Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MARJORIE WOKE WHEN someone came into the stables. She heard a male voice, talking in soothing tones to a horse.
She peered out from the blanket as the shadow of a man, leading his horse, came closer to her stall.
“Well, girl, here’s a lovely empty stall for you,” said the man. “Pity there seem to be no servants here to see to you. I wonder if we’ll have to hire a whole new passel of them. Going to end up a bloody expense, after all, even if I did win this place in cards.”
Lilsbin.
She pulled the blanket up over her head. Maybe he wouldn’t see her, maybe he—
“What’s this?”
She could hear him coming closer. She seized the hammer, waiting, waiting…
He pulled the blanket from her face.
She struck.
He shrieked like a wounded child, cartwheeling backward, hand to his chest, which was where she had apparently hit him.
Damn it to hell, I meant to get his face! she thought, getting to her feet, brandishing the hammer.
She hurled herself at him, swinging the hammer again.
He caught her arm.
She cried out.
He wrenched her arm around her back, and she had already been hurt so many times, and this was a new fresh pain, and she let out a whimper, wounded, broken.
She tried to struggle.
But he was strong, and she was tired and weakened and bruised and hurt.
“Drop it,” he growled. He squeezed her wrist so hard that she gasped.
She dropped the hammer.
He pulled her in close.
She struggled, fighting to hit him, to scratch him, anything.
He pinned her arms down.
Bested, she spat in his face.
He panted. “What are you?”
She laughed, high and wild and maniacal.
He dragged her out of the stall, past the horse, who was blowing noisy air through its nostrils, and the other horses were antsy as well. He muttered about having to leave the horse without tying it up or securing it and a string of swear words, but he forced her out of the stable, shutting the door closed behind him, shutting the horse inside.
“We’re going to the house,” he said.
“Let go of me,” she seethed, refusing to move with him.
He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
She gave one last struggle, but when it made no difference, she simply hung there limply, as he trudged up towards the house.
LILSBIN DROPPED HER in a heap just inside the doorway. “Hello?” he yelled into the house.
There was no answer.
“Is there anyone in this place?” he bellowed, stalking further inside.
Marjorie rolled over and tried to sit up.
He rounded on her. “I see you.” He looked her over. “You are her, aren’t you? Miss Bare-it-all Adams, in the flesh. You’ve gone feral out here, haven’t you? This is what happens when women don’t have the strong hand of a male influence in their lives.” He tsked in disapproval.
One of her footmen appeared, coming down the hallway, his wig askew, his clothes in disarray.
“Oh,” said Lilsbin, “so there are servants in the house.”
“The comte locked us all up in a room in the back of the place, sir,” said the footman. “He said we could come out when he was well and truly away from the place, but we were all too afraid to venture out. Then, when we heard you, I volunteered to go and investigate.” He looked at Marjorie. “Ma’am? You don’t look well.”
“The comte,” said Lilsbin. “That’s Champeraigne? And he’s gone?”
“Yes, sir,” said the footman. “He has the Duke of Arthford in a closet, tied up and gagged. We have been afraid to come out and see to him, but he’s wounded.”
Marjorie stood up. “Simon is here? Who went for Simon?”
“He just came,” said the footman. “The comte wasn’t pleased. Tried to run him through.”
“Simon,” repeated Lilsbin, eyeing her. “You are very familiar with the Duke of Arthford.” He raised his eyebrows. “But then, you are that way , are you not? I’m sure you’re familiar with a number of men.”
She sneered at him.
Lilsbin touched his chest. He was bleeding from where she’d gotten him with the hammer. He grimaced. “All right, this is all madness. This is my house now, and I want everyone to gather together in one room. Where would be most appropriate?” He nodded at the footman. “Is there a sitting room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then show us there immediately, and then go to the servants and bring them, and also the Duke of Arthford, and we shall sort through this mess.” Lilsbin let out a shaky breath. “God in heaven,” he muttered.
“Very good, sir,” said the footman. He nodded. “This way, then.”
Marjorie was reeling. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, and she didn’t like, not at all, that Arthford was here, sailing in to rescue her, even though… I am really doing a rather terrible job of rescuing myself, am I not?
“You first, madam,” said Lilsbin, gesturing with mock gallantry.
She hobbled past him and tried to catch up to the footman. Maybe she could tell him to bring guns or to—
“No talking to the servant!” Lilsbin shouted. He caught up to her and seized her by the arm, the one he’d wrenched.
She cried out again.
He let go of her. He swore under his breath. “What happened to you?”
“ Monsieur le comte happened,” she said bitterly.
“I knew better than to get into anything with that man,” said Lilsbin. “And you, you’re certainly no prize. What have I gotten myself into?”
“Oh, the comte wants you dead,” she said brightly.
Lilsbin’s eyes widened. “What have I ever done to Comte Champeraigne?”
They came to the sitting room presently.
The footman left them in there.
She couldn’t help herself. She stumbled over to the nearest chair and sat down heavily in it. Everything hurt. She let out a little moan.
Lilsbin paced. “Why?”
“Why what?” she said.
“Why would he want me dead?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell me that part,” she said. “You were supposed to rape me first. Hopefully, I’m sufficiently unappealing now, though?”
He swallowed. “Yes, well, he painted you differently than you are. Made it seem as if you welcomed that sort of thing.” He resumed pacing.
Servants began to make their way into the room. There were only five of them all told, including the stable hands. They all lined up on one side of the room, clasping their hands behind their back, casting their gazes downward.
Finally, the footman brought Arthford into the room. He was wearing a jacket, no shirt beneath, and there was a bloody bit of fabric tied round his waist. He saw her, and his expression changed.
“Marjorie,” he breathed. He hurried over to her. “What happened to you? What did he do?”
She got up. “You need to sit down.”
“I’ll bleed all over your furniture,” he muttered. She made him sit on a couch anyway, shushing him. She sat down next to him. Damn it all. She took his hand in hers. She was going to start crying again.
Lilsbin came over and sat down across from them on another couch. “What in the blazes of hellfire is going on in this place?”
Arthford looked up at him. “What did you do to Marjorie?”
“What did I do to her? ” Lilsbin gestured meaningfully at the bloody place on his clothes. “She attacked me. With a damnable hammer. She tried to bash my face in.”
Arthford turned to her, smiling widely. “Of course she did,” he said affectionately. “That’s my Marjorie.”
She couldn’t help but smile back.
“Well, I suppose she thought I intended to do violence to her,” said Lilsbin. “So, I excuse it. But I’ve been lied to here. Now, I suppose it’s my own stupid fault for not realizing that anything that the Comte Champeraigne told me was even remotely connected to the truth. But I don’t know what is really happening. Would someone please enlighten me?”
“You never touched her?”
“Not like that, no,” said Lilsbin. “But I defended myself. She was trying to maim me.”
Arthford narrowed his eyes. “So, you hurt her?”
“I am bleeding ,” said Lilsbin.
“Well, so am I,” said Arthford. He looked around at the servants. “Everyone looks a bit worse for wear, in fact. And where is our illustrious comte? Fled the scene like a coward? Can’t say I’m entirely surprised.” He groaned. “All right, look, my lord, this is a bit complicated, so let me try to sum it up. Champeraigne has been, erm, extorting money from myself and my friends for a number of years, and we decided we would like to beat him at his own game. You, you see, have a certain reputation.”
“Reputation?” said Lilsbin.
“Yes, for unhinged jealousy of your wife,” said Arthford. “So, we thought, if it seemed as if Champeraigne had trespassed against your wife’s virtue, you’d be angry enough to, well, hurt him at least, but maybe worse. So, we arranged for your wife to go to Shropshire—”
“You arranged that?” said Lilsbin. “You and Nothshire, undoubtedly. Oh, yes, he was suddenly quite interested in being my closest friend and confidante. And you two are thick as thieves. So… no, that doesn’t explain anything, actually.”
“I said it was complicated,” said Arthford. “Anyway, we told Champeraigne that we had this threat to hold over his head, and so, he decided he must get rid of you.”
“Oh,” said Lilsbin. “So, why essentially gift me this house?”
“This house is not his,” said Arthford. “It’s hers.”
“Hers?”
“Well, I sort of bought it for her,” said Arthford. “We’re sort of… well, we were … that’s not important. What’s important is that Champeraigne knew that if I thought you’d hurt Marjorie, I would kill you. Except I don’t think I was supposed to show up yet. He intended to present Marjorie to you and then, I don’t know, maybe release her to come to me and tell me what had happened. He knew I’d hunt you down like a dog.”
“That’s… complicated,” said Lilsbin.
Arthford nodded. “But, you see, now here we all are, and no one has to kill anyone, right? Just leave, because you can’t have won Marjorie’s house from Champeraigne, because it wasn’t his to give. And we can put it all behind us.”
“I can’t leave. It’s the middle of the night.” Lilsbin huffed.
“All right, in the morning, then,” said Arthford.
Lilsbin leaned back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his face. “You know, I didn’t come all this way just for the chance to get between some woman’s thighs. That was not my motivation here. I thought I owned this house. I was coming to secure property.”
Marjorie scoffed.
“No, madam,” said Lilsbin, turning to her, his expression earnest. “I’m not the sort of man who really engages in all of that sort of thing. My wife is an angel . I was not intending to come here and have my way with you, not at all.” A pause. “Well, perhaps you’re a sort of curiosity, talked over the way you are, but I am not the sort of man who goes about forcing myself on women.”
“Every man is that sort of man,” said Marjorie wearily.
Arthford shot her a look, a sort of troubled look.
She rolled her eyes. “It seems to me that the real problem is the deed. Champeraigne forced me to sign it over to Lilsbin. He threatened me with bodily harm if I wouldn’t comply, and he threatened to harm my servants. I had no choice. Where is the deed?” She turned to look at the servants. “We were in this room when I did it, but he folded it up as soon as the ink was dry and put in inside his jacket pocket. Do we think he took it?”
Arthford groaned. “Oh, that’s just like him, if so.”
Lilsbin tilted his head to one side. “So, I’m on the deed.”
“You can’t think that will hold in the court of law,” said Arthford. “If you attempt to stake a claim on this place, it will be stricken.”
Marjorie wasn’t sure about that. Who would testify against Champeraigne? If she did, would anyone believe her? Would Arthford even try, considering that Champeraigne had a way of manipulating his behavior?
“Yes, it sounds like a headache I’d rather avoid,” said Lilsbin. “And I have no real need of this place, nor did I really lose anything in the getting of it. So, all things considered, I shall relinquish any claim. But if the comte has the deed, and he wants me dead, I think I’d be quite foolish to go and try to get it from him.”
“True,” said Arthford. He sighed. “I shall get it from him.”
“You don’t seem in any shape to do that,” said Lilsbin, gesturing to Arthford’s wound.
“Well, I’m not saying I’ll go after him right this instant,” said Arthford, “but I’ll get this cleared up.”
“And then I’ll be in your debt again,” said Marjorie bitterly.
“No, no,” said Arthford. “Your association with me visited this upon you. All of this. No, I shall get the deed back and then find some way to get you entirely free of this tangle that is my life. I am wretchedly sorry, Marjorie.”
She sighed. “There will be time for all of that later, I suppose. We all need to tend to our wounds and to get some rest.” She glanced at the servants. “But you have all been through too much today to ask you to see to us, I think. I wouldn’t ask it. We shall see to ourselves, and you must all go directly to bed.”
“I’m hungry,” said Lilsbin in an even voice.
“We could go to Bluebelle Grange,” said Arthford. “It’s an hour and a half on horseback, so perhaps two hours by carriage. But my servants are chipper and not abused and there is food and drink and everything we might need.”
Marjorie swallowed. She didn’t wish to be rescued by Arthford. But she didn’t have the means to care for him herself, and he was bleeding. And she, shamefully, didn’t wish to be left alone.
“Fine,” said Lilsbin, standing up. “But I shall wish to dress my wound before we leave.”
“Yes,” said Marjorie to Arthford. “You’ll need tending.”
“You don’t need to do anything else,” said Arthford to her.
She looked into his eyes, and she was quiet for some time. Finally, what she said was, “I want to.” It was true. She cared about him.