23. Chapter 23 #2
The light in her eyes dimmed as he approached.
Was she as uncertain about this as he was?
Should he show her some token of affection to reassure her?
Was she expecting him to kiss her before he proposed?
Her initial expression had seemed to invite it.
He leaned in, but she turned away at the sound of footsteps, so his lips landed on her cheek, not her mouth.
“Is this your idea of a joke, Laura?” Mr Jenkin said, marching along the path to where Miss Barrington stood. “Did you come to meet me—or to be with him?”
She stepped backward at the fierceness in his tone, eager to put more distance between herself and the riding officer. She almost crushed herself against William in her haste, and he instinctively wrapped his arm around her to protect her.
“Regretting your choice already? It is a little late to pursue the Viscount. I can’t believe you would be so fickle.”
“David, don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me. It’s not what you imagine.”
David? That sounded rather intimate for a colleague of her father’s. A flicker of hope coursed through him and then died. She was looking to him for protection—not Mr Jenkin.
“What am I supposed to think? He kissed you. I thought that was a privilege reserved for a husband.”
“It is—”
“Lord Droxford is not your husband.”
“That can be remedied,” said William. It was, after all, what he had come to do, however little he relished the prospect.
The riding officer took a menacing pace toward him, his lip curled in disdain. “Move away from her. Now. Or I’ll make you.”
Was the man insane? What did he hope to achieve by threatening him?
Miss Barrington pulled free from William’s hold and laid a hand on the other man’s arm. “David, don’t do this. Your position—”
He shook off her grip. “Keep out of this, Laura. I refuse to stand by and watch him embrace you—whatever the consequences.”
William recognised the desperation of a man in love. Bile rose in his stomach at the thought of Mr Barrington kissing Kitty. Such emotion could make a fellow reckless.
“Please stop—” Miss Barrington cried.
“I’m sorry, Laura. I can’t. It’s a matter of honour.”
She squealed with frustration. “If you loved me…”
“It’s because I love you I must fight for you. Go home. This won’t be pretty.”
With a final glance at both men, she picked up her skirts and hurried along the path back toward the house.
Before William realised what was happening, the riding officer lurched forward, knocking him to the ground, sending his hat rolling down the hill.
Winded from the impact of his fall, he had no defence when Mr Jenkin landed on top of him and thrust his fist into his stomach. “How dare you kiss Laura, you blackguard?”
William gasped for breath. How was he going to survive this fight? Pugilism was something he’d always avoided. His hands were too important to his art to risk damaging them in a bout of fisticuffs. Fortunately, he had learned a trick or two from Anthony.
He let his body go limp before rolling to the left, catching Mr Jenkin off guard. Their positions were reversed, with him straddling the stockier man.
“It would have been followed by an honourable proposal if you had not interrupted us.”
Mr Jenkin jerked his head forward into William’s chest, and while he was still gasping for breath, the preventive officer rolled back on top of him.
“A proposal she would have rejected. You can’t marry her.”
“You seem very certain of yourself. I have her father’s permission—unlike you.”
Mr Jenkin landed a punch in William’s stomach.
He gasped for air again. Why couldn’t the man see reason? “D’you think he’ll let you wed her if I don’t? Wasn’t Blake’s warning enough?”
His adversary paused with his fist raised. “What are you talking about?”
Relieved that Mr Jenkin was not pummelling his body, William was eager to keep speaking. He blurted out an explanation, punctuated by gasps for breath. “He was sent to teach you a lesson—to stop you meeting his daughter—in the garden—at night.”
“I’ve never visited Laura under cover of darkness. And I’ve had no fight with Blake. Not knowingly, at least. What makes you think I did?”
If only he could keep the man talking, he might live to see another day.
“Kitty suspected—you and Miss Barrington—someone smoking in the garden—at night—thought it was you—feared for her friend’s reputation—challenged her—she said there was a madman—in the basement.”
“Laura told that story?”
“Yes—father supported it—didn’t want any slur on his daughter—desperate for me to marry her—”
“Over my dead body.”
“You’ll fight me to the death? For kissing her on the cheek. Before making her an honest proposal? That I felt honour-bound to offer?”
Empowered by his outrage, he rolled on top of Mr Jenkin again.
He would give his last breath to prove he was an honourable man, but he would much rather live. “Killing me won’t gain her as your bride.”
“You’ll have to kill me to make her yours.”
William tumbled off Mr Jenkin and sat up, breathing heavily. “You win. I won’t become a murderer to marry a lady I don’t care for, whatever her father says.”
His opponent raised himself to sitting and eyed him warily. “You’re not in love with my wife?”
A chill cascaded down William’s body. It wasn’t possible. He must have misheard. “Your wife?”
Mr Jenkin nodded.
“I don’t understand. The way she behaved, I thought…”
“It was a ruse. To hide the truth.”
William dropped his head into his hands. He’d tried to kiss a married woman? He thanked God that Miss Barr—no, Mrs Jenkin—had turned away at the last moment so he’d only bussed her cheek.
“No wonder you wanted to thump me. How could you bear watching me flirt with her?”
“It was hard, but as you surmised, her father does not approve of me. We’ve been promised to each other for over a year, but had to wait. We married by licence in Weymouth the day after she came of age, but we had to keep it a secret.”
“The day we found you arguing in the churchyard?”
Mr Jenkin heaved a sigh. “I told her to return home, but she wanted to stay with me.”
William struggled to understand any man wanting to be apart from his wife on their wedding night. “Why did you send her away?”
“Because of my work. Someone living in Rufus House is aiding the smugglers—and worse. Helping French officers to escape the country. Laura’s father is the most likely candidate, but he is a powerful figure to accuse without evidence.
That’s why I begged Laura to wait. It’s better he thinks I am pursuing his daughter than that I suspect anyone in his household. ”
That made sense, but William was in awe of Mr Jenkin’s devotion to his duty. Seemingly above that to his wife.
“Tell me the story of the madman.”
He related the strange tale of Mad Cousin Silas and Kitty’s nighttime encounter in the basement with an injured Blake.
“This seemed to support the notion of the insane relative, but after seeing you in a similar state, she wondered if Mr Barrington had set Blake onto you. To put an end to his daughter’s indiscretions, so I was not dissuaded from marrying her.”
Mr Jenkin scratched his chin. “I didn’t come near Rufus House that evening. I was in a tussle with smugglers—unidentifiable because of their blackened faces. Blake could have been one of them.”
“If he was working with the smugglers, that would explain why our message was delayed in reaching you the night we saw lights.”
Mr Jenkin scowled. “We? You were out walking with my wife?”
Heavens, the man was touchy. “No. I was with Miss Lacey. It was her reputation I was protecting.”
A role William intended to take on for the rest of his life, if she’d have him—and now he was free to do so. Joy bubbled up inside him. No one could expect him to marry Miss Barrington any longer.
“I think the key to this puzzle is that basement room,” said Mr Jenkin, cutting through his thoughts. “Could—”
The riding officer’s eyes darted to one side, and he broke off as shock transformed his features. “Look out!”
Something hard hit William’s head from behind, and he fell back onto the ground.