Chapter Twelve #2
They burst in the door—there were three men.
The odds and the element of surprise were in their favor.
There were a few scuffles, and several punches were thrown, but Marcus had no intention of letting the fight run its course, not when Tessa was sitting tied to a chair in the middle of the room, in the path of the violence and unable to see or move.
“Stop!” He pulled out his pistols and fired one. The fighting stopped for an instant. Then one of the men made for the door, and Marcus fired the other pistol, wounding him in the leg and sending him sprawling.
His men moved to restrain the remaining kidnappers.
Flynn produced a small, wicked-looking knife from somewhere and handed it to Marcus, saying. “Cut the ropes.”
Marcus took it, first drawing the bag carefully over her head, murmuring, “Don’t worry, it’s me, Marcus.”
Incredibly, she laughed. “I knew as soon as you spoke. I knew you’d come for me.”
Her trust in him humbled him. He’d had no idea what to do. If it hadn’t been for young Joey’s heroism . . .
“Can you stand?” She tried and wobbled and fell back. “My legs are numb,” she said rubbing them. “The ropes were so tight, I lost all feeling in them. And now it’s all pins and needles.”
“Ow, ow, that hurts!” a voice wailed. The two uninjured men were now trussed like fowls, and Flynn was standing over them wielding an even more wicked looking knife. “Now talk,” he growled. “Who’s behind this?”
Both men, clearly too frightened to talk, just shook their heads. But their eyes wandered to the wounded man who was moaning and wailing. The meaning was clear. He was the ringleader.
Flynn strode over and bent to examine the wound. “Barely even a scratch,” he said in disgust. “Big fuss about nothing. You’re lucky ‘is lordship missed killin’ you.”
“I didn’t aim to kill,” Marcus said coldly. He was an excellent shot and though he could happily have slaughtered the lot of them, he had no intention of having his wedding tied up because of legal nonsense. If Tessa had been hurt—or worse—it would have been a different matter.
“Take them all to Radcliffe. He’ll know what to do with them.” Sims and Jackson pulled the two bound the men to their feet. Flynn dragged their leader to his feet and dumped him on a chair.
A sharp whistle spilt the air and an instant later the door burst open and five men rushed in. Two of them were pointing pistols.
Marcus cursed. He’d discharged both his pistols.
One of the men was very elegantly dressed—in other circumstances Marcus would have called him a dandy. Of middle height he was dressed in the first stare of fashion, his thinning hair brushed à la Brutus and lavishly pomaded.
“Freeze,” he announced almost languidly and of course, Marcus and his men had to obey. They were outnumbered and outgunned. Again, Marcus cursed himself for not getting them all out of there sooner.
“Dear me, what a to-do,” the languid man murmured in a faint Cockney accent.
He strolled into the room, raised a quizzing glass and surveyed them dispassionately. “Oliver Greeling at your service,” he said to Marcus and bowed mockingly. Despite the thin veneer of gentility, he had the coldest eyes Marcus had ever seen.
One of the notorious Greelings. Marcus’s heart sank. This was a case of thieves—or kidnappers—falling out.
Marcus pushed Tessa onto the chair and stepped in front of her, putting himself between her and the Greeling brothers.
Greeling eyed Marcus with a cynical expression, but his real attention was on the kidnappers, one in particular; the wounded one who Flynn had dumped on a chair. “And this sorry specimen is my little brother Albert.”
Now that Marcus looked, he could see a distinct resemblance.
Sliding his pistol in his pocket the elder Greeling sauntered over, bent over the wounded man and examined his wound through his quizzing glass.
Albert Greeling sat up eagerly. “Ollie, I’m glad you came. We can get the money out of—ow!” Oliver Greeling gave his little brother a backhander, hard across the face.
Marcus blinked. He and Flynn exchanged glances. What was going on?
“That’s from Muvver,” Greeling the elder said calmly. “And this is from me.” He punched him hard in the face. Blood trickled from Albert’s nose.
Through Albert’s sniffles he managed to say, “But Ollie, din’t you see the notice in the papers? We can’t find Blaxland, but ‘is sister’s marryin’ a rich lord. That’s him over there.” He jerked his head toward Marcus. “He can pay—Ow!” Another hard slap.
Edgar Blaxland’s debts, Marcus thought. Of course. It all made sense now.
The older Greeling continued, “And that’s just for starters. You know why Muvver is angry with you, don’t you?”
The man nodded and mumbled something incoherent, sounding whiny and aggrieved. Marcus realized Albert was quite young, perhaps twenty or twenty-one.
“Speak up!”
“I know,” the young man said sulkily. “But—Ow!”
“No buts.”
Marcus watched with a sense of disbelief. This was bizarre. He glanced at Flynn to see if he was following. Flynn gave an infinitesimal nod and indicated one of the men holding a gun. He would tackle that one, while Marcus took down the leader. And Jackson and Sims would do their bit.
“Greelings don’t hurt ladies, isn’t that what Muvver has told us, over and over all our lives?”
“Yeah, I know, but—Ow!” Albert whined as his brother slapped him again.
“No. Buts. An’ despite that rule—which you’ve known all your life—you harmed this poor lady.” He gestured at Tessa, waited a moment, gave his brother another hard backhander and said, “Din’t you?”
“Yes,” the young man mumbled. “But not very mu—ow!”
“Worse,” his brother continued. “You kidnapped her without the family’s permission—not from me, not from Muvver—taking it upon yourself to decide what to do about Blaxland’s debts.”
“Well, how else can we—?” He was stopped with another slap.
The elegant Greeling brother turned to face Tessa and Marcus. Marcus braced himself for action.
Greeling bowed gracefully. “Please accept our apologies, Lady Hewitt, Lord Alverleigh. My little brother overstepped his authority.”
All at sea now, Marcus waited.
“We Greelings don’t make war on ladies.” He turned back to his brother and snarled, “Lady Hewitt was Blaxland’s victim too! Idiot!”
He turned back to Tessa. “Lady Hewitt, my mother was most distressed to hear you had been kidnapped by her youngest son. I hope he wasn’t too rough. Please accept our most sincere apologies. You may leave.”
Marcus blinked. Tessa gave him a doubtful look, put a hand on his arm, then rose and looked at Greeling. “What are you going to do about my brother’s debts to you? Forgive them?”
Marcus gave her a sidelong look. “Don’t argue, just go,” he murmured and tried to usher her out.
She refused to move.
Oliver Greeling snorted. “We Greelings never forgive a debt,” he said smoothly. “As I understand it, your fiancé here had your brother smuggled out of the country. America, was it not m’lord? Boston?” he said to Marcus. Beside him, he heard Tessa gasp.
Greeling added, “Or should I ask these two fellows who loaded him, trussed like a chicken, onto the ship?” He indicated Jackson and Sims.
Marcus inclined his head slightly. Radcliffe hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the Greelings’ eyes were everywhere.
“Then how do you intend to get the money?” Tessa persisted.
“That’s my little brother’s responsibility now.”
“What?” Albert, who had busied himself wiping blood off his face, looked up at his brother.
“How am I supposed to get it from Blaxland, or even make a lesson of him when he’s in America?
Breaking his legs is only good for frightening others, and nobody will even know about it if he’s on the other side of the world. ”
“That’s your problem, little brother. You’re sailing for Boston on tomorrow’s tide.”
“What? No, I’m not! All the way to America? I won’t go! Does Muvver know about this? Because—”
“Muvver made the arrangements,” his older brother said silkily. Albert paled and reeled back in shock. His brother continued, “You wished to act independently of the family? Here’s your chance. Once you have recovered the debt, you may return to England. But not before. Take him out, boys.”
Two of Greeling’s henchmen grabbed the protesting young man and dragged him out, struggling and yelling and pleading with his brother. One of them glanced at the older Greeling, who nodded. A swift thump to the head and the yells and struggles stopped abruptly. They carried his insensible body out.
“Please don’t be distressed, my lady,” Greeling said smoothly.
“He will recover when he’s aboard the ship.
Again, my mother sends her apologies for your distress and inconvenience.
We Greelings do not harm ladies, and you are not responsible for your brother’s debts.
You and your husband-to-be will not be bothered by us again.
My felicitations on your upcoming marriage.
” With another elegant bow, he and his entourage left.
There was a short, shocked silence in the room.
“Well! That’s a rum do if ever I saw one.” Flynn said eventually. “I was gettin’ ready for another fight.” He cracked his knuckles.
Marcus nodded. “A smooth and slippery rogue, and a totally unexpected outcome.”
“Do you think he meant it?” Tessa asked. “That he won’t bother us again?”
“Bizarrely, I think he does,” Marcus said.
“And if he doesn’t,” Flynn said with a grin, “‘Muvver’ will give him what for!”
Marcus slipped his arm around Tessa’s waist. “Are you all right to walk?”
She nodded. “The pins and needles have quite gone.”
“Then let’s go home,” he said, tightening his embrace. She was safe. It was all that mattered.
“Can I come out now?” a little voice said. From a dingy corner of the room a small figure stepped out from behind a pile of broken furniture.
“I told you to stay outside,” Marcus growled.