Lady Beware

by Jo Beverley

  Darien realized he was smeared with Thea’s blood as well.

  Frank was looking at him, a question in his eye. Part of it was a willingness to fight free of this mob, so Darien shook his head.

  “Whatever the problem here,” Frank said, again with that crisp authority, “it will be sorted out in good order. Downstairs, everyone.”

  The shuffling movement began, but Sir George resisted. “And leave him to slip out a back way? In front of me, Darien, so some of us can make sure you don’t run.”

  Few in the world would dare to speak to Canem Cave in that way, especially when he had a blade in his hand, but the man was right to feel safe at this moment. Darien stalked forward. A way cleared, which could well be because of the naked blade still in his hand, or because of his visible rage.

  He hoped to reach Frank and somehow give him the word to take care of Thea, but the mob separated them as they all crowded down the narrow stairs and into the tight hall.

  “Outside,” Frank ordered.

  He was probably trying to reduce the danger of an accident, but Darien would have refused if he could. He didn’t want this outside for the whole world to see—him, blade in hand, blood marking him. But then, perhaps the world should see this play out.

  As he moved into daylight at the top of the stairs, Darien faced a growing, angry crowd. He was in real danger. If they decided to hang him on the spot, he and Frank alone couldn’t stop them.

  But then he saw Foxstall at the back of the crowd, lounging against the railings in his hussar uniform, watching his plan work, smiling his twisted smile. Nothing else mattered.

  Darien charged down the stairs and across the street. People scattered, crying, “Stop him! Stop him!” but not trying themselves.

  For a second, Foxstall still smiled, but then the smile fled and he straightened, dragging his saber free just in time to catch Darien’s killing blow with a sparking clang.

  “Someone stop this madman!” he cried, parrying and dodging.

  No one tried, though Darien heard Frank call his name in protest.

  “He did it! He…” He choked down details. Thea’s name mustn’t come into this.

  “Did what?” Foxstall asked, alert to avoid his very real danger, but grinning all the same. “I think you truly have cracked at last, Canem. Can’t someone hit him over the head or something? I don’t want to hurt the idiot.”

  “I intend to kill you,” Darien said, catching a breath.

  Foxstall looked into Darien’s eyes and saw truth. “You’ll hang.”

  “It will be worth it.” Darien slashed for the head again, was parried again, the shock of contact shooting up his arm. He was trained to fight on horseback, but so was Foxstall. They both had to think differently, move differently, but he’d kill him. Foxstall had to die.

  “Whichever way, I win,” Foxstall taunted, dodging. His plan was clearly to look reluctant to fight and hope someone did intervene. “I kill you or you hang. And I had your woman first.”

  Roaring, Darien slashed for his legs. Foxstall dodged, but his returning swing tangled in his fur-trimmed pelisse. He ran back a bit to steal time to drag the tie loose and shed it, then turned to swirl the heavy cloth over Darien’s sword, following with a stab to the heart.

  No more playing now.

  Darien swept the cloth aside and twisted, but Foxstall’s thrust ran along his ribs. Barely holding his balance, Darien slashed backhanded simply to stop Foxstall following up on his advantage.

  His blade sank deep and jarred. He spun to see he’d got the neck.

  Blood spurted from the artery. Foxstall’s eyes and mouth opened in surprise, and then his legs crumpled. His fall would have pulled Darien down with him if he’d not let go of the saber. Foxstall’s mouth moved, but then he died, still looking astonished.

  Darien met those eyes, heaving for breath.

  Foxstall had been a friend of sorts once.

  He’d been a good officer in war but scum in every other way. The world was better without him, especially after what he’d done.

  Thea, dear God, Thea.

  The silence shattered into cries and howls. Wearily, almost past caring, he dragged his blade free and turned. Frank was already at his side, white-faced but resolute, his navy cutlass out.

  “This will go to trial,” he declared, his voice carrying.

  Certainly, with the railings at their backs and the crowd a crescent of gleeful anger around them, there was no escape. Darien knew he’d be lucky not to be strung up or kicked to death. And why the hell did Frank have to be here, possibly to suffer the same fate?

  Then a carriage pulled by galloping horses rocked into the square at the same time as a troop of soldiers cantered in from the other side, weapons drawn.

  “Magistrate and enforcement,” Darien said. “Three cheers.”

  “Well, I’m damn glad to see them,” Frank said.

  Darien wasn’t so sure. Despite the justification he’d just killed a man. It could be called a duel, but without any of the protocol. In another case, it could be seen as murder in the eyes of the law. Men had hanged for such things before.

  If he went on trial it would be in the House of Lords. A nine-day wonder to add to the Cave load, and Thea might become involved. Would she have had the strength and courage to flee the house alone?

  “What did he do?” Frank asked, indicating Foxstall’s corpse without much concern.

  “You assume I had good cause.”

  “Yes.”

  Softly, Darien said, “He raped and harmed a lady of good family, in our house. She may still be in there, on the service stairs. I can take care of myself here. Go to her.”

  “How?” Frank asked dryly.

  True, they were penned in by the crowd, who still looked ready to tear them both to pieces.

  The mounted soldiers forced a passage for Evesham. George Wilmott came with him, calm now with a dreadful satisfaction.

  “Mad, the lot of ’em,” he declared to the mob. “I’ve been saying so all along. This one did murder in that accursed house, then rushed out to slaughter this noble officer, a mere bystander!”

  “No, he wasn’t,” Darien declared, though he doubted reason would rule here.

  “Be quiet,” Evesham snapped at Sir George. “We’ll have law and order here, not inflammatory speeches. Captain, move this rabble back. At the first sign of violence,” he bellowed at the crowd, “I’ll read the Riot Act.”

  That would allow the soldiers to use their weapons on civilians, and had some effect.

  “Now,” Evesham said, “someone tell me what’s gone on here. You.” He pointed at a dark-clad middle-aged man, who stepped forward to give a coherent account of sword fight and slaughter.

  “Lord Darien was unprovoked, you say?” Evesham asked him.

  “I can only attest to what I saw, sir. His Lordship raced out of the house and attacked the officer, who appeared merely to be watching the commotion.”

  “The man’s mad,” Sir George declared. “I keep telling you. Caves.” He spat.

  Evesham glared at Frank. “You a Cave, too?”

  “Lieutenant Cave, RN.”

  “He had nothing to do with it as best I know,” Wilmott said reluctantly.

  Darien had to appreciate his fairness. The man truly believed history had been repeated and he wanted blood. But only the deserving blood.

  Evesham spoke to Frank. “Put up your sword, Lieutenant.” To Darien, he said, “Surrender yours peaceably, my lord, or I’ll have you shot.”

  Like a mad dog ran silently through the air.

  Darien passed the bloody saber to Frank, who offered it hilt-first to anyone who’d take it. The captain of the troopers rode forward and took it, though he didn’t look pleased.

  “Viscount Darien, you are under arrest for murder. Will you come peaceably?”

  “Of course.” The sooner this part was over, the sooner Frank could take care of Thea.

  “You will proceed to my coach, my lord�
�”

  “Stop that!”

  The high, rather thin cry turned everyone toward the house. Thea stood on the steps, still in Darien’s dark green jacket, her clothing obviously torn, her hair all over the place.

  Darien stepped forward. The cavalry captain pointed his own bloody saber at his chest to stop him.

  “Frank, do something. Get her out of here before she’s recognized.”

  Frank tried to push through people and horses, but Thea was running down the steps in bare feet and across the square, crying, “Stop it, stop it, stop it. It wasn’t him!”

  The crowd parted, some puzzled, some aghast, some gleeful at the prospect of new drama among the great.

  Darien looked up at the cavalry officer, whom he didn’t know, damn it. “You have my parole. I’m not trying to escape.”

  The man looked sympathetic, but shook his head.

  Frank reached her, caught her to him, said something.

  Thea looked up at him, clearly dazed by someone who looked like Darien but wasn’t.

  “Get her away, Frank. She needs care. He hurt her.”

  Thea’s eyes shot to his and she pulled free. “Yes, he hurt me!” she cried, pointing at Foxstall. “He trapped me, hurt me. He wanted you all to think Lord Darien did it.”

  “Now, why would that be?” the magistrate asked, not unkindly, but without belief.

  She spun to him. “Because he hated him. I mean Captain Foxstall hated Lord Darien. You have to believe me!”

  “And your name?” the magistrate asked.

  “Is none of anyone’s business,” Darien said quickly. “Frank, get her away. She’s shocked out of her wits, but I hope,” he said to Sir George Wilmott, “that you’ll believe at least that I didn’t murder any lady in my house today.”

  “Only because we arrived in time.”

  “He was helping me!” Thea pulled out Darien’s bloodstained handkerchief. “See. This is his!”

  “Frank…,” Darien said, but the magistrate said, “The lady’s not going anywhere until I know what part she played in this, especially when I don’t know who she is.”

  “I’m Lady Theodosia Debenham,” Thea said clearly. “Daughter of the Duke of Yeovil. And Lord Darien is my promised husband.”

  Frank’s eyes met Darien’s, wide.

  “I’m sure it was an irregular fight,” Thea continued, like a stone statue speaking, “but it’s hardly surprising that Lord Darien attacked Captain Foxstall after I told him who’d hurt me so badly.”

  Darien had been staring at her in an attempt to get her to shut up, but now he simply looked at her, humbled by her foolish courage.

  “Now,” she said with that inborn dignity that had once infuriated him, “may I please go to him?”

  A way opened and she walked through it, chin high, as if blind to all around, into his arms. He held her close. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  Against his chest, shivering, she said, “Yes, I should. But take me home, Darien. Please.”

  “You have my parole, sirs,” Darien said to the captain, the magistrate, and to Sir George. “I won’t try to escape the law, but Lady Thea needs to be taken away from here.”

  A duke’s daughter exposed half dressed to the fascinated eyes of the mob was a trump card.

  “Use my carriage, sir,” the magistrate said.

  “What?” Sir George exploded. “Let him drive off with his victim?”

  Thea jerked free to face him. “I am not his victim, you stupid man.”

  Darien almost laughed. “Why don’t you come with us, Sir George? Your guardianship will be golden.”

  That seemed to stump the man, but only for a moment. He demanded a pistol from one of the troopers.

  Darien pulled a wry face at Frank. “Welcome home. Take care of things here. There’s a slim chance I may be allowed to return later to clean up my own mess.”

  Frank was clearly bursting with questions, but he nodded.

  Darien picked up Thea and carried her to the carriage, ignoring Sir George close behind. It was harder to ignore him when he was sitting opposite, the large pistol ready, clearly longing for the excuse to fire it.

  Darien kept Thea on his lap, holding her close, helpless to wipe the horror from her life. The horror he had brought.

  Chapter 40

  At Yeovil House, the groom got down to ply the knocker. Darien eased out of the coach with Thea limp in his arms, though her eyes were open on his, as if he were her savior. By the time he reached the door, it was open, the footman agape.

  Darien walked in. “Is the duchess at home?”

  It took a moment for the footman to pull himself together. “Yes, sir!”

  “Find her.”

  With servants’ instinct, another footman and a maid came into the hall, also to gape. Darien addressed the maid. “Lead me to Lady Thea’s room.”

  The maid hesitated but flinched under Darien’s glare and hurried up the stairs.

  “The other gentleman?” the footman asked.

  Darien glanced back and saw Sir George.

  “He can do what the Hades he wants as long as he doesn’t bother us.”

  He was settling Thea on her bed when the duchess rushed in. “Oh, dear heavens, what has happened?”

  “That,” said Darien, suddenly adrift, “is a very complicated story.”

  Thea held out her hands to her mother, who ran to her.

  Darien backed out of the room….

  He was thrust back into it. The duke followed him in and shut the door.

  Thea was sobbing in her mother’s arms. The duchess looked at her husband, pale and aghast.

  The duke said, “What has happened?” It was not a question to be refused.

  Darien pulled himself together as best he could. “She was taken prisoner. By Captain Foxstall. Entirely because of me.” He pressed his hands to his face. “It’s my fault.”

  “No!”

  Thea’s cry made him uncover his eyes to look at her. “If I had never invaded your life, this would not have happened.”

  “What did this Foxstall do to my daughter,” the duke asked, awfully, “and where is he?”

  “Dead,” Darien said. “I killed him.”

  The duke exhaled. “That, at least, is satisfactory.”

  “Thea declared before a large portion of London that she is engaged to marry me, Your Grace.”

  “That,” said the duke, “is not.” But his eyes asked a bleak question.

  Darien didn’t want to answer it, but he supposed his silence was enough.

  Thea sat up, detaching herself gently from her mother. “None of this was Darien’s fault. I received a note. I thought it was from Maddy. Asking for help. I went and was taken prisoner.”

  “By this Foxstall?” the duke asked gently.

  “Yes.” Her eyes flickered around the room and she shuddered. “He tried to hide his identity, but I knew. He was larger. I caught a glimpse in the mirror before he strangled me.” Her hand went to her bruised throat and the duke muttered, “Dear God.”

  “Oh, my poor darling,” the duchess said, drawing Thea’s hand away to look at the darkened skin and blood-smeared wound.

  “I thought he was killing me, but I came to. On the bed….”

  The duchess held her close. “It’s all right, dear. You don’t have to say more.”

  Thea shook her head. “He’d blindfolded me, and he tried to disguise his voice, to sound like Darien, but I knew. He told me how he hated me. He cut me. On my neck. My leg. I thought again he was going to kill me, but then he loosened the blindfold. By the time I’d brushed it off with bound hands, he was gone.”

  After a moment, the duchess asked, “That was it, Thea? He didn’t violate you?”

  “No! Oh, no.”

  “Thank God,” the duke said, and Darien echoed it. But he wondered at the depth of malice that had lied to him about that, even when Foxstall knew he might soon be dead.

  “Very well,” the duke said, briskly now. �
��We need a story to contain all this.” He turned to Darien. “Half London, you said?”

  Darien pulled himself together to make a report. “Events in the square were witnessed by about forty onlookers, then a magistrate and two officers of the law, then twenty cavalry. Those events included my killing Foxstall in a bloody and completely irregular duel and Thea rushing out to prevent the mob from lynching me on the spot.”

  “You were quite correct,” the duke stated. “Everything would have been a great deal better if you had never intruded into our lives.”

  “I will belatedly remove myself, Your Grace. I gave my word to return and face the law.”

  Darien left the room, wondering if he’d ever see Thea again. He realized that the duke had followed and he braced for further scathing remarks. He deserved them.

  The duke led the way in silence downstairs and to his offices. No curious, gawking servants were to be seen, but some scurrying suggested they were around every corner. The news would already be flying to all parts of London and beyond….

  Once they were inside the businesslike room, Darien said, “I deeply regret Lady Thea’s involvement in this and I will do anything to reduce it. Leave the country. Even put an end to my disastrous existence.”

  “I doubt that would help,” the duke said coldly, making Darien feel like an overwrought youth. “I have no idea to what extent you caused this, Darien, but I will find out. It appears my willful niece may have made a contribution, and Thea should never have left the house alone.”

  “It is not a fault to be kindhearted.”

  “Can you deny that she was almost certainly attempting to hide some folly of my niece’s when she ought to have taken the note to her mother?”

  Feeling now like a schoolboy hauled up before an implacably logical, vengeful master, Darien kept his mouth shut.

  “There will be no trial,” the duke said. “Especially not a sensational one before the House of Lords. I will not have my daughter called as witness in such an event.”

  “I certainly don’t want that.”

  “How did Foxstall gain access to your house?”

  “He had a key from a mutual friend, sir.” No point trying to explain the complexities of Pup’s part in this.