Too many times since coming ashore he had felt the constriction of his world. As if a giant snake held him in its grasp. Squeezing the life out of him.
Never at sea. But whenever he stepped ashore, he felt it. Ever since that first battle off Cadiz all those years ago. His mind had been unable to shake the images of the dead and dying. The mayhem and agonizing sorrow. He could hold it at bay when at sea. When his life was filled with important demands.
But here. In a place such as this, he would flash to memories that could not be put aside.
He had to leave. Ann, Bedford’s bride had shot him a concerned look. He wondered if she knew of his … bouts of doubt, he called them. One drunken night he had told Bedford and Suffolk the truth. Had he told his wife?
Newcastle shook off the concern. It was not a large problem. Just something he needed to deal with. Unfortunately, the best solution. A ship racing before the wind was no longer an option.
Sighing heavily, he watched as his father’s carriage approached the Burnett’s front door. Thompson sat on the box with the driver.
“You don’t need to be here,” he said to the man indicating the carriage box.
Thompson shrugged his shoulders. “I’m learning the currents,” he said.
Newcastle laughed and started to pull himself up into the coach when the dark blackness made him hesitate as once again that sense of doom filled him. No. Not tonight he told himself.
“I will walk,” he said as he backed away from his greatest fear. Loss of control.
“Sir,” Thompson said as he started to get down. “London ain’t exactly welcoming. Not at night and not with a man dressed like you. You stand out like the Longships Lighthouse off Land’s End.”
Newcastle scoffed then smiled. “I will be fine. Go home. I may not be there for hours. I need to walk.”
Thompson frowned, but he knew an order when he heard one. They had come to an agreement long ago. Thompson was allowed to question an order once, and only if he had considerable concerns. And that was only because he was trusted. But never more than that initial question. If he could not change the Captain's mind the first time. Then, there were to be no more attempts.
The look in the old sailor’s eyes showed his concern. For a moment, Newcastle wondered if the man would breach their agreement. Instead, he sighed and nodded as he dipped his hat, then nudged the coachman to go.
Lord Newcastle sighed as he began the walk home, it wasn’t that far, but he knew that he might very well spend the night walking, passing his father’s home repeatedly until he could push aside this sense of wrongness that pulled at him.
Turning for his father’s house, he folded his hands behind his back. A habit he had unknowingly picked up when pacing the quarterdeck of his ship. Dipping his head, he let his mind wander. Tonight, had driven home the fact that his life was no longer his own.
Duty. It had been drummed into him from an early age. School, the Navy, everyone repeatedly stressed its importance. England was depending upon men such as himself to perform their duty. Regardless of the cost.
Glancing up at the stars, he smiled to himself. It would be six bells in the early morning soon. The watch would be switched. Groggy men fighting the brisk air to wake up while flapping their arms against their chest to get warm in the night air.
God, how he was going to miss it. Sighing, he accepted his fate. He would find a wife. Marry, have children. Sit on parliament’s cold benches. Offer his support and advice to the government and the crown. He would become the model of a perfect Duke. It was his duty. He could do no less.
But he knew deep in his soul. The loss of that sense of adventure would eat at him for the rest of his days.
However, he thought with determination. It would be a woman of his choice. Perhaps Lady Abigail would be successful in finding him a prospect that did not set his teeth on edge.
He scoffed to himself as he reviewed everyone he had met that night. They had all seemed so desperate for his attention. Either that, or … potentially manipulative. Yes, that was the word. The thought sent a shudder through him.
And so young, he realized. None of them had ever really faced adversity. Never had to rely on themselves to survive. They had been given every advantage and were experts at using it.
Taking a left, he turned beside the park still lost in thought. Now that he had accepted his mission he started to work on strategy. Only once that was decided could he decide on the appropriate tactics.
A rustle behind him pulled him back to the present. He turned to find two men, roughly dressed, one with a rather large knife pointed directly at his stomach. Instant awareness snapped in like a harpoon finding its mark. Thieves, brigands. They had found themselves a wealthy pigeon, all ready for plucking.
The larger of the two held the knife, a grizzled man in his mid-thirties who looked as if he knew how to use the weapon. A straggly short beard, only a few days old, already turning gray. Next to him, a smaller man, hyper, jumping from foot to foot.
Newcastle could see it in their eyes. These were serious men who were well versed in their craft. Unfortunately for them, they had chosen the wrong target at the wrong time.
Newcastle's face slowly broke out in a cold smile as he stared at the two of them. He was going to enjoy this. Here he had been lamenting the loss of adventure, these two had kindly decided to provide it for him.
Really, he should thank them.
“Stick him,” the little one said. “And let’s be off.”
Newcastle tensed, ready for an attack. His coat was too tight for easy movement and he had no weapon. A fact that he would be sure to rectify in the future. If he had a future that was.
The large one's eyes narrowed just before he lunged, aiming the knife to Newcastle’s gut. Edge down, the knife blade flashing in the moonlight.
Lord Newcastle sucked in his stomach as he jumped back, sweeping his arm to try and brush the knife aside. A sharp pain seared his arm as if it had been burned with ice. He ignored the pain and used the opening to punch at the man’s throat.
He must end this quickly, he realized. There were two of them. They would stand off and tire him until they could get their knife in and his purse from him before disappearing back into the London night.
His punch to the attacker’s throat was not a perfect shot. But enough to make the man cough and pull back. Newcastle used that moment to kick out and catch shorty in the knee, then shifted to bring his other foot up into the man’s groin with enough force to lift him off the ground.
The man dropped like a cannibal from the crow's nest.
A distant female scream echoed down the street. Newcastle ignored it, twisting to face the large man who was coming in, swing his knife back and forth, desperate to find a target.
Newcastle waited until after the third swing before he caught the arm at the wrist and elbow. Turning inside the man’s reach, he brought the arm down over his knee and was rewarded with a satisfying crack as the bone shattered into three pieces.
The knife fell to the ground, clinking off the paving stones.
The two thieves backed off, one holding his mangled arm to his chest, the other with both hands between his legs. The two men shot him looks of pure hate before turning and disappearing into the bushes.
Without taking his eyes off the fleeing attackers, he reached down and retrieved the knife with his good hand. It felt wonderful to have a weapon. Yes, he would never be found unarmed again.
“Lord Newcastle!” a female voice called from behind him.
He paused for a moment to make sure his attackers were truly gone then turned to find Lady Abigail stepping down from her coach, her eyes as big as the moon above and her face as white as alabaster.
“Stay there,” he barked before turning and looking into the night, they may have gone to get assistance and the last thing he needed was Abigail being threatened.
The click of a cane on stone informed him that she had ignored his command.
�
�You’ve been wounded,” she said as she lifted his arm.
The woman was correct. A long slit had been cut in the sleeve of his coat and even now, blood seeped out of the wound and onto the ground in bright red drops.
Shaking her head, she pulled the sleeve closed and clamped down to try and stop the bleeding. “Your father’s home is closest, Come with me. Drop that,” she said, indicating the knife. “And hold this,” she added as she held out her cane.
Newcastle took the cane without dropping the knife and allowed himself to be led to her coach.
“The Oxford House,” she yelled up to the coachman before having him get in the coach, all without letting go of his arm.
“Your aunt and cousin?” he asked when he realized the two other women were not in the coach.
Lady Abigail did not look up from the wound as she replied, “They have remained. Rose refuses to be separated from her Baron any more than necessary. If you ask me, she fears that he might change his mind. I was to send the coach back for them after I arrived home.”
He nodded, then winced when the vehicle bounced over a pothole making her twist his arm.
“Sorry,” she gasped.
The soft scent of lavender filled the coach. Her, he realized. A tender aroma that soaked into his soul. Who was this woman? he wondered. Her hands were covered in his blood, yet she showed no distress, no whimpering fright. She had seen a problem and taken action to fix it.
Before he could think more on the matter, the coach rocked to a halt in front of his father’s house. Lady Abigail helped him down, all while gripping his arm like a hawk with a hare. Without her cane, she moved tenderly. Either that, or she feared falling and pulling him to the ground.
He thought of suggesting she take back her cane, but held off. Instead, he continued to hold both her cane and the knife.
When they reached the front door, he used his foot to kick at it. Almost immediately, Carmichael opened the heavy oak door, his eyes grew large with surprise. Not the expected end to the evening, Newcastle would wager.
“Send for a doctor,” Lady Abigail said with a commanding voice that would have made Thompson proud. “His Lordship has been wounded,” she added for emphasis.
Newcastle had to give the butler credit. He quickly began issuing orders as a dozen different servants jumped to his demands. Then the man turned and led them to the parlor.
“I will inform his Grace,” Carmichael said as he turned for the door.
“Not yet,” Newcastle told the butler. “He needs his rest. I will see him after the Doctor sews it shut.”
The butler hesitated then nodded. He had started to leave once again when the door was pushed open by Thompson, his brow furrowed with pure anger.
The sailor scanned the room, taking in Lady Abigail and her hands holding his arm together.
“What you done now, Capt’n?” Thompson said. “I swear, I can’t leave you alone for nothen. You do have a habit of finding trouble.”
Lady Abigail’s eyes narrowed. As if she were going to admonish the man. But the sailor smiled at her then nodded down at her hands holding the wound. “You’re doing a good job miss, you hold him tight till the sawbones shows up. No need to put more blood on the deck than necessary.”
Newcastle almost laughed. Lady Abigail was confused and taken aback. He was willing to wager that was a rare occurrence.
“In the meantime,” Thompson said, “You twos sit over there on that nice couch before the Capt’n gets wobbly.”
Newcastle handed Thompson the knife and cane, then let Abigail lead him to the settee.
Thompson nodded, studied Lady Abigail for a moment, then shot him a strange look before shaking his head.
“I’ll make sure they’re up and doing,” Thompson said as he started for the door. Reaching it, he turned back and shook his head again, then left, muttering something about a man finding more than one kind of trouble at the same time.
Chapter Eleven
Abigail had to turn away as the doctor pulled the thread through the skin of Lord Newcastle’s arm. He had removed his fine coat. The sleeve had been sliced from mid-forearm to his elbow. The man in question looked down and watched the doctor do his job as if he was ready to correct the physician if he made an error.
Her heart continued to race. It hadn’t slowed since the moment she had seen those two men attacking Lord Newcastle. One moment, she was traveling through the night, the curtain pulled back to let in fresh air. Her mind lost in thoughts about this very man. The next moment, there he was, fighting for his life.
Tall, strong, and surprisingly fast. He had dispatched the two attackers as quickly as a terrier with a pair of rats. It was enough to make any woman’s heart race with fear and admiration.
Then, to see him wounded. She wondered if she would ever forget the terror that had shot through her body. After that, it was as if her mind had disappeared and her body took over. Doing what needed to be done without thinking about it.
“Here, My Lady,” a maid said as she placed a basin of water and several towels on a side table.
Abigail frowned as she tried to understand, then looked down at her own hands and gasped. They were covered with Lord Newcastle’s blood. At some point, she had removed her gloves, but the memory was lost in the chaos of the night. They must still be in the carriage.
For the first time, she realized what had happened. She noticed that the lace edging her cuffs were turned red. In fact, wide swaths of both her gown and coat were covered in rusty brown blood.
The gown and her coat were ruined, she realized. She had so few fine clothes, it was a shame. A sense of guilt flashed through her. Lord Newcastle had almost been killed and here she was worried about a gown and coat and possible misplaced gloves.
“Thank you,” she said to the maid as she dipped her hands in the cold water and began to scrub.
“Don’t go anywhere, Margaret,” Lord Newcastle said to the maid. “I will want you to accompany Lady Dupont home. You too, Thompson.”
“There is no need, My Lord,” Abigail said, “I am perfectly …”
“Please,” he said as he looked up from the doctor’s work. “Humor a wounded man. Either that or I will have to escort you myself and it has been a rather trying evening.”
Abigail swallowed before she nodded her acceptance of his plan. It would place his mind at rest.
“Why did those men attack you?” she asked as her curiosity flared inside of her. She would never forget pulling the curtain back and seeing Lord Newcastle walking by the park. Even in the silvery moonlight. She would know those shoulders anywhere. It wasn’t only that, but the way he walked. Like a large lion, strong, confident.
Then, from nowhere, two men stepped from the bushes to attack him. She remembered screaming for the coachman to stop. By the time he had pulled the horses to a halt and she was out the door, he had already dispatched his attackers.
Remarkable, truly. The memory refused to leave her mind. Over and over she watched it unfold, again and again.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Lord Newcastle said, interrupting her thoughts.
Abigail turned to see the doctor putting away his instruments in a leather bag. Lord Newcastle was looking down, examining the bandage wrapped around his arm.
The Doctor gave him a quick smile then left, Lord Newcastle turned to the maid Margaret and his Mr. Thompson. “Please leave us,” he said to them. “Lady Abigail will be out momentarily.”
Abigail’s stomach fluttered when she looked up to find Lord Newcastle staring intently at her. He stood up once the servants had departed. He approached and took both of her hands.,
“Are you all right?” he asked her. “I know tonight must have been a bit of a shock.”
His obvious concern twisted her stomach into a tight knot.
“Yes, My Lord,” she was able to answer.
“Jack,” he said with a sweet smile. “Please call me Jack. After tonight, it seems only appropriate.”
It was the
smile that tore at her. That look of shared experience. No longer could she hold herself above everything that had happened that night. A sense of guilt and relief engulfed her like a waterfall of pure emotion. A strong shudder traveled through her as she bit her lip to stop from crying.
“Here,” he said as he pulled her into his arms, holding her head against his chest. The tears erupted as she hung onto him as if he were a rock in a raging storm.
“I … was so … afraid,” she choked out between sobs.
“Let it out,” he said as his hand rubbed her back. “You are safe now.”
Her sobs halted for a moment as she looked up through bleary eyes. “I was never in danger. But you…”
He smiled down and placed her head against his solid chest. “It is behind us.”
Abigail sighed heavily as she sank into his warm embrace. The sense of safety was delicious. As if the world’s problems could be kept at bay. Oh, to feel this way each and every day. The thought reminded her of her situation. The ache in her leg emphasized the point.
She was a woman who would never be loved by a man such as this. Even now, in his arms, she still held her cane. Pity! That was the only emotion she could ever expect. A woman who would never know what it was like to be loved. The thought sent a shaft of pain to her heart.
“Thank you, My … Jack,” she said as she pushed herself away from the one place she wanted to be. Wiping her eyes, she felt her cheeks grow warm with a blush as she realized what a fool she had made of herself. Crying all over the man. What must he think?
He stared down at her with tender eyes and lifted her chin so that she could see how important what he was about to say would be to her. “Tonight. When you are trying to sleep and failing miserably. You will go over every action. Every thought and decision.”
She nodded, fighting to hold back the tears.
“When you do, you must promise me that you will remember that you acted with intelligence, bravery, and most importantly, honor. You didn’t run away. You ran towards the battle like a true warrior. You should be proud of yourself. I know I am.”
A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Page 7
