A step sounded behind him and he pulled himself together. Without looking to see who was there, he snatched his coat and hat from the table and turned to leave, almost stepping on Ives.
“You!” He took a fist full of Ives’s coat and righted him, then bent down to look him in the eye. “What are you doing here?”
The little man smoothed the crumpled lapel of his coat with a careful hand. “I’m employed in the good vicar’s service, Your Worship. As his valet.”
“Valet?” Max snorted. A likely story. “Surely you can do better than that.”
Ives gave him a beatific, gap-toothed smile. “Oh, no, Your Honor. I never thought to look so high as a position in the service of a gentleman like Mr. Holt. But I do have a way of tying a cravat, Your Worship, which my master will vouch for, and that’s a fact.”
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt like he’d walked into Bedlam. “This is the most arrant load of nonsense I’ve ever heard. What does a country vicar need with a valet? Much less a disreputable-looking specimen like— Oh, never mind. You’ll only tell me another pack of lies and I don’t have time to listen.”
Outside, he took a deep, calming breath.
Marriage. Even as he considered the logistics of rounding up the band of rebels, the word pounded through his brain.
He must propose marriage to Lady Kate.
KATE threw down her embroidery and started up as the trapdoor creaked open. “Thank goodness for you, Louisa! Otherwise, I think I should go mad, cooped up here.”
Louisa looked up and smiled as she climbed the final steps and emerged through the trapdoor. There was genuine warmth and empathy in that glowing look. Kate realized, with some surprise, that she’d found a friend.
Three days had passed since Lyle left. Kate took her exercise every morning in the barn with Louisa for company. In fact, besides the time she spent on the frustrating and rather depressing exercise of working out who might be trying to kill her, Kate had passed most of Lyle’s absence in Louisa’s company. Though they’d seen much of each other, they never ran out of conversation.
On the other hand, Sukey had been distant, preoccupied since her return. The maid was efficient enough and performed her tasks without complaint, but trying to converse with her was like addressing a brick wall.
Kate tilted her head to study her friend. There was an air of excitement about her today.
“You will never guess what I saw nailed to the notice board in the village square.” Louisa held up a tattered piece of paper with a flourish. “This!”
Kate laughed at her unwonted exuberance. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”
“A prizefight!” said Louisa, her eyes sparkling.
“A prizefight? What on earth—”
Louisa held up a hand. “No, do but listen. It is a prizefight between women.” She waited expectantly. But when Kate still gazed at her in puzzlement, she added, “Don’t you see? If we watch, we might glean some hints on how you can defend yourself against this assassin.”
Kate laughed at the absurdity of it. “But Lyle said I wasn’t to leave the tower, not even for a stroll in the shrubbery. And besides, it sounds horrid. Bad enough for those awful, sweaty men to beat each other senseless, but brawling women? How could a female have so little delicacy of mind?”
“Shocking, isn’t it?” Louisa shook her head while she scanned the notice. “It says here: ‘The women fight in close jackets, short petticoats, coming just below the knee, Holland drawers, white stockings, and pumps.” She made a face. “Rather an odd costume. I wonder why it matters what they are wearing.”
“I’m sure it matters to the men who are watching,” said Kate darkly.
“Oh, yes. Aren’t men horrid?” Louisa agreed. “But you know, George has gone off somewhere and this young man, a Mr. Perry, has taken over his watch. I’m sure we could talk our way around him if we tried.”
Kate shook her head. “I don’t want to give that killer an easy target.”
Louisa looked as though she might argue, then her shoulders dropped. She sighed. “I suppose you are right. It still seems unreal to me that you were almost killed.”
Touching her neck, which still bore faint bruising, Kate said, “It seems very real to me.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I will go,” Louisa said. “I shall watch and I’ll come home and teach you what I’ve learned. You did say you wanted to learn how to defend yourself, didn’t you?”
Yes, but I wanted Lyle to teach me. Kate grinned ruefully at that telling revelation. “I did. But you are not to go to that silly thing on my account. You’re likely to be molested or worse among such a rowdy mob. And only think of the damage it could do to your reputation if someone found out.”
“I shall attend in disguise,” said Louisa. “I shall dress as a servant. Sukey can find me something suitable, can’t you, Sukey?”
The maid looked up from her darning and nodded. “I’ll even come with you, if you like, miss. Two heads are better than one, my dad always says.”
“Quite right, too,” approved Louisa. “Can you ride, Sukey?”
“No, miss,” the girl said with regret.
“Then I’ll take you up before me. You have nothing to fear. I know one end of a horse from the other, I believe! I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Kate rather thought she ought to object to such an outrageous plan, but Louisa seemed determined.
“You are making me wish I could go, too,” she said. “And I don’t even want to witness this dreadful spectacle.”
“Just wait until we return,” said Louisa, with a gleam of mischief. “Then we may practice our maneuvers.”
THE fight was staged in a field less than a mile from the village. Louisa knew a shortcut through Romney’s land, and she and Sukey arrived in short order at an outbuilding adjacent to the field. They concealed the horse there—no serving wench would own such a fine beast—and walked the rest of the way to the venue.
Sukey didn’t divulge where she found their costumes, but Louisa was reasonably certain no one would recognize the Duke of Lyle’s sister in this brown fustian gown, sturdy boots, and tattered shawl. With another shawl tied over her head to conceal her blond hair, no one would look at her twice.
Louisa paid their entrance fee and was pleased to note that no one paid them the slightest heed as they maneuvered through the throng to find a decent vantage point.
They were a little late, and everyone’s attention was focused on the makeshift ring in the center of the crowd.
Louisa wrinkled her nose. As she’d expected, the patrons were far from genteel, and the reek of ale, tobacco, manure, and—strangely—fish assaulted her as they wove in and out. There were quite a few women present, which Sukey remarked upon.
“My gran made a hobby out of watching executions,” added the plump little maid, speaking close to Louisa’s ear so she could hear above the din. “Some females like that sort of thing.”
The ring lay at the bottom of a grassy bowl, a natural amphitheater often used for sporting bouts by the grace of a local farmer. They soon found a vantage point from which they could view the fight.
After a preliminary introduction by a man who used far too much Circassian oil on his crimped brown locks, the championesses themselves swaggered into the ring, to cheers and catcalls from their audience. Louisa drew her shawl forward, obscuring her face as much as possible, and settled in to watch.
The combatants were both strapping women. One, a flaming redhead, big and raw-boned; the other slightly taller, a statuesque figure reminiscent of Boudicca, with long, coarse black hair and an almost masculine cast to her face.
Both of them, Louisa noted, had enormous bosoms.
“Oh, miss. They are showing their legs!” Sukey hissed. “I scarcely know where to look.”
Louisa quirked a brow. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, is it?”
Sukey pursed her lips. “Seeing it in the presence of men is another thin
g entirely.”
Chuckling, Louisa turned her attention to the fight. She needed to concentrate, dissect, and memorize their moves.
While the women baited one another and solicited insults from the crowd, the patrons placed bets on everything from how soon they’d see first blood, to how soon they’d see certain parts of the contestants’ anatomy.
After a few minutes of this, Louisa’s face was so hot she could have lit a taper with it. This earthy ribaldry was a side of life she’d never encountered before.
A roar went up, and the fight began.
Snarling and calling names, the women circled each other, reminding Louisa of the witches in a production she’d seen of Macbeth. The redhead lunged, but instead of striking with her fist, as Louisa expected, she caught hold of Boudicca’s hair.
She yanked, and the redhead screamed like a banshee, then pivoted and drove her elbow into Boudicca’s midriff. Boudicca let go and countered swiftly, raking her fingernails down the redhead’s face.
Blood sprang to the welts on the redhead’s cheek. The crowd cheered and money changed hands. Louisa’s stomach commenced a slow churn.
The redhead howled in pain, and Boudicca followed up her triumph by grabbing a fistful of her opponent’s stained shift, ripping it from bosom to waist.
The crowd’s reaction was deafening. Louisa glimpsed the redhead’s enormous breasts swinging free, before she averted her gaze.
Resolutely, she fixed her gaze once more on the ring. Even if this fight wasn’t governed by any kind of rules or code of behavior, she might still learn something. When one was fighting for one’s life, it was hardly the time to be polite. She made a mental note. Yank hair. Twist, followed by elbow in stomach.
As the fight progressed, the women grew wilder, their clothing scantier, but some of the bout showed real skill. The outing had been worth the trouble, after all.
Louisa had almost seen enough, when Sukey nudged her.
“My lady! That man over there, the one that looks like the devil himself. He is staring at you.”
Fourteen
The intensity grows until I can hardly bear it. One night I hide, but he finds me. Steals me back to his web.
And I am like the hapless fly. Bound, wrapped, and devoured whole . . .
LOUISA paled. It must be Jardine. One swift glance under her lashes to the opposite side of the ring told her she was right. Even in the crowd, she pinpointed him immediately.
“We must go.”
She grabbed Sukey’s wrist. They moved through the throng, dodging stray hands and suffering rough jostles and a pinch or two.
Louisa restrained her impulse to run. That would attract attention.
Emerging from the press of sweaty bodies, Louisa hustled Sukey towards the exit. She glanced over her shoulder, trying to see if he followed, and ran straight into a masculine chest.
Ignoring her, Jardine reached forward and plucked the shawl off Sukey’s head. “Lady Kate, I presume?”
But when he revealed the plump, blue-eyed face and flaxen hair under that shawl, Jardine’s eyebrows slammed together.
“That’s not Lady Kate.” He shot an accusing glance at Louisa.
“I cannot imagine why you thought it would be,” she managed to reply. She was afraid. Mortally afraid. Jardine worked for the government. Killed for the government. Could Jardine be the man who had almost killed Lady Kate? The man who hunted her yet?
He took Louisa’s arm in a hard grip. “Where is she?”
Sukey opened her mouth, but Louisa pinched her arm. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Louisa. Lyle told me to watch her. Is she still in the tower, or is the maid a decoy? Answer me!”
Louisa hesitated in painful indecision. How could she trust him? She knew what he did. He worked for the Home Office. And Lady Kate was in trouble with the government . . .
A look of comprehension swept over his face. “I see.”
His dark eyes searched hers, then he stepped back. “Go home, Lady Louisa. It’s not safe for you here.”
A tray bearing the late luncheon Kate had ordered arrived at three. The young man who guarded her must have stopped the servant at the door, because he delivered the tray himself.
Kate thanked him and gestured for him to set down the tray on a small table by the window. “Where is George today?”
The blue eyes looked straight into hers. The bright intensity of that gaze sent unease creeping down her spine. For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint, this young man unsettled her.
“The duke sent for George and ordered me to take his place. My name is Perry,” he offered. “Perhaps the duke has spoken of me.”
A denial sprang to her tongue, but he seemed so anxious for her answer that she repressed it. “Oh, yes. I believe he did mention your name.”
The blue eyes burned brighter. He licked his lips.
She wanted him gone. With this odd young man guarding her she no longer felt quite so safe.
But Lyle must trust the lad, or he wouldn’t have sent him to guard her in place of George. Perhaps, behind that almost effeminate appearance reposed a man of extraordinary fighting prowess. Or perhaps he was a crack shot with a pistol?
The thought increased her nervousness.
“Do you work for the Home Office, Mr. Perry?”
He shook his head. “I work for the Duke of Lyle.” He seemed to roll the name around his tongue, savoring it in a way that made her stomach roil.
Kate swallowed hard, and an echo of the pain she’d suffered from her semi-strangulation made her press her fingers to her throat. Something about this young man wasn’t right. She wished Louisa would return.
“No doubt he is a demanding master,” Kate said, trying to strike a lighter note. “I know I go in terror of his disapproval.”
An expression very close to a sneer flitted across his face. He turned to the tray, which sat on the table next to his hip. One elegant finger ran lightly along the length of the fruit knife.
My God! Kate froze, icy fear rushing through her veins. It couldn’t be . . .
But the next moment, he moved away from the table, his expression perfectly benign. She let her shoulders relax. She was jumping at shadows. He was here to protect her. Lyle had sent him.
But she wanted him to go.
“Well, then!” she said brightly, moving towards the trapdoor, hoping to shepherd him in the same direction. “Thank you for bringing my tray. If there’s anything else, I’ll be sure to—”
A tall, dark man erupted through the trapdoor and lunged at Perry, grabbing a fistful of the young man’s cravat, bringing them nose to nose. “What are you doing here, you little snot?”
Before Kate could react, Louisa stumbled into the room after the newcomer. “Jardine, you beast! Leave him alone.”
Kate almost collapsed with relief. “You know this man?” she said to Louisa.
“Unfortunately, yes!” Louisa ripped the shawl from her head and marched up to Jardine, who had been bombarding Perry with short, staccato questions.
When the boy had answered to Jardine’s satisfaction, he let him go.
A blaze of hatred flared in Perry’s eyes, swiftly veiled by thick golden lashes. Sullenly, he said, “Anyway, I should like to know what you’re doing here, Jardine.”
“None of your damned business,” Jardine flashed back. He narrowed his eyes and spoke through his teeth. “I don’t believe for a damned minute that Lyle entrusted his lady to you, and I don’t believe George left his post on a whim. So I’m watching you, young Perry. And if you take one step out of line, I’ll make you sorry you were born.”
Kate wanted to applaud, but Louisa was not impressed. She squared up to Jardine, shoulders heaving, blond hair a wild tangle. Kate wondered if her friend was about to let fly with one of the moves she’d learned at the prizefight.
But Louisa kept her hands to herself. “You’ve said your piece, my lord. Now leave the poor lad alone and ge
t out. You are not welcome here.”
The look that passed between the two of them could have sent the room up in flames.
How fascinating! Kate tried to think of some pleasantry that would rid them of the men so she could have a long talk with Louisa, but Jardine saved her the trouble.
Ironically, he bowed. “I am well aware of that, Lady Louisa. Allow me to remove myself.” He collared Perry and pushed him towards the trapdoor. “You first.”
Alone with Louisa, Kate said, “So that was the famous marquis.”
“Infamous, more like,” Louisa replied.
“Louisa, won’t you—”
Louisa’s face shuttered. “Forgive me, but I don’t wish to talk about it.”
Kate hesitated, but being a very private person herself, she respected Louisa’s unwillingness to discuss the matter. “All right. Where’s Sukey?”
“I sent her to change.” Louisa glanced to the window. “Ah, good. You have food. I’m famished.”
“Yes. Mr. Perry brought it.” Kate moved to the table and arranged some fruit and cheese on a plate, which she handed to Louisa.
Kate picked up a piece of apple to nibble and her gaze fell on the fruit knife. Perhaps she’d imagined Mr. Perry’s hostility. A lady tended to see threats everywhere when she feared for her life.
When they’d finished their meal, Louisa wiped her fingers on a napkin. “We should practice what I’ve learned, don’t you think? Let’s go to the barn.”
Kate eyed her with amusement. “Do you mean you want me to scratch your face and pull your hair?”
“Why not?” demanded Louisa. “I imagine such moves would be quite effective if you were fighting for your life.”
Clearly, her friend was in a pugnacious frame of mind. Kate raised her hands in mock terror. “I vow, Louisa, I am afraid of you. Be gentle with me, I beg!”
“Oh, pshaw!” Reluctantly, Louisa laughed. “Come on.”
They went downstairs and advised Perry of their mission.
The Dangerous Duke Page 20