by Carola Dunn
She hung on tight. Giles glanced round at her and failed to see a harpy standing on a table in his path, aiming a broken chair at all and sundry with joyous abandon. The deafening hubbub drowned Jodie’s shout of warning.
The chair was inches from Giles’s head when Fifi’s colourful curls appeared from beneath the table; she seized the ankle of the woman wielding the chair and pulled. They both went over with the chair on top of them.
Jodie was prepared to swear that as she raced past she saw Fifi wink at her.
Everyone was far too busy to notice a gentleman running hand-in-hand with his footman. They kept running until they reached the street and leaned against a wall, panting.
“That is positively and absolutely the last place I take you sightseeing,” said Giles.
Jodie giggled. “It started as a sort of ‘60s love-in and ended as a barroom brawl straight out of a Western movie. Do you realize you would have been conked on the head if it wasn’t for Fifi?”
“Fifi? The gorgeous redhead? No, I didn’t see that. Bloody hell, I’ve left my overcoat and cane in there. I’ll have to get them. You wait here and don’t you dare move a single step, unless you see an empty hackney.”
While he was gone, a carriage drove up and disgorged a party of young men already half-seas over. Jodie wished she could fade into the wall, but they did not spare her a glance as they staggered past her, singing raucously in several different keys. Giles returned a moment later with coat and cane.
“No hackneys? I’ve no desire to hang about here, let’s start walking. Thank heaven it’s not raining for once. Tell me about Fifi.”
“She guessed I’m not a man.”
“Oh sh…! Are you serious?”
“She didn’t give me away. She was kind of nice.”
“You were lucky,” he said grimly. “I don’t imagine Thorncrest will give you away either, since you’re his fiancée’s cousin, but sooner or later you’re bound to meet someone equally perceptive who isn’t ‘kind of nice.’ That was positively…”
“…And absolutely the last place you take me sightseeing,” Jodie finished his sentence for him. She tucked her hand under his arm. “Do you think you could possibly walk a little slower so I can keep up and breathe at the same time? That’s better. I don’t blame you, Giles. You’ve been a real angel and don’t think I don’t appreciate it. I know it’s gone against the grain to waste your time on such frivolous amusements.”
He grinned down at her. “Actually, I’ve rather enjoyed myself. On the whole,” he amended. “My life hasn’t been entirely given up to serious pursuits, you know. Besides, our little adventures have had a serious purpose for you.”
“I’ve enjoyed myself too,” she admitted, “though it did get a bit hairy back there.” It was funny in retrospect, but at the time she had been frightened—and very glad of Giles’s presence. She was about to tell him so when he suddenly stood still.
“Sshhh.”
The stealthy footsteps following them went on for a couple of paces, then sped up into a run.
“Muggers!” Giles swung round, his cane miraculously turning into a sword. “Three of them. Get behind me.”
Even as he spoke another two men darted out of an alley ahead of Jodie and rushed towards her. The one on her right bore a cudgel. Cursing her heavy coat, Jodie took a deep breath, nerving herself to meet them.
Her back to Giles she corrected him in a voice that sounded startlingly calm to her ears: “Footpads.”
Her ready stance gave the men pause. Their onrush slowed, then the unarmed man hissed, “Starkey said ‘tis a gentry mort out for a lark.”
Encouraged by the reminder that he faced a female, the other attacked. As the cudgel swung down towards her head, Jodie blocked his arm with crossed wrists and used its momentum to guide it down between his legs. He squawked in pain as he hit his own crotch with his forearm. The cudgel was behind him now. Jodie seized it in her left hand and conked her squirming victim on the back of the head. Continuing the smooth sequence of moves, she wheeled on the other man, who had incautiously decided to join the fray while she was otherwise engaged—he thought. She kicked him in the kneecap, saw him drop to the pavement with a squeal of agony, and still turned, glancing quickly back to make sure he was disabled.
Giles was facing two burly men, the thin steel of his rapier gleaming as it darted in a web of protection in front of him. Jodie’s battle had taken only a few seconds, just long enough for the man nearest her to draw a knife. Preparing to throw it, he moved sideways towards Jodie as the other villain went in the opposite direction, dividing Giles’s attention. The footpad with the knife was watching Giles. His head met Jodie’s cudgel and he sank to the ground without a murmur.
Completing her turn, Jodie saw Giles’s sword leap twice to slice his opponent’s arm and leave a slashmark on his cheek. The man stumbled backwards, cursing. The lookout, a mere boy, had already taken to his heels. Jodie’s first attacker was out cold, the second hobbling away with one leg dragging.
He turned and spat. “She-devil!”
“She-devil indeed,” said Giles respectfully, wiping his sword blade on his handkerchief.
“No, I’m not.” Jodie was shaking. “I was scared to death. Hold me a minute, Giles.”
His weapon at the ready in his right hand, he gathered her to him with his left arm, murmuring words of comfort and admiration. She clung to him, aware that over her head he was watching the downed villains for signs of danger.
There was one danger he was not considering. If the Watch appeared, too late to help, and found him embracing his footman—well, this was not tolerant twentieth-century England. Rumours of Byron’s homosexual activities had damned him as surely as had the tales of incest, and proof could have hanged him, peer or no. Jodie pulled away from Giles.
“Thanks, I’m okay now. Let’s get away from these creeps. I don’t want to get mixed up with what passes for the police in this day and age.” She picked up the lower part of his cane from the cobbles where he had tossed it. “Here. It’s a good job there’s no law about concealed weapons.”
Returning her strained smile, he put the swordstick back together then held out his arm. She shook her head and walked beside him, careful not to touch him, breathing deeply to try to still her racing pulse.
“Do you think your friend Fifi alerted them?” he proposed, his voice as unnaturally calm as her own. “I imagine they must have considered us easy prey.”
“Yes, they probably only attack lone gentlemen. They would have thought a female no obstacle. I can’t believe Fifi told them about me.” She frowned. “No, Fifi thought me a lightskirt but the footpad called me a ‘gentry mort,’ which is slang for a lady. I expect they saw me holding your arm and heard me talking.”
“Better keep your voice down then. Ah, there’s a cab at last.” He hailed the hackney, and when they were settled inside he went on, “Where did you learn the karate?”
“It’s not real karate, I just took a self-defense course. What about you and the swordplay? It gave me quite a shock when your elegant cane turned into a lethal weapon.”
“Harry said I should have something, and a pistol is hard to conceal. I learned to fence when I was a student in Germany. It’s a popular sport there.”
“You were magnificent.”
“So were you. The Magnificent Two.”
“Somehow it doesn’t have the ring of the Magnificent Seven.” Jodie pondered. “How about the Powerful Pair?”
“Not quite. The Courageous Couple?”
The word game dissipated Jodie’s tension and she was laughing by the time she rejected ‘the Redoubtable Duo’ on the grounds that Batman and Robin were known as the Dynamic Duo. The hackney drew up before the Faringdales’ house.
Her laughter faded suddenly.
“I’ve just thought,” she said, trudging wearily down the steps to the area door. “Thorncrest may not want to blacken his fiancée’s cousin’s reputation in public, but there is n
othing whatsoever to stop him telling Roland he saw me at the Royal Saloon.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of you,” Giles said softly as the door opened to reveal Dinah’s anxious face.
Even to an independent modern woman, his reassurance was sweet.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m right glad you’re home safe, miss,” Dinah whispered to Jodie, “and Mr. Giles too. I’ve heard stories ‘bout that place ‘ud make your hair stand on end. Wicked, it is. Miss Emily’s already gone up, but she said to be sure and ask you to go tell her everything.”
On the way up the back stairs, Jodie swiftly expurgated their adventures of the evening. She would have liked to eliminate all mention of Lord Thorncrest’s presence in that den of iniquity, but Emily ought to be forewarned. She was bound to come in for some awkward questions if her betrothed denounced Jodie to her brother.
Emily was sitting up in bed, swathed in a quilt. Jodie saw a book disappear into the folds as she entered.
“Oh, I was afraid it was Charlotte.” The volume reappeared. “I did not want to upset her.”
“What are you reading?” The scene was so normal, so cosy, Jodie found it hard to believe that a few minutes ago she had been fighting for her life.
“Mrs. Godwin’s Vindication of the Rights of Women,” said Emily guiltily. “She says…”
“Not now, I’m exhausted.” Jodie let Dinah help her out of her coat and sank into a chair, rubbing her sore wrists. “We’ll discuss it later, I promise you.”
“What is wrong with your arms? Are you hurt? Let me see,” Emily ordered, jumping out of bed. “You are horridly bruised. Dinah, fetch some arnica and witch hazel. Now, Jodie, tell me what happened.”
Jodie obliged. While she spoke, Dinah returned, rubbed arnica on her wrists, and bound them with bandages soaked in cool, medicinal-smelling witch hazel. She and Emily were a splendid audience, open-mouthed, their eyes growing rounder and rounder.
When all the horrified exclamations were over, Emily asked wistfully, “Did Lord Thorncrest have one of those women with him?”
“No, he was with several gentlemen, no females.” She was glad to be able to answer honestly, and surprised at the question. Was it possible that Emily was developing a tendre for the earl?
She no longer feared him. Though she silently disagreed with his views on some subjects, she had learned that at least he studied and thought about serious matters. He drove her in the park and danced with her regularly, and was unfailingly courteous—indeed, she had not suffered the sharp edge of his tongue since the betrothal had been arranged.
Or since he had had Jodie to whet it on, thought that young lady with a secret grin. Maybe her plan was working. Maybe Emily was beginning to feel just a tad jealous of the attentions her betrothed paid to her supposed cousin.
After all, the wretched man was still handsome enough to dazzle the most sought-after young lady.
On the other hand, he had yet to listen to Emily’s opinion on any subject, let alone ask for it. Nor did Jodie suppose, simply because he had not had a ladybird with him at the Royal Saloon, that the earl had mended his libertine ways in honour of his betrothal.
At that point in her cogitations, Jodie realized that her chin was resting on her chest. She jerked upright and opened her eyes.
“You are exhausted,” Emily commiserated, “and no wonder. Off to bed with you.”
Jodie hauled herself out of the chair. “How am I going to explain this to Charlotte?” she asked muzzily, holding out her linen-wrapped arms.
“You could tell her that you tripped over the hem of your gown going upstairs, and put out your arms to save yourself. She would accept it. Remember how you fell into Giles’s arms that first morning?”
“Wretch! I learned weeks since how to manage long skirts properly.”
“I doubt Charlotte will ask. She is aware that something has been going on and she prefers not to know the details. Dinah, I think you had best help Miss Judith to bed, if you please, or she is like to fall asleep on the floor.”
~ ~ ~
When she awoke the next morning, Jodie could not remember undressing, let alone climbing into bed. She guessed from the sounds in the street that it was late. Though her wrists were merely stiff, not painful, she was drowsy and disinclined to move.
Dinah looked in, saw that she was awake, and came in.
“How’re you feeling, Miss Judith? Miss Emily left this for you.” She searched the pocket of her apron and produced a twist of paper. “She’s gone shopping with my lady, and Mr. Giles went off to Mrs. Brown’s, and my lord’s at his club. I’ll bring your breakfast, shall I?” She pulled back the curtains, revealing another grey, drizzling day.
Jodie was ravenous, but the smell of liquor seemed to cling to her hair. “I shall take a shower bath first, then eat below stairs.”
“I’ll warm a towel for you, miss, while you read your note. ‘Tis a miserable day, right enough.”
Jodie smoothed the paper while the abigail bustled about. Emily wrote that she meant to beg off a visit to Charlotte’s sister after shopping and she would come home to see that Jodie was all right. She had suggested to her sister-in-law that Jodie had probably stayed up late writing and would not want to be wakened to shop.
“Bless her,” Jodie thought. She had no desire whatever to go shopping—every trifle she acquired seemed to anchor her in this time. Though she had accepted a ball gown and a few odds and ends from Charlotte, she still mostly wore dresses borrowed from Emily.
She took her shower, luxurious but brief. In the townhouse, hot water was always available though limited in quantity. Emily’s excuse for her sleeping late reminded her that she must write up a description of last night, so she had a breakfast tray brought to her in the book room and ate as she wrote.
Absorbed in her work, she vaguely heard voices in the entrance hall but took no notice until the book room door opened.
“Lord Thorncrest, miss,” Potter announced. “Are you at home?”
He stepped back quickly as the earl walked past him and into the room.
“I feel sure Miss Judith will receive me,” he drawled.
Jodie nodded reluctant assent and the butler left. She stuck her pen in the inkwell, stood up, and moved around the desk, nervous but refusing to be intimidated. What did he want with her? Despite his faults, he was surely too much the gentleman to stoop to blackmail.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Come now, Judith, such formality! My name is Charles, you may remember.”
“I did not give you permission to use my name, sir.
“With women of your kind, my dear, one does not wait for permission,” he said drily. With one stride he was at her side, and sweeping her into his arms he planted a passionate kiss on her lips.
For one startled moment Jodie responded. He was certainly an expert and she had no profound objection to being kissed. Then she recalled her situation—he was a notorious rake, engaged to a dear friend, and she was a respectable young woman living under her cousin’s protection.
To one who had routed three armed assailants a mere twelve hours since, a single would-be seducer was no problem. Lord Thorncrest landed on his back on the Axminster, astonishment and fury vying for command of his features.
“Want to try it again, brother?” Jodie asked dangerously.
“Bravo!” Giles had entered unnoticed. “Pray don’t let me interrupt.”
The earl bounded to his feet. “Faringdale—of course,” he snarled. “I’ll have your blood for this.”
“By all means.” Giles was ready to oblige. “But surely it is up to me to do the challenging. After all, you appeared to be manhandling my sister.”
“You hit me and I demand satisfaction.” Thorncrest felt his undamaged chin with a puzzled air. “Name your seconds.”
“I didn’t hit you. I expect my cousin and Lord Font will act for me.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Jodie intervened. “This is my
quarrel, Giles, and I can handle it.”
“I’ve no doubt of that.”
“Then there’s no earthly reason you need to get mixed up in it.”
“My honour as a gentleman,” Giles pointed out, grinning.
“For heaven’s sake, be serious. I know you can fence and shoot but Thorncrest has probably fought a dozen duels and you’ve never fought in earnest in your life. I bet you don’t even know the proper etiquette.”
“I am perfectly willing to follow American etiquette,” said Lord Thorncrest stiffly. “I believe two of your politicians—Burns and Hamilton, was it?—met honourably some years since.”
“Hamilton was killed and Burr discredited,” Jodie pointed out. “Think, Giles. What the hell am I supposed to do if you end up dead or in Newgate?”
“I hardly think it’ll come to that, but if so, Cassandra and Harry will see you get home safely.”
“And then I suppose I go in to tea with your mother and tell her: ‘I’m frightfully sorry, Lady Faringdale, but your son got himself pinked in a duel a couple of centuries ago and I had to leave him behind’?”
To her indignation, Giles laughed. “I have to admit even my imperturbable mother might be a bit put out. Don’t worry, I left the keys in the car; you can skip tea and drive yourself back to Oxford.”
“And have the cops after me for car theft and kidnapping?” Jodie was beginning to see the funny side. “Can’t you just imagine the headlines? ‘Physicist peer vanishes! U.S. coed questioned by Scotland Yard.’ The gutter press would just love it.”
“Coed’s an American word. ‘Lovely graduate,’ they’d say, ‘claims researcher jailed in 1816.’ They like lovely, it’s shorter than beautiful.”
“‘Historian runs amok, slays sexy scientist, hides body in past.’ I can just see it on the front page of the tabloids at the supermarket checkout.”
They had both forgotten the earl. Lord Thorncrest had lost his glower and was looking distinctly uneasy. Jodie’s final remark was too much for him.