Chapter 26 #2
“And me,” McCormick, who’d obviously deserted his game, said on Eamon’s other side.
“You are a pack of nobodies,” Rudyard scoffed.
The man who’d expressed shocked disapproval at Rudyard’s nasty comments about Caro moved to Rudyard’s shoulder. “Have a care. That’s Lord Dominick Wolfe. Hardly a nobody. And Stone’s a dead shot.”
“Name your seconds, Berridge,” Wolfe said. “And we’ll arrange the meeting. But know that if Stone decides not to waste powder on you, I’ll shoot you myself.”
Eamon warmed at Wolfe’s offer, but he continued to regard Rudyard with a firm stare.
“Of course you need your friends to fight for you,” Rudyard said nervously. “How convenient for you, Stone. I heard you were honored for your bravery at Waterloo, but that was all balderdash, wasn’t it?”
This was as close as Rudyard could come to calling Eamon a coward without actually saying the word. He must enjoy teetering on the edge.
“I suppose you will find out when we meet,” Eamon said in a mild tone. “It is bad form to continue to speak about it. I issued the challenge, and you will answer it. Our seconds will discuss it from now on.”
Eamon deliberately turned his back on Rudyard and without haste strolled away, leaving Wolfe and McCormick to close in front of Rudyard.
The Viking’s voice rose above the sudden swell of conversation. “Swine,” he bellowed at Rudyard. “How dare you call my friend a coward?”
The sound of fist meeting flesh echoed, and Rudyard grunted. Eamon reached the fray in time to see the Viking pull back his massive fist and plant another blow on Rudyard’s face. Blood streaked Rudyard’s skin, and the man cried out in pain.
The Viking took a step back, still furious, but he made no other exertion. Rudyard wiped his face, blood staining his glove.
Just as the surrounding men relaxed, deciding the brawl was finished, Rudyard launched himself at the Viking. Both Eamon and Wolfe blocked him.
“Enough,” Eamon said in a commanding tone.
Rudyard surged forward, mindless rage propelling him. He kicked Wolfe in his bad leg, and Wolfe cursed, stumbling. He managed to pound Rudyard once in the jaw before half-collapsing.
McCormick took Wolfe’s place. McCormick grinned at Rudyard, a bad sign. McCormick was at his most deadly when he smiled at his enemy.
Rudyard swung at Eamon. McCormick got in front of him, deftly intercepting the blow and returning one of his own. Rudyard snarled, spitting blood, but continued to flail.
Eamon wound an arm under Rudyard’s and around the back of his neck, locking him in a hard grip.
“Time you were gone.” Eamon half dragged, half carried Rudyard through the parting crowd and out of the game room. Rudyard’s coterie seemed to have deserted him, none coming to his aid.
The Viking and a dozen others followed, McCormick assisting Wolfe. When they reached the front hall, Rudyard struggled anew, but Eamon propelled him to the front door, with Viking and the others surging with them.
The beefy man who guarded the entrance sprang forward and opened the door.
“Not only is Berridge craven, but he owes me a packet,” the Viking boomed. “I gave him scads of cash to invest in this canal scheme of his months and months ago. He assured me it would pay out handsomely in only weeks, and others have had plenty back from him. But not me. So where is my blunt, eh?”
Rudyard, in Eamon’s headlock, could only splutter.
“I invested with him too,” another tightly angry voice came. “What have I to show for it? Not a sausage.”
“He’s cheating us,” the Viking declared.
“He is indeed,” another man said coldly. “I’ve been after him for months to show me his returns, and he puts me off. I’ll see you in court, Berridge.”
“Or we could beat it out of him now,” the Viking suggested eagerly. Eamon reflected that the man had not changed one whit from their Hallbridge days.
Others joined in the call for Rudyard’s blood.
Rudyard yelped and turned pleading eyes to Eamon. “For God’s sake, Stone. They’ll kill me.”
They might, indeed. These gentlemen were angry, and the Viking was a strong man who could deal out a great amount of pain without realizing it. That likely hadn’t changed from his school days either.
“McCormick,” Eamon commanded. “Hackney.”
McCormick released Wolfe—who was arguing that he could stand by himself, blast you—to whistle and wave at a black carriage in the square.
Eamon dragged Rudyard to the hackney that lumbered toward them, and McCormick yanked open its door.
“I’d leave the country,” Eamon advised as he bundled Rudyard inside. “Even if these gentlemen don’t kill you, they’ll blacken your name and bring suit against you. You’ve ruined yourself, Berridge. Time to go.”
Rudyard landed on the seat, blood, mucus, and tears on his face. “This is your doing, Stone.”
“Actually, no, you did this on your own.” Eamon wrenched a small bag from his pocket, which clinked as he pressed it into Rudyard’s hand. “I mean leave the country now. Tonight. There’s enough there to pay an unscrupulous ship’s mate for a crossing.”
As Rudyard stared at the bag with incomprehension, Eamon climbed into the coach himself. The coachman, thinking Eamon was another fare, started off, the open door banging.
McCormick slammed the door for them, waving them off. Eamon plunked to the opposite seat from Rudyard and shouted a direction at the driver through the hatch in the roof. Wheels skidded on cobblestones as the coachman steered them into Pall Mall and headed east.
“You’re coming with me?” Rudyard asked in a tremulous voice.
“Only as far as the London docks. To make certain you get on a ship.”
“I can’t leave England,” Rudyard bleated. “I’m a duke’s grandson. My cousin’s heir. You’ll steal him from me, beguiling him and his mother.”
Eamon shook his head. “Leo’s an amiable chap.
I imagine he’ll set up some sort of allowance for you, even if the rest of the world advises him to cut you entirely.
” He leaned to Rudyard, forcing the man to meet his gaze.
“And if anything happens to Leo—an assassin in the dark, a hunting accident, if he even so much as skins his knee—I will come after you, and I will end you. Make no mistake about it.”
Fear flared anew in Rudyard’s eyes. “You can’t. You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. As that fellow in the Nines told you, I’m a dead shot. I’m also very good with knives.”
“You’d hang.” Rudyard’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“As long as I have my revenge, I won’t mind. And who knows? A magistrate might think me justified. But know that I will protect Leo and Caro from you with everything I have. You will be out of their lives. For good.”
Rudyard listened with his jaw slack. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Eamon sat back. “You did it to yourself, Berridge. Cheated people, juggled their money to make the influential believe you honest while you skimmed off the rest. Did the money run out? Is that why you want the dukedom—you thought it would protect you from the men you swindled? Trust me, you can’t outrun your confidence tricks forever.
You’ll have to flee sooner or later. You might as well flee tonight. ”
Rudyard stared. “How do you know all this?”
“I know a great deal about you,” Eamon said with finality. “I make it my business to learn all I can about people, always have. Now, I am tired of talking to you. Let us enjoy the remainder of the journey in companionable silence.”
Rudyard continued to gape, so Eamon gazed out of the window, pretending he could discern things among the smudgy fog, made opaque by the coach lights.
He half expected Rudyard to leap out of the carriage or maybe attack Eamon, and Eamon readied himself to forestall him, but Rudyard only sat like a lump. Fear had at last penetrated his arrogance.
For now, anyway. Rudyard would likely try to wriggle out of his fraud when he was safely in France or Italy and attempt to return to England with vengeance on his mind.
However, Eamon knew plenty of people throughout the Continent, thanks to his father’s travels.
While Sir Benedict had left distrustful acquaintances behind, Eamon had made many friends.
One of them was the captain’s mate on a ship loading at the London docks. Eamon had alerted the man through Sam Noble, and had met up with him the other morning, asking him to be ready. Eamon had planned this departure for tomorrow but tonight would serve as well.
When the hackney halted, Eamon stepped down and whistled a signal. Several burly men appeared out of the fog to haul Rudyard from the hackney and toward the gangway of the small ship, which sailed for Amsterdam in the morning.
“All right, Stone?” the mate joined Eamon on the dock amid the swirling activity, while Rudyard limped up the wooden gangplank between men not about to let him go.
“I am now.” Eamon couldn’t stop a grin. “When you’re next in port, I’ll thank you properly. You won’t pay for a drink for your entire shore leave.”
The mate chortled. “You’ve done me plenty of favors over the years, including my post on this ship. Captain is a reasonable man.”
“You deserved it,” Eamon said warmly. “You kept ruffians from beating a frightened lad senseless in this very dockyard. I’d have been dead or maimed for life if you hadn’t happened along.”
“You’d have talked your way free if I hadn’t,” the mate said with an answering grin. “You have the gift, Stone.”
“When your jaw is half broken, speech does no good.” Eamon touched his face, recalling how blood had filled his mouth when the older, tougher boys had wanted to teach him who ruled the docks. “Your rescue was timely.”
“That may be.” The mate held out his hand. “Well met, once again.”
“And you, sir.” Eamon accepted the firm handshake. “Make certain Berridge doesn’t fall overboard. He’s an idiot, but I think his best punishment will be having to live with himself.”
The mate’s eyes twinkled as he released Eamon from his grip. “He might be a bit sick on the crossing, though.”
“That, I don’t mind.” Eamon turned up the collar of his coat against the damp. He’d come away without his greatcoat or hat, and the night had turned wet and smelly, especially along the river. “Until next time, my friend.”
“Get yourself indoors,” the mate advised. “It will be a foul night.”
“I think it’s beautiful.” Eamon scanned the thick fog, into which the masts of the merchant ships disappeared.
“A splendid evening, one of the most splendid I’ve seen in my life.
” He laughed at the mate’s incredulous look.
“I’m in love, sir. With a beautiful woman who just might love me in return.
Life is sweet, and all the world walks in beauty. ”
The mate shook his head. “Well, you’re lost, ain’t you? Good night, Stone. God keep you.”
“And you.” Eamon sketched a salute, then turned and strode, whistling, into the fog, toward the waiting hackney.
Caro leaned back in the desk chair, surrounded by Leopold’s books and papers in his old study on the third floor. She rarely came into this room, finding reminders of her brief but contented time with Leopold too painful.
She’d been fond of Leopold for his kindness and quiet affection, for his love of books, and the art he liked to gaze at. For the amusing way he’d shield her from the nude statuettes they happened to pass. For his pride in Leo the few years he’d been able to know his son.
What Caro felt for Eamon was different but did not diminish her tenderness for Leopold. He’d had a special place in her life, one she’d never regret. How could she, when Leopold had unashamedly loved Caro and given her Leo, her greatest joy?
Now Eamon, out of the deep kindness he tried to hide from the world, had provided Caro with some means of helping Leo resolve his father’s debts and start him on a path to do great things. Hence, Caro’s morning spent looking through Leopold’s desk.
Most of the estate’s bills were with Leo’s man of business, who was now busily paying them with proceeds from the sold Rembrandt. But Leopold had kept other vowels here, personal debts to friends or bills for indulgences such as little gifts for Caro or Leo.
Caro was determined to have their man of business repay these debts as well. Leopold’s friends had mostly been understanding about them—they’d lent the money to Leopold out of affection for him in the first place, as they knew how feckless he could be.
Caro did not wish Leo to be obliged to these friends in any way, so he could begin life free of worry. Many aristocrats lived awash in debt, but Caro’s simpler upbringing had taught her that being beholden to no one was a more comfortable way to exist.
She sighed and continued to leaf through the ledger before her, noting that Leopold had marked a page of unpaid debts with a loose piece of paper. An old piece, Caro realized as she touched it.
No, not paper, her fingers told her, as her heart beat faster.
Vellum.
Caro turned the sheet over, and wonder met her eyes.