Seduction Regency Style

by Louisa Cornell

  The head ruffian cocked the pistol. He aimed a scowl at the man to Robert’s left. “Try to untie him and I’ll shoot you.”

  “I ain’t going to untie him. I said he shouldn’t die, not that I mean to free him.”

  Robert strained harder at his bonds.

  “Get his reins,” the lead ruffian said to the one on Robert’s right. “Don’t let his horse bolt when I shoot.”

  The man to Robert’s right slid from the saddle. Robert wondered if he could kick his heels hard enough into his mount’s flank to get the beast to charge forward. Would the leader shoot or be too startled to react, giving Robert a chance to escape? That was assuming Robert could stay in the saddle. The man to his right headed toward the reins. Robert had only moments to decide.

  Everly urged his horse forward, between Robert and the leader. “I said, you are not shooting Lord Robert. I imagine my mother gave you any number of orders, but I very much doubt one of them was to shoot me if I’m in the way.”

  Robert couldn’t see the ruffian’s face, but he regarded Everly’s profile with a new modicum of respect.

  “Get the duke’s reins,” the leader barked.

  The man on the right looked back and forth between Robert and Everly, obviously unsure which duke’s reins he was supposed to capture.

  “Move Lord Edmond,” the leader snapped. “You, don’t just sit there. Help him.”

  Robert heard the man behind him dismount.

  “Here now,” Everly cried as the righthand ruffian came forward.

  The so-called footman grabbed at Everly’s reins. Everly yanked them aside. The footman cursed and grabbed the bridle. The one behind Robert came forward to reach for the reins as well. Everly yanked harder. His horse reared, letting out a high-pitched whinny. Around the bend behind them, baying broke out in earnest.

  The lead ruffian let out a string of invectives. “Get Lord Edmond out of the way,” he roared.

  The forest floor erupted with hounds. They streamed around the legs of Robert’s horse, howling and yapping. Their tricolored coats were a swirl of movement as they swarmed the horses. Robert’s mount shimmied and shifted, then backed into the mounted man who’d said he shouldn’t die.

  “Lower that weapon and release Lord Robert at once or suffer the consequences.”

  The voice was familiar, but the strident, commanding tone was not. Robert turned, incredulous, to find Cecilia riding up the path. She was surrounded by members of his household, several wielding guns. They were mounted on a hodgepodge collection of horses, both riding and carriage. Cecilia road astride, her skirt pushed up to show considerable spans of slender white legs.

  “I said, lower that weapon.” Cecilia’s voice was hard, her features stiff with anger. Her blue eyes blazed.

  Robert glanced back to find the lead ruffian scanning the crowd. Apparently, enough of Robert’s staff appeared ready and able to shoot to make an impression, because the ruffian lowered the pistol toward the ground. Carefully, he uncocked it.

  “Good,” Cecilia said. “Now you, untie Lord Robert,” she ordered the man who’d said he shouldn’t die.

  “My lady, I’m so glad you’ve come,” Everly said. “These men were about to murder Lord Robert.”

  “Likely by your order,” Cecilia snapped.

  Everly’s expression stiffened. “Absolutely not. I swear it.”

  Cecilia cast Robert a questioning look.

  He felt his bonds loosening as the man behind him sawed at them. He replied to Cecilia’s look with a nod. “It’s true. Everly defended me.”

  “That was very well done of you, sir,” Cecilia said.

  “My lord,” Everly corrected. “That is, uh, I’m a lord now. Right, Hadler?”

  Robert pulled free as the rope fell away. He brought his hands forward and set to shaking feeling back into them. “We’ll see about that, Everly. I don’t mean to let your mother reach London with those papers.”

  “You really will go back on your word?” Everly said, sounding glum.

  “The signatures your mother extorted from me are meaningless.” Robert switched to probing his chaffed wrists. They were raw, bleeding in spots.

  “Then why stop my mother from going to London?” Everly’s tone was smug, as if he’d backed Robert into a proverbial corner.

  “To avoid the scandal she will cause trying to defend them, which would harm you more than me.”

  Everly frowned. Robert could read the tension in his staff, and in the four ruffians. He noted that his people hadn’t lowered their guns. Cecilia, too, watched Everly with narrowed eyes. The hounds still milled about, but calmer now.

  “I’m not really a duke,” Everly said bitterly.

  “No, not really,” Robert agreed.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll let me be now? I mean, you could let the annulment go through, at least.”

  Robert heard Cecilia’s sharp intake of breath. “Do you plan to reform?” He had no intention of letting the annulment go through, and hoped Cecilia knew as much. He did want to know if Everly had changed. “Stop forcing young women in your employ into your bed? No more dallying with innocents you have no intention of wedding?”

  “I do nothing hundreds of other young men don’t do,” Everly proclaimed. He sat up straighter in his saddle.

  “Then no, I do not intend to let the annulment go through.”

  Everly’s shoulders slumped. His mouth twisted into a bitter line. He looked away, avoiding Robert’s eyes. Robert could muster no sympathy for the man.

  Everly’s head snapped up. He let out a cry and drove his horse into Robert’s as a shot rang out. Robert’s mount reared. A man screamed. Robert clutched a handful of mane, trying to keep his seat. The hounds barked and howled. Horses sidestepped. The forest came alive with shouts and squeals. A second shot sounded.

  Robert leaned low over his horse’s neck, hands scrambling for the reins. He finally caught them. With firm pressure, he brought his horse under control. A glance showed Cecilia equally successful. Beyond her left shoulder, a man ducked out of sight behind a tree. Everly was nowhere to be seen. The ruffian who’d said Robert shouldn’t die clutched his arm. He gaped down at the blood that welled between his fingers.

  “That way,” Robert roared, pointing toward where the man had ducked from sight behind Cecilia. “Get him.”

  Several of Robert’s staff whirled their mounts. Some jumped from the saddle. His Hunt Master called the hounds. They streamed toward the tree Robert had indicated, followed by his men.

  “Everly,” Cecilia gasped.

  Robert turned sharply to see her sliding from her horse. He pulled his attention from the beguiling display of leg to follow her wide-eyed gaze. Everly lay sprawled on the trampled earth.

  Robert dismounted. Hardly looking, he shoved the reins into the hands of one of Missus Everly’s footmen. He strode to Everly, meeting Cecilia there. As one, they knelt to examine the prone form.

  “I’ve been shot,” the footman clutching his arm said.

  “So has Mister Everly,” Cecilia murmured. She reached out and flipped back his coat, which was already soaked through in blood. More welled from his chest.

  “Who shot?” the head ruffian demanded.

  “Someone back in the trees,” one of Robert’s men said.

  Cecilia looked at Robert. “May I have your coat? Could you cut it in half?”

  Robert stood and shucked his coat. While he did, he glanced about. His eyes fell on a knife, likely the one used to free his hands. He snatched it up and stabbed it into his coat. Once he had the cut started, he gripped the heavy material in both hands and pulled. It held for a moment, then gave way to his effort.

  He knelt again. Everly’s face was like chalk. Blood saturated his shirt front. Robert offered Cecilia half the coat.

  “As gently as you can, tip him up. I need to see if the bullet went through,” she said.

  Robert slid his hands under Everly and gently lifted him.

  Cecilia ducked
low near the forest floor. She grimaced and shook her head. “Put him back down. Carefully.”

  Robert did.

  She folded half of his coat and lay it on Everly’s chest. “Press here.”

  Robert placed his hand over the wound. Hot blood soaked the thick material of his coat in moments. Cecilia folded the other half and placed it under Everly’s head, though Robert had no idea if he was sensible enough to feel the offer of comfort. She then gently pushed Robert’s hand aside and replaced it with her own. She grimaced. Looking up, she met Robert’s gaze.

  He raised his eyebrows, questioning.

  Cecilia answered with a small shake of her head.

  “I’ve been shot,” Missus Everly’s footman repeated, sounding dazed.

  Cecilia looked up. She glared at the lead ruffian. “Get off your horse, get him off his horse, and bind his arm before he loses too much blood. He’ll be harder to move once he passes out, you know.”

  The man stared down at her. Robert added a hard stare to her words. Missus Everly’s man nodded and slid from his saddle. Cecilia’s attention had returned to Everly.

  A commotion sounded behind them. Robert stood and whirled toward the sound. His men emerged from the forest, the hounds around them clearly proud. Two men dragged a form between them.

  Robert crossed to the man, who hung somewhat limp in the grip of two strong footmen. He grabbed a handful of hair and lifted the head, only then recalling his hand was coated in Everly’s blood. “Porter?” he asked, surprised, recognizing the narrow face even though the nose was broken and dripping blood.

  The man blinked rapidly, though one of his eyes was already swelling shut. He also had a large welt on his jaw. Robert would give a bonus to whichever of his men felled the would-be assassin. He clenched his hand harder in the man’s greasy hair, holding his head up. “Why did you shoot Everly, Porter?”

  “Everly?” Porter mumbled around a newly-missing tooth. “Lord Robert. The lady offered me three thousand pounds for Lord Robert. I knew if I followed the little blonde tart she’d lead me to him.”

  Robert realized the man was too incoherent from his beating to know whom he addressed. “Missus Everly told you to kill Lord Robert? When?” Was she still sending men after him, in case her footmen failed?

  “While ago.” Saliva, tinted red with blood, dribbled down his chin. “After that lecture.”

  “But you failed and she set you to tracking Lady Cecilia instead,” Robert pointed out.

  Porter blinked again. “She never took the bounty off his head. Knew the blonde bit would take me to him eventually.” He grinned. More red spittle ran down his chin. “Only reason I took such a pathetic job. Follow a bit of skirt. Get the three thousand pounds. Redemption. Damn Lefthook.”

  Robert released the man’s head. It lulled to the side. He wiped his hand on his trouser leg, leaving a red, greasy smear. “Bind him in case he comes to. He’s dangerous. Give me a moment, and then come take those four footmen into custody, as well. And men?” He met each man’s gaze. All were dirty, as like from the basement as the woods. Most of them, he hadn’t seen in over ten years. Many of them he recognized. “Good job.”

  They stood straighter. Two of them dragged Porter away. Another called for rope.

  Robert turned to find Missus Everly’s footmen clustered together on the far side of Cecilia and Everly. One worked to bind the arm of the one who’d caught a bullet from Porter’s pistol. Robert crossed to the leader and held out his hand.

  After a long moment, the man grimaced and placed his pistol on Robert’s palm. Robert opened the weapon. He poured the powder onto the ground, then put the gun through his belt.

  “What will you do with us, my lord?” the leader said.

  “I will give each of you an opportunity to explain yourself, and then deal with you accordingly.”

  The man grimaced again but nodded.

  Robert went to Cecilia. She still knelt by Everly. Blood coated the delicate fingers of the hand she pressed to Everly’s chest. She looked up as Robert crouched beside her.

  “It’s a lot of blood, but it’s slowed,” she said in a quiet voice. “I might be able to save him. My medical bag should be here any moment. When we set out, I sent Grace, Dodger and one of your footmen back to get it from the carriage. I don’t know what possessed me to leave it there. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Robert nodded, unsurprised to learn that Miss Birkchester and William’s scamp had accompanied Cecilia on the journey. He scrutinized Everly’s pallid features, finding he actually hoped the man would live. “Will you be well enough here with my people? I mean to visit Missus Everly at her inn. I don’t want her reaching London with those papers.”

  “Are they valid?”

  “Some are. Others would go to court. I would win, but I’d rather avoid the entire situation.”

  Cecilia nodded. Her delicate features were pinched with worry. “Be safe.”

  Robert nodded. “I should be back sometime tonight. You’ll want to move him soon. It’s getting dark.”

  Cecilia looked up, toward the leafy canopy above. Robert was struck by the length of slender white neck. The delicate, even collarbones. Her sprightly features seemed at home in the forest, as if she truly were some mythical creature come to life.

  His mythical creature. He dropped a kiss to her becoming lips. Her blue eyes flew wide, then her lids drifted closed.

  Robert didn’t dare linger. He had Missus Everly to catch. He drew back and stood. “Until tonight.”

  Cecilia watched him through round eyes. She nodded. “Until tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Cecilia let out a long, slow sigh while gazing in sorrow at Mister Everly’s still form. He looked peaceful and clean all tucked into bed in one of Robert’s many guest quarters. Flickering candlelight filled the room, giving the impression of movement and life where there was none. If she wished, she could pretend he hadn’t only now drawn his final breath, having never woken from his act of heroism in the forest.

  “You saved Robert,” she murmured. “If your mother wishes, she may be proud.”

  Cecilia stood. She walked about the room on quiet feet, extinguishing most of the candles. They weren’t needed now. Not to tend him. Not to greet him should he open his eyes.

  She felt odd. Floaty, she thought, though she wasn’t certain that was a word. She’d never failed to save someone before. Admittedly, she’d only ever tried to save William, and he knew better than to be shot so near the heart. At least, she very much hoped he did.

  She hadn’t cared for Mister Everly. Yet, he’d died well, doing something very important to her. Something undeniably noble. Then again, if he’d been a better man, his mother wouldn’t have set her sights on killing Robert, and her hired assassin wouldn’t have come to Solworth. Cecilia wouldn’t have had to try to save a man, only to watch him die.

  In the near darkness, she sat down in one of the two chairs before the banked fire. Hot tears spilled from her eyes. They slid down her cheeks to drip from her chin and splatter on her chest.

  She’d been sitting for some time when a knock sounded on the door. She rubbed at her face, but the tear tracks had long since dried. “Yes?” she called, dismayed when her voice cracked.

  The door slid open. Robert’s head appeared. He took in the form on the bed, then turned to her. She could read the sympathy in his eyes.

  “I’ve brought Missus Everly. I take it we’re too late?”

  “What do you mean, too late?” Missus Everly’s cry was accompanied by the door flying wide. She bustled into the room, dressed in a nightgown and robe, but also her bonnet, boots, gloves, reticule and cloak. She made it halfway across the lily-stitched carpet before she stopped.

  Her features, seen in dim profile from where Cecilia sat, went slack. The round cheerfulness that normally, misleadingly, resided in her face fell away. Suddenly, she looked old. She swayed, a hand going to her chest.

  Cecilia jumped to her feet. She gained Missus
Everly’s side in a moment, reaching to steady her. Missus Everly jerked away. The look she turned on Cecilia was pure venom. Cecilia retreated, backing toward her vacated chair.

  “You did this,” Missus Everly hissed.

  “Mister Porter did this,” Robert corrected, coming into the room. He held a satchel clamped firmly under one arm. “While trying to murder me to claim his three thousand pounds, he shot your son. Edmond saved me.”

  “He did not,” Missus Everly cried. Her eyes were locked on her son again. She remained halfway between the door and the bed. “He wouldn’t. He hated you. He longed to be duke.”

  “No,” Robert said softly. “He longed to be a decent man. You never showed him the way.”

  She whirled toward Robert with an almost feral snarl. Her reticule fell to the floor as she pulled a small, brightly polished pistol from it. She wrenched back the hammer. “He hated you. He was meant to be duke.” She spat the words at Robert.

  Cecilia went cold. How could yet another person be pointing a pistol at Robert? She fumbled behind her for a candlestick. She would beat Missus Everly over the head if she had to. No one was shooting Robert.

  Robert regarded Missus Everly with sorrowful eyes. “He can’t be duke now. There are no lords among the dead.”

  Missus Everly let out a keening sound, so high pitched Cecilia wondered if the hounds would take up the call from the kennel. The little pistol slipped from her hand. Cecilia flinched as it hit the carpet, but it only made a soft clunking sound. Missus Everly whirled from Robert and teetered toward the bed. Reaching it, she collapsed across her son, all the while wailing.

  Cecilia darted forward to pick up the pistol. Holding it with care, she went to the door, to Robert, only to find Grace’s mother and a man whose name she’d already forgotten stood without. She gave Robert the gun, which gleamed in the light of the candle Missus Birkchester held.

  Robert uncocked the pistol and held it out to the man. “Please take this,” he said, his voice soft. “Post a guard outside this door. Missus Everly may be accommodated if she requires a room or food. She may not depart, and don’t leave her unattended.”