A Love Laid Bare

by Constance Hussey

  Frances bit down on her lower lip in an effort to quell the panic that insisted she instantly race to her carriage. She closed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate. She knew of no other properties that were not directly tied to the Manor in some way. The London house was occupied by the dowager, who would never keep Mary’s presence a secret. If only she was better acquainted with some of Richard’s friends! She scarcely knew anyone except Summerton, and Mary could hardly go and stay with him.

  Summerton! Frances’ eyes flew open and she grabbed Mary’s hands. “Halcombe has no additional property that I know of, but he does have a friend who owns a country house in Hampshire. An older couple—caretakers—live there, and it is fairly secluded. Richard and I stayed with them after our wedding.”

  Frances released Mary and hurried over to the large desk. “I will write a note to say that you are a friend of ours and you need a place to stay. After Flora…” Frances paused and cleared her throat. “Once Flora is safely home, we will help you find other accommodations.” Frances signed Halcombe’s name to the request, folded the letter, and stamped it with his seal. That should be proof enough. She hastily scribbled on another sheet of paper. “Here, this is the direction for your coachman.”

  Mary stood quietly now, although Frances saw a shiver run through her and the hands that took the letter were shaking. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much…”

  “You can tell me the whole another time.” Frances cut her off in mid-sentence, but she managed to summon a brief smile. “We both must be on our way,” she said gently, and putting her arm around Mary’s shoulders, guided her from the room.

  Frances retrieved her basket from the front entry and turned to Benson. “No one here has seen Lady Alten today, is that understood?”

  “Yes, madam. And Lady Flora…?”

  “We will send word as soon as possible.”

  Mary had almost reached her carriage when she turned back to voice her gratitude. Her words were inaudible, but she gave Frances a wobbly smile and placed a hand against her heart before she scrambled inside. The carriage rumbled rapidly away.

  Frances stared after it for a moment before she climbed into her own carriage. Rose Blount was already seated and reached over to give Frances’ hand a comforting squeeze. Still clutching Rose’s hand as they drove away at a brisk pace, Frances bent her head and let some of the tension ease from her shoulders. There was much yet to endure, but at least she was doing something.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Halcombe parted from Summerton as planned and rode on over the rise. He kept to a steady pace, fully aware that he was under observation. The headland was still too distant for him to catch sight of Jensen. The man surely had a spyglass, but no matter. The earl was going directly to Clifftop. If Flora and Nancy were anywhere along the promontory, Colin would find them. Halcombe had to trust to that and put their well-being out of his mind, if he was to stay in control of the black stew of rage boiling inside of him. Any notion that he would fail to overcome the other man had never entered his head.

  The earl knew that he had to keep the cur alive just long enough to ensure Flora and Nancy were safe. After that, he could revel in the thought of wrapping his hands firmly around Jensen’s neck.

  The final miles seemed to stretch forever and still he arrived at Clifftop early. Silence hung heavily over the house, and the heat-laden air eddied over the sun-baked flagstones of the walk.

  Tying the reins loosely to the gate, he grabbed his saddlebag and strode swiftly to the front door. Was it only a few months ago that he vowed never to return? Now his wife was a light in his life and his newfound daughter a blaze of joy in his heart. Never had he imagined such a thing.

  Pushing the door open, Halcombe let himself in and silently explored the house. The rooms were bare for the most part, except for a single cot in one at the rear of the hallway. A tangle of blankets, oddly enough harbouring a kitten, and the smell of unwashed bodies in another small chamber told him where Flora and Nancy had likely been imprisoned. Left alone with a madman, what in God’s name had they experienced during the long, fearful night? You can’t think of that now. Anger will cloud your judgment.

  Halcombe returned to the entryway. The door was still ajar, as he’d left it. He surveyed the front of the property. The sun was high, harshly bright. It was close to noon. Where the hell was Jensen? Were Jim and the others even now edging closer to the house? What if they were spotted? The delay stretched with unremitting torment. Halcombe’s gut knotted in a painful vise and sweat beaded along his back. It occurred to him that Jensen had already put them through hours of hellish waiting. It was yet another thing he owed the man for.

  The scrape of a boot sounded loudly in the unnatural silence and Halcombe swung around, blinking into the dimmer light. Stupid to have stared into the sunlight. Silently cursing his ill judgment, he waited for his vision to adjust. Slowly, a shadow detached from the wall and he again heard the sound of boots scuffing along the floorboards. He squinted and Jensen was suddenly visible, a pistol steady in his hand.

  “Lord Halcombe. So wise of you to come. If you will please join me, we can complete this transaction to both our satisfaction.” Jensen used his free hand to gesture toward a doorway on his left.

  Halcombe crossed the threshold into what was once Mr. Nesbitt’s study. The empty shelves gleamed in the shafts of light streaming through the wide windows. The earl had a quick vision of Thomas Blount faithfully dusting the polished wood and almost smiled at the absurdity. But the pistol at his back was no joke and he turned to face his nemesis.

  Keeping a prudent distance between them, Jensen jerked his head in the direction of the shelves. “Lay the Folio over there.”

  The gun was not entirely a surprise to the earl. He felt that taking his life would be of little benefit to Jensen, but an incapacitating wound was another matter and not something Halcombe had previously considered. He let the saddlebag slide from his shoulder, taking care to keep it balanced over his arm, then bent his elbow and let the bag hang directly in front of his body. Jensen was not likely to damage the fragile parchment with a bullet hole. He undid the buckle, lifted the flap, and withdrew the Folio.

  Sunlight caught the brilliant colours of the illuminations, splashing a rainbow on the walls. Jensen let out a soft hiss. “Yes…” He drew out the word with eloquent satisfaction. “Now spread out the maps and step back.”

  Halcombe laid each map on the shelf with deliberately slow precision. The other man shifted impatiently as he waited. Good. Nervous men were more apt to make mistakes.

  Jensen motioned with the gun. “Move into the corner. If you make any attempt to stop me, I’ll shoot you…starting with your leg.”

  Halcombe looked into Jensen’s cold eyes and knew the man was more than capable of carrying out his threat. “Tell me where Lady Flora and her maid are and I will.”

  “You will anyway, if you want them back”

  “You fool. I could fight you for that weapon and both of us would lose. I might end up dead, but I’d make damn sure the Folio was destroyed in the process.”

  “Don’t be a hero, Halcombe,” Jensen said mockingly. “You want the girls, and I want that.” He jerked a finger toward the maps.

  “No.”

  “Damn you, Halcombe. You are one stubborn son of the devil. I don’t have time to stand here and debate the issue. Back up or I swear I will shoot you where you stand.”

  Halcombe gauged his opponent. Jensen’s control was on a knife’s edge. Better not to test him further—at the moment. He inched to one side, granting Jensen just enough space to allow him access to the Folio without coming into Halcombe’s range.

  Keeping the pistol aimed steadily at Halcombe’s chest, Jensen hastily scanned the contents of the Folio, and then, appearing satisfied, awkwardly shuffled the maps together with his left hand and slid them and the cover back into the saddlebag.

  “I assure you that Lady Flora is resting safely, if somewhat
precariously, on the cliff less than a quarter mile hence. You won’t have any trouble finding her.”

  Jensen darted through the door. Halcombe heard the key turning in the lock, and the sound of rapid footsteps running along the corridor. He made one swift survey of the room, wrenched one of the draperies from its rod, and wrapped it around his hand and arm. The window glass was thick. It took several furious blows before it shattered and even through the padding he felt pain sear his knuckles.

  Avoiding the jagged sections that remained, he stepped over the low sash and tossed the fabric aside. Think, Halcombe. Don’t run off half-cocked. Jensen had to be planning an escape by water. A land route was too dangerous—and too slow. Every man in the county would be hunting him. He would head along the coast. If Jensen had hidden his horse in the stables, Halcombe had him. The road leading from the stables cut through a hollow and he would be able to catch him there. Halcombe spun around and ran.

  Straining for any sound of a horse, one part of his mind wondering when Jim might appear, the earl threw himself on the ground at the top of the rise and peered at the track below. Jensen thought he was hunting for Flora. He would not expect to see Halcombe here.

  And searching for Flora is precisely what would you have done if not for Summerton. Had he already found them? Jensen said they were out on the cliff. What if…? Stop! It was stupid to speculate. Colin will not fail. Pay attention to your part now.

  Halcombe considered his position. He might be too exposed. A bit further along the road took a sharp turn inland. If he remembered correctly, the terrain changed to a rocky outcropping. Keeping his body low, the earl crabbed up the hill and crouched in a spot as close as possible to the edge. Riders seldom looked up and Jensen was in a hurry.

  There, hoofbeats, coming fast. Wait, wait—go! Richard jumped up and sprang onto the unsuspecting horseman, his momentum sweeping them both onto the hard, dusty road and rolling wildly over in a tangle of limbs.

  Their bodies thudded painfully against the remnants of an old stone wall, Jensen landing on top. His fist landed squarely on Halcombe’s jaw. Head ringing, the earl jabbed an elbow into Jensen’s belly and shoved him aside. He lurched to his feet and took the second blow with his shoulder. Jensen had the longer reach and Halcombe skipped backwards, waiting for the next swing. They danced around, feinting, but Jensen was too impatient to wait for an opening. He plunged forward, fist swinging, and Halcombe ducked, his own fist coming up in a right hook that snapped Jensen’s head back. Closing in, Halcombe punched him again, the hit smashing on the man’s cheekbone with a satisfying whack.

  But Jensen was quick to recover. He bounded forward, struck a glancing blow against Halcombe’s mouth, and drove the earl to the ground. Halcombe’s attempt to knee him was blocked, Jensen taking the strike on his thigh, but the earl gained enough leverage to flip him onto his back and brace his arm across the man’s throat.

  “Bloody bastard,” Halcombe grunted. “I should kill you and toss your worthless body into the sea.” He pressed down harder, stoically absorbing the increasingly weaker blows from Jensen’s flailing fists.

  “Do it,” Jensen wheezed. “If I don’t return with the Folio, I am a dead man anyway.”

  “No reason, then, why I can’t have the pleasure,” Halcombe panted. He sat up, straddled his captive, and wrapped his hands around the man’s throat. “Worthless scum. You stole my child and put us through agony—all for a few goddamned scraps of paper!” He shook Jensen violently.

  “I never…hurt her,” Jensen rasped. “Had to…get…back. Stolen. Earl…knew.”

  Halcombe stilled. He assessed Jensen’s defiant gaze and slowly eased his grip. “What the hell are you saying?”

  Jensen dragged in a shuddering breath. “It was…my father…stole the Legacy. Earl knew…still bought.”

  “You lie,” Halcombe growled. “My father would never stoop to buying stolen goods.” Although he was quick to defend the earl, Halcombe could not ignore the conviction in Jensen’s eyes. In truth, Richard did not know what his father had done in the last year of his life. Halcombe dropped his hands to the man’s shoulders and shifted his body to put almost all of his weight on Jensen’s chest.

  Jensen lay passive beneath him. He seemed oblivious to the blood trickling from the gash on his cheek. His breath remained ragged and stuttering. “He had to know it. Been in—private collection for centuries. Wanted it badly. Enough to trade the Milton toward it.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? We’ve never owned anything of Milton’s!

  Jensen somehow managed a sneer. “Your sainted father had a first edition of Paradise Lost.”

  Halcombe struggled to reconcile this new picture of his father with the scrupulous man he had known. What else might the previous earl be guilty of? But it was of no matter. Jensen’s sins were beyond anything the old earl may have done. Filled with disgust for the Bruxellese, Halcombe brought his knee up solidly into the man’s groin and then staggered to his feet.

  Jensen let out a hoarse groan, his hands instinctively moving downward. He curled into a ball, gasping for breath. Halcombe watched, unmoved. The short-lived agony was little enough payment for the man’s foul deeds. But Halcome’s hot rage had cooled. Jensen’s death was not worth the burden it would place on his soul.

  The earl wiped at his bloody lip with the back of his hand. His jaw ached and every movement sent a stab of pain through his left shoulder. His knuckles were split and swollen and felt like he’d been clawing his way through a bed of nettles. He looked around, surprised that it had all taken but a few minutes. He needed to find Colin—and Flora. Frances was surely close by now. But first, he had to decide what to do about the Legacy folio.

  Halcombe glanced at the ashen-faced man on the ground. Jensen was entirely still now, recovering, but sitting on a horse was going to be painful—and he damned well deserved it.

  Jensen’s horse had not gone far. Halcombe caught the reins and flipped open the saddlebag. The Legacy Folio was intact. He held it in his hands for a long moment and then put it back with a cold smile. Jensen might get away with returning copies of the maps themselves. They were expertly done. Halcombe shrugged. It was none of his concern if Jensen was caught. He heard a faint whimper and returned to stand over Jensen, his shadow looming darkly across the prostrate man.

  “Get up and get out of here. If you ever set foot in England again, I will hunt you down like the dog you are.”

  Jensen opened his eyes, clouded now with pain. “You are letting me go?” he croaked in disbelief. He shuddered and heaved himself onto his knees.

  “You are not worth killing,” Halcombe said coldly. “I advise you to take the first ship you see—get out and stay out.”

  “I’ve passage,” Jensen said.

  The earl gave him one last icy glare and left him there in the dirt. He took off at a jog, his eyes scanning the surrounding property for other signs of life. Colin, where was Colin? If anything had… Halcombe rounded the corner of the house, nearly colliding with Summerton and the wildly squirming child in his arms.

  “Papa, Papa!” Flora threw herself at her father, sobbing his name.

  Halcombe caught her and rested his hand on her head. “Hush, sweetheart. All is well. Papa has you,” he murmured soothingly.

  “I think you’ve been missed,” Summerton said gravely, laughter dancing in his eyes.

  Halcombe grinned, looked down at Flora, and kissed her tear-stained cheek, his relief so great he felt dizzy with it.

  “She is unharmed, other than a mild sunburn,” Summerton said, sobering. He gestured to the young woman standing next to him. “Nancy is fine as well. Hungry and thirsty, of course, but there appears to be no lasting damage…physical damage,” he amended.

  Halcombe looked at Nancy and nodded. The dazed, bewildered look in her eyes pained him more than her pinched, wan countenance and weary stance. The girl appeared absolutely exhausted, in both body and spirit.

  “There is water in the
house.” Halcombe eased Flora’s slight body to the crook of his arm and touched the nursemaid’s shoulder. “Thank you for taking such good care of Lady Flora. Could I ask you to hold on just a bit longer? Lady Halcombe and Mrs. Blount will arrive shortly with a carriage, and then we will all go home.”

  “Yes, sir.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “The man…?”

  “He will never bother you again,” Halcombe said firmly and was pleased to see some of the tension ease from her slim shoulders.

  “You disposed of him?” Summerton asked in a low voice.

  Halcombe laughed shortly. “Not in the way I suspect you mean, but yes, Jensen will not be seen around here—or anywhere in the entire country for that matter—ever again.”

  The viscount’s brief, sharp nod conveyed his satisfaction with this answer. He went ahead and on through the front entry of the house. After a quick look at the room to his right, he unlatched the door opposite and gestured for Nancy to follow.

  “No furniture, I’m sorry to say, but the floor appears to be clean.” He raised a brow at Halcombe. “I suppose you are the cause of the mess across the hall?” he asked with a jerk of his chin.

  “You suppose correctly.” Halcombe tried with no success to loosen Flora’s monkey grip on his neck so he could set her down. “I seem to have a limpet attached to me. There is a cot in one of the other rooms and some water in another. If you will bring both in here?”

  “I will. Frances is close. I saw the carriage when I was searching for the girls. Which reminds me, someone needs to collect my horse.”

  “Jim should have arrived by now. You can send him. I am going to meet Frances. I want her to see Flora as soon as they are within sight.” He turned to the nursemaid. “Have some water and then rest on the cot for a little while. I will see to Lady Flora.”