Chapter 17
Seventeen
Davenport took another step into the entrance hall and slowly closed the front door. “Lay the documents on the side table, then step away from Lady Caroline.”
Farrington hesitated, his eyes darting up from the floor to all of the avenues of escape from the hallway.
A grim smile touched the earl’s lips. “Go ahead, you cowardly cur! I should welcome an excuse to pull the trigger, for unfortunately, my honor as a gentleman prevents me from shooting you in cold blood—though it is all you deserve.”
The other man ground his teeth, then reluctantly tossed the packet onto the polished wood. With a murderous look in his eye, he fell back a few paces from Caroline’s prostrate form.
Davenport slowly moved to the side table, his gaze riveted on the duke’s traitorous secretary.
He took up the slim oilskin square and tucked it into the bosom of his shirt.
Another few strides brought him to Caroline’s side.
Crouching down, he gently slipped an arm under her shoulder and raised her head, his pistol never wavering in its aim at the other man’s chest.
“What a charming pair,” sneered Farrington. “The ton shall no doubt find the acquaintance a fascinating topic for gossip. But for now, let us be done with the touching charade. How much do you want?”
His face relaxed slightly as he began to feel on familiar ground. “I imagine you’re here because it suddenly occurred to you that the possibilities for blackmail are rather limitless.” An evil grin. “How much has she paid you already? I assure you, I’m in a position to offer you more—much more.”
He patted a hand to his pocket. “Think on it—you will have plenty of blunt right away, with none of the wait or the tedium of extracting regular payments. But you must decide quickly.”
A muscle twitched on the earl’s face as he made no effort to hide his contempt. “On second thought, perhaps you’ve given me more than ample reason for ridding the world of your scurvy presence.”
Farrington blinked in confusion, as if wondering whether he was dealing with a madman. A slight sheen of sweat began to form at his temples.
Brows furrowing, he tried another tack. “Ah, a canny bargainer, I see. You impress me, sir. Your reputation would not lead one to think you so clever.” There was an exaggerated pause to let the compliment sink in. “I admit it, you hold the upper hand. What else do you want?”
Davenport merely stared at him.
“Come, man! Name your price!” There was a note of rising panic in the man’s voice, as well as disbelief.
Still no answer, just lips curled in loathing. When finally Davenport did speak, it was in a low, gentle murmur, too soft for any ears but Caroline’s to hear, as he sought to bring her around. Though his words were for her only, his eyes still remained riveted on the traitor.
Farrington had by now worked himself into a veritable rage. To Davenport, it seemed that the traitor’s face was now the spitting image of the Devil incarnate.
Sputtering foul invectives, Farrington fisted his hand and took a convulsive step toward the earl.
A gesture of the pistol caused him to reconsider. But even standing still, he remained quivering with impotent fury.
Davenport found himself wondering whether the man’s next move would cause him to pull the trigger and whether he would truly feel as little compunction at ending a human life as he did now.
The answer, however, would remain a mystery, as the front door suddenly flew open.
Farrington quickly clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Your Grace!” he cried, with little need to feign a tone of fervent relief. “Thank heavens you’ve arrived! We are saved!”
Indeed, the Duke of Cheviot had entered the house, caped greatcoat flung back to allow full aim for the brace of long-barreled pistols clutched in his hands. His thunderous look became even darker at his taking in the scene in front of him.
The duke’s secretary hesitated not a whit in taking hold of the opportunity the fates had so fortuitously dropped in his grasp. He pointed accusingly at the disheveled earl.
“I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t—he fought me off.
” Farrington touched at the ugly red marks scarring his cheeks for emphasis.
“He attacked Lady Caroline, the cur, and was just now going to…” He contrived to falter quite convincingly, as if the thought of what might have happened to the young lady was too much to bear.
“He took something from her jacket. It’s hidden inside his shirt. ”
The duke stalked over to the earl. His boot lashed out, knocking the pistol from Davenport’s unresisting hand.
“Put my daughter down, very slowly, then get up. If you have harmed…”
“She has taken a knock to the head, but her pulse is strong and her breathing is normal. I trust she will awaken with nought but a sore brow.” He laid her gently down on the floor and stripped off his jacket to tuck under her head.
Then he did as he was ordered, all the while trying to place the newcomer’s. The man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall the name. The rank, however, was clear.
He shook his head. A duke. Caroline didn’t do things by half.
Carolie’s father was barely able to contain his rage.
“By Jove, I recognize you,” he exclaimed, his mouth quirking in disgust. “An earl, no less. I know quite well what a worthless reprobate you are, but a traitor to your class and your country as well? I should throttle your worthless neck here and now.” And he looked quite capable of carrying out the deed, if only his hands weren’t fully occupied.
Farrington began to sidle toward the door. “I shall fetch an armed guard and notify Whitehall of what is happening.”
Davenport’s expression remained inscrutable. “I suggest you keep your secretary from disappearing, Your Grace. When Lady Caroline recovers consciousness, you shall hear a very different tale from her lips. The traitor in this room is not I.”
“Liar,” spat Farrington. “Surely, you can’t begin to believe such outrageous slander as that, sir. Not after my years of loyal service.”
That was enough to bring a faint smile to the earl’s lips.
“And years of being privy to all the duke’s confidential matters as well.
How curious that you, of all people, should be here when Lady Caroline arrives to an empty house.
Pray, why don’t you explain where her uncle and the servants have gone? ”
A pause. “Oh, and while you are at it, how did you come by those nasty scratches on your face?” He regarded his own roughened hands, then calmly held them out for inspection.
“I’m afraid my nails are trimmed rather too short to inflict such damage.
It’s usually a lady’s hand that leaves such marks. ”
The duke frowned ever so slightly.
“I am perfectly content to wait here until you are satisfied with the answers,” went on Davenport. “Surely, your secretary should be as well. That is, if he is telling the truth.”
Farrington took another step in the direction of the heavy oak door.
“A moment, Farrington.”
“Your Grace, you can’t possibly believe the wild ravings of a desperate rogue,” exclaimed his secretary.
“We need to have him under lock and key as soon as possible. He’s a very dangerous man, capable of anything—murder as well as treason.
Indeed, he’s left a trail of dead men in his wake. Let us not risk any more. “
The duke still hesitated.
Farrington paled imperceptibly.
Fatigue had caused Davenport to lean against the tall case clock, arms crossed over his chest. He couldn’t help but grimace at the irony of the other man’s words.
“Trail of dead men,” he repeated. “Well, you should know about that. Lady Caroline and I have barely managed to avoid joining your other victims in journeying to the hereafter.”
After he shifted his weight, he removed the packet of papers from his shirt and gave it a long look before tossing it onto the side table.
“You should be extremely proud of your daughter, sir. I can’t imagine another woman—or man—with the courage and wits to endure what she has to bring this safely to your keeping. ”
Confusion clouded the duke’s face. The need for a reply was forestalled, however, by the clatter of more footsteps on the entrance stairs and the entrance of his nephew, who was out of breath and nearly as disheveled as the earl.
“Lucien!”
“I know you sent me on to Roxbury Manor, sir. But I met up with Darwin at the first posting inn. He told me Caro left days ago and what she had in mind. When he received no word of her safe arrival, he set out to search for—” His eyes caught sight of the body on the floor.
“Good heavens, who is the lad? What has happened here?”
“She has been struck—in the name of heaven, see that she is not seriously injured,” replied the duke.
Understanding dawned on Lucien’s face. He rushed to kneel by his cousin’s side and took her up in his arms. She stirred slightly.
“I think she is coming around,” he exclaimed
An audible sigh of relief came from the duke.
The viscount looked up, aware for the first time of the others in the room. He nodded a brief acknowledgement at Farrington, then started on seeing the earl.
“Why, halloo, Julian. What the devil are you doing here?”
Davenport rubbed wearily at the scar on his cheek. “Bloody hell, I should have guessed,” he muttered. “All those tales of a female cousin who could match any man at any exploit—we all thought you made up most of it to keep us entertained.” A harried laugh. “Well, you didn’t tell the half of it.”
Lucien managed a weak grin. “Ah, I take it that you met Caro when she was in possession of all her faculties?”
“You’re a friend of the Earl of Davenport?” interjected the duke. “Lucien, I gave you more credit than to have any sort of association with a man of his character.”
“But he’s not Davenport—”
“I’m afraid that I am,” said the earl.
“Oh.” Lucien made a face. “Did Charles stick his spoon in the wall?”
Davenport nodded. “Four months ago.”