Chapter 35 #2
Nell wouldn’t have it. She wouldn’t let her. Anger flooded her senses. She wasn’t aware the fight was over until a strong arm encircled her waist, pulling her back against the warmth of an equally strong body.
“You’re all right,” Miles said gruffly. “It’s over.”
Nell turned in his grasp. As he enfolded her in his embrace, it was all she could do not to burst into tears. “What about Innes?” she managed to ask.
Miles held her fast against him. “Out cold,” he said. “Just like his sister.”
Nell shot a glance back at the madam. The woman had slumped down in an unconscious heap against the wall, her face a bloody mess. Innes was nearby on the floor of the stable. His countenance was in a similar state. “I didn’t get to see you fight him,” she said.
“You were occupied.”
“I was, rather.” She hugged him fiercely. “Oh, Miles. It’s too dreadful.”
Miles’s arms tightened around her in a painful grip. “I thought she was going to—”
“She didn’t.”
“Your throat is bleeding.”
“It’s nothing, I promise.”
“If I had lost you—”
“I was in no danger,” she said. “Not really.”
“Good God. Must I thank Miss Corvus for that maneuver of yours? And those levelers you delivered to Pritchard. Was that your version of good science?”
“I confess, I wasn’t thinking of good science at the time,” Nell said. “For a moment, I let my emotions get the better of me.”
He kissed her temple. “I’ve aged ten years since we entered this stable.”
“We’re not done yet.” She drew back to meet his eyes. “Shouldn’t we…”
“What, love?” he asked.
“Tie them up?” she suggested.
Miles’s mouth quirked. “A brilliant idea, per usual. We can use those lead ropes.”
Together they secured Innes and Mrs. Pritchard. Miles was just finishing tying the butler’s ankles together when a shadow darkened the door.
It was the young groom.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but…” The boy’s eyes goggled at the scene before him. “I say, is that Mr. Innes?”
“Excellent timing.” Miles straightened. “What’s your name, lad?”
“Vernon,” the boy answered.
“Listen closely, Vernon,” Miles said. “I need you to go back to the house and fetch me the housekeeper, and two of the largest footmen you can find. Tell them a serious crime has been committed and we require the magistrate.”
“Yes sir,” the boy stammered. “Right away, sir.” He took off like a shot.
Nell smoothed her rumpled carriage gown. “What about Amstead?”
“He and the others won’t be back from shooting for another several hours,” Miles said. “I’ll deal with Innes and Pritchard in the meanwhile. We need to hand them over to the magistrate so he can secure them, and their testimony. If this goes to trial, it’s going to be their word against Amstead’s.”
Nell had half imagined that she and Miles would confront Amstead themselves.
She’d have liked to see the man squirm. But she recognized the futility in such a plan.
The baron had kept himself far enough removed from the actual crimes to retain some degree of plausible deniability.
He would undoubtedly plead ignorance to the accusations.
“He will be held responsible, won’t he?”
“He will,” Miles vowed.
· · · · ·
Later that day…
Nell snuggled against Miles inside the baron’s luxurious black-lacquered carriage as it rolled away from Northwick Hall.
It was Lady Belwood who had commandeered the vehicle for them.
Amid all the chaos with the magistrate, and all the accusations flying between Mrs. Pritchard, Innes, and Lord Amstead, Nell’s mother had stepped forward, taking on an air of imperious authority.
“This is an outrage!” she’d declared to the magistrate. “Can you not see that Mrs. Quincey is grievously injured? Only look at the blood on her throat! A carriage must be ordered at once to convey her back to London. I fear for her safety in Hertfordshire with such villains about as these.”
Mrs. Pritchard (who had been exponentially worse off in terms of blood and bruises) had struggled against the burly footman holding her. “Her fear us?” she’d shrieked. “That woman’s a menace! Look at what she did to me—”
“Enough!” the elderly magistrate had boomed. “Take her away, lad,” he’d directed the footman. “And the butler, too. But separately, mind. I’ll not have them rehearsing their stories together.”
Innes and Mrs. Pritchard had been unceremoniously hauled outside by their respective jailers.
Lord Amstead had watched them go, his face pale and perspiration dotting his brow.
Unlike Mrs. Pritchard and Innes, he had not been restrained.
“It’s a grievous misunderstanding, I tell you,” he’d insisted.
“A man can’t be held responsible for what his servant and his servant’s relations get up to.
Had I any inkling of what they claim to have done to my sister—”
“You will of course wish to summon your solicitor, my lord,” the magistrate had said severely.
“These are serious charges. As for you—” He’d addressed Miles and Nell, his attention lingering on the marks from the razor that marred Nell’s throat.
“Her ladyship is quite right, Mr. Quincey. You must see your wife home. But you are to keep yourselves available for further questioning.”
“My wife and I remain at your disposal,” Miles had said. “And at the disposal of the investigating officers in London.”
The magistrate’s already dour expression had become grimmer still at the reference to Scotland Yard. “A terrible business,” he’d muttered. “The late baron was a dear friend of mine. To think he mightn’t have met his end by natural means—”
“You won’t object to summoning your carriage for Mr. and Mrs. Quincey, will you, Amstead?” Lady Belwood had interjected. “Whatever the outcome of this unseemly affair, you’re still the host of this party. Your guests are your responsibility.”
Amstead had glared at Nell and Miles with unvarnished hatred. “Even those guests who have obtained entry by false pretenses? By all means. Let them be conveyed back to London in high style.”
A shiver went through Nell as she recalled the way he’d looked at them. She nestled closer to Miles. “For a moment I thought he might leap straight for us,” she confessed. “He was so angry.”
Miles’s arm tightened around her. “He wouldn’t have hurt you. I wouldn’t have let him. Lady Belwood wouldn’t have either, come to that. Did you mark how she positioned herself?”
Nell had marked it. Lady Belwood had stood on Nell’s side, not on the side of the gentry, protecting Nell the only way she’d known how, by demanding an elegant carriage for her and prompt passage home.
Nell had been oddly touched by the gesture.
“She did seem rather solicitous of my welfare, didn’t she? ”
“A welcome change, given what’s passed.”
Nell wasn’t concerned with the past at the moment.
It was the future that troubled her. “Indeed,” she said as the carriage continued over the well-rutted stretch of road that led to the platform halt at Moor Cross.
“But what about Amstead, Miles? If he does manage to foist all of the blame on Innes and Mrs. Pritchard—”
“It won’t matter.”
She felt a flicker of doubt. Despite the accusations against him, Lord Amstead was still a gentleman of wealth and title. And well-to-do men were notorious for getting away with things. “You’re that certain he’ll be held to account for his crimes?”
“If not by the law,” Miles said, “then certainly in the court of public opinion.”
Nell drew back. Searching her husband’s eyes, she saw the same peculiar gleam of journalistic intensity she’d observed in his office the first time they’d met. “You don’t mean what I think you mean?”
“I do.” He framed her face with his hands. His voice deepened with resolve. “This is the story that’s going to restore the Courant’s fortunes. All I have to do is write it.” Bending his head, his mouth captured hers. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.”
Her pulse fluttered wildly. “So you can begin your article?” she asked against his lips.
“The article can keep for another day or two,” Miles said. He smiled. “You and I have our own story to attend to.”
Nell beamed up at him. “A love story,” she said. And she kissed him back with all her heart.