The Sinister Spinster

by Joan Overfield

  "It was the attack on Mr. Carling," Elizabeth replied, magnanimously electing to overlook the slur to her beloved's character. "Her grace and I were talking about Mr. Derwent and his stupid boasting, and I commented that while I didn't think Mr. Derwent knew much about anything, I rather thought Mr. Carling might. Her grace agreed with me."

  "And then Mr. Carling was attacked just as he was about to reveal what he knew to Falconer," Lady Elinore concluded, nodding. "Yes, it all fits. Now all we need to do is to find some link between Lady Barrington and Mr. Colburt, and we shall have her. Have you any theories to put forth?"

  "Perhaps," Elizabeth said carefully, thinking of the other part of her theory that had kept her up for most of the night. "It occurred to me that if I was making use of the local gentlemen to send my letters abroad, then perhaps Lady Barrington might have similar resources. How else could she get the information out of the country with no one being the wiser?"

  Elinore looked much struck by this. "It's possible, I suppose," she conceded, tapping her foot. "The smugglers hereabouts are generally held to be loyal subjects, but who is to say they aren't adverse to a touch of treason? Any ideas how we might make contact?"

  Elizabeth hesitated. Adam had given orders that they were to keep to the house, but if she and Elinore had any hopes of stopping the duchess, she didn't see they had a choice. However much she disliked the idea of going behind Adam's back, she disliked the idea of a traitor going free even more.

  "Elizabeth?" Elinore was regarding her impatiently. "Did you not hear me? Have you any ideas how we can contact the local smugglers?"

  Elizabeth shrugged off her troubling doubts and sent the other woman a slow smile. "As a matter of fact, my lady, I have. How would you like a new bonnet?"

  Thirteen

  "It was Lady Barrington," William said, his resolution obvious despite his weak voice. "She killed Charles; I am certain of it."

  "And yet it never occurred to you to inform anyone of this?" Adam demanded furiously. "Why the devil not?"

  When he'd been informed that the earl's son had regained consciousness and was asking to speak with him, he'd been prepared to give the lad some degree of latitude. His congenial attitude hadn't lasted above five minutes, however, when he learned the magnitude of what the bloody fool had been keeping from him.

  "Because we had no proof to offer!" It was Derwent who answered, his sulky manner only slightly subdued. "Barrington's a duchess, for all she's no better than a whore, and we dared not speak against her. You weren't so quick to cast aspersions, I note," he added, his lips curling in a sneer.

  Adam considered knocking him out again but decided the fop wasn't worth the bother. He turned back to Carling. The lad seemed determined to make a clean breast of things, and Adam wanted to learn all he could before the duke arrived from London.

  "When did you suspect her of taking the papers? I know the three of you took them initially," he added, in case they should think to escape blame. "But when did you know it was she who had them rather than Charles?"

  "When Charles told me that he didn't know where they were," Carling said, his eyes level as he met Adam's gaze. "And I was going to tell you we took the papers. I've already told Papa."

  "Did Charles tell you he'd given them to her grace?" Adam did him the courtesy of believing him without demanding proof.

  Carling shook his head cautiously. "No, but when the papers weren't found where they should have been, Charles told me to stop fretting. He said 'she' must still have them, and that he'd get them back by morning."

  "Did he name her directly?" Adam pressed, realizing how delicate the situation was. As Derwent had unfortunately pointed out, Lady Barrington was a duchess, one with powerful lovers in very high places. The case against her would have to be ironclad if they had any hope of succeeding.

  "No," Carling admitted with visible reluctance, "but he did say enough to let me know they were lovers. Charles was a poor man without connections or funds; there could be only one thing he had to draw that viper's notice: the papers. He stole them for her, and when he asked for them back, she killed him."

  The lad's acuity took Adam aback. Carling had more bottom to him than he first supposed, he decided, and then turned his thoughts back to more pressing concerns. "We'll go into that at another time," he said, giving each young man an icy glare. "Just as we shall pursue the matter of your stealing Crown secrets. But for the moment, tell me of last night. Who struck you? Was it Lady Barrington?"

  "I was struck from behind," Carling said, choosing his words with the greatest care, as if standing in the witness box. "At first I didn't see who had hit me. But as I was lying there I heard the rustle of skirts, and when I looked up I saw a woman slipping out the side doors and into the garden. There was a brief flash of moonlight, and I saw her quite clearly." His lips thinned, and for a brief moment Adam saw evidence of the man he was becoming. "It was Lady Barrington. I shall swear to it in a court of law."

  A pleased smile touched Adam's lips. He might have preferred the lad tell him the truth right away rather than making him pry it out of him, but he wasn't about to quibble when the end result was so much to his liking. They had their traitor, and that meant Elizabeth was out of danger.

  He rose to his feet, but before he could say anything the door to Carling's room burst open and the Duke of Creshton rushed in.

  "What the devil are you doing standing about?" he demanded, his hair standing about his head like a snowy halo. "Why aren't you going after Elinore and Miss Mattingale?"

  "Elizabeth and your daughter are upstairs, your grace," Adam replied, staring at the duke in confusion. "But first, sir, I must tell you that we have some good news for you. Lady Barrington is our murderer. Carling can identify—"

  "Of course Barrington is the murderer, you dolt!" Creshton interrupted, clearly distressed. "We've known that from the first. But what I want to know is what you mean letting that she-wolf ride off with m'daughter and Miss Mattingale? Have you taken leave of your senses? She will kill them!"

  All of the blood drained from Adam's head in a rush that left him feeling faint. He heard a roaring sound in his head, and for a terrifying moment he feared he would disgrace himself by swooning. Instead he drew a deep breath and met Creshton's wild gaze. "Do you know in which direction they are headed?" he asked, his manner so cool he might have been asking about the weather.

  "To the bay on the other side of town, we think," the duke replied impatiently. "Several boats are at anchor there, and we assume she is making a run for it. Are you with me, or are you going to sit here and debate the matter for the rest of the day?"

  Adam didn't have to think. He was already moving toward the door, his expression impassive and his thoughts centered on just one thing: getting Elizabeth to safety before it was too late. "I'm with you," he said, and walked out into the hall.

  "How fortunate I was able to catch you before you'd started for town, my dear," Lady Barrington murmured, her polite tones at odds with the pistol she held trained on Elizabeth and Lady Elinore. "Otherwise I should have had to ask that my own coach be brought about. This is much cozier, don't you agree?"

  "As this is the first time I have been held at gunpoint, your grace, you will forgive me if I appear less than delighted," Elinore said coolly, her gaze never leaving the duchess.

  "This?" The pretty blonde gestured casually with the pistol. "A necessary precaution, I fear. In my profession one learns to prepare for any eventuality. But you needn't worry overly much," she added, her gaze shifting to Elizabeth. "I shan't kill you. Unless I have to, of course."

  "As you had to kill Mr. Colburt and Lord Knolton?" Elizabeth challenged, taking her cue from Elinore and refusing to let her fear show. They had been alone with the duchess for less than a quarter hour, and she knew if they had any hope of surviving until Adam was able to rescue them, they would have to be very, very careful and very, very lucky.

  Lady Barrington had appeared out of nowhere, pushing her way int
o Elinore's carriage before they even knew she was there. At first Elizabeth simply thought her incredibly rude, but the pistol in the other woman's hand had soon put paid to that.

  "So you figured that out, did you?" Lady Barrington replied in answer to Elizabeth's question. "I always did say you were a clever creature. And I wouldn't have had to kill poor Frederick if he hadn't been so tiresomely burdened with morals. He was going to turn me over to the Crown, can you imagine? The ungrateful wretch; and after I endured his ham-fisted attempts at lovemaking. Men. What a sad and useless lot they have proven to be."

  "What do you mean to do to us?" Elinore queried, picking up the conversation coolly. "You're bound for France, I gather?"

  "France?" The duchess sent her a horrified look. "Heavens no, my dear! With the Bourbons back in power, I shouldn't dare show my face in case they know of my association with the little Corsican. I am far too fond of my neck to risk it with Madame Guillotine. It will have to be the Continent for me.

  "Or perhaps I shall travel to America," she drawled, her bright blue gaze resting on Elizabeth with malicious glee. "Richmond seems to have a great deal to recommend it. I thought it sounded quite delightful from your father's letters."

  Elizabeth didn't so much as blink. She'd already suspected the duchess of being the one to read her letters, and she refused to give her the satisfaction of showing her fury at the violation.

  "So you did read them," she said, sounding bored when what she wanted to do was scratch the other woman's eyes out. "I rather thought you had."

  The duchess frowned, clearly uncertain what to make of her hostages' cool responses. "Well, I must say I was properly shocked by your father's demand that you commit treason, and without so much as a farthing for your trouble," she continued, clearly determined to provoke some sort of response from her captives. "If a woman is going to betray her country, she should at least be well paid for her pains. Do you not agree?" Her smile was as poisonous as her tone.

  This time, Elizabeth made no attempt to disguise her reaction, her loathing plain as she met the other woman's gaze. "I would never betray my country."

  Her grace laughed unpleasantly. "No, I don't suppose you would. You are too virtuous. How Charles laughed at you. He wanted you, you know, but he was too afraid of Falconer and that delicious Russian prince to make a try for you. But of course, even if it hadn't been for your knights-errant, I couldn't allow him to dally with you. Men are so much more biddable when they are focused only on one woman."

  "I am sure you would know, your grace." Elinore's words were as cutting as her tone.

  The duchess turned next to her, clearly delighted to have drawn the other woman into a verbal battle. "And you, Lady Elinore, I must say you have come as a bit of a surprise. The daughter of a duke and an agent; how extraordinary. A pity there is a peace on just now; otherwise I should have been tempted to turn you over to the French. You'd have fetched a pretty penny, I am sure."

  "I would like to think so, thank you, your grace," Elinore replied drolly, and the duchess gave another laugh.

  "On the other hand, you'd likely have proven too difficult to control, and I would have had to kill you," she said, with what might have been regret. "And that would have been a pity as I have actually grown quite fond of the pair of you. I find most women tedious, don't you?"

  "I find some women tedious," Elinore agreed, her gaze fixed on Lady Barrington with cool dislike. "Especially the obvious ones."

  The laughter died in the duchess's eyes and her lips thinned in displeasure. "You grow impertinent, Lady Elinore," she said, tightening her hold on the pistol. "I am the one holding the gun, a fact you would do well to remember. Now be quiet; you are no longer amusing."

  Elinore shrugged negligently and leaned back against the squabs. Looking at her cool expression, one would think her indifferent to her fate, but Elizabeth knew better. Sitting beside her, Elizabeth could feel the tension emanating from her, and she realized Elinore wasn't nearly as sanguine as she pretended to be. As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Elinore reached down and gave Elizabeth's hand a comforting squeeze. Her lips scarcely moved, but Elizabeth caught the urgent command in her soft whisper.

  "Be ready."

  "Remember, lad," Creshton warned, his blue eyes cold as he studied Adam, "no heroics. At the moment Lady Barrington has better reason to want them alive than dead. So long as she believes that, Elinore and Miss Mattingale should be safe enough."

  Adam gave a distracted nod, although he barely heard the duke's words. Since learning that Elizabeth had been taken prisoner he'd gone cold inside, his emotions locked behind a wall of ice. He refused to accept the possibility that she could already be dead, knowing if he did so, he would go mad. Elizabeth was alive, he told himself grimly, and once he had her safely back he'd ring a peal over her head that she'd not soon be forgetting.

  He loved her, he admitted rawly, his head still spinning at the thought. It was an emotion he'd avoided since the death of his parents, too afraid of risking his heart to open himself up to anyone. Yet from the moment he'd met Elizabeth he'd been drawn to her, unable to stay away from her despite the risk of scandal and ruin. He wasn't even certain when he had come to love her. It was as if the emotion had always been there, and was yet newly born. He'd admired her from the first, desired her soon after, and had been both possessively jealous and protective of her, wanting to keep her safe at any price.

  He supposed he should have known he loved her when the mere possibility she'd betrayed him had made him mad with pain. He'd never have been so furious if his heart hadn't been so thoroughly engaged, and he wondered that he could have been so blind. Or perhaps not so blind, he admitted, his lips tightening in a bitter smile. What he'd been was terrified, and now there was every chance his cowardice could cost him his love. He broke into a cold sweat at the very thought.

  "I'm sure they will be fine," the duke continued, not seeming to notice Adam's brooding silence. "Elinore's pluck to the backbone, and your Miss Mattingale's got a good head on her shoulders. We'll have 'em back by luncheon, I daresay."

  "Yes, your grace," Adam agreed, his stomach twisting with fear. He had to believe Elizabeth was unhurt, he thought, his hands tightening about the reins of his horse. If he believed otherwise, he would go out of his mind.

  "There they are," Creshton said as the elegant carriage rumbled over the crest of the hill. "Are the others in position?"

  Adam turned in his saddle and glanced toward the woods, where half a dozen men, led by the redoubtable Henry, were waiting.

  "Yes, Lord Creshton," he said, turning back, his jaw hardening. He pulled out his pistol and held it in his hand, the trigger already cocked. If worst came to worst, he wanted to be prepared for immediate action.

  The duke saw him, and a bleak expression stole across his fleshy features.

  "Falconer, listen to me," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Even if we learn the duchess has harmed the girls, we must still make every effort to take her alive. Do you understand? She is too important for us to risk. Will you give me your word not to fire unless there is no other choice?"

  Adam gave him a long look. Since obtaining his majority he had done all he could to serve his country and his king and never doubted the cost. He would willingly die for his country, if need be. But this . . . he slowly shook his head.

  "No, your grace," he replied, his voice as dead as his soul would be if aught happened to Elizabeth. "I will not."

  Lord Creshton studied him for a moment before heaving a weary sigh. "I thought as much," he said, not sounding particularly upset by Adam's defiance. "Ah, well; we can only pray her grace is as practical as she is greedy. It is our only hope."

  Adam didn't trouble with an answer, his attention centered on the carriage that was rolling toward them. He and the duke had their mounts situated so the road was blocked, leaving the driver no choice but to stop. Since the carriage was Creshton's, the coachman was familiar with the duke, and Adam saw his
surprise as he pulled the carriage to a halt.

  " Yer grace, wot the bloody devil—" he began, his gruff voice a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

  "Get off the carriage, Kelmont, if you will," the duke said, his voice as steady as the pistol he trained on the door of the coach. "Maneuver three."

  The coachman wasted no time with words. Both he and the tiger riding behind him scrambled down from the box with considerable dexterity and ran to the cover offered by the hedgerows. When they turned back the coachman had a pistol in each hand.

  Before Adam could comment on this amazing sight he heard a pistol shot ring out, and his heart stopped when he realized it had come from the carriage.

  "Elizabeth!" He roared out her name, dismounting and running toward the coach on unsteady legs. Before he could reach it the door opened, and a flurry of skirts and women came tumbling out. He saw Elizabeth and Elinore struggling with Lady Barrington, but because they were locked together it was impossible for him to get off a clean shot without risking the lives of all three women. He tucked the pistol back into his waistband and dove into the pile, emerging with the duchess in his grip. He rolled to his feet, hauling her up with him and unceremoniously thrusting her into Creshton's waiting arms. When he was certain the prisoner was secured, he turned back to Elizabeth.

  His heart pounding, he gently helped her to her feet, his gaze sweeping over her as he checked her for any sign of injury.

  "Elizabeth! My love, are you all right?" he demanded, and then went icy with terror when he saw the blood staining the front of her cloak.

  "Oh, God! You've been shot!"

  "It's not me, you idiot," she snapped, shoving him back with surprising strength. "It's Elinore!" And she dropped back to her knees beside her friend.

  "It's all right," Elinore said, clasping her hand to her forearm. "The bullet merely grazed me, that is all."