Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  “Shall we come back later to save you, Reston?” Dexter asked drily, his hands on his hips. One of Herford’s runners was a few steps behind him.

  “She was giving me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation,” Jared said quickly. A kiss alone could compromise Ari, though he seriously doubted Dexter would breathe a word.

  The earl and Ari both gaped at him.

  “She was doing what?” Dexter asked.

  Deuce take it! Wrong century.

  “Uh…her mouth ordered me to resuscitate myself. You know—wake up.”

  Ari relaxed a little, the earl not at all. His eyes narrowed on the bloodstain. “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Lucilla only winged me. The bullet grazed my shoulder.” He looked past Ari and the earl. “Evidently, I have Harry to thank for that.”

  The big wolfhound heard and thumped his tail hard against Lucilla’s legs as he perched atop her chest, his parted jaws inches from her throat.

  Lucilla’s squeal came loud and long.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jared pulled Harry off a terrified Lady Wilder, then Dexter and the runner with him strong-armed the baroness to her feet and marched her back to the cottage. When the group rounded the corner and moved out of sight, Jared tugged Ari into his arms.

  “Damn, but you scared me,” he whispered into her hair, letting his lung-squeezing hold tell her just how much.

  Her arms were tight around him, but she remained strangely quiet. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless but somehow knew that was not the right move at this moment. He pulled back enough to see her face. If he could just see her eyes, he could tell what was wrong. The moonlight glistened against the tears filling her eyes.

  “You’re safe now.” He brushed a hand against her hair.

  Her lower lip quivered. “I know.”

  “Then why the tears?” He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. He had a suspicion but wanted her to tell him. He could ill afford to stumble here.

  “Why did you allow me to babble on? To think you were unconscious?”

  He could see hurt and a little embarrassment in her eyes. Okay, a lot of embarrassment. What could he say? I wanted to hear you say you love me?

  He knew what she wanted. She wanted to hear the words from him—hell, yes, I love you—to know her love was returned. But he could not say the words. Well, he could. He ought not say the words. He had to go back to the future. Leave the one woman in his life he loved more than breathing. If he said the words to her now and then left, he would break her heart.

  Tears filled her eyes. He had already hesitated too long.

  “Ari, I have to leave, and I don’t know how long I will be gone.” Maybe forever. He tried to tug her back close, but she pulled away.

  “It’s all right, Jared. The little hoyden understands. I just want to go home now.” She turned and dashed to the cottage.

  Damn, but he had gone and broken her heart anyway.

  ****

  Harry whimpered and did a little dog shudder.

  “Go with Ari,” Jared commanded. “Watch over her.”

  The giant wolfhound bounded off.

  Jared watched the two of them disappear around the corner of the cottage, and he ached to his very bones. He had hurt the only woman he had ever truly loved, and he could feel her pain. Hated himself for it.

  He had been so sure if he told her how he felt, it would hurt her worse when he left. She would think he had lied. Leaving her thinking that way would hurt him forever. God how he wished he could stay. Would it not be better to tell her of his feelings? How worthy she was of someone’s love? No, that sounded arrogant.

  If he had to leave and he did, he would rather she knew how much he cared, so at least her memory of him would be a good one. But he couldn’t allow her to wait around for him, and he could not risk admitting he would never be back. Not before he was safely away. He stifled a frustrated roar at his predicament. He desperately needed to tell her he loved her.

  Suddenly determined, Jared sprinted for the cottage, but there was no sign of Ari inside. Only Dexter who held a gun on Thorpe. He checked the back chamber. No one else was in the cottage.

  Dexter glared. “If you are looking for Lady Ariana, Bullen is taking her back to Lady Morton’s townhouse in Lucilla’s carriage. I told him we would be along after we deal with Thorpe here.”

  Hell, Dexter had seen Ari’s tears no doubt. Jared was not about to explain a predicament he did not even understand himself.

  He faced the angry earl. “What about Lucilla, Roulet, and the others?”

  “Runners are taking them to the War Office for questioning. Those cutthroats will not see the sun for quite some time.”

  “Why not him?” Jared nodded at the eerily calm cavalry major.

  “Thought you and I should talk to him first,” Dexter said grimly.

  No doubt the earl intended to save his “Ariana” lecture for later.

  “Start talking,” Jared ordered Thorpe, wanting this over so he could go find Ari and talk to her.

  “Looks like you were shot.” Thorpe stared at the bloodstain on his shirt. “We heard a pistol.” The man actually looked concerned.

  “Lucilla only winged me.” Odd he could be so complacent about a bullet wound. Maybe he had acclimated to this century.

  “Not like you to let a woman get the drop on you, Reston.” Thorpe’s lips twitched with a smile.

  “She was holding a pistol to Lady Ariana’s head.”

  Both men stared dumbfounded at him.

  Dexter was the first to find his voice. “You bastard! You put Lady Ariana’s life in danger?”

  Even Thorpe glared at him.

  “No, Lucilla already had the drop on us when I reached Ari at the stable. Lucilla and I struggled for the gun, and Harry tackled her right when she fired.”

  That was enough. No way would he say Lucilla had a chance at a clean shot because he tripped over Ari. He had enough trouble.

  “What about you?” he growled at Thorpe instead. “Why did you lie to me, and better still, why did you lie to Roulet?”

  “He what?” Dexter’s eyes narrowed on the major.

  “You heard me,” Jared said. “He gave Roulet an address where they could get to Wellington. Told him the field marshal was going there to see his new mistress.”

  “I don’t get it,” Dexter said.

  “You get it, all right,” Thorpe told him. “You came through that door gunning for me right off.”

  “No, I mean I don’t get why you sent your French friends on a wild goose chase. Hell, yes, I knew you were dirty. When Herford and I couldn’t find you, I knew you had gone into the cottage to join them,” Dexter said flatly. “I had been investigating you both since before Waterloo.”

  It was Jared’s and Thorpe’s turn to gape.

  “Investigating me?” Jared cried.

  “When I finagled the War Office to reassign me to Vandeleur’s brigade, I was afraid with your debts, you were going to do something stupid. I wanted to be there to stop you. We made a promise to look out for each other back at Eton, or have you forgotten?” Dexter poked his chin at Thorpe. “You were just guilty by association.” He shifted his pistol. “And keep those hands in the air.”

  Thorpe’s expression shuttered as he shoved his palms higher.

  “When I said I did not get it, I meant why would you risk sending Roulet on a wild-goose chase? You had to know he would come after you. Were you with them or not?”

  Thorpe exhaled a long, deep sigh. “With them for just long enough to be guilty of treason, I suppose.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Thorpe turned to Jared. “When I found you in that field—and I was certain you were dead—Roulet and Henri stalked out of the trees. Both had pistols on me. I was certain then that I too was a dead man, but Roulet started questioning me. When he found out I was in your unit, he made me the same offer he had made you. He was desperate by that time and needed som
eone on the inside.”

  “So, you took his money,” Jared finished disgustedly.

  Pain flashed briefly in Thorpe’s eyes before the eerie calm again shuttered over his features. “That was the day after I received the letter from my father’s steward, telling me of the death of my father and brother. That letter also informed me the two of them had run the estate into the ground with their gambling debts, and creditors were hounding the steward.” His eyes pleaded with Jared for understanding. “If I did not come up with a great deal of money, most of my tenants would not have survived the winter.”

  “So, you took their money,” Jared again finished for him.

  Thorpe gave a dejected nod.

  “Is that what drove you to drink? Conscience?”

  Thorpe only stared with remorseful eyes.

  “And you did not want to go home and be reminded of what you had done.”

  “When the war ended and Napoleon was sent back to St. Helena, I thought I had heard the last of Roulet, but the bastard contacted me as soon as I returned to London and wanted the purchased information. They intended to spring Napoleon free of his exile a second time.”

  “So Roulet informed me as he was beating me,” Jared said grimly.

  “I decided to stay in London, and I would try to kill him and his men before they could hurt anyone.”

  “And then I showed up,” Jared said.

  Thorpe nodded. “And then you showed up.”

  The calm no longer evident, the ex-military man hung his head. “I am guilty of treason, and I am tired of waiting for the end to come. Do what you will.”

  Jared felt bad for the major, caught in an impossible situation through the misdeeds of others, made worse because it was his own family. The man had only tried to protect the tenants for whom he was responsible. Jared shared a long look with Dexter. The earl gave a slow nod.

  “You know, Thorpe,” Dexter began. “Technically, you are not really guilty of treason.”

  The major’s head shot up, and he stared at the earl with red-rimmed eyes.

  “You merely divested French spies of illicit funds without providing any information. In fact, you passed them bollocks for information.”

  A shred of hope gleamed in the major’s eyes.

  “You even formed your own secret plan to kill enemies of the crown. Some would say you are a hero for that.”

  Jared fought back a grin and felt incredibly proud he had Dexter for a friend.

  “But the money,” Thorpe whispered and hung his head.

  “Payment for services to the crown, I would think,” Dexter said and gave the man a wry smile.

  Thorpe gaped in disbelief.

  “I could use a man like you on my team with the War Office. What do you say?”

  Thorpe’s gaze shot from Dexter to Jared and back to Dexter. “Truly?”

  The earl nodded.

  “Then, hell yes!”

  “Good enough.” Dexter clapped him on the back. “You can put your hands down now. We have to go tell Prinny about the plot.”

  Dexter and Jared were halfway to the door before they realized Thorpe was not with them. They turned to find an ashen-faced Thorpe frozen in place three strides back.

  “Oh, come along,” Dexter said. “No worries. We shall work out the, ah…report to Prinny and Wellington on the way to Carlton House.”

  ****

  Bullen arrived at Jared’s townhouse only moments after the three men returned from Carlton House. Jared had sent Bucky for hot water and bandages and was pouring single-malt scotch for Dexter, Thorpe, and himself when Bullen stalked in—grim-faced.

  Jared handed his glass of scotch to his brother.

  Bullen’s glare deepened. He did not take the glass.

  Jared shrugged and took a long, well-deserved pull on his scotch. His shoulder hurt like hell, and his heart hurt worse. He did not feel like fighting with his brother, not when he had so little time left with him.

  “Stop grinding your teeth,” he told Bullen. “Don’t you want to know what happened after you left?”

  “I want to know what happened before I left,” his brother growled. “Why was Lady Ariana crying?”

  The reminder of Ari’s tears knocked the wind out of Jared, and he exhaled hard. He needed to talk to her. Make her understand.

  Dexter turned on him angrily. “I would like to know that myself.”

  “Well, you can both just wonder. I am not discussing Ari with either of you until I have talked to her myself. She and I have some issues to work out.”

  “I don’t have a hound in this foxhunt,” Thorpe said quietly, then downed his scotch and started for the door.

  Bullen thrust out an arm. “Not so fast.”

  “It’s all right,” Dexter said and told him what the three had done.

  “You three went to Carlton House and explained everything to the Prince Regent?” Bullen stared dumbfounded.

  “In a manner of speaking.” Dexter gave him the filtered version.

  Bullen grinned at Thorpe and pulled his arm back, so the major could leave. Thorpe glanced back at Dexter and Jared. “Are you not going to tell him the rest?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “For starters, Lucilla is already singing like a canary, trying to keep her neck out of a noose,” Dexter said.

  Thorpe shook his head. “Not that part.”

  “Oh, you mean the part about Prinny creating special letters patent,” Jared added, unable to stifle his grin, “for the newly created estate of the Viscount Dolan.”

  “What estate? And who the devil is the Viscount Dolan?” Bullen wanted to know.

  “The estate is two thousand prime acres adjoining Haverly Manor and presently owned by the crown—er, Prinny,” Dexter said.

  “The only prime acres adjoining Haverly is the Willingham Hunting Lodge and Preserve,” Bullen argued.

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t understand. Who the devil is the Viscount Dolan? I have never heard of him, and the village doesn’t have a viscount.”

  “They do now,” Jared said cheerfully. “He is one Giovanni ‘Jack’ Alexander Langley.”

  Bullen gaped at his brother.

  “That is your name, is it not?” Jared tilted his chin at Dexter. “We added the Jack. Bullen didn’t seem an appropriate nickname for a viscount.” He let the grin sweep across his face. “Prinny thought a viscountcy sufficient recompense for one of the men who disabled a plot to kill his best and favorite general. The rest of us were already peers and so were each promised a half-dozen prime goers from Tattersall’s, courtesy of the crown.”

  “But that is Prinny’s favorite hunting box,” Bullen argued.

  Dexter clapped him on the shoulder. “And Wellington assured Prinny his general’s life was well worth it. Especially after Jared explained that Reston Six was briefly married to your mother after Jared’s mother had died.”

  Bullen frowned. “There is no marriage license to prove that.”

  “Jared told Prinny that as well, and His Highness was willing to accept the word of his most prominent duke on good faith.”

  “That is the part I wanted them to tell you, my lord,” Thorpe said and cut a formal bow. “And now I will be off.”

  “I shall take that scotch now,” a beleaguered Bullen said, as the front door closed behind Thorpe. Jared handed one over.

  Two footmen bustled in behind Bucky, one carrying soap and a steaming bowl of water, the other toting bandages, drying cloths, and scissors.

  Bucky laid a fresh shirt of Seven’s over the back of a wing chair. “That be all, Yer Grace?”

  “Maybe some sandwiches?”

  “O’ course, Yer Grace.” Bucky disappeared with the two footmen in tow.

  Jared finished his scotch and marched over to the sideboard where the bowl had been placed and carefully stripped off his shirt, then peeled back the bandage Dexter had applied before leaving the cottage. “Thank God, I can clean up a bit. This bloody shirt and b
andage have been sticking to me.”

  “Lucilla only winged you, but you bled like a stuck pig,” Dexter said, watching him.

  Jared washed his face and hands well with soap, then sudsed a cloth to clean the re-bleeding bullet crease in his upper right arm. He could not risk infection, not in this century. Penicillin would not come along until the next. He pressed a wad of gauze against the clean wound to stop the bleeding and noticed the room had gone deathly still.

  What the devil?

  He slowly turned. Bullen and Dexter both stared, wide-eyed.

  “What?”

  “Your shoulder,” Bullen wheezed.

  “It’s fine. See?” Jared pulled the gauze away and revealed the no-longer-bleeding crease.

  Dexter lifted a finger to point. “No, the other shoulder. The left one,” he hissed.

  Jared stared down at his unblemished left shoulder. “Bloody. Damn. Hell.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bullen took two steps forward and stopped. “No marks. No bullet wound.”

  Dexter closed the door and then strode over, looking a little unsteady. “Where the bloody hell is your bullet wound from Waterloo?”

  Bedlam, here I come.

  “I can explain.”

  The two men slowly nodded. Then as one, the two chugged their remaining scotch.

  “First, let me get this bandage on my present wound.” Jared grit his teeth, poured a bit of the scotch along the crease and hissed mightily. Maybe he did need stitches, but hell if he would trust a London doctor in this century.

  Ashen-faced, Bullen helped him wrap the newly cleaned wound and tie off the bandage. Jared spent the few moments trying to figure out how much to tell them.

  If I just tell them the truth, I will at least look honest. Hopefully.

  “Start talking, Reston.” Dexter crossed his arms over his chest.

  “First, let me refill your glasses,” he said and quickly poured more scotch.

  “You’re stalling,” Bullen grunted.

  “You will want them. Trust me. Now sit.”

  Both men looked as though they would argue but took seats in the two wing chairs at the fireplace while Jared poured himself a scotch and grabbed a quick gulp, savoring the burn down his throat and not his arm.