That’s for trying to kill me,” he barked at the now-still highwayman, then spun toward Red Kerchief with his fists bunched. “You’re next.”

  Red Kerchief wrestled against Dexter’s hold, but the earl grasped him tight and gave him another shake.

  “Your name!” Dexter ordere
d.

  “Collins,” Red Kerchief blurted. “Me name’s Collins.”

  Jared yanked off the kerchief, and the highwayman gasped.

  “I don’t know nuthin’. I only does what he tells me.” Collins pointed at his unconscious partner. “I swear.”

  The man looked to be late twenties, with lanky, stringy hair and a poor excuse for a beard. Like any one of the thousand footpads inhabiting London at this period in history.

  “Who is his boss?” Jared nudged Blue Kerchief’s body with his boot.

  “I don’t know. I swear. Cochran gets the orders and then we follow ’em.”

  “Cochran is his name?” Jared glared down at Blue Kerchief’s still form.

  “Oh no,” Collins groaned. “He’ll kill me fer sure fer spillin’ his name.”

  Dexter gave him another shake. “We won’t say a word if you tell us where and when you and Cochran will meet up with your boss back in London.”

  “Cochran is s’posed to meet him two nights from now.”

  “Where?” Jared barked.

  Collins looked stricken. “I only knows where I meets up wi’ Cochran. He’s the one what talks to the boss.”

  “Then you will take us there,” Dexter ordered and gave him a shove. “Now, pick up your partner. We are locking you two up for the night.”

  The earl turned to Ariana. “Do you have a place we can stash these two until after the party? When that one wakes up?” He nodded at Blue Kerchief.

  “Yes, but why not turn them over to the magistrate now? He is here this evening.”

  “Because I want to interrogate them first,” Jared and Dexter said in unison, then stared at each other.

  “I am taking them to London,” Dexter hissed at Jared. “I know people.”

  “What people?”

  Dexter stared for a long moment as though making an important decision. “I work for the War Office,” he said low enough only Jared could hear.

  “You mean like a spy?” he hissed back in disbelief.

  The earl hesitated, then nodded once. “When I heard you had purchased a commission right before Waterloo, I went to my superiors and requested a transfer to Vandeleur’s Fourth Cavalry Brigade.”

  Jared only stared.

  Dexter shrugged. “To keep an eye on you. To be sure you were safe. You were new to military life, and I knew the battle would be the biggest we had fought yet.”

  This man, whom Jared had not trusted from the moment he had met him, had rearranged his life to look after Jared’s—no, Seven’s—safety. A stab of guilt poked at him and must have showed.

  “Now, do you believe we are friends?” Dexter grinned.

  Jared could only nod, had no idea what to say to this man. No one, not even his father had ever done anything like that for him. For the first time, he wished he was Seven, and this man was truly his friend.

  “Once this one wakes up”—Dexter poked Cochran, as Collins hoisted the man over his shoulder—“we shall escort them to London to the War Office—let those mates have a go at questioning these scoundrels. Maybe they can find out why these two were trying to kill you, and what they are up to.”

  “Why? What is your stake in this?”

  Dexter looked taken aback. “You’re my best friend. You may have forgotten, but I have not.”

  He pushed a staggering Collins down the path, weighted down as he was with Cochran hanging like melted toffee over his shoulder.

  Jared watched the earl go, a warm feeling unfurling in his innards. He had been sent to boarding school at age six, then Eton, then Oxford, where he had stayed for a master’s degree because he had no place to go. His parents had split up by then. He had had friends along the way, but no one he had ever allowed himself to get close to. He had trained himself not to care. That way no one else could hurt him, like his parents had when they had abandoned him to employees so they could pursue their social calendar. He had never known the luxury of a friend to watch out for him.

  Now, he had a brother, Bullen, and apparently a real friend—Dexter. Both of whom had adjusted their lifestyles to look after Jared. Well, Seven…but still. Maybe it was time for the future Jared to change and take a chance.

  “Hold up!” he called to Dexter. “I’m coming with you. To make sure these two get locked up tight.”

  Dexter broke into a smile. “Come on then.”

  Jared turned back to Ari. “Can you get back to the house all right?”

  “Of course. This is my garden, after all. We cannot allow those two to escape again.”

  He smiled. She had said we. “I will return as soon as we have them secured.”

  ****

  Viscount Bonegred was smoking a cheroot on the terrace when Lucilla found him. She tried not to stare at the dab of lemon tart trapped in the cleft of his chin.

  “What are you doing out here all alone, my lord?” she said, delighted to see a faint blush tinge his pudgy cheeks when she took hold of his arm.

  “Well, I was…I mean, I wanted…” he stammered.

  She gave his plus-sized bicep a squeeze. “Lady Ariana is in the garden searching for her dog, and she asked me to send you out to help her find him.”

  “L-Lady Ariana?” He dropped the cheroot on the stone pavers, and it took him two tries with his boot to crush it out. “Are you certain sh-she asked for me, L-Lady Wilder?”

  “Yes, she’s waiting for you,” Lucilla pressed.

  “Is it one of her big dogs she’s after?” he asked, looking unsure.

  “No, no, one of the tiny ones,” she assured him, gratified to see his sigh of relief. “I believe she was headed for the darker rear garden. Who knows whom she might come across out there in the dark, waiting to steal a kiss. Or worse.”

  The viscount licked his lips.

  “She will no doubt play hard to get. Just remember it is all an act.” Lucilla fought back a grin as Bonegred lumbered down the terrace steps and into the shadowed garden. “That will teach Jared not to put me off for that little bumpkin,” she muttered.

  ****

  Jared and Dexter flanked the highwaymen as the group headed for her stables, and Ari exhaled hard. She couldn’t believe she had just knocked out a highwayman and saved Jared’s life. No time to dwell on her feat. She must hurry back inside and find a footman to send word out to Barker to secure the captives in the tack room of the stable and to make sure the rogues could not escape.

  She pushed a few wild strands of hair back in place and brushed out her skirts. No doubt, Dolan tongues would wag at her return in a less-than-perfectly-coiffed appearance after a visit to the garden, but there was no help for it, and little could dampen her spirits right at this moment.

  She bounced a bit with her next steps until she glanced up to see Viscount Bonegred blocking her path.

  “What are you doing out here, my lord?”

  “Looking for you, Lady Ariana. Lady Wilder said you were searching for me.” A lascivious smile crossed his florid face. “And now you have found me.”

  He started toward her. Ari backed up with each step he took, until she backed herself into the clearing with the statues.

  Bonegred’s lurid smile deepened. His beady eyes glittered. “Be a shame to waste all this nice moonlight. Perfect for a little kiss.” He held out his arms, apparently foolish enough to expect Ari to run into them.

  “Are you daft, my lord?”

  Bonegred looked taken aback.

  “I have given you no reason to think I would kiss you out here in the darkest part of the garden. Why, I would be compromised.”

  Bonegred smiled and reached for her. “Exactly.”

  Ari danced to the left behind a column. “Stop this right now.”

  “You are just playing hard to get. Lady Wilder said you would—said you would want me to keep going.”

  “No!” she shrieked. “Lucilla lied, which is no small surprise.” She danced to the front of the column, keeping it between her and the plus-sized viscount. “I will not kiss you! I w
on’t be forced into marriage that way.”

  She wanted to scream, but if she did, everyone would come running and she would be compromised anyway. Bonegred knew it.

  “Too late! Just being out here in the dark with me has compromised you. No one will believe nothing happened,” he sneered and grabbed her arm, surprisingly fast for his girth.

  “Let me go!” Ari squealed and tried to break free.

  “I’ve got you now,” Bonegred chortled, but then let her go so fast, she stumbled forward and almost fell.

  “The hell you do!” came a menacing growl.

  Jared.

  Her savior had Bonegred’s throat in one of his big hands and pinned the viscount to a column. Jared pulled back and bounced Bonegred’s head hard against the column.

  “You listen to me, you worthless maggot. If you try to compromise Lady Ariana in any way, I will step forward and tell the ton what really happened. Who do you think they’ll believe? A duke or a viscount?”

  Though Jared’s grip allowed minimal air, Bonegred wheezed, “Everyone thinks…you’re a rake…and a blackguard…so they would…believe me. You don’t…want her…Let me have her.”

  Jared tightened his hold until Bonegred’s eyes bulged. “Let me put it another way. If you say one damned word about Lady Ariana, I will hunt you down and beat you within an inch of your life. And then, I will ruin you.”

  Bonegred paled.

  “Are we clear now?”

  The viscount nodded as best he could in the chokehold, and Jared released him, then shoved him hard up the path.

  “You’re leaving the ball now, Bonehead,” Jared growled. “Try to get back inside, and I will finish this tonight.”

  Bonegred held up his hands, backing away. “No, no need. I am leaving, just as you say.”

  He turned and stumbled in the direction of the stables.

  Jared took Ari gently by the shoulders. “Are you all right? Did that bastard hurt you?”

  He lifted the wrist Bonegred had grabbed and held it up to the shafts of moonlight in the clearing. Red welts had already formed. With a menacing growl, he started for the stables, but Ari stayed him.

  “Let Bonegred go. You have already put the fear of God in him, Jared. He won’t bother me anymore.”

  “I should have pummeled him a while.”