All You Could Ask For

by Angeline Fortin

  Words fading away, Aylesbury’s head turned with a frown and Fiona followed his eyes to a pair of simply dressed women emerging from a small bodega across the street. She recognized the look all too well.

  “Somehow I gather you aren’t suddenly in the mood for a bottle of wine,” she said lightly. “Should I be jealous?”

  A half-smile turned the corner of his mouth as he glanced back down at her but just as quickly his glance slid back to the young women. “I know I’m a fool…to think…”

  “Harry?”

  “Piper.”

  His gaze caught as if he had seen a ghost. She eyed the younger of the two women more thoroughly. Even from the distance, Fiona could see that she was about the right age, tall and slim, but her hair was up and hidden by a wide-brimmed hat that also shaded her face.

  “Oh, Harry, it’s not.” She squeezed his arm sympathetically. Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry. For your sake, you know I wish…”

  “My God, it’s her.”

  “It’s just wishful thinking,” she persisted, but he was already gone, a London aristocrat running in long strides through Aylesbury.

  “Piper!” She heard him call. “Piper, stop!”

  “Harry!” Fiona called after him in vain then shook her head. “Won’t you ever accept the truth?”

  It was a silly question. Harry Brudenall the man and marquis was probably logical enough to realize that his sister wouldn’t just be walking freely about town. But Harry, the brother, the optimist, would always continue to hope. She could only hope, for his own sanity, he discovered the truth of what happened to Piper one day.

  “Why hello, darling!”

  Chapter 42

  Ramsay had better fear my wrath if I ever chance to meet him again. Because of his foolishness I have become a veritable prisoner in my own home. I’m not allowed to step even a toe across the threshold without at least two of my brothers tagging along.

  And if it weren’t for the nights, I would have Harry to myself either.

  ~From the Diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—Jun 1895

  The frigid joviality of the greeting drenched Fiona in dread, and she reluctantly turned with some hope of her own that what she knew to be true might not be. Like Harry, it seemed she was doomed to disappointment. A knot formed in her throat and Fiona almost choked trying to swallow it back. “Lord Ramsay.”

  Yes, it was he, though Ramsay was almost unrecognizable under the bruises on his jaw, swollen nose, and blackened eye. Her brothers had truly done a job on him. A far more thorough one than Aylesbury had been treated to…or rather, Aylesbury had defended himself better.

  But not enough of one, it seemed. How had he escaped the authorities? When? What was he doing here in Aylesbury? How long had he been following her? Had he never stopped?

  “Haven’t you had enough?” Thankfully her voice was calm, disdainful even. “You can’t think to have your plan succeed now. I won’t marry you, you have to know that. Even if you forced me, my brothers and Aylesbury would make me a widow before the ink was dry in the register.”

  “But darling, who says I want to marry you any longer?” He sneered, his lip curling. “I have other plans for you now. I’m going to make you pay dearly for what you’ve put me through. I will show you every ounce of pain that was dealt me.”

  He reached for her, but Fiona danced back. “I’ll cut off every finger that touches me. I’m warning you!”

  Still, his hand clasping hard over her arm, his fingers digging in with bruising strength. Yanking her toward him until they were practically nose-to-nose, he added with a snarl of hatred, “I intend to leave this behind with every part of me intact. You might not be so lucky. When I am done with you, I will make your brothers pay as well.”

  Two men leapt down from the driver’s perch of a carriage not far away, one sporting two black eyes and carrying a cudgel she recognized all too well. He didn’t look any happier to see her than see was to see him. “’Ello, poppet.”

  “Harry!” she parted her lips to scream his name but it emerged choked, almost silenced by the sudden fear that gripped her, fear that Ramsay alone hadn’t been able to inspire. From the look in Crumpky’s eye, Ramsay wasn’t the only one who wanted vengeance.

  Ramsay threw back his head and laughed devilishly at her shock. The sound of it was so maniacal, Fiona feared he truly had gone insane and felt real panic churning in her gut. Then Ramsay pulled an all too familiar looking piece of white cloth from his pocket and Fiona recalled vividly the sick, sweet smell. The darkness and the loss of her ability to fight back. It was enough for her to find her voice.

  “Harry!”

  * * *

  Aylesbury skidded to a halt when heard Fiona call his name but oddly enough the young woman he’d been chasing heard it as well, looking curiously over her shoulder. Her eyes locked with his and even from the distance Aylesbury could identify the vibrant blue, so much like his own.

  “Piper,” he whispered and shook his head in disbelief.

  All the times he had thought he had seen her only to be disappointed, Aylesbury realized he had never expected to find her, at all. Was it his imagination now or was it really her after all this time? He took another step toward her.

  “HARRY!”

  The terror in Fiona’s scream was unlike anything he’d ever thought to hear from her. She was no coward. No, if anything she was incessantly confident. That she would ever scream like that…

  Aylesbury whipped around to see Fiona being half-dragged, half-carried away by Ramsay, struggling with all she was worth. There was only the briefest flash of indecisiveness. Casting a regretful glance at what may have been his sister now walking away from him, Aylesbury ran back the way he had come.

  Back to Fiona.

  She was striking Ramsay repeatedly with her free hand, landing some impressive blows while she rained a stream of even more impressive curses down on her kidnapper as Aylesbury sprinted to her aid. To his disgust, there were a few high-class bystanders nearby gawking at the spectacle but none of them seemed inclined to come to her aid.

  “Let her go, Ramsay!” he yelled as he neared. “You won’t get away with this!”

  Ramsay paused to look back over his shoulder before he waved a hand, signaling to the two other men Aylesbury had failed to notice.

  Ramsay’s henchmen.

  He recognized them both. The smaller fellow with the bandaged ear was the one who had tried to take Fiona from Wimbledon. The other, slapping a cudgel against the palm of his hand, Aylesbury had even a closer acquaintance of.

  Old Crumpky. He’d be looking for his ounce of revenge.

  Aylesbury cursed the fact that he wasn’t carrying a weapon with him. No, he had left his pistol in the carriage, sure that he had nothing to fear in his hometown. There was no other choice but to fight for her.

  The golf course hatchet was grinning now, flexing his fingers in an age-old invitation to fight and he wasn’t about to disappoint. Rather than slowing as he neared the pair, he ran even faster, lowering his shoulder and tackling the man around the midsection before his eyes could even round with surprise.

  Knowing he had only seconds before Ramsay’s other lackey would be upon him with that wicked cudgel, Aylesbury wrapped his hands around his prey's head, lifting it and sending it forcefully back down to the pavement before he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the assault being aimed at the back of his head by Crumpky.

  The momentum the bludgeon-wielding brute carried with the blow wasn’t to be denied. Without Aylesbury’s head to halt its course, the club continued downward, striking the dazed, supine man moaning on the sidewalk in the sternum and nearly taking Crumpky right off his feet. The smaller man groaned in pain as both Aylesbury and Crumpky jumped to their feet, facing each other, each with a reason to be wary of the other. The thug had a weapon on his side, but Aylesbury possessed the confidence of a victory already won between them.

  Risking a moment to check on Fiona, Aylesbury found h
er fighting admirably against Ramsay who was trying to throw her his shoulder with little success. Her brothers had taught her well, he thought proudly.

  Grinning, Aylesbury turned back to his own fight, using his previous experience with the henchman’s preference to swing with his right to throw out a left uppercut followed by a quick jab, then another and another, forcing Crumpky to do little more than block Aylesbury’s blows over and over. Aylesbury changed it up then, taking the man off guard with a powerful right hook that sent him stumbling back. Crumpky staggered dizzily, tripping over his still-prone cohort and falling to the ground. He didn’t rise right away but tossed away the cudgel and began searching his pockets angrily.

  Bloody hell, Aylesbury realized. The fiend was armed with something more deadly than a billy club.

  “Come, Fiona,” he urged, rushing to her side. “Time to go now.”

  “Just…a…” Fiona doubled up her fist and hit Ramsay hard in the throat, leaving him gasping for air. “…moment,” she finished, digging her thumb into his blackened eye socket until he dropped her. Fast as lightning, she brought up her knee, taking Ramsay hard between the legs.

  He curled over his groin with a hoarse cry, but Aylesbury didn’t leave Fiona a moment to gloat over her victim. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her away. “Let’s go now.”

  Fiona nodded and let him lead her away, running hand in hand down the street. Casting a glance back over her shoulder, she shook her head with a snort of dismay. “I hate to be an alarmist, Harry, but they are following.”

  Aylesbury looked back as well to see Ramsay and the once cudgel-wielding but now lamentably gun-toting brute stumbling after them while the third man struggled to his feet. He was just about to look away when he realized that the two men in pursuit weren’t running after them at all but…“Bugger it. They’ve got a horse,” he muttered grimly.

  Fiona winced, but nodded. “And a carriage as well.”

  Of course, they did, Aylesbury grimaced. They would have had a way to transport Fiona when they took her. If the two men pursued them on horseback, Aylesbury knew he would have no chance of out-running them and getting Fiona to safety. His only choice would be to take them on as he had before and while he was fairly certain he could take them, Aylesbury knew he could not risk Fiona’s welfare if he were to fail.

  Scrambling for a solution, he took note of the numerous conveyances on the road. The hackneys, Hansom cabs or coachmen-driven carriages wouldn’t do. He dismissed the possibilities there straight away. Their pursuers would be on them before Aylesbury might either pay off or dispose of the driver. A dilapidated produce wagon pulled by a sway-backed nag wouldn’t carry them any faster than their own feet.

  Aylesbury saw their opportunity then. A spindle-wheeled phaeton parked on their side of the street, its dandified driver on the sidewalk handing down a fashionably dressed lady.

  Tugging Fiona behind him, he accelerated. “There,” he pointed. “That one.”

  His clever girl knew what he was about right off and followed him willingly enough, though Fiona being Fiona, she couldn’t help but offer her opinion. “The team is facing this way. We’ll be heading the wrong direction.”

  Yes, they would be running straight on toward Ramsay and his henchmen, but it was their only chance. “You ready to jump?”

  Fiona nodded and they skidded to a halt next to the phaeton. In a fluid motion, Fiona used her momentum, turning and pushing off from his shoulders while he grasped her around the waist and tossed her up into the lofty vehicle. Aylesbury leapt up after her, ignoring the outraged protests of its owner. Gathering up the reins, he whipped the horses into motion. As he expected, the pair of spirited high-steppers pulling the fashionable conveyance were more than eager for a run.

  They leapt into motion, throwing him and Fiona back against the seat as they charged forward, propelling Aylesbury and Fiona back the way they had come. Crumpky on horseback was already reining in and preparing to turn in pursuit, but the carriage at least, with Ramsay at the reins, would be slower to change directions.

  He hoped, Aylesbury thought, flicking the whip over the horses’ backs as they sped past horse, carriage and their cohort standing at the curb, rubbing both his head and chest. Down the street they streaked, weaving the phaeton through the traffic to the shouts and protests of the few drivers around them.

  The bodyguard Glenrothes had hired stood on the sidewalk with an ice cream in his hand and gaping incredulity on his face as they sped past, leaving him behind.

  Chapter 43

  Harry hasn’t asked for my hand again and I have to wonder how I will feel compelled to answer when and if he does. I love him so dearly and know now that he loves me just the same.

  So what is it that is holding me back?

  ~From the Diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—June 1895

  “Dare I ask where we are going?” Fiona asked as he took the next street, turning left. “Shouldn’t we go to the authorities?”

  “Aylesbury isn’t normally a hotbed of criminal activity.”

  “You have no police?”

  “None that would be of any assistance,” he grumbled, turning the team again until they were racing west out of town. “I’ll head back to the golf club.”

  “Yes, the golf club,” she nodded solemnly, unpinning her hat and tossing it aside before the wind tore her hair from her head. “A stronghold for Scotland Yard.”

  Aylesbury shot her a dry look but from the corner of his eye caught sight of their pursuer on horseback nearly drawing even with them on her side. It would do no good to try to run Crumpky off the road with the phaeton. Such a high-sprung contraption would tip easily enough without such provocation.

  A sharp crack sounded. The bastard was shooting at them! To her credit, Fiona didn’t scream as a typical female might, however she did string out a number of profanities. “Bloody hell,” he muttered one of his own, transferring the reins into one hand and leaning forward to open the tack box fastened to the floor by their feet. “Thank God!”

  When he pulled out a long-barreled revolver, she gaped at him. “A gun? How on earth did you know there would be a gun in there?”

  “It’s where I keep mine. Most men who have a gig like this carry them just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “Robbery.” He shrugged. “Situations like this.”

  “Dear Lord.” She sighed, reaching into the tack box to pull out the small silver flask she spotted there among the other tack. Uncapping it, she tilted back her head and took a swallow with a wince. “Ugh, that’s dreadful.” She took another swallow.

  Their circumstances bordered on the dire, Aylesbury reminded himself. He shouldn’t be enjoying such a misplaced sense of amusement.

  Another shot buzzing by over their heads properly sobered him. Twisting about, he leveled the pistol at the horseman but the action sent the phaeton veering to the left as well, the well-trained horses sensitive to even the lightest pressure on the reins. They careened from side to side before Aylesbury steadied their pace once more. Releasing a curse, he tried again to aim but the shot he needed, turning far enough to shoot from behind Fiona’s back, again threw off his balance.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Harry! Give me the gun!” Fiona yelled over the pounding of the hooves when he was once again unsuccessful in getting off a shot.

  Aylesbury shot her a dubious look and Fiona rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harry! Either give me the reins or hand over that pistol before either he kills us or you do.”

  Still he shook his head. “You might have forgotten, but I cannot forget that you’re a lady.”

  “I was raised by and among ten brothers who taught me everything they know. I might possibly be more of a man than you, Harry Brudenall!”

  Insanely Aylesbury couldn’t help the grin that leapt to his lips as he looked at her. Just as madly, Fiona grinned back until a high-pitched whistle marked another bullet as it whizzed by. The both unconsciously hunched their shoulde
rs as if that would help either one of them if a bullet struck its mark.

  “Bloody hell, Harry! I’m not some wilting lily. Give me the pistol! Or the bloody reins then! One or the other!”

  While he wasn’t sure of her skills with the ribbons, Aylesbury had no doubt Fiona was a good shot. Reluctantly, he handed her the gun, steadying the horses with both hands so that she could take aim. Fiona brushed her wind-blown hair from her eyes and sighted the gun but didn’t take the shot.

  Crumpky had no such difficulties. Another shot sounded and Aylesbury yelled, “Shoot, Fiona!”

  “I don’t want to hurt the horse!”

  An aggravated growl escaped him and he stared at her in disbelief. “Give you the gun, you said! Isn’t that what you said?”

  “I’m sorry!” she cried. “But what if I miss and hit the horse?”

  “Fuck the horse, Fiona!”

  Fiona narrowed her eyes at that. “Well, that’s completely unnecessary, I think.”

  Another shot, this one splintering the wooden backrest between them. Surprised, they both gawked down at it before looking at one another in shock. Close. Too close.

  “I’ll take the reins.”

  “Give me the gun.”

  They said at the same time and put actions to words. The phaeton hardly wobbled a bit as Fiona dropped the flask and took the reins in both hands, slapping them down on the horses’ rumps with a loud cry of encouragement.

  “Haw!”

  Biting back another inappropriately timed grin, Aylesbury rotated in the seat and lifted his arm until his nemesis was in his sights. “Go to hell, old Crumpky!”

  The shot rang out, garnering a terrified whinny from the horses but more importantly catching Crumpky in his chest. The force of the bullet spun him out of the saddle and sent him tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust.

  “Did you kill him?” Fiona asked, still watching the road before them.