Pride Of Honor: Men of the Squadron Series, Book 1

by Stein, Andrea K.

  Howick’s expression flickered, but he didn’t order Arnaud to ease his grip.

  “Perhaps you’d like to ply your lying trade and sell your services elsewhere? I could arrange passage for you on a lag ship to Botany Bay.”

  Something flickered for a moment in Seaton’s gaze before returning to his look of boredom and belligerence.

  No one said a word for several minutes, the silence heavy and ominous.

  “Maybe I did have a talk or two with some hectors sent to badger me.”

  “And did these ‘hectors’ have a name or description?”

  “Maybe they did and maybe they didn’t.”

  Arnaud bore down harder until Teddy gave out a louder yelp. “Enough. I’ll tell you what you want to know. Only make him go away, keep his distance. Besides, he’s no better than me. All he wants is a taste of that fancy Italian by-blow.”

  This time Arnaud flipped both Seaton and his chair to the floor, so that his head took a hard crack. Seaton scrambled back to his feet, giving Arnaud a baleful glance, but kept his distance.

  After righting the chair and taking his seat again, Teddy resumed his bored look.

  Lord Howick spoke again. “I’m done wasting time on you. You will tell me what I want to know, or you’ll be on the next ship to Botany Bay. I don’t know what kind of criminals you associate with, but you endangered my daughter as well as Miss Brancelli with your mindless attempt to lure them outside.”

  “There’s not that much to tell. They never told me why they wanted the chit.”

  “What did they offer you to deliver her into their hands?” Lord Howick’s face had become grim.

  “They weren’t going to hurt her. They just wanted me to take her to Gretna Green. Said they’d see to it I got her inheritance.”

  “And you believed them?” Arnaud couldn’t help interrupting Howick’s interrogation. He couldn’t bear to go on listening to the nonsense streaming out of Seaton’s mouth.

  “But they made it clear if I didn’t do what they asked, I’d be sorry.”

  “Can you describe any of the men who threatened you?” Howick resumed his questioning.

  “There was only one without a hooded mask, and all I can tell you is he was big, exceptionally big.”

  At a nod from Howick, Arnaud walked outside and came back with Artemis. One of the man’s many talents which stood him in good stead on long ocean voyages was his sketching skills. He sat down with Seaton and began pulling details to create a likeness of the “exceptionally big” man.

  Sophie had barely returned from a ride with Lydia, Sir Thomas, Viscount and Viscountess Rumsford, and Captain Neville filling in for guard duty. She hadn’t seen anything of Arnaud since his drunken performance the night before. And that was fine with her. She fervently wished never to encounter the man again. She wanted to dismiss him from her thoughts, she wanted to rage at him for disappointing her, she wanted to take him in her arms and hold him until he promised he would never do such a pudding-headed thing again.

  Lydia’s maid helped remove their muddy boots and took charge of their hats. Thank the gods. At times like this, Sophie considered just how trivial and nonsensical her life had become when she had to deal with layers of feathers and veils just to see where she was going.

  Viscountess Rumsford, after a nod to one of the footmen, had excused herself to return to her chamber. Sir Thomas and Viscount “Rummy” had returned to the park to exercise another set of mounts from the stables.

  Sophie was no fool. She realized this was the way her life would spool out as Sir Thomas’s wife. She could not refuse the man’s offer outright. There was too much at stake. Praying was not one of Sophie’s long suits, but she prayed desperately now on a daily basis that someone, anyone would publish one of her works.

  Life as Mrs. James, the wife of the honorable barrister, Sir Thomas James, would be pleasant. Sir Thomas was good company when he was present and available. Occurrences of that nature would be infrequent, she feared, though, after seeing him with the one person she suspected was the love he could not acknowledge.

  “Stop wool-gathering, Sophie.” Lydia’s voice pulled her out of the endless debate spinning through her mind. “Captain Neville has to leave to pack for the trip back to London.”

  Sophie looked up and finally noticed her friend and Arnaud’s marine captain. She recognized the lost look in Lydia’s eyes as well as the one of yearning in Neville’s. They were the same looks she and Arnaud shared whenever they were in the same room. Jupiter. Love was complicated.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Arnaud walked briskly with resolute steps away from the barn with the sketch of the man who pulled the strings to ruin Sophie, to take her away from all she’d known, everyone who loved her.

  The brutish face staring back at him did not set off any alarm bells with Arnaud. He had not encountered anyone of that ilk since the fateful day weeks ago when Sophie had stormed into his life. Zeus! It felt like years. He hated to make her look at the man in the drawing, but he had a hunch she might recognize him from something in her past, something she might not even remember.

  He climbed the steps to the main house of Clifford Park and asked one of the footmen where Miss Brancelli might be. He told him both Misses Brancelli and Howick were in the family sitting room and then walked him through before tapping on the door and announcing the young women had a visitor.

  When Sophie came to the door, her eyes widened at the sight of him. He swore he would never understand women, but he couldn’t mistake this woman’s state of mind. She was enraged, she looked at him as if he were some slimy creature she’d encountered on a garden path.

  “How can you come here and pretend everything is still the same? How could you?”

  When another head appeared behind Sophie’s just before the woman he loved stalked away, he decided to plead his case to Lydia. “Please make sure Sophie looks at this and then tells one of us, or Lord Howick, if she recognizes the likeness of the man in this drawing. He may be the one who has organized all the attempts on her person.”

  He turned away after handing off the sketch, but then made a sharp turn back. “And if you have any idea what I might have done to offend Miss Brancelli, please send word so that I can make amends. We will be ready to leave as soon as the men pack our trunks and arms. We’ll wait at the crossroads near the inn to join you. If we’re lucky, we may beat the afternoon storm back to town.” This time he left without a backward glance.

  The Rumsfords were leaving in a flurry of trunks, maids and footmen, and as their carriage rolled toward the front steps, Sophie’s bad dog Lancelot chose that moment to race from his warm bed in the stables and fling himself beneath the wheels on his determined, mindless path to the front entrance of Clifford Park house. His frightened squeals made Sophie run to the window and press her face against the pane.

  At that moment, Arnaud flung himself beneath the wheels as well and snatched her naughty dog out of harm’s way before handing him off to one of the footmen. Then he walked steadily away, brushing the dust from his buckskins and jacket, his boots crunching against the stones along the drive.

  She’d always wondered if a heart could physically break, and now she knew. Hers was in pieces all over the Fitzroy family sitting room carpet. Later, the maids would wonder where all the shards had come from and sweep them into a dustbin.

  Lydia padded close behind her and gave her some awkward pats on the back. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Instead of explaining, Sophie turned and buried her head onto her friend’s shoulder, sobbing wet tears. Lydia joined her, pouring out her own sorrows.

  After they’d shared a good cry leaving their eyes red and puffy, Lydia remembered the sketch Arnaud had wanted Sophie to see.

  After Sophie took the drawing, Lydia said she would take a short walk in the garden before heading up to their chamber to supervise packing with Jane. Once her friend left, Sophie studied the man’s features for a few minutes before thudding down
onto the sofa. Memories she’d been holding back flooded through her senses, as sharp and keen as the day she’d left the ducal mansion. The cruel features of the man in the drawing were very close to what she remembered.

  After her grandmother’s will had been read, her uncle had exploded into a fury and hired the man to watch over her. Why, Sophie wondered, with her uncle’s immense wealth, had he begrudged her the small inheritance from her grandmother?

  She’d never heard the man appointed as her keeper called anything other than Otis. He was ever outside her door, refusing to allow her to venture beyond the estate without him. His eyes followed her everywhere, and one day, he walked into her chamber without knocking to tell her the duke had given her to him, to prepare herself to leave with him the next day.

  Later that night, her uncle’s housekeeper had one of the maids distract Otis while she quietly led Sophie out of the house. They threw a few of her belongings into a cart and, with the help of a footman on his day off, she escaped to her father’s small, topsy-turvy cottage.

  Her gut churned at the thought of what would happen if she told Lord Howick, or heaven forbid, Arnaud, of what she knew. Everyone had suffered enough on her account. Her uncle was a ruthless, soulless man. She alone knew of what violence and duplicity he was capable when crossed. Now she was certain who was behind all the attempts to destroy her. And there was nothing she could do. Jupiter.

  At a tap at the door, she found a footman holding out Lancelot. The mischievous pup reveled so in playing with the other dogs in the barn, his coat looked nearly as gray as the day she first spied him flinging himself into danger on Rotten Row. He had not changed one bit despite the gift of a noble name, she thought, as she carried him back to the kitchen for a treat. She would find a tub of warm, soapy water to douse him in before sending the pup back to London with Arnaud’s mother.

  Arnaud watched dark gray clouds scud across the sky. If he were at sea, he’d have his crew shorten all the canvas. Looked as though they might not beat the storm back to town.

  He leaned forward in his saddle and peered down the road toward Clifford Park. He thought he could see the dust of Howick’s team. Just as he alerted everyone to get ready to fall in behind the other carriage, the clouds opened and the deluge began. Jagged shards of lightning appeared at short intervals above the trees in the close.

  Arnaud, Bourne, and Neville, who were riding outside the military-like convoy of carriages, pulled on greatcoats from their packs and adjusted the collars against the downpour. At a hand signal from Arnaud, Neville urged his mount forward to trot alongside the Howick carriage.

  If their mission were not so serious, Arnaud mused how laughable it would be to see a bunch of Royal Navy officers acting like they were in the cavalry.

  At that moment, there was a crack of lightning so loud, and so near, Arnaud thought he might have been struck. Suddenly the rain pouring over his head was mixed with blood, a lot of blood. He fell off his horse, and everything went black.

  Sophie and Lydia clung to each other after the latest crack of lightning lit up the wood around them. Several more strikes in a row soon after that had even Lord Howick peering out the windows, trying to see what was happening.

  Sophie could no longer see Captain Neville trotting next to them, so thick was the rain pelting down around them. In addition to the heavy rain, there also seemed to be a thick fog settling in. She dismissed a sudden frisson of fear by closing her eyes and seeing the comforting vision of Arnaud riding behind them. Nothing bad could happen to her while he was near.

  Lieutenant Richard Bourne was the first to see Arnaud knocked from his horse. He shouted to the guards from Honore’s river warehouses who rode both in front of and behind her carriage ferrying the men of Arnaud’s squadron. One of them went to his side while Bourne galloped ahead and pounded on the carriage door. Dr. MacCloud was riding inside, waiting his turn at rain-sodden guard duty.

  He rode back with Bourne to where Arnaud lay. The carriage would take longer to turn around on the narrow lane. The men would have to unhitch the horses and pull the carriage around by the traces to head back to Clifford Park.

  “Is he breathing?” Bourne squatted anxiously next to Cullen as he probed and prodded at the area where a large amount of blood still pulsed from Arnaud’s head.

  Cullen turned, his frown grim. He held two fingers at the side of Arnaud’s neck. “Impossible to know out here in this deluge and thunder. He does have a faint pulse. We’ll have to get him inside, and dry, the sooner the better.” He ripped off his own shirt, balled it into a tight wad, and pressed hard against the area of most blood pouring from Arnaud’s skull.

  They looked at each other and came to the same conclusion. “Back to Clifford Park,” they agreed in unison. With that terse decision, Cullen climbed onto Arnaud’s horse which still stood nearby grazing in the wet grass. Bourne heaved up Arnaud’s limp form, still pressing Cullen’s sodden, bloody shirt against the wound.

  Bourne threw a wet salute to the ship’s surgeon as he disappeared into the storm. He trudged back toward the carriage, his mind racing in multiple directions. He suddenly calmed when he realized what his commander would want. When he got back to the carriage, he first climbed inside to give the news to Artemis, Captain Bellingham’s valet. That man decided to walk back to the country house where he could be of help.

  Bourne organized Mrs. Bellingham’s guards to send the carriage back to the house with a minimal team of two and the drivers while the rest of them would take the remaining horses and catch up to the Howick carriage. Someone was out there armed and determined to use murderous means to interfere with Miss Brancelli. Bourne had no doubt where Captain Bellingham would want them to be.

  Sophie let out the long breath she’d been holding when the lightning strikes began to occur farther and farther apart. The rain and mists outside the carriage windows also seemed to lighten a bit.

  They could finally see Captain Neville riding alongside. Lord Howick leaned forward and gave him a wave. Just as Neville waved back, a larger group of horsemen joined them, and a series of loud knocks caused the driver to pull over and stop.

  Sophie felt as though she’d been pushed from behind while peering over a high cliff.

  As soon as the carriage stopped, the door opened and Lieutenant Bourne leaned in. “Something’s happened. We need to increase the guards and quicken the pace as much as possible.”

  “For heaven’s sakes, spit it out,” Howick insisted. “What’s happened?”

  Bourne looked at Sophie and then glanced back at Howick. “Someone took a shot at Captain Bellingham and knocked him off his horse.”

  Sophie launched herself forward and grabbed Lieutenant Bourne by his collar. “Tell me, you must tell me. Is he…?”

  “No. He’s alive. Dr. MacCloud tended to him and now rides with him back to Clifford Park.”

  “But we have to turn around.” Sophie looked to Lord Howick, her eyes pleading.

  “No, Miss Brancelli. The men and I are doing what we all agree he would want us to do. Whoever fired that shot meant for us to bring you back to them. That we cannot do. We’ll travel as fast as possible to Howick House in Mayfair where you’ll be safe.”

  With that terse explanation, Bourne backed out of the carriage and re-mounted. Within minutes, the carriage was moving a little faster toward safety, but away from the man she loved. Within a matter of hours, Sophie’s heart had moved from disappointment in an imperfect man, to breaking over the same man, and now the fickle thing was at a thumping gallop toward warrior mode. She knew what she had to do. She alone knew who had to pay.

  Beside her, Lydia gave her hand a tight squeeze, and Lady Howick leaned across from her seat to pat both of her hands.

  Lord Howick cleared his throat. “Sophie, we all know he is in good hands with Dr. MacCloud, and his mother will still be at Clifford Park to help care for him. I know it’s hard, but all we can do is wait and make sure you remain safe until he can come back to you. An
d he will. He was a hero at the Battle of Algiers. If he survived that, he can survive anything.”

  Honore wiped the blood seeping from Arnaud’s head wound and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead for any sign of a fever. Dr. MacCloud had left his patient’s bedside to seek a few hours sleep after telling her the next twenty-four hours would decide her son’s fate.

  The shot had grazed Arnaud’s head and the bullet had traveled on, probably into the brush at the side of the road. Cullen said since the wound was so shallow, the fall from the horse may have been what rendered him unconscious.

  Honore and Sir Edward, Admiral Thornbrough, were about to leave in her carriage to return to Hanover Square when Cullen had trotted back with Arnaud slung across his saddle. Sir Thomas had insisted she and Admiral Thornbrough should stay as long as necessary to help nurse her son.

  Since Arnaud’s forehead was still cool, she sat back in a corner chair and fell asleep. When she awakened a few hours later, Arnaud’s eyelids were fluttering, so she called for a footman to alert Dr. MacCloud.

  He appeared soon after in the doorway in his shirtsleeves. He said nothing until he checked his patient’s pulse and the amount of blood on the linens wrapped around his head.

  Cullen sat on a footstool at Honore’s feet and put his hand over hers. “I think he’s passed through the worst of his injury, and there’s no fever yet. The bleeding appears to have abated. Even minor head wounds bleed copious amounts of blood. We’ll just have to wait and see how he seems when he wakes up.”

  “What would be a good sign when he wakes?” Honore blinked hard, forcing herself to trust in Cullen’s skills. She knew Arnaud would.

  “He’ll be as stubborn and cantankerous as he always is.” Cullen patted her hand. “I’ve treated more of these head wounds than I care to remember as a surgeon in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. He’s going to be fine. He just needs some time to rest and heal.”