by Deana James
Her finger stabbed the air again.
"Yes, ma'am." He resumed his work though he kept a wary eye cast over his shoulder.
"I told you to stop that." Mrs. Felders spaced each word with furious emphasis.
Vivian stepped between her and the man.
"You've no right—” the housekeeper began.
Vivian seized Felders's arm and twisted her around.
"What are you doing? Let go of me."
Vivian pushed her shoulder into the woman's back and hustled her down the hall, behind the stairs, and into the butler's pantry. On the table lay the lists she had made with Millard's suggestions and approval. Catching them up, she stuffed them under the housekeeper's nose.
Felders shook herself free and stepped back. "I might have known you and that cold fish were in this together. You've turned them all against me. But it won't last. You won't last. So take your hands off me."
Her protests ended in a grunt when Vivian pushed her down into a chair.
When Felders tried to spring up, Vivian pushed her back down again.
Infuriated, the housekeeper came up with nails curled like talons, making for Vivian's hair. Her scream of rage echoed down the hall. Millard came on the run from the dining room, and Addie raced to the top of the stairs.
The Earl of Larnaervon came out into the hall from the library. A mocking smile played about his mouth as he thrust out his cane to prevent Millard from bursting into the pantry.
" Milord!" Millard all but brushed the cane aside and plunged on. "She may be injured."
"Indeed she may be."
He had to raise his voice to be heard above a scraping and a heavy thud as a piece of furniture fell. The floor vibrated beneath their feet.
From the kitchen Cook came out through the dining room; his moonface twisted in anguish. Another scream and a shatter of glass made him clap his plump hands to his cheeks. "Lord, love us all."
“—Sir—”
"Millard, the ladies have the right to settle this between them without our interference. I shouldn't think that we will have to wait much longer for a victor."
At least ten people now stood in the hall to hear another crash immediately followed by a cry of pain that ended in a filthy name.
The earl grinned. "From the sounds I would say that the Viscountess of Polwycke is asserting her authority.
"But how can you be sure?" Millard was wringing his hands and practically dancing from one foot to the other in his anxiety.
"I have seen Lady Polwycke in action once before. She has a most impressive right cross."
"But Mrs. Felders might be hurting her."
"Not at all. Emma's the one doing all the yowling." The earl hobbled a few steps down the hall to give himself a clear view of the door to the butler's pantry.
Another cry and then the door burst open. Emma Felders charged out, her hair wild about her shoulders, her face contorted with pain and fear. A great bruise was already swelling on her forehead and another on her jaw. She saw the earl and fled sobbing into his arms. "She’ll kill me."
He put one arm around her shoulder and gathered her in against him. "Yes, I suspect she will, Emma, if you don’t do what she tells you to."
"You can't let her treat me that way. You’ve got to send her away."
He laughed softly. "I'm afraid that I can't do that."
At his words she pulled away from him. She stared up into his face, reading there his amusement and his lack of sympathy for her condition. Her expression turned sullen. "You'd let her treat me that way?"
"She is the Viscountess Polwycke and my son's wife."
"She hurt me."
"But I'm sure you were able to defend yourself creditably."
"I was only trying to keep peace in your house."
"And succeeding admirably." His eyes moved away to the pantry door.
Vivian stood in it, her hair down around her ears, her face flushed, her eyes flashing with anger.
He raised his cane in salute. "Ah, the victor."
Vivian came down the hall, her ice-blue gaze directed at Emma Felders. The servants fell back in awe before her progress. Her jaw was set. One sleeve was ripped out of the shoulder of her dress. A line of bloody scratches ran down the arm. Her fists were clenched. As she neared the couple she raised them.
Emma Felders screeched and Larne passed her behind him. "That will do."
Vivan glared at him. A vein throbbed in her temple. Her chest rose and fell with her quickened breathing.
"That will do, I say," Larne repeated mildly.
For the first time she appeared to focus on her surroundings and the awed people who watched her. Slowly, she lowered her fists.
The earl turned to his cowering housekeeper. "Perhaps you'd better go to your room, my dear. You look a sight."
She flashed him a look of obdurate hatred and fled, skirting wide around Vivian, who watched her with narrowed eyes.
"Perhaps you'd better go after her, girl," he called to Addie, who had halfway descended the staircase. "She will undoubtedly need some assistance."
"I serve Lady Polwycke," she retorted saucily.
" You will serve who I say, or you will serve no one at all," Beneath the bristling white eyebrows and cowl of white hair, his dark eyes were fierce as an ancient eagle's.
Addie's mouth snapped to, her face paled, and she came down the stairs at a run to follow Mrs. Felders.
"The rest of you must have work to do." He did not look at anyone specifically. The half smile still curved his mouth upward. Indeed his eyes were still directed to Vivian's stiff figure. "If you do not, then those of you with no jobs are dismissed. Or better still, I will unleash Lady Polwycke among you."
The hall was instantly emptied except for the footman who dipped his cloth into the bucket of vinegar water and began vigorously cleaning the beveled glass of the mirror.
"My dearest daughter." He took Vivian's arm. "Please come into the library with me and have a glass of warmed brandy."
His request made her suddenly aware of her condition. Ineffectually, she pushed at the mass of silvery-blond hair sliding down onto one shoulder.
"It looks charming, my dear. I quite see how my son has grown so enamored of you that he does not want to leave your side."
Vivian looked around her in sudden amazement. Her blood still pounded madly through her veins. Fighting color still flushed her cheeks. Nevertheless, she began to feel the pain in her scalp where Mrs. Felders had pulled her hair. Likewise, she was becoming aware of bruises on her body and a stinging on her arm.
"Come."
She followed the earl, moving a bit unsteadily on her feet. At the door he took her elbow and guided her in. Ordinarily, his touch would have offended her and made her pull away, but this time she was glad of it. He led her to a leather chair and steadied her as she lowered herself into it. Its arms felt wonderfully solid. She clutched at them as a wave of dizziness assailed her.
He left her to pour them each a drink. He set over the warming candle, but hers he brought immediately. "I’ll warm the next one," he promised, "but for now drink this."
She accepted it, staring at nothing as her heart began to slow and her breathing to even. After a moment she drank it, letting the liquid bite her throat and send its fumes into her brain. She winced and sucked in her breath.
He lifted his own from the hoop and carried it to a chair opposite her. "I take it you and Emma had a disagreement about who should run the household."
She nodded wearily. Glancing down at her torn sleeve. she turned her arm inward to see the scratches oozing tiny stipples of blood. The wound stung. Ignoring it, she drank another swallow of brandy.
"You should take better care of yourself," he said. "You could be carrying my grandson."
She shot him an angry glance.
He held up his hand. "Don't attack me. I beg you. I’m an old man, crippled and in ill health. No match for the champion battler of Stone Glenn." He laughed a little, then drank a
sip of warmed brandy. His hand sought the mound of his belly and he pressed hard against it.
Vivian became aware of a pain in her shin where a chair had fallen on her. If the earl had not been sitting across from her she would have pulled her skirt up and inspected her leg. She really must get upstairs. She started to rise.
"Stay a minute." He took another sip of brandy and shifted in his chair. A tiny groan slipped out, quickly covered by a cough. "I wanted to pay you a compliment."
Her eyebrows rose. She pushed her torn sleeve back up onto her shoulder. It fell immediately smearing the blood oozing from the scratches.
With approval he noted that she neither winced nor trembled. "I was immensely proud of you today. I kept Millard from bursting in to 'rescue' you, you know. A fight between you and Emma was inevitable. She is a very jealous woman. And very possessive. At the same time I saw a second demonstration of your proud spirit. It pleased me very much."
Vivian smiled faintly. At the same time she shuddered inwardly. What kind of man would foresee a fight and do nothing to prevent it? What kind of person would stand outside while women he professed to care about tried to injure themselves? She slipped a hand into the deep pocket of her skirt and drew forth pad and pencil. With them she wrote, "Glad you enjoyed the show."
He read and shrugged insofar as his crippled shoulders allowed him to do so. "As I told you before, I don't care what you do to this house. All I care about is that you conceive and bear a healthy son. Whatever you want to do and are strong enough to do, you have my permission. If funds are required in your little beautification project, you have a limited amount at your disposal."
Her mouth curled upward. She stabbed a thumb at her chest.
"Yours?" He grinned. "We’ll, yes, I grant you, you do bring certain funds with you, but as yet they have not been turned over to us. Your solicitor and guardian are still lurking around the neighborhood hoping to spirit you off. Does that frighten you?"
She took a deep breath, then nodded her head.
"Good. A sensible woman. Not one of the proud ones who thinks that her dainty aristocratic hand will stand between a man and whatever it is he wants." He took another drink of brandy. "I think you will have no more trouble with Emma Felders. She was beaten fairly before the entire staff. They'll all look to you for instruction from now on."
She passed him another terse note. "Dismiss the housekeeper."
He read it and shook his head. "You must have been quite a trial to the nuns in that abbey. Whatever happened to Christian teachings like forgive your enemies?"
She shot him a look heavy with meaning.
He chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you in this, but Emma stays. She's very necessary to my comfort and well-being. And I have almost no comforts in life anymore. Ask for something else."
With a shake of her head, she rose and set the glass on the desk. Inclining her head and sweeping back her skirts, she sketched a formal bow of withdrawal.
"I mean what I said," he called after her. "Do anything you want so long as it does not—”
The library door thudded behind her.
“—damage my grandson."
Chapter 19
Icy rain pelted Piers's cheeks and nose. With his hat pulled low over his brows and the collar of his great cape upstanding, he presented a perfect picture of hunching misery. His hands in his soaked leather gloves ached with the cold. He could not feel his fingers where they crossed over the pommel of his saddle. He clenched and unclenched them. They might have been sticks for all the tactile sensations they sent to his exhausted brain.
Romany Knight, own brother to Romany Prince, shifted wearily under him as water beat down on the big black's drooping head and neck. The movement tilted Piers's stiff body, and more water cascaded down before his eyes from the brim of his hat. He cursed mildly and then coughed. A harsh hacking sound tore out from deep within his throat. His body was suddenly convulsed by chills that further unmanned him as the cough bent him over the saddle. Again he cursed- monotonous, sobbing, wheezing curses to vent his disgust and weariness.
A burly figure strode out of the rain. The bearded malevolent face raised itself to Piers's and squinted belligerently at the sick man. "No sign yet? Here now, are you sure of yer meetin' place? We've been waitin' five nights now for this bloke and every night a different place. Maybe you're the one makin' the mistake."
Piers looked down at his henchman with real hatred. "Beddoes, I've explained for the last time the precautions we have taken to ensure that we are never caught. The meeting places are changed by prearrangement. Both parties have the list. If there is a mistake one night, it won't be made the next night. The only reason that they're not showing is because they've gotten a tip that the meeting is too dangerous."
"Bunch of lily-livered pansies."
He bent closer to Beddoes to be sure the man heard every word. "And you're a greedy idiot. For tuppence, Jack, I'd blow you to hell and gone and go home and forget the whole thing."
The henchman fell back a step, ducked his head, and fell to muttering.
Piers looked around him again. The blackness was inpenetrable. His face contorted in a grimace as he straightened himself in his saddle. His whole body alternately burned hot and icy cold. His forehead throbbed painfully against the constriction of his hat band.
"See anything?" Beddoes's question came in a much more subdued tone.
"In this blackness who can see anything? It can't be much blacker than this in hell." Piers looked around once more, then dropped his head to stare at the upturned face.
Millard's beard and hair were so thick and so tangled that the eyes and nose that protruded from the middle of them seemed scarcely human. Indeed for the fortnight, the smuggler had behaved like a wild man, ranting, raving, cursing, hindering the expedition more than he helped.
"Look again," Beddoes urged. "And this time open yer bleedin' eyes, yer bleedin' lordship. There's gotta be a signal tonight."
"Beddoes! Damnation! With this storm, no one can see a hundred yards in any direction. They could be out there signaling till dawn and we couldn't see them. We might as well give it up for tonight."
The smuggler grabbed Romany Knight's bridle. "No. Look again, I tell you. We've swived around with this long enough. Let's get this stuff on its way and get our money."
Piers's hand went to the pistol holstered on his saddle. "Get your filthy hands off my bridle and shut your mouth. Or I will shut it for you-and permanently."
The smuggler subsided again, his face contorting with rage. For an instant he looked as if he would spring at the man on horseback, but he clenched his fists and ducked his head.
Suppressing another cough, Piers stood in the stirrups and looked around him in every direction.
Nothing but howling wind and pelting rain in a blackness like the lower circles of Dante's Inferno. Particles of ice struck his cheek and clung there in the beard stubble. They likewise began to crust in his eyelashes and eyebrows.
Another bout of coughing bent him over the saddle. As pain knifed through his chest, he swore if he could only get himself under control, he would abandon the vigil and disperse the men. Nothing was worth the agony of waiting under these conditions.
A half-hour's gallop would take him back to the inn where he could slide from the saddle into a hot bath and a warm bed. In his mind he fantasized a glass of warmed brandy. But he would not be greedy. Merely to be dry and away from this cursed rain and cold would seem heaven to him at this point.
"Don't suppose you've got the wrong spot?" Beddoes had moved back so he stood at the viscount's knee and in the lee of the horse's big body.
Piers shook his head. "I’ve spoken to the contact each time, Jack. And each time the meeting place has had to be changed to avoid the Riding Officers. We've almost been caught three times."
"So they say. Maybe they're standin' us up, tryin' to bring the price down?"
"Not a chance. It's taken a long time to build this organization. They
have more to lose than we do. Still if we don’t get rid of this cursed cargo tonight, I cannot but believe the whole enterprise to be futile." Again Piers coughed, as his long speech seemed to drain the strength from his body. Privately, he thought the whole business to be damned. Bright specks danced before his eyes as he stared out into the rain.
"Look again," the henchman urged in a wheedling tone. "It'd be a damn' shame to wait this long and come back empty-handed."
Again the bright specks. Piers blinked and wiped his hand across his eyes. Was he delirious? He dropped his hand onto the shoulder of the man beside him. "Look yonder! Can you see a light?"
Beddoes spun around and stared in the direction Piers pointed. Instantly, the tone of his voice changed from servile to belligerent. "Sure, it's right there in front of us. The bloody fools took their own sweet time about gettin' here." He slapped Piers's thigh jubilantly. "They sure better have their money in hand." He slogged rapidly away through the rain. In a moment a lantern was uncovered. Its light streamed as a beacon.
Piers's senses strove for alertness as he straightened painfully in the saddle, grasped the reins, and tugged the horse's head up. The lantern was before his eyes in the distance, blinking, then disappearing. He could not count the times. Had it blinked twice as was the signal, or was it simply bobbing and waving? Just as suddenly, it disappeared. He pulled the horse around.