by C. J. Archer
"And what of Widow Dawson? You think she likes you tending her patients? I'm sure she loves having the sister of a gentleman farmer take away her livelihood."
"Stop it, Nick, it won't work. Do you know why? I already told you, I have learned much since leaving my family home. Perhaps I was naïve then, but not anymore. I know when someone is speaking the truth. Susanna has spoken the truth when she asked me to visit as often as I could. Widow Dawson spoke the truth when she thanked me for seeing patients she could not. And you, my sweet Nick, spoke the truth when you told me that I knew you and you knew me and nothing else mattered."
The air was as dense as a winter fog. His face was still in shadow, but she could just make out the line of his mouth. It wasn't set as firmly as she'd thought it would be, but twisted a little, and once, she thought she saw his nostrils flare, but it was too dark to be sure.
"That's the thing about us men," he finally said. His voice was soft with an amused edge to it. "We're good at knowing how to get a wench to spread her legs. Some of us better than others. Mallam, for instance, needed to promise marriage. I don't recall ever having to resort to that lie."
She didn't believe it. Not a single word. If she hadn't spent five intense days with him, she may have fallen for it, but the real Nick Coleclough wasn't cruel. He was a gentleman, a man who believed in justice. The man who'd made a rattle for his friend's babe and not wanted due thanks for it, and the one who'd lovingly carved Brutus's likeness and left it for her as a parting gift.
Getting him to let go of that iron will and drop the mask, however, was going to be difficult. She needed to use every weapon in her arsenal.
"You'd like me to run away now, wouldn't you?" she said. "I'm not going to, Nick. That is the first thing you must come to terms with. Fortunately for me, you can't run away. I should thank the Larkham men for chaining you up in a private room."
"What are you playing at?" The uncertainty in his voice was the first sign that he was unsettled by her approach.
"You said I haven't learned anything." She shifted forward on her knees. "Well, that's not true. I've learned what true love is, and it wasn't what I felt for Edmund Mallam."
She could have sworn she heard the sound of him swallowing. That was the second sign. She could take that path of thought further, but it wasn't the right time or place. Instead, she crept closer to him on all fours.
"Stay there, Lucy."
She paused. "We all care for you. Me, yes, but Orlando and Susanna, Monk and Oxley too. None of us will sit by and watch you swing for killing a man like Renny."
That produced a snarl from him. "They feel responsible, that's all. Especially Hughe. He doesn't want my death on his conscience. It's already too crowded, you see, he can't fit one more."
"He cares for you, and you need to accept it," she said. "He's quite distressed that he's going to lose you, in one way or another."
"What do you mean?"
"To the Larkham mob, or to me."
He went very still. She crept closer again on her hands and knees, but he pulled his legs up. She touched his ankle and felt him shudder.
"I warn you now, Nick, I am very determined that I'll be the one to take you away from Lord Oxley."
"Yes," he whispered. "I can see that."
She smiled. She had him. "I don't plan on losing."
"I can see that too."
She moved closer, closer, until she was touching his knee, his shoulder, his mouth. His poor, split lip.
"Don't, Lucy," he whispered. "Don't touch me. I'm trying everything… I can't… please."
Just like that, the little game they'd been playing ended. She leaned in and gently kissed his mouth, beside the cut. "You usually win when you plead," she said. "But not this time."
CHAPTER 17
Cole was defenseless. Lucy had removed his wall brick by brick until it could no longer stand against her quietly determined onslaught. Each airy kiss shattered him anew, and finally he gave in and simply held her and kissed her with the ferocity that he'd wanted to ever since she walked in.
She hadn't forsaken him.
"We'll get you out," she said. She sat in his lap and kissed one of his swollen eyelids. "It shouldn't be too difficult to escape. Mr. Monk could get the key to the chain—"
"No." He lifted her off and set her down on the pallet. He couldn't keep up the pretense of hating her, but he still had to keep her away. If he could do nothing else for her, he could at least do that. "I'm not going to escape."
She glared at him. "Why not? With Monk and Oxley's help—"
"Escaping will solve nothing." He focused on her mouth, but it pouted in the most delicious way, so he looked elsewhere. "It won't clear my name. I'll have to run and hide forever."
"You mean we will."
"No."
"But Nick—"
"No!" He drew up his knees and before she could speak, he said, "It will also throw suspicion onto Hughe and Monk. I can't risk their reputations. Their work is too important."
"Not more important than your life!"
"There is another way," he said. "Hughe has influence. He may be able to convince the assize judges that I'm innocent."
She narrowed her eyes. He had to admit it was impossible. A person accused of murder never escaped the noose when there were witnesses. It wouldn't matter that the case hung on a child's account. It was enough.
"It's two weeks before the court sits," she said. "If you think Upfield has the patience to wait that long, you're mistaken. He's baying for your blood, Nick."
Tears pooled in her eyes, and he desperately wanted to fold her into his arms again. Instead, he circled them around his knees and stared down at the pallet. "Upfield will beat his chest and make a lot of noise, but he won't do anything." He wished he could be as certain as he sounded. Upfield had taken everyone by surprise when he'd attacked Cole while he was still chained up in the cart. Cole had got a solid kick in, but not until after Upfield had landed some hard punches. Monk and Sawyer had dragged him away while Hughe looked on. If anyone had seen the earl, they would have thought he was unmoved by the scuffle, but Cole knew differently. He'd never seen such cold fury in Hughe's eyes.
"Be patient, Lucy. My fate will be decided in two weeks."
She clicked her tongue. "This isn't like you. You're a man of action. You get things done. I cannot believe you're going to await your fate down here like an obedient dog. What's wrong with you? Why are you being so accepting? It's almost as if you welcome this."
Her words reached into his heart and squeezed. He was trapped, caught in her bright light, and there was nowhere to run. How could she have guessed at something that had taken even Hughe a long time to work out?
Ah yes. Love. That grand illuminator.
He'd hesitated too long. He should have spoken sooner, but she was looking at him now with those wide eyes, and he saw the moment the final, fatal piece clicked into place.
"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No, Nick. I'm here and I love you. Don't throw away what we have." She began to cry and he hugged his knees harder, digging his fingernails through the hose into his skin.
He should tell her that he didn't love her in return, but she was much too clever to believe it.
She cradled his face in her hands with such tenderness that his heart lurched violently. He didn't deserve the gentleness. Didn't deserve her. If he was capable of speaking, he would have told her that.
"There is everything to live for." Her voice cracked and she sucked in a breath. "You're a good man. Despite what you think, your soul is good, Nick. The people you've assassinated were animals. You've done nothing wrong."
"Is that what you think?" He shook his head. He didn't want to go on, didn't want her to know how truly black his heart was.
His resolve mattered not a whit. She had a look of sheer determination about her. "Then what is it? Tell me!"
She gripped his shoulders and shook him. It must have loosened something inside him because the word
s just tumbled out. "I killed my own mother."
Her jaw dropped. She let go of him and covered her gasp with her hands. She looked away, but not before he saw the horror and revulsion in her eyes.
So be it.
He breathed once, twice, surprised that it didn't hurt, that his heart still beat inside his chest. He'd often wondered what would happen when he said those words out loud, and now he knew. A strange numbness seeped through him, slowing the blood in his veins and the thoughts that had been racing around his head moments ago. It was like he was watching a play from the safety of the audience. He could see the moment Lucy thought of her next line.
"Monk!" he called out before she could speak. "Monk!"
The door opened and his friend appeared. "Have you throttled him yet, Mistress Cowdrey? He can make you want to sometimes." He came inside and his smirk died when he saw Lucy. He turned a hard glare onto Cole, shook his head. "Come." He held his hand out to Lucy. "I'll escort you to your room."
Cole didn't watch her leave. If she turned to look at him, he didn't know. It was better that way. After the door shut and locked, he lay on the pallet and closed his eyes.
Hopefully Lucy wouldn't want to see him for the next two weeks. Hopefully none of them would.
***
"What did he say?" Monk asked when they were outside in the fresh air of the innyard.
Lucy shook her head, not because she didn't want to tell him, but because she couldn't believe what Nick had said. He'd killed his mother. It was so shocking. A heinous crime. Surely he was mistaken, or there must be a reason for it.
Now that her mind could function again, she wanted to return and ask. "I must go back," she said.
"I don't think that's a good idea." Monk rounded on her and gripped her shoulders. "I've never seen Cole look so miserable. He's always been so unemotional. I don't think he'll want you to see him like this."
"That's precisely why I need to go to him."
But he did not let her go. "What did he say?"
"What did who say?" asked Lord Oxley, joining them. He was grinning but it slipped off when he saw Lucy's face. "You've been to see Cole?"
She glanced back at the door that led to the storeroom and inclined her head. Nick probably wouldn't want her to tell his friends what he'd just told her. She had the very strong feeling he'd never told anyone. That, she supposed, was part of the problem. Nick was too bloody minded to share his burden even with those closest to him.
She had no such qualms. To help him, drastic measures needed to be taken. "He told me he killed his mother."
Monk's hands fell to his sides. He stared at her. Oxley's lips closed firmly, briefly. He opened them to swear softly.
"It must have happened when he was eighteen," she said.
"The event blocking his memories from returning," Oxley said.
"Except in his dreams." She folded her arms over her chest. It was cold, despite the airlessness of the yard and the summer sunshine beating down on them. "It obviously affected him greatly. Affects him still."
"Aye," said Monk. "Well, it would, wouldn't it?"
"It certainly explains many things." Oxley removed his hat and rubbed a hand through his hair. "His unwillingness to talk about his past, for one thing."
"He hates himself," she said. "Hence the carelessness with his own life."
"More than once I thought him mad when he stepped into an affray that had nothing to do with us," Oxley went on. "It explains why he worked in the coal mines and fought in those organized matches." He huffed out a humorless laugh. "It must have frustrated him that he won all the time."
"And there was his disregard to save for a future after the Guild," Monk said. "He used to give all his money away. I never understood why. Until now."
"He thought he had no future." Lucy bit her bottom lip to stop it quivering. "Even with me."
"Especially with you," Lord Oxley said. He took her hand and kneaded the knuckles. "Mistress Cowdrey, Cole loves you, that's why he's trying to keep you away."
"I don't understand."
He sighed and looked heavenward. "He thinks himself unworthy of you. He thinks you'd be better off without him."
"He's probably right," Monk said. She gave him a sharp glare, but he simply shrugged. "His future is not looking stable, you must admit that."
"Do you think I care, as long as we're together?"
"The point isn't that you don't care," Oxley said, "it's that he does. Why would a man want the woman he loves throwing away her future for him? He thinks you will be better off without him."
"He's wrong." She pulled away. "I must go back and tell him."
"Don't. It may be better for Cole if he thinks you've given up."
Perhaps he was right. She itched to talk to Nick again and hold him, but it may not be wise to push him. He was desperate enough already, and it may make him more miserable than ever.
Lord Oxley let go of her and slapped his hat back on his head. "I have business to attend elsewhere. Good day, dear lady." He bowed and strode off toward the taproom.
Just as he disappeared, three men entered the yard through the arch leading out to the street. Upfield, his oversized friend, and another Larkham man.
"The innkeeper asked you to leave," Monk told them.
Upfield and the others blocked their path. The big man crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. Considering he sported two black eyes and a crooked nose, Lucy thought him rather foolish to be so cock-sure. On the other hand, it was three against one.
Yet Monk did not back away. Would Lord Oxley hear her if she screamed?
"Let Mistress Cowdrey pass," Monk said. "If you want to pick a fight with me, I'm more than happy to oblige once she is safely inside."
It seemed Nick wasn't the only one who liked to step into situations where the odds were against him.
"She's a murderer's doxy," Upfield said, stepping up to them.
Lucy leaned back. The man's breath was truly foul, and the stink of his body even worse.
A face appeared at the window leading to the taproom, then suddenly disappeared. She'd only caught a glimpse, but Lucy could have sworn it was Milner. Yet he didn't come into the yard to tell Upfield and his mean to leave. She didn't blame him for being scared. He was no match for any of these men, and Lucy understood his fear. It crawled up her spine and made her scalp tingle.
Monk pushed her behind him. She searched for a weapon and spotted a broom leaning against the stable wall. It was as good as any. The ostler was nowhere to be seen.
"Apologize to Mistress Cowdrey," Monk said.
Upfield spat on the cobblestones. Lucy stepped back from Monk until the broom was directly behind her.
Monk sighed. "You shouldn't have done that. Now I have to defend her honor."
"She's the lover of a murderer. She ain't got no honor."
"What do you want, Mr. Upfield?" Lucy asked quickly. She couldn't allow Monk to get hurt because of her. "What are you doing here?"
"Use that little brain God gave you, wench, and think."
"Mr. Monk!" she cried as his hand balled into a fist.
Monk grunted in what sounded like frustration, but he did not strike Upfield.
"He left two boys without their father," Upfield went on, "and Larkham without a good man."
"Good?" she spluttered.
"Lucy!" Monk snapped. He'd never used her first name before—it would seem he was as determined as ever that Renny's true nature not be made public.
It was a point she would have to bring up with Oxley later. As far as she could see, telling them what Renny had done was the only way to clear Nick's name.
"What do you know, wench?" Upfield sneered. "Renny was a proud man. He got things done in Larkham, took care of his friends. Your lover don't deserve to live after what he did."
"He deserves a fair trial," she said.
"Two weeks is a long time." Upfield grinned, baring his blackened teeth.
"Don't you go near him," Lucy bit off
.
"Easy," Monk said, turning to her.
The big brute saw his opportunity and slammed his fist into Monk's jaw. Monk reeled back, but didn't fall. He quickly recovered and put up his fists.
The three Larkham men drew their swords.
"Bloody hell," Monk muttered. He wasn't armed.
Lucy grabbed the broom. Perhaps she should throw it to him, and he could use it as a weapon. She was about to call his name when he bent down then quickly straightened again. The blade in his hand glinted. It must have been in his boot.
"Enough!" came a shout from the archway. Milner rushed in looking fiercer than Lucy had ever seen him. Behind him were four men. No, make that six… ten… Good lord, half of Sutton Grange had followed him into the yard! "There'll be no bloodshed here."
Upfield lowered his sword and blinked at the mob. "We only want justice for one of our own," he said. "You'd do the same for a Sutton Grange man."
"Aye," said Lane the chandler, holding a very solid looking brass candlestick in his hand. "But we'd see to it he got justice the right way, not like this."
There was a sea of nodding heads behind him and a chorus of "Ayes." Lucy recognized every single one of the faces. Her friends Anne Lane, Widow Dawson, and Joan Freeman were among the women off to one side, but she also recognized the baker and his son, the blacksmith and his three apprentices, the glover, the butcher, the two Taylor brothers, and even the grammar school master. There were a half-dozen more men too, all carrying weapons of some sort.
Upfield fronted up to Milner. He still held his sword, but it was pointed down, unthreatening. "Why are you defending the cur?" he asked, genuinely confused. "He's not even a Grange man."
"Mistress Cowdrey is a Grange woman," Widow Dawson said. "If she thinks Coleclough deserves a fair trial, then we'll see to it that he gets one."
Lucy bit her wobbly lip. She did so love this village. Thank you, she mouthed to them.
Upfield gave a low, long groan of frustration then slammed his sword back into its scabbard. "If he escapes—"
"He won't," Milner said. "I'll see to it."
Oh, Milner, please don't promise that.