“Your wife thought she’d come to your rescue. She planned to take on the two of us alone. Isn’t that precious?” Stansbury’s gaze raked over her, leaving an oily residue all over her body. “She’s either stupid or brave. Or both.”
I’m a little brave. But mostly I’m very, very stupid.
“Catherine. Did they hurt you?” Daniel asked.
“Not yet,” Attwood answered for her. “We thought we’d let you watch.”
Catherine felt the blade dig into her neck. She let out a whimper.
“No!” shouted Daniel.
Stansbury chuckled. “What’s wrong? Do you feel weak? Impotent? Do you hate it when someone else is in control?” He leaned down and pulled a knife from his boot. “Let’s take our little gathering inside, shall we? I’d hate for someone out on the street to overhear us.”
When Daniel didn’t move, Stansbury slipped behind him. “Now,” he said, shoving Daniel in the back with his open palm.
Daniel took a hesitant step forward, then another.
Catherine’s eyes locked with his as the distance between them slowly diminished. She tried to look brave but could feel her lower lip tremble.
He paused in front of her and gave a wry smile of reassurance that went all the way to his eyes and touched her all the way to her soul. The corner of her mouth twitched in response, and a kernel of confidence swelled within her.
“Move,” Attwood said, stepping backward and pulling Catherine away from Daniel. She stumbled, and his arm relaxed slightly, lessening the pressure of the blade. Her knees seemed to give out as she slumped against him.
“Are you afraid, Huntley? Your wife is.” Attwood’s voice oozed condescension.
Daniel’s spine appeared rigid as he stepped through the doorway. Stansbury followed close behind him.
Attwood pressed her forward. As they entered the warehouse, he paused, probably to allow his eyes to adjust to the low light.
Catherine easily saw Daniel just a few feet ahead of her. He glanced at her over his shoulder and noticed Attwood’s hesitation. A spark seemed to light in Daniel’s eyes, and a silent communication traveled between them. He gave her a slight nod.
Daniel abruptly sprang into action. His foot flew out in a kick that spun his entire body around, knocking Stansbury’s knife to the floor where it clattered away, disappearing in the half-light.
Catherine took that as her cue. She grabbed Attwood’s arm with both of her hands and then turned her body toward the blade of his knife, just as Daniel had taught her, tightening Attwood's grip around her neck. Then she ducked down, forcing Attwood’s blade into his chest.
Everything happened quickly. The movement felt nearly identical to the maneuver she’d practiced once with Daniel at the academy and so many times since their wedding; however, when she pushed the blade toward Attwood’s chest, it actually sank into his flesh. It penetrated a couple of inches, and he stared down at it in shock.
Attwood’s eyes bulged. He let out a small cough as he clutched at the knife handle. He pulled at it ineffectually as he tottered sideways, falling against the wall of the warehouse. He leaned his shoulders against the rough boards as he slowly slid down. He continued to tug at the knife between his ribs as he slipped to the floorboards. He coughed with a wet, sickly sound.
She stared at the man on the ground, hearing nothing but a roaring in her ears. Had she pierced his lung? She had heard other fencers describe the same pinkish foam she saw forming at Attwood's mouth. They said it was a sure sign of such an injury. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.
She’d just stabbed a man.
She touched her mouth with frigid fingers, trying to hold back a groan.
Daniel’s eyes flicked toward her, and he shifted to face her, forcing Stansbury to turn his back on her.
Stansbury no longer had the knife, but he’d managed to improvise a club. As he turned his back to her, she saw him take a swing at Daniel.
“I don’t have a letter opener at hand tonight, the way I did that night at Norfolk’s ball,” Daniel said, goading his opponent. “I’ll need to improvise with something else.”
She could see him pull the pin from his cravat. Her wedding gift.
Stansbury chuckled in disdain when Daniel held it in front of him. “A tiepin? My, aren’t you a terrifying sight.”
Daniel clutched the malachite head of the long cravat pin in his fist, with the point poking out from between his fingers a good two inches.
Stansbury raised his makeshift club and Daniel danced back. It appeared that he was retreating from the threat that Stansbury presented, but Catherine knew what he was really doing. He was trying to draw the man farther away from her.
As she watched them try to avoid one another’s blows, she became aware of a loud banging out in the courtyard and the sound of shouting.
Stansbury lunged forward, swinging his club toward Daniel’s head, and simultaneously Catherine heard a splintering crash outside at the gates. She turned to look through the warehouse entrance toward the large double doors of the courtyard. They banged open, pieces of the broken lock clattering to the ground.
Charles led a large crowd of men rushing into the open space. They carried a battering ram they appeared to have made from a large post, and they tossed it to one side now that it had served its purpose.
Catherine darted out the door and into the courtyard. “Charles!” she shouted, waving her arms. “Daniel’s being attacked.”
56 - A Cravat Pin
Stansbury raised his club for a swing, but Daniel ducked to one side and punched him with his fist in a jabbing motion, gouging deep into Stansbury’s forearm with the pin.
Stansbury staggered back and clutched at his arm. Blood streamed down it and onto the back of his hand, turning his white shirt cuff red.
Daniel noted the wary look in Stansbury’s eyes as the man rubbed the dripping blood onto his trousers. He didn’t look quite so confident anymore.
Shuffling his feet, Stansbury positioned himself for another attack. He backed toward the door, and his boot bumped against Attwood’s supine form.
Stansbury glanced down. His mouth gaped when he saw his partner lying on the ground with a knife protruding from his chest.
Attwood was wheezing, but he was still alive.
“What are you doing down there?” Stansbury roared, spittle flying from his lips in his fury. “You let her get away?”
Attwood just wheezed in response.
“Blast!” Stansbury yelled. He lunged toward Attwood and began pulling the knife from the other man’s chest. It stuck firmly, so he braced his foot against Attwood’s ribs for leverage.
For a moment, Daniel was horrified by Stansbury’s callous disregard of the other man’s pain, and he stood frozen in place. But when Stansbury dropped his club to grab the knife with both hands, Daniel broke free of his shock.
Daniel lunged forward and slammed the cravat pin he clutched in his fist into the side of Stansbury’s neck. As his fist connected, he pulled down, using the small skewer to cause more damage inside Stansbury’s neck.
The sensation of tearing flesh vibrated through the thin metal and into the small ball he clasped in the palm of his hand.
Stansbury jerked up, pulling the cravat pin from between Daniel’s fingers. Stansbury held his hand against his neck, his mouth gaping in shock. The decorative little malachite ball on the head of the pin protruded from between his fingers, and blood began to gush. Stansbury yanked at the pin, pulling it from his neck.
Daniel heard another sound and spun on his heel to see Catherine and Charles framed in the warehouse doorway. He took a step toward her, skirting Stansbury’s and Attwood’s forms on the floor.
Charles widened his eyes and abruptly plowed forward, raising the pistol toward Daniel.
Daniel spun around to see Stansbury lurching to his feet with a knife clutched in his hand. A knife with a green malachite handle.
The pistol’s roar exploded inside the em
pty warehouse, and the bullet ripped into Stansbury’s shoulder. He stumbled back from the impact and then fell to the floor.
Daniel kept his eyes on the man for another moment, but Stansbury didn’t try to stand again.
Dimly, Daniel became aware of the murmuring of voices. Many voices. It was difficult to pinpoint the sound because his ears felt as though they were stuffed with cotton, probably from the reverberation of the gunshot. He turned to search for the source of the murmuring.
A crowd of dockworkers had gathered behind Catherine and Charles. The men craned their necks, jostling each other to get a better view of the macabre scene inside the warehouse.
Daniel needed to get out of there. The smells of gunpowder and blood mingled with another foul stench and filled the space.
It was a stench he associated with death. A smell he had never been able to forget. It was the smell of feces and blood and urine.
As he moved closer to Catherine, he glanced down at the two men lying on the floor. “Find a surgeon!” he shouted to the gathered crowd, although he knew it was too late for at least one of their attackers. A couple of men at the back of the crowd turned and began to trot toward the broken gates of the courtyard.
Attwood was wheezing, but Stansbury was quite still. Unnervingly so. The odor came from him. The trio stepped back out into the courtyard where the air was fresher than the miasma within the warehouse.
All Daniel wanted to do was sweep Catherine into his arms, but he couldn’t. Not with so many people around. He barely trusted himself to look at her.
Two policemen came running into the courtyard a moment later, probably drawn by the sound of the gunshot. The dockworkers stepped back to let them pass, and the policemen seemed surprised to encounter a group of gentlemen at the center of the knot of onlookers.
Huntley quickly explained about the kidnapping and rescue, trying to minimize Catherine’s role as much as possible. When he took responsibility for stabbing Attwood in the chest, he couldn’t look at her, afraid he’d accidentally reveal his lie to the policeman.
Would she understand that he wanted to protect her? If the police thought she’d played a larger role in the fight, they might want to question her more extensively, and she might not be able to maintain her disguise under their scrutiny.
Daniel saw her lips thin, but she didn’t contradict him. When he reached the moment in his narrative at which Charles appeared in the doorway, his brother-in-law took over the story, stepping in between Daniel and the policeman.
A surgeon arrived, carrying a small black bag and pushing his way through the crowd. Daniel watched him as he knelt to examine the two kidnappers. He checked each man briefly, and then turned his back on Stansbury’s still form.
The surgeon focused his attention on Attwood. After a brief examination, he extracted a long tube from his black bag. He wiped the outside of it on his coat and then set one end next to the tip of the knife where it pierced Attwood’s chest. He pulled at the knife, but it didn’t seem to budge, so he pressed his knee against Attwood’s side, pulling firmly on the handle while still holding the thin tube.
The knife suddenly sprang free, and the surgeon dropped it to the ground and focused on slipping the tube into the opening with deft movements. Almost immediately, Attwood’s wheezing became less audible.
“Excuse me, my lord,” the policeman said, pulling Daniel’s attention back to him. “I’ll have to ask you to stay until an inspector arrives. We’ve already sent for one, and he should be arriving shortly.”
Daniel frowned. Catherine still needed to get to the fencing tournament. “What about the boy? Can he leave? He’s supposed to compete in a tournament.”
The policeman glanced at Catherine, his gaze sweeping over her and taking in the fencing attire. “I’m sorry, my lord, but someone is dead. I can’t let anyone leave until the inspector arrives. It will be his decision.”
Catherine blanched. “He’s dead?”
The policeman looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, son. I thought you knew.”
She shook her head. Daniel ached to comfort her.
He glanced around the courtyard, looking for a place where he could talk privately with Catherine, away from other people, and his eyes landed on Stansbury’s carriage. He glanced back at the policeman. “Would it be permissible for us to sit in the carriage?”
“What with that Stansbury fellow being dead and all, I don’t see as he’ll mind. It seems to me that's the least he owes you,” the policeman replied with a shrug, and then he turned back to the task of controlling the gawkers who’d gathered.
“I’ll send some of our people to collect the horses,” Charles said. “Mine’s down the road at one of our warehouses. When Stansbury locked the gates, I knew I’d never be able to get in without help, so I went there to gather some of our workers. They used a post as a battering ram,” he said, gesturing toward the large timber lying in the courtyard. “Once we have things wrapped up, I plan to take them all out for a well-deserved pint.” The men cheered when they heard the promise, which made Charles smile as he turned to face them.
Daniel reached up to pull open the carriage door. He waited to allow Catherine to climb into the carriage first, but she didn’t move.
She gestured toward the carriage. “My lord?”
Of course. She’s not a lady, but a boy.
With his mouth pressed into a thin line, Daniel climbed into the rickety carriage, and Catherine quickly joined him.
57 - Heart to Heart
Catherine gazed out the window, transfixed by the scene before her. It offered her a clear view into Stansbury’s warehouse, and she could see the worn sole of the dead man’s boot.
Daniel slid his hand over hers. His fingers crept inside her clenched fist.
Catherine reached out and snapped the window shade closed, blocking out her view of the macabre scene and keeping any prying eyes from watching them. Plenty of light still streamed in from the window facing the courtyard so that they weren't sitting in the dark.
She shifted on the seat to face Daniel, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she looked down, staring at their intertwined fingers.
She’d almost lost him. She tightened her grip on his hand, noting the contrast of her pale skin against his darker tone. A faint tracing of straight, dark hair trailed up the back of his wrist, and she covered it by clasping his hand with both of hers.
She stroked his thumb absently. If things had gone differently today, it could be one of them lying dead on the floor of that warehouse instead of Stansbury. She shuddered and pressed her eyes closed, accidentally squeezing out a tear, which trailed down her cheek.
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said.
Her eyes flew open with surprise and she met his gaze. “It’s not your fault. Stansbury is a madman. Was a madman.”
“But the tournament... you’re missing it. It started an hour ago. I’m so sorry, Catherine. I feel responsible.”
She looked at him blankly. “Blast the tournament, Daniel. I’m just thankful you’re alive.”
A furrow formed between his brows. “But you’ve been preparing for this for so long. In some ways you’ve been preparing for it for years. It means everything to you.”
“No. You mean everything to me.” She glanced away, startled by her own admission and not wanting to meet his gaze.
When had that happened? When had her passion for fencing faded? She looked into herself, trying to understand how she had changed.
No, her passion for fencing was still there, as strong as ever. But there was something that meant more to her. Or rather, someone.
Daniel.
She glanced up at him, seeing his jaw clenched as he frowned.
“You hardly know me.”
“I know you better than you think. I see your hard work and dedication. I see your friendship with Wentworth. I see your honorable nature and your quick mind. You are a wonderful, kind man, faithful to friends and self-sacrificing.”
He shrugged. “So what? You make me sound like a saint, and I’m not. I failed to recognize the danger Stansbury represented and fell into his trap. I let Attwood hold a knife to your neck. And I just helped kill another man.” He turned his face away from her, staring out the far window into the empty courtyard beyond. She could read the tension in his body.
“Another?” The silence stretched between them, and Catherine wondered if he’d reply.
“I killed a man when I was twelve.” Daniel’s face looked rigid, as though he expected to be attacked. He glanced at her and then focused on their clasped hands. “I’ve only told one other person, and he’s been dead many years now. I’ve kept this secret for a long, long time.”
Catherine tightened her grip on his hand. “You were only a child. I’m sure you only did what you had to do." But the words sounded like false platitudes to her. "I have faith in you," she added. "Can you tell me what happened?”
He remained silent, but Catherine waited. “Everyone knew my father was a recluse,” he finally said. “He never went anywhere, and he rarely spoke to anyone. Twice a year his lawyer would come to have him sign papers. Aside from that, he saw no one from outside the estate. I was told that after my mother’s death he had visitors for a year or two, at first to offer condolences and later to try to pull him from his despair, but he drove them all away. One by one, they gave up on him. Over time, stories about him grew and became embellished. The local villagers would talk of his madness and the ghosts that wandered the halls. The most dangerous rumor, however, was that he had gold and jewels hidden away. Some said it was in his bedroom, and others said it was in my mother’s crypt.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “The burial chamber was broken into, but the groundskeeper chased them away before any real damage was done.
“The last time our butler, Thomas Latimer, retrieved me after I’d run away to Edinburgh, I was furious with my father. He instructed the servants that I had to remain on the grounds of the estate. They wouldn’t even let me visit the village because Latimer thought I’d run away again.” He gave a grim laugh. “They were right, by the way. I dreamed of escaping that place. I took to prowling the main house, investigating rooms that had been closed for years. I eventually found my mother’s rooms in a wing of the house we no longer used. I’d spent so many years trying to avoid her chambers that I’d never bothered to investigate there before.”
Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book Page 33