Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

  After what seemed like an interminably long time, Alex could stand it no longer. She sat up and yanked one of the curtains open. To her surprise, they were now well out of the city.

  "Lord Hammerton, where we are going?"

  "As I said, you shall soon see."

  The answer and the tone in which it was delivered were entirely unsatisfactory.

  "I am in no mood to continue this, " she snapped. "I demand to know where we are going and why."

  The light was now strong enough for her to see the smile that crossed his face. It sent a chill through her very bones.

  "Stop the carriage this instant!"

  His smile only broadened.

  "Stop!" she cried, striving to be heard over the clatter of the wheels.

  "You needed bother yelling," he drawled. "The driver is my cousin and I assure you no amount of noise from you will cause him the least anxiety." As he spoke he negligently removed a pistol from the pocket of his greatcoat. "Now kindly sit back. I would prefer not to shoot you quite yet, but if you force me, I promise you my shot will not just graze you this time."

  Comprehension dawned on her. "You!" she whispered

  "Brilliant, my dear Miss Chilton," he sneered as he pantomimed clapping his hands together. The pistol waved lazily back and forth in the air, always pointed at her chest.

  Alex felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. Good lord, had she really been so stupid? And what of Justin, she thought with rising panic.

  As if reading her thoughts, Hammerton continued. "You asked where I am taking you. I have a small hunting box that only very few people know about. When we stopped earlier, it was to signal that everything was going according to plan. A note has by now been delivered to your dear brother, who will nobly follow it to the letter in hopes of seeing you alive."

  "He won't — he's not that foolish."

  Hammerton gave a nasty laugh. "Of course he'll come. And he'll come alone."

  Alex's eyes squeezed shut. To her dismay, she felt a burning sensation against her lids. Blinking rapidly, she brushed it away. She wasn't ready to give up just yet. Her chin came up.

  "Why?"

  His mouth quirked in anticipation. Clearly he had been itching to reveal just how clever he was.

  "Of course. You wish to know what all of this is about." He stopped to savor the sweet taste of his triumph. "Well, there is little enough harm now in telling you the whole story."

  Alex was growing heartily sick of the look of smug satisfaction plastered on his slick features but she kept her tongue in check. She needed to know what he was going to tell her if she had any hope of devising a way out of this coil....

  "First of all, I am not the Earl of Hammerton."

  Alex's eyes registered her surprise. He greeted her reaction with another bark of laughter, causing her to wish she could plant her fist squarely on those thin, bloodless lips.

  "That is," he amended, "I am not the true Earl of Hammerton. That title rightfully belongs to your brother, now that your father is dead."

  Alex couldn't repress a gasp.

  "Yes," he remarked. "We have a very odd and exasperating family, do we not, Miss Chilton. We are cousins, you know. How charming."

  When she did not let herself be goaded into a reply he merely shrugged and went on.

  "I was raised by my great uncle, who took me in as a child after my parents had died during an outbreak of influenza. Despite two marriages, he never managed to produce an heir, so it was natural that as time went on, everyone considered that I was to be the next Earl of Hammerton. My earliest recollections were those of a rather, shall we say, meager childhood. My side of the family had no money and no prospects. So I very quickly became used to my... new position in life." He paused to flick a speck of lint from the lapel of his immaculately tailored jacket. "Very used to it." He regarded Alex with a humorless smile. "It is quite pleasant to have enough money to indulge in one's fancies — and enough influence to make sure any indiscretion is glossed over." His expression grew harder. "To think the old rotter would imagine I'd willingly give it up. For he did, you know."

  He stopped and Alex watched in disgust as he eyes narrowed to mere slits, like those of a snake, as he contemplated the past.

  "He was taken quite ill, and at his advanced years it was feared he might not recover. I suppose the prospect of meeting his Maker finally brought on an attack of conscience. God knows the damn fellow showed no generosity of spirit during his lifetime — what he couldn't manipulate or control he crushed. Except for me, of course. I was too smart for him, even as a child. Oh, I played his game. It cost very little to pretend obedience when measured against the rewards."

  Hammerton sat back and gave a mocking smile. "Your father, on the other hand, was apparently as bull-headed as the old earl. Stubborn, proud and unwilling to bend an inch — how extraordinarily stupid."

  "What do you mean?" she asked, though he needed no prodding to continue his terrible account.

  "Your father's side of the family, the next in the line of succession, was as badly dipped has mine. As I have said, Uncle gave nothing without expecting an even greater payment in return. Your father was much older than I was when the earl sought him out. From what I gather, he would not knuckle under to the old tyrant's demands that he live under his thumb. Both were volatile by nature. Ugly words flared and your father stormed from the house. consigning both title and fortune to the devil. He vowed never to have contact with the earl again and never to touch a farthing of his."

  Alex drew her breath in. How very like her father, she thought with a mixture of exasperation and grudging respect. But most of all, she felt sorrow for him, at the bitter battle that must have raged inside him between his own cursed pride and his guilt at depriving his son of his rightful place in the world.

  "But I digress," continued Hammerton. " My uncle called me to his sickbed to

  inform me that he meant to make amends for his past sins by reconciling with his true heir — your father. I believe he had come to know of your brother's existence and felt a sudden, compelling duty to see that the title passed on to the rightful branch of the family. That, and perhaps rumors had reached him regarding certain aspects of my behavior in Town."

  Again the lips curled upward, sending a chill down Alex's spine. "He assured me that he would see to it that I was well taken care of, that there was enough blunt for both your father and me. I would receive a settlement that would allow me to continue living in the style to which I had become accustomed. Hah! He had no idea what sort of things I had become accustomed to! And reverting to a mere ‘mister' was most definitely not one of them."

  A silence stretched out for what felt like ages to Alex as Hammerton fell into a reverie, his features twisted with malevolent satisfaction as he seemed to savor the recollection of his triumph over anyone who sought to thwart his will. She almost believed he had forgotten her presence when he looked up, his eyes glittering with that expression she had come to hate.

  "So just like that," he said," I was told that I was no longer to think of becoming the fifth Earl, that I must step aside for your father. Give up my title, my estates, my fortune to someone who hadn't paid for them like I had, to a recluse who spent his time picking weeds? Not bloody likely!"

  His voice had risen to an agitated pitch. "It was simple, really. A pillow placed over his face for a matter of a few minutes. The old bird scarcely had the strength to flap his arms. It was with great sorrow that I announced to the servants that dear Uncle had expired in my arms."

  Alex shot him a look of pure disgust, but he seemed not to notice.

  "Unfortunately, he had already written to your father, who had agreed to meet with him after all these years. Naturally, I had to take care of that as well. Knowing your father had a son who was drawing close to adulthood, I feared that was reason enough for him to change his mind"

  Alex sucked in her breath, somehow knowing what was coming. Even so, the sheer effrontery of his manner le
ft her reeling.

  "I believe your father had become a bit suspicious over dear Uncle's untimely death. He left his inn late that night to return home, but he was not, shall we say, a member of the Four In Hand Club, and his cattle weren't fit for a farmer's dray. It was remarkably easy to nudge his carriage off the road just as it curved out over the cliffs — my matched bays hardly broke stride." He gave a pained sigh. "I was reasonably sure you and your dottering aunt knew nothing. But when I learned that your brother was not content to remain a country oaf but had entered Oxford, and had plans to come to Town for this Season, I knew he would have to be dealt with as well. I couldn't risk him ever stumbling across the truth."

  Given the strength, Alex would gladly have throttled the life out of him.

  The smug look had returned to his face. "I have never lost a match of wits, Miss Chilton. It is a pity you tried to put your feeble female mind up against mine. Admit it, I am a superior intellect. I have bent all of you to my own design, including that cur, Branford."

  "I find you akin to (Latin).

  Hammerton looked faintly perplexed, not quite sure of the meaning. Alex let him ponder it for a moment before she said slowly., "It is Latin. For pond scum. Though I regret to insult the plant phylum with comparison to you — perhaps a reptile would be more apt."

  His hand flashed out, catching her across the cheek with a blow hard enough to daze her.

  "Shut up, you bitch," he spat. "You will soon regret your actions."

  She already had, she thought miserably. If only she had — but what was the use in flaying herself over things that could not be undone. She set her teeth and put her mind to coming up with some way out of the nightmare.

  She could only pray Justin would display more sense than she had.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The blow connected squarely on his chin, sending him sprawling onto his backside. "Justin!" Hartley extended a hand and helped his friend to his feet. "Sorry, but you must truly be woolgathering to let me plant such a facer."

  One of the attendants of the famed boxing establishment glowered at them. "That's enough fer you lads. If Gentleman Joe were to witness that ‘orrible display of skill I reckon you'd be thrown out on yer ear."

  Red-faced at the set down, Justin and Hartley slunk off to dress, enduring a gamut of friendly jibes from others waiting to go a few rounds.

  "Forgive me, Freddy," said Justin as he toweled off and reached for his shirt. "I fear I have not been the best of company for the past few days."

  Hartley shrugged. "No need to apologize." He looked around quickly then spoke in a much lower voice." Have you heard any further word? I take it we will not be having to flee the country?"

  Justin shook his head. He realized with a pang of guilt that he had caused his friend no little anxiety. Dueling was, after all, illegal and if Branford had been killed they would have been in very serious trouble — poor Freddy must have endured some sleepless nights as well.

  "No, thank God," he answered in a near whisper. "He appears he will recover."

  Hartley knotted his cravat with a sigh of relief. "Well, in that case, there is no need to be so blue deviled, man. Come, we'll stop by the club, then there is a cockfight I've gotten word about that promises to be most entertaining. And of course we'll put in an appearance at the Creighton's soiree."

  Justin nodded glumly and finished dressing. Perhaps Freddy was right and it was best to keep occupied. However he still couldn't seem to banish his low spirits.

  As the two of them headed for the street, an attendant approached.

  "Excuse me, Mr. Chilton. A man left this for you. Said I was to give it to you when you was leaving." He extended a sealed note.

  Justin broke the wafer and quickly ran his eyes over the contents.

  "Freddy, you must excuse me," he said as he fumbled in his pocket and pressed a coin in the man's outstretched hand.

  "Is something..." began Hartley, but Justin had already disappeared out the door.

  Once on the street, Justin began walking blindly, at a pace that drew reproving looks from the number of gentlemen he shouldered past. Heedless of anything save for the words etched on the paper, his mind was racing as fast as his limbs.

  The note read:

  If you wish to see your sister alive again, be at the crossroads two miles east of the village of Weston at 6 tonight. Come alone, or else.

  She had been right after all. Swearing silently, he wished he had taken Alex's warnings more seriously. It had been convenient to dismiss them as the exaggerated worries of an overprotective older sister even though, at heart, he had been known it was highly improbable that the accidents were mere coincidences. But it had seemed absurd that someone would try to harm him — what possible threat was he to anyone?

  That was at the heart of the matter. Wrack his brain though he might, he could find no plausible explanation. And now, with Alex entangled in the web of intrigue, he still had no idea of how to begin unraveling the mystery. But the one thing he did know was that he would be damned if he would ride meekly to his appointed doom. Besides, Alex would be furious with him if he were to be so corkbrained as to fall into such an obvious trap without trying to figure out a way to best this shadowy nemesis.

  He made himself think.

  It suddenly occurred that the first step should be to make sure it wasn't a complete trick, that he didn't run off willy nilly without ascertaining that Alex was in fact gone. He flagged a passing hansom and hurried back to Half Moon Street.

  Forcing some semblance of composure, he took a deep breath and entered the library. "Aunt Aurelia, have you seen Alex?"

  His aunt looked up from her book. "No. Givens said she left here earlier this morning and she has not returned." There was a note of concern in her voice. "She received a note first thing. She said it was from Mr. Simpson regarding an invitation to view some newly arrived plants — but she was acting most strangely." She rose from her chair, her frail hands clasped tightly together. "Something has been quite wrong lately. Justin, do you know what it is that has Alex so upset?"

  He took another deep breath. "I have an inkling."

  Lady Backworth was near tears. "Is everything going to be alright?"

  Justin gave her a swift hug. "You may count on it," he promised, though he wished he felt as sanguine as his words. "I have to go now, but don't worry. I'll find her. No doubt we will both be home for supper."

  As she watched him disappear down the hallway she bit her lip in worry. She could only pray that he would make the right decisions.

  Once out on the street, Justin began walking at a furious pace again. Think, he cajoled himself. Think!

  Alex was clever. What would she do?

  He considered his options. He had no idea how to begin uncovering the identity of his enemy or where to start looking for where he had Alex hidden. That did not make for a very auspicious beginning, he thought to himself with a grim set of his jaw. On top of that, he had no illusions as to the intent of the note's author — or his willingness to carry out his threat. He had shown that all too clearly in the past. No, whoever it was meant to kill both Alex and himself. The meeting tonight was nothing more than a lure to reel him in as well. But with the lure in the form of his sister, he had no choice but to rise to the bait.

  Or did he?

  He stopped dead in his tracks, drawing an acid comment from the young dandy who collided into his back. Stepping aside with mumbled apologies, Justin began to walk again, slowly and deliberately. It was a crazy idea — he was mad to even consider it. But he could think of nothing else.

  Time was precious, and he had to do something.

  Justin rushed up the townhouse steps and rapped hurriedly on the door. It opened just wide enough for a pair of wary eyes to ascertain who was seeking admittance. Once satisfied that it was not a certain, diminutive lady, the footman abandoned his rather undignified position of using the massive piece of oak as shield and drew himself up to his full, imperious height.
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  "His Lordship is not..."

  Justin elbowed him aside. "I must see him!"

  The footman seemed to measure who might come out on top in a battle of fisticuffs — at least here was an opponent against whom he had a fighting chance. He took a step towards the young man, who had stopped in the entrance hall, unsure of where to go from there.

  "A life may depend on it," entreated Justin.

  The other man hesitated. What had been a well-run, disciplined household had been at sixes and sevens for the last few days, and the earl, normally a sticker for obedience, had tolerated some peculiar intrusions. Seeing as he hadn't lost his position over the past evening, he sighed and motioned Justin to follow him down a long hallway, then left him in front of the closed door of the study with a silent indication that His Lordship was within. Regardless of the liberties allowed recently, he was not about to open the earl's inner sanctorum himself — the young man was on his own from there.