Chapter 17 #2
There was a slight pause. “I can’t say that I’m sorry.”
“Nor can I.”
The duke had followed the exchange with increasing puzzlement. “What utter nonsense are you talking about, Lucien? I recognize the fellow—”
“Twins,” explained his nephew. “Julian isn’t the one who is—or was—a rake. And he most certainly isn’t the traitor we’re searching for. I’d stake my life on that.”
The discussion had diverted attention away from Farrington.
Well aware that his chances for escape were dwindling with every passing moment, he seized one last opportunity to turn disaster into triumph.
With catlike agility, he lunged at the duke, catching him off guard.
A hard shove sent him sprawling, the pistols flying from his grip and clattering across the floor.
Without missing a step, Farrington continued on, scooped up the packet of papers from the side table and raced for where the door stood half opened to the beckoning darkness of the night.
But all of a sudden, the tall mahogany clock came crashing down, catching Farrington on the shoulder and knocking him off stride. It slowed him down just enough for Davenport to catch hold of his coat.
A murderous curse echoed off the walls as Farrington found himself spun around just short of his only hope of escape.
As he spun, he swung his arm in a vicious slash.
Davenport had forgotten about the knife and echoed the other man’s obscenity as the blade cut a gash across his forearm.
Still, he hung on and dragged Farrington to a standstill, though the force of the blow had knocked him to his knees.
The knife came up again, light flashing off the razor-sharp edge.
Lucien, helpless with the weight of his cousin in his arms, cried out a warning.
“Oh, bloody hell,” muttered Davenport as he let go of Farrington’s coat and threw himself to one side.
Farrington’s desperate stab caught nothing but air. He tried to recover his balance, but the earl was already on his feet and coming at him. A powerful punch connected square on the traitor’s jaw, dropping him to the floor like a sack of grain.
Davenport forgot his gentlemanly scruples long enough to add a kick to Farrington’s ribs for good measure.
“That’s for hitting the lady,” he muttered as he bent to retrieve the packet from Farrington’s limp hand.
On straightening up, he found the two beady eyes of the pistols trained on him—as well as the duke’s piercing gaze.
“Oh, put those damn things away,” he growled. “I’ve had more than enough of guns and fists and cudgels and knives to last me for quite some time.”
The duke hesitated for only a fraction. A rueful smile crossed his lips as he let the weapons fall to his side.
Davenport limped over to him and put the documents into his hands. To his surprise, he noted that, somehow, half the packet’s oilskin covering had turned a dark crimson.
“Good lord, Julian.” Lucien was staring at his arm.
The earl looked down at his bloodsoaked sleeve and drew in his breath. “Would you mind telling your cousin that next time she takes it into her head to save the Empire, she may want to hire a regiment to keep up with her—it’s beyond the power of one mere mortal.”
Their startled expressions dissolved in a haze as he passed out cold.
* * *
The pain in his arm had subsided to a mere throbbing.
As Davenport finished buttoning his shirt, he felt gingerly at his ribs.
They, too, were less tender. Just a day’s rest had him well on the mend, and a bath and shave had made him feel nearly human again.
Clean clothes helped as well, he thought, as he knotted the borrowed cravat.
It was fortunate that Lucien was nearly his height.
At least he could appear in public without disgracing himself, a feat impossible to accomplish in his own tattered rags.
He stared in the mirror. So, everything had worked out in the end—the traitor had been caught, the documents were safe and he and Caroline had both come through it all more or less unscathed.
Why, the maid who had delivered an early-morning tray of tea had informed him that Lady Caroline was already up and about, despite the pleadings of the doctor and her family.
So why did he feel so glum?
A soft knock came at the door. It opened before he could voice a response, and a slim figure stole in with barely a rustle.
It took him a moment to recognize her. Gone were the breeches and loose shirt, replaced by an elegant gown of figured hunter-green silk.
Even so, the willowy curves were unmistakable, and the cut of the bodice, though hardly revealing, showed a good deal more of her flesh than he was used to seeing.
The bruises had disappeared from her face, leaving her complexion unmarred for the first time since he had known her.
And the color had returned to her cheeks, only heightening the depth of her eyes, which were now fixing him with an all-too-familiar intensity.
He turned away to adjust his collar. “You must leave off visiting a man’s chamber,” he said in a gruff tone. “Surely, you must know that sort of behavior can no longer be tolerated. The consequences would be…” His voice trailed off.
“Lucien told me you are leaving this morning.”
“That’s correct.”
“Were you not going to say goodbye?”
He shrugged.
The mirror reflected a glimpse of her brows drawing together. There was a pause, then she went on doggedly. “I never had a chance to…thank you.”
He brushed out the wrinkles on his sleeve. “Consider it done. Now, you had better leave before anyone…”
Caroline approached and put a hand on his arm. “Why are you acting as if we are complete strangers? I owe you my very life, and…”
“I am being well paid for it,” he said curtly. “That is, I assume you will honor your word. After all, it is evident you can well afford it.”
The shock of his harsh words was immediately evident on her face.
But she quickly schooled her features to reveal nothing further.
“Your appearance and dress may have improved,” she said coldly, “but your manners most certainly have not—you are still the most irritable, odious man I have ever had the misfortune of knowing.”
She dug into the pocket of her gown and withdrew a sheaf of banknotes. “Pray, count them to make sure you have not been shortchanged! I believe I have taken into account your horse. And I have added something extra for blood having been drawn—that was not in our original agreement.”
She flung the wad at his chest and stormed from the room. The exit was not quite as noiseless as the entrance, for the door shut with a slam.
Davenport winced at both the sound and his own behavior. He stared at the notes scattered over the expensive Aubusson carpet.
Damn the lady for having such an effect on him. Damn her for making him feel hot and cold, for sending his world spinning off kilter, for forcing him to confront emotions he wanted desperately to leave unvisited.
He booted away the fortune at his feet, then he stalked from the room as well.
* * *
“I wonder why Julian bolted so quickly this morning,” remarked Lucien as he helped himself to another slice of sirloin and refilled his cup from the steaming pot of tea the footman had just deposited near his elbow.
“It looked like he could have used a decent meal, regardless of his hurry.” He speared a kipper.
“I know for certain that the Davenport townhouse is closed up tight. Any idea if he is staying in Town for long?”
Caroline didn’t look up from slowly turning a piece of toast into crumbs. “I have no idea what Ju—Lord Davenport’s plans are. I can’t imagine why you should think he would inform me of his intentions, whatever they may be.”
Her cousin’s eyebrow shot up. “Well, the two of you did weather some rather tight spots.”
She didn’t answer but raised her cup to her lips, studiously avoiding his gaze.
“When am I going to hear the full account? I’ve gotten only bits and pieces of the story from Uncle Thomas.”
Caroline placed her cup back on its saucer.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the important parts.
Farrington set two ruffians to ambush the coach.
There was an accident. Poor John Coachman was killed.
I was hurt somewhat but managed to make my escape.
Lord Davenport found me, I recovered from my injuries at his estate, then he helped me get to London.
” She drew in a breath. “It’s as simple as that. ”
Lucien raised his brows. “As simple as that? You expect to foist such a Banbury tale off on me, cuz, who has a modicum of experience with your sort of adventures? When it comes to you, ‘simple’ is not the word I would ever choose.”
Another piece of toast began to crumble onto her plate.
“It’s odd,” he continued. “Julian seemed to have no notion of who you are.”
“I didn’t tell him. Not exactly, that is.”
“How did you convince him to take you to London in the face of such danger? Surely, he demanded some sort of explanation?”
“He did. But then I offered him a goodly sum to serve as my escort. I had learned from the servants that the family coffers were empty because of his brother.”
Lucien’s tone became incredulous. “You…hired the Earl of Davenport?”
“It was apparent he really needed the blunt,” she muttered, then sought to deflect her cousin’s line of questioning. “How is it you are acquainted with him?”
“Julian? I met him at Oxford. He got Tom Courtney and me out of a silly scrape, and we became friendly, though he’s a bit senior to us.
It’s very like him, helping people out of a coil.
” His face became serious. “I wonder where Leighton has taken himself to? That’s another one of my friends Julian took under his wing. ”
Finally, her gaze came up to meet his. “Jeremy?” she exclaimed. “You know him as well?”
He nodded.
“What a prodigious talent!” Her eyes took on a speculative look. “Then you shall be pleased to help me with…”
“A simple story,” he interrupted with a drawl.
“Just how did it come about that you ran into Jeremy?” When he saw her mouth set into a mulish expression, he merely shrugged.
“Well, I imagine I shall hear it all at some time. It promises to be a good deal more intriguing than you are letting on at the moment. At least you were with someone capable of keeping you in one piece. Julian is bang up to the mark, don’t you think? ”
“Actually, I think the man is insufferable.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound quite as shrill as it did to her own ear.
Lucien regarded her thoughtfully. “Well, well.”
“Well, what?”
“How interesting, is what I meant.”
Caroline felt a flare of heat coloring her cheekbones. “What nonsense. I told you—I find Lord Davenport to be a very provoking man.”
“Ah, that’s what is so interesting, my dear Caro.” He flashed a grin. “Normally, you don’t pay enough attention to the gentlemen around you to care one way or another about them.”
Caroline stared in dismay at the ruins on her plate. She carefully wiped her fingers on the thick damask napkin, then rose with as much dignity as she could muster. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of pressing matters with which to deal.”
In the privacy of her own room, Caroline contemplated the pile of banknotes that the agitated young upstairs maid had promptly turned over to her keeping.
Of course, she would see to it that they were delivered to Highwood.
A bargain was a bargain. However, the earl’s actions made no sense to her.
Hadn’t he made it coldly clear that he had endured her company for the sole purpose of earning the thousand pounds?
And yet he had left it untouched. She shook her head. Pride could cause one to act in the strangest ways, most of them having no connection at all to common sense, she mused, knowing full well that the thought also applied to her. Still, it didn’t seem the full answer to all of Davenport’s quirks.
Perhaps he didn’t want to be beholden in any way to someone he held in…contempt. That possibility caused an unpleasant lurch in her stomach, though what the earl thought of her shouldn’t matter a whit.
However, it did. Somehow, the idea that he found her wanting in character or conduct was a blow more painful than any of the physical punishments she had endured. Not that she could blame him on either account.
Gentlemen simply didn’t like a hopeless hoyden. In truth, she had figured that out long ago. And she was honest enough to admit she wasn’t going to change—not for anyone.
So that was that.
The only thing that remained a mystery to her was why he was so tender when she was in need and so harsh all the rest of the time.
Hot and cold, like being warmed by the sun’s rays one moment, only to be drenched by a chilling rain the next.
Perhaps it had something to do with being an English gentleman.
Paper crackled as her fingers tightened around a handful of the banknotes. It was no use stewing over things she could not change. Putting aside all thoughts of the Earl of Davenport, Caroline vowed to turn her attention to a matter on which she could act.