by Lynn Kerstan
“I know. To that extent, she reminds me of you. And, like you as well, she once did me a great service. Keep an eye on her, will you?”
“Yes.” Simple enough. He’d been able to do little else since first he saw her. “I’ll make sure she comes to no harm. Or I’ll try. But if I fail—”
“Jessica and I will protect her. That’s assuming she’ll let us, of course, because there is no creature on the earth more formidable than a proud, independent woman. I know that because I married one.”
“You don’t look the worse for it.” Michael finished shaping the bit of wood, now reduced to the size of his palm, and returned the knife to its sheath. “If you’re actually going to Tattersall’s, I won’t.”
“I’m not, and you should. There’s a special auction starting at noon, and if you require a mount, you won’t easily find a better one. Lord Fenborough kept an exceptional stable, but he’s forced to sell the better part of it to pay his gaming debts.” Duran’s lips curved in a sly smile. “Debts he owes the Duke of Tallant.”
“Worth a look-in, then.” Michael stood. “It was good seeing you, but I don’t want to see you again. Understood?”
“Quite some time ago.” Duran picked up the wood carving Michael had left on the table. “What’s this supposed to be?”
“A bird. Or maybe a cabbage. I couldn’t decide.”
Duran held it up. “I can’t tell either. Mind if I keep it? I’m collecting toys for the infant.”
With an indifferent shrug, Michael left the table and the tavern without a backward look. When Duran first mentioned Tattersall’s, he had understood he was supposed to go there by the most obvious route. And sure enough, Duran had been waiting for him along the way. But the ultimate goal had always been the auction house, so he sent Hari ahead to evaluate the horses on offer.
Duran, who knew him uncomfortably well, had set him on this course. Now, with luck, he’d find a good mount.
And with better luck, he’d find his brother.
Chapter 5
A little distance from Tattersall’s Repository, Hari intercepted Michael. “I have found what you are looking for.”
“Tallant?”
“He is there. But I speak of the horse you should purchase. Spanish bloodlines, imported by Lord Fenborough to race, but of a temperament that did not abide close quarters. We should enter from the other street, near to where he can be found.”
“First my brother. Then I’ll buy a horse.”
“It must be the other way, Michael. If the horse is put on the auction block and you show interest, the duke will not permit you to have it. I have asked Lord Fenborough to accept a preemptive sale at six hundred guineas.”
“Good God. I hope you’re paying.”
“I shall, if you wish. As the Lord Buddha—”
“I’ve heard that one. Take me to the damn horse.”
They came in unnoticed and wove toward the stables through a hodgepodge of vehicles on offer. All the action was the other side of the courtyard, where Michael saw a crowd of fashionably dressed men clustered under an arcade with their backs to him, looking at something he could not see. The auction must be under way.
Hari led him to an enclosed area lined with stalls where a handler was leading out a chestnut mare. Standing nearby, a thin man with sagging jowls and sad, protruding eyes watched the horse being taken away. Then he lifted his unhappy gaze to the men walking toward him, and Michael saw the familiar recoil as a Keynes was recognized. He was getting used to that recoil, the nervous pretense it hadn’t occurred, the too-friendly smile that followed.
In this case, the smile never appeared. Fenborough looked as if he hadn’t smiled in a decade, and the bloodshot eyes and trembling hands betrayed a dive into a bottle the night before. Michael knew the symptoms.
“You are the gentleman for Loki?” Fenborough said in a squeaking voice. “I have held him for you, on your servant’s promise. But perhaps—”
“If I had a servant, he wouldn’t be making promises for me. Where’s the horse?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t know you were a relation. I must pay everything I acquire to the duke, you see.”
“What’s that to do with anything? Where—”
“In the corner, that way.” Fenborough shrank back, letting Michael pass. Fear rose from the man like steam.
Impatient to get on to his brother, Michael quickly examined the horse. Large, black, restless, and angry, just like himself. As Hari had realized, Loki would suit him very well.
Fenborough’s attack of nerves had got worse in the short time Michael was gone. “I won’t release the horse without payment,” he kept saying. “Nor Mr. Singh’s horse neither. You could ride off and leave me with nothing.”
“You’ll be left with nothing in any case,” Michael pointed out, not sure why he continued trying to strike a deal when he was unlikely to be needing a mount for very long. “I’ll bring you the price of both nags, in banknotes, within two hours. But the horses are taken away now, because if they aren’t, my brother will prevent me from having them. Then you’ll make half the amount at auction, and less if the duke intimidates other buyers.”
“But how would that benefit him? I’m selling everything I own to pay what I owe.”
“Did I say he was reasonable? You’re a gambling man, Fenborough. Have you ever won, dealing with Tallant? He’ll hound you until you’re dead. I, on the other hand, will pay you, my word on it, and you can draw up a false receipt for half the amount. He need never know how much you got.”
“But then you might only pay what’s on that receipt, and—”
“I’m finished here. Hari, buy your own horse if you can come to terms with this idiot.” Michael was halfway across the yard when Fenborough scuttled after him.
“Banknotes. Slip them to me in private. And quickly. He’ll wonder what happened when that horse don’t go under the hammer.”
“Very well. Hari, meet me across the street. I don’t know how long this will take.”
“You must not cause trouble here. It would be unwise.”
“And when did that ever stop me?” He knew the signs. Knew he was close to slipping his own leash, didn’t much care. But to protect Fenborough, he took the precaution of edging back the way they’d come in and then reentered Tattersall’s through the main gate. By that time he had cooled down, marginally, and his temper was in check.
Little had changed since his first arrival. Most of the gentlemen were where they had been before, clustered around the arches that separated the arcade from the courtyard. He found a position in the shadows and scanned the crowd for his brother, seeing no one with the height and hair and shoulders of a Keynes. After a time, he set off to explore the buildings that lined the perimeter of the compound, cursing himself for wasting time with Fenborough. By now, Tallant might have gone.
He was about to abandon the hunt when directly ahead of him, emerging from a door that sported a pair of crossed whips above the lintel, came a tall man who suddenly paused as if scenting danger, and turned to look directly at him.
Eyes the transparent gray of water under a cloudy sky, black brows arching above them with amusement. Michael held the sardonic gaze. Nearly two decades since last he saw his brother, born seven years before him to a different mother. Twenty years since he’d sworn to destroy Jermyn Keynes by whatever means it required. He had never thought it would take so long.
The silent confrontation was broken off by a man coming out the room behind the duke, talking to someone and not seeing that his path was blocked until he ran into a broad-shouldered obstacle. Swearing, the duke swung around and backhanded the man’s face.
Michael slipped his knife into his hand, the blade concealed in the folds of his greatcoat, and waited for his brother to come to him.
He did so moments la
ter, flanked by several onlookers. The duke’s attack on the hapless bumbler had drawn attention, and soon others began wandering over from the auction to see what was going on. They formed a half circle several yards away, leaving the brothers to have at it.
Too many of them, Michael was thinking. Too close. And Tallant’s heavy coat had a collar and lapels of thick fur. The knife might not penetrate deep enough for a kill. Letting go the rage to attack straightaway, he took a deep breath and studied his target.
All this time, he had imagined Jermyn looking exactly like himself, aging in all the same ways. Whenever he looked in the mirror, he saw his brother, and his conviction had been reinforced by those who had met both men. They never failed to remark on the resemblance. Miranda Holcombe had . . . Well, he mustn’t think on her.
In fact, Jermyn stood a little taller than his own six feet and one, was wider in the shoulders and fuller in the chest, had thinner lips, and sported lines of dissipation at his temples and the corners of his mouth. He looked as if he could hold his own in a fight, but more like a man who preferred to let others do his fighting for him.
Even if they were meeting for the first time, Michael knew he would instinctively despise the man who stood regarding him with an equal mix of curiosity and contempt.
“My little brother, is it?” said the duke. “I’d heard you had been driven out of India. But with all the charges arrayed against you, I’m surprised to find you here, within the grasp of your accusers and the law.”
“I’m here because your enterprises in India have dwindled to the point that gutting them no longer keeps me occupied. And because we have unfinished business.”
“Ah, yes. The duel. You were, what? Seven-and-ten? Was I to take your challenge seriously?”
“I did. I still do. Shall we get on with it?”
Tallant chuckled. “But what will you do for seconds, Brother? You can’t have any friends here. And do you imagine you can get away with killing a duke?”
“I don’t expect to get away with it. I expect only to do it.”
“Well, it will be amusing to watch you try. But if we are to make arrangements, let us converse without an audience.” Using his walking stick, Tallant cleared a path and struck out for an absurd little Grecian folly plunked in the center of the courtyard. There, they would be entirely visible, but no one would risk the duke’s anger by venturing close enough to eavesdrop.
After a moment, Michael returned the knife to its sheath and followed his brother. He might have made a try, but the odds weren’t good. And if his first strike failed to kill, he’d be taken down by the onlookers before he could strike again. “You won’t fight me,” he said, stepping onto the marble foundation. “So why are we here?”
“To demonstrate my goodwill, of course. And no, there cannot be a fair fight. I haven’t been hacking about with primitives and living, as you have done, like an animal. I grant your physical superiority, for what that is worth. I also reckon you a little mad, for so you must be to return here and openly defy me. You will regret it.”
“Let’s dispense with the theatrics. I’ve told you what to expect. If that’s all—”
“But I like being at center stage. It took me long enough to get here. I don’t imagine you enjoyed poverty and exile in Scotland, but you may be sure that I had no easy go of it either. With you out of his reach, I was the only one at the end of the Devil’s whip. And when he finally turned up his toes, I had to rebuild everything three generations of Keyneses had destroyed. I succeeded because I had the will to do what was necessary. You would not have done so well. You haven’t the stomach for it.”
“Then you have nothing to fear from me, do you?”
“Only the chance misdirected shot. I think you are too soft to kill your brother, my lad. You could not even bring yourself to dispatch native rabble when they got in your way. Oh, I concede you did significant damage to my business interests, but had you not been so squeamish, you might have wiped me out entirely.”
“You misunderstand,” Michael said, propping his back against a marble column and folding his arms. “A mercenary relies on the goodwill of the locals for supplies and intelligence. And because my dealings with them were invariably honest, not to mention generous, they never sold me out for the price you put on my head. On occasion, they even plucked off some of the assassins you set on my trail. I have no difficulty killing when necessary, but I do like to be practical.”
“That’s as may be.” Tallant regarded him thoughtfully. “You have, in fact, been a costly nuisance, and if you stay in my reach, I shall be forced to punish you for it. I rather hope you’ll give me the opportunity. But the pleasure, I am sorry to say, must be delayed. A few nonessential assets require to be disposed of, and the errand will take me away from London for at least a fortnight.”
“Perhaps I should come along. Keep you company.”
The duke laughed. At the sound, startled faces turned in his direction. “You’re welcome to join us. But I’m traveling with a contingent of armed men, and there’s a good chance we’d lose you along the way. A little friendly advice, Michael. Use this reprieve to take ship for somewhere beyond my reach. Create for yourself a principality there, like the one I am building here for myself. This is your chance to escape. I promise you will not otherwise survive.”
“Survival doesn’t concern me.” Michael’s body strained to pull out the knife and slice it across Jermyn’s throat. Even through the layers of coat and cravat and collar, it might do the job. Self-indulgence, his mind kept warning him. You’ll have only one chance. Make it good. Better than this.
“Now who is being theatrical?” Tallant poked him in the chest with his walking stick. “Come near to me again, and I shall spring the blade at the end of this staff, or fire the bullet in its handle. Or simply whip you like the puppy you have always been. Take yourself to New South Wales, Michael, or to the Americas. A little brotherly advice.”
Michael gently pushed the walking stick aside. Not a bad strategy, he thought with a degree of admiration. From the start, relying on his younger brother’s volatile temper, Tallant had been inviting a public attack. Self-defense, the witnesses would claim when the sword cane or the bullet did its work.
“I’ll think it over,” Michael said, grinning. “You hurry back, now.”
He strolled away, leaving Tallant in lone possession of the Grecian folly, and met up with Hari at Hyde Park Corner. Loki looked ready to bolt, and Hari’s new mount, an enormous bay, was cheerfully nuzzling his turban. “Follow Tallant, will you?” Michael swung onto the silver-studded saddle, wondering how much extra that had cost him. “I want to know when he leaves London, and where he goes.”
“I am sure to be noticed,” Hari pointed out, handing him the bills of sale. “How long must I track him?”
“Just long enough to make sure he’s gone. I’d do it myself, but I have to settle with Fenborough. I take it you expect me to pay for that glue bait you’ll be riding?”
“A generous deed will repay you a hundredfold, Michael. As the Lord Buddha remarked when—”
“I’ll settle for you repaying me onefold,” Michael said, guiding Loki toward Hyde Park Turnpike. “Fob off the Buddha sermon on your horse.”
Chapter 6
Attached to the library, accessible only if you knew the way, was a small room, little more than a cubbyhole, with a bay window that gave a view of the grounds and the river. Mira had come upon it while seeking a book her father especially wished her to read to him, and ever since, she had brought him there most afternoons. The room offered privacy and, when the weather permitted, a few hours of afternoon sunlight in which he could bask.
Because he insisted, she was generally required to leave him there and go in search of companionship among Beata’s guests, preferably the masculine variety. Edgar Holcombe would not rest easy until she had snagged he
rself a husband. It did no harm to let him imagine she was trolling for one, but most times she found a quiet place in the library and enjoyed the solitude. On this afternoon, however, he refused to let her depart until she gave him her promise.
“Very well,” she said, not surprised he had figured out her deception. “I’ll take myself to the public rooms and soak up all the gossip.”
His eyes glowed approval.
“In here,” said a male voice just then, so clearly the speaker might have been standing only a few feet away. “Lock the door.”
Startled, Mira looked at her father. His finger moved over the alphabet card. “Nxt rom.”
“If you doubt me, read this.” The man’s voice was soft, almost bland, but anger edged his words. “The losses are staggering.”
The sound seemed to come from the picture-crowded wall. There had to be an opening, but until the man spoke again, she could not pinpoint the source. Several minutes passed while she examined the paintings and their frames, the carved wainscoting, the ornate silk wallpaper. Then a loud thud, as if someone had just slammed closed a heavy ledger.
“What do you intend to do?”
Footsteps, muffled by the carpet. And from a distance, a different voice, a deeper voice, one that sounded familiar. “You have summoned me here to no purpose. I intend to complete the personal business you interrupted. When I return, we shall speak again.”
“That will not suffice.”
“It will have to. We’ll make up the losses. They would not continue in any case, as you must surely have observed. But if it eases your mind, I shall soon see to it there is no more trouble from that source.”
A door opened and closed. Mira listened hard. After a time, the door opened and closed again.
Well. No wonder her father didn’t mind being left alone here. When he wasn’t snoozing in the sunshine, he had been eavesdropping on private conversations. She smiled. How could she blame him, now that he could do little more than listen to what others had to say? He had always been partial to a good story, but he never broke a confidence. And if he knew the identities of the two men they had overheard, he would not tell her.