Lords of Misrule (Roundheads & Cavaliers Book 4)

by Stella Riley

  The guards came down muttering to each other, then froze when each of them felt something cold and deadly pressed against the back of his skull.

  ‘Don’t do anything rash,’ advised Eden to the one he held at pistol-point. ‘None of your friends are in any position to help you … and it sounds as if my friends are coming inside just about now. Am I making myself quite clear?’

  The fellow swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Good. Where is my wife?’

  A quiver of shock ran down the man’s spine. ‘That woman’s your w-wife?’

  ‘Yes. Where is she?’ And jamming the pistol hard under the man’s jaw, ‘Where?’

  ‘Next floor, third door on the right,’ said the other guard quickly. ‘Look – we never touched her. None of it’s our d--’

  ‘Be quiet. Ned – Nick – take these two down for Buxton and the others to deal with, then come back up. Toby – with me.’

  Upstairs, Lydia was still on her hands and knees, gasping for air following a fourth ducking. Although scarcely able to think, she was distantly aware that she couldn’t endure much more of this; that next time or the one after that, she was going to break and tell Northcote what he wanted to know. His voice seeming to come from a long way off, she heard him say, ‘Again, Herbert.’

  With a moan of misery, she snatched a ragged breath as the rough hands took hold of her again and plunged her head down into the bucket. Struggling made everything worse but she couldn’t stop herself doing it. Once again, she started to choke and feel consciousness fading. And then, miraculously and sooner than before, she found herself free.

  From the doorway, it took Eden less than a second to assimilate the scene before him. He shot across the room and, using the sole of his boot with every ounce of his strength, he sent Herbert scudding away over the polished floorboards.

  ‘Toby – kill the first one that moves,’ he snapped coldly. And was on his knees beside Lydia almost before the words were out of his mouth.

  ‘Easy now, darling. Just breathe.’ He slid a supporting arm under her ribs and massaged her back as the water came up. Silently, he damned these men for what they had been doing to her … and himself for not getting here sooner. Then he damned the circumstances that meant he couldn’t simply pick her up and carry her away; couldn’t, in fact, even stay with her when she so clearly needed him. ‘Slowly. Yes. That’s right.’

  ‘Eden?’ she croaked, finding his wrist and clinging to it, not yet quite able to believe that the ordeal was over. ‘Oh. You c-came.’

  The words brought on a coughing fit and a red mist of fury filled Eden’s brain.

  ‘Yes. I’m here, love. Hush now.’ With his free hand, he stroked back the dripping hair about her face and simultaneously realised that she was greenish-pale and shaking with cold and shock. Briefly releasing her, he dragged his coat off and wrapped it round her, before very slowly raising her to her feet so that he could hold her properly and warm her with his body.

  ‘How very touching,’ remarked a chilly, expressionless voice.

  For the first time since he’d entered the room, Eden allowed himself to look into the face of a man he fully intended to destroy, the murderous rage he could barely contain showing unmistakeably in his eyes. In a tone that could have scored glass, he said, ‘Nice coat, Quinn. Torturing women pays well, does it?’

  The other man showed no reaction but, against his chest, Eden felt Lydia draw a harsh, painful breath.

  ‘No,’ she managed to say. ‘Eden – no. Not Quinn. Northcote.’

  Shock and momentary incomprehension froze every nerve and sinew.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He – he’s Northcote.’

  For the space of a heartbeat, it didn’t seem possible. He heard Tobias mutter, ‘He’s both of them? Holy hell!’

  For a long, airless moment Eden frowned at the satin-clad man perched negligently on the edge of the table. And then the tumblers clicked into place and he saw that, of course it was possible. Lydia had met Northcote but never seen Quinn; he knew Quinn but had never laid eyes on Northcote. It was not only possible; it was the single fact that explained everything.

  Eden let loose a long, slow breath. It was one of those things that, once you knew, became suddenly blindingly obvious. The bastard was successfully leading a double-life … and enjoying the best of both worlds. The only thing Eden couldn’t understand was why the possibility had never occurred to him before.

  Behind him, he heard sounds betokening the arrival of Nicholas, Ned and some others but he didn’t turn to look. Instead, holding Northcote’s remote gaze with a very different one of his own, he said, ‘Well, well … two birds with one stone, then. This is going to save me a great deal of trouble. But I hope you’ve found the game entertaining enough to be worth the candle.’

  Finally, the Viscount stirred. ‘You think it’s over? It isn’t.’

  ‘Almost. Your men are down and the house is full of mine. Unless you can conjure reinforcements out of thin air?’

  ‘I don’t need to,’ came the dismissive reply. ‘I have money, influential men who will do my bidding the moment I snap my fingers and a dozen or more fellows with skills you wouldn’t imagine. You won’t hold me for more than a day.’

  Very slowly and in a way that Lydia would never have recognised, Eden smiled.

  ‘I know that. So I’ve no intention of holding you at all.’

  For the first time, something flickered in the empty eyes but Eden didn’t give Northcote the chance to speak. Turning to find Peter standing beside Rob Trotter, he gently detached Lydia’s fingers from his shirt and said, ‘You’re going home, love.’

  ‘No!’ She snatched her hands back, clenched her fingers on his shirt and, through chattering teeth, said, ‘He d-doesn’t matter. Too many people know about him now. All that c-counts, is that you’re alive and I’m alive. And I’m not going anywhere without you.’

  ‘Yes. You are.’ The fact that – dripping wet, shivering and after being half-drowned God only knew how many times – she could still stand her ground and argue, made something twist painfully in his chest. But he shook his head and said, ‘This is no place for you now, Lydia. So you’ll do as I ask and leave me to follow you presently. No.’ This, firmly, as she embarked on another impassioned denial. ‘Stop. Nothing is going to happen to me. But I have to finish this because – as this piece of filth has just said – if I don’t, he might find a way of squirming out of it. So you’ll go and leave me to do what must be done.’ He dropped a fleeting kiss on her brow. ‘Peter – take her away, please. Over your shoulder, if necessary. Rob – organise an escort, will you? And tell any of those downstairs who wish to leave that they may now safely do so.’

  ‘No!’ said Lydia again, as Peter advanced towards her. ‘You mustn’t --’ Her words ended in an outraged grunt when the young man tossed her up in his arms like a wisp of straw. Spitting out a mouthful of hair and belatedly recognising that she wasn’t going to win, she sought Tobias’s eyes across the room and said, ‘Toby? You – you’ll be here?’

  ‘I’ll be here,’ he agreed grimly. ‘You may count on it. And for the rest, you have no need to ask.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  THIRTEEN

  Without removing his eyes from Northcote, Eden waited until Lydia – still furiously complaining – had been borne away. Then, his tone chillingly conversational, he said, ‘You really are a sick bastard, aren’t you?’ And, over his shoulder, ‘Would anybody like to shove Lord Northcote-Quinn’s head in the bucket?’

  ‘All of us,’ replied Nicholas, disgustedly. ‘He’s not a man. He’s a piece of shit.’

  ‘Your insults grow tedious,’ remarked Northcote, rising to his feet and brushing an imaginary speck from his cuff. And then, as if the matter were of little interest, ‘What did she mean? Too many people know?’

  ‘She meant that, as of this evening, roughly fifty people are aware that you are – quite literally – a bastard. They know of your criminal activities
in the guise of Quinn … and they know you own a brothel where the most despicable of all perversions are permitted.’ Eden paused before saying in a tone of flat contempt, ‘We have the children.’

  There was a long silence during which Northcote’s face remained completely expressionless. Then, ‘I see,’ was all he said.

  Eden began to wonder what it would take to shatter that rigid composure and whether there was even a shred of decency behind it. He said, ‘By tomorrow, those fifty people will become five hundred. And by noon, everything I know and everything Stephen Neville knew will be on both the Secretary of State’s desk and also that of Major-General Lambert. Since this includes the implication that you sold information to the Dutch and arms to the Royalists, your personal outlook would be bleak even if I permitted you to walk out of this room right now. Not,’ he finished, ‘that there is the remotest chance of me doing so.’

  ‘What, then? You said you intend to end this matter. How? With murder?’ There was an infinitesimal and vaguely pitying pause. ‘I don’t somehow think so. Aside from your position within the Army, you have too many scruples.’

  ‘Wrong on both counts. I’ve resigned my commission. And whatever scruples I may have had fled in the face of what I and some of my friends have seen tonight. I could blow your brains out right now and there’s not a man behind me who would call it anything but justice.’

  A decade-old image entered Eden’s head; an image of bursting into the Marquis of Winchester’s private study to find Cyrus Winter’s head splattered all over the room while Luciano del Santi stood over him holding a still smoking pistol. Then he banished it. He hadn’t been able, once in possession of all the facts to blame Luciano for what he’d done and had even found a measure of respect for the strength of will that had allowed him to do it. But it was not what he wanted now, in this not entirely dissimilar situation, for himself.

  So he said, ‘But I won’t shoot you in cold blood. Not because I lack the stomach … but because it would be too quick.’ And with another unpleasant smile, ‘You may have chosen to spend half of your life in the gutter, Northcote, but you were reared as a gentleman and must, I assume, have retained at least some of a gentleman’s skills. Ned … give him your sword.’

  Without hesitation, Major Moulton stepped forward already unsheathing his blade. But Tobias said, ‘Eden – what the hell are you doing? You don’t owe him any kind of chance.’

  ‘I’m not giving him one.’ Eden drew his own sword, discarded his baldric and, catching sight of Herbert, still crouched mouse-still against the wall, ‘Buxton – get that vermin out of my sight.’

  Smiling grimly and hoisting a hefty cudgel, Trooper Buxton sauntered over to Herbert. ‘Mind if I hurt him a bit, Colonel?’

  ‘As much as you like, Jem. Toby, Nick – move that bloody bucket and find something to mop up the spillage.’

  Tobias unrolled the Bokhara with a kick and sent it into the puddle. Then, noting the twitch of Northcote’s brows, he stamped about on it, dragging the roughened heels of his boots as he went and said cheerfully, ‘Oh dear. Valuable, is it? Pity.’

  Northcote turned his eyes back to Eden. He still had not taken Ned’s proffered sword.

  He said, ‘You can’t make me fight.’

  ‘No? You’re going to simply stand there and let me kill you by inches, are you … without seizing the opportunity to inflict some damage of your own?’ Eden shook his head and strolled towards the other man. ‘I don’t think so. Unless,’ he added deliberately, ‘on top of everything else, you’re a damned coward – which would, of course, come as no surprise to any of us.’

  ‘And if I kill you?’ Northcote finally closed his hand on the sword-hilt.

  ‘You won’t. But I’ll make it worth your while to try.’ Eden cast a swift glance at Tobias and the others. ‘If I die, let him go. Give --’

  ‘Bugger that!’ snapped Tobias. ‘And don’t tell me it’s an order. I’m not one of your damned troopers.’

  Eden sighed. ‘Have a little faith, will you? If he kills me, give him an hour before you hunt him down; and take what we know to Thurloe and Lambert.’ He turned back to Northcote and lifted his own blade. The red haze that had filled his brain when he’d first entered the room had evaporated, leaving behind it a purposeful, ice-cold rage that he now intended to satisfy. ‘Fight or don’t fight, Northcote. Your choice.’

  And without further warning, his sword made a lightning sweep that delicately sliced through one of the bows on the Viscount’s sleeve. Northcote hopped back, then retaliated with a fierce lunge. Eden side-stepped and continued to circle, tempting the other man away from the table and out into the centre of the floor. Then, when he had Northcote where he wanted him, he embarked on an apparently lazy exchange of attack and riposte designed to tempt his opponent into believing he actually had some chance of coming out of this alive.

  Looking on with little real knowledge of swordplay, Tobias wondered what his brother was doing. After seeing Eden spit the fellow in the garden, he’d expected some species of blood-frenzy – not this seemingly idle, almost teasing display of finesse. As for Northcote-bastard-Quinn … he probably fought as well as most gentlemen who’d learned to handle a sword as a matter of form rather than as a life-saving necessity. At times, he even appeared to have the advantage – though he never quite got through Eden’s guard. Tobias kept his eyes on the fight and a firm grip on his pistol. Then he became aware that Ned Moulton was leaning against the wall with folded arms and a half-smile bracketing his mouth – suggesting that the Major knew something he didn’t. Tobias relaxed a fraction.

  And suddenly Eden stopped playing. In a series of rapid, complex moves, he drove Northcote back and back across the room until he collided with the wall, his breath coming in uneven gasps and the tip of Eden’s sword resting lightly against the base of his throat.

  Eyes and voice cold and razor-sharp, Eden said, ‘How many times did you drown my wife?’

  Northcote swallowed but said nothing. The blade didn’t move but a bead of blood blossomed around it.

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I … wasn’t counting.’ The bead became a tiny trickle. ‘Ask her.’

  ‘I will. Not that it makes any difference now.’ Without warning, the sword skimmed down from throat to navel, slitting the laces of Northcote’s coat, slicing through his shirt and scoring a trail down the flesh beneath. ‘Once was one time too many.’

  For the space of perhaps three heartbeats, implacable hazel eyes held dark ones that were no longer empty. Eden read the hate there and his mouth curled slightly. ‘Good,’ he said and took a few paces back, beckoning with his left hand. ‘You want to kill me? Try.’

  Another moment of stillness. Then Northcote erupted from the wall to slash savagely but unsuccessfully at Eden’s wrist before making an equally clumsy attempt to disarm him. Eden parried both moves with minimal effort and said derisively, ‘No wonder you need hired cut-throats. Ever killed anyone with your own hands, have you?’ A perfectly-judged flick drew a bloody line diagonally across the Viscount’s cheek. ‘Ah. I forgot. You suffocated your mother, didn’t you? Quite the hero, in fact.’

  Furious colour darkened Northcote’s complexion. He took another vicious swipe at Eden’s sword-hand but managed only to graze his knuckles as their blades tangled before slithering to a disengage. Then, without a second’s hesitation, he pulled a pistol from his pocket and fired it at Eden’s chest.

  It was a left-handed shot but, even so, there was no warning and, had Eden not chosen that exact moment to make a sudden cross-wise sweep, he’d have been a dead man. As it was, the shot tore through his left sleeve and buried itself in the wall inches away from where Nicholas was standing. Ned and Peter started forward, swearing. From his position on the other side of the room, Tobias simply levelled his own weapon and prepared to fire it.

  ‘Toby – no!’ snapped Eden, ducking smartly as Northcote hurled the empty pistol at him. Then, with a disquieting smile and once more ci
rcling with predatory intent, he said gently, ‘Dirty tricks, my lord? Splendid. I know a few of those myself.’

  ‘Oh – for Christ’s sake, Eden!’ growled Tobias. ‘Just kill him and have done.’

  Eden ignored him. Instead, with a swift, hard kick, he sent the sword flying from Northcote’s hand. Then, dropping his own point and still smiling, he said, ‘Pick it up. I’m not done with you yet.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pick it up.’ Blood was staining his shirt-sleeve scarlet and beginning to drip down his hand. ‘I’m giving you another chance. Your last.’

  Northcote’s glance flicked over the cold, contemptuous faces gathered near the door and returned to the Colonel, moving slowly towards him with flint-hard eyes. Then, lithe as a cat, he swooped on the fallen blade and, in the same movement, swung it at Eden’s chest – only to find it once more blocked and twisted from his grasp. It dropped at his feet and a boot hit him hard in the thigh, sending him down on his knees.

  Seeing his brother wiping the blood from his hand on his breeches, Tobias held out a handkerchief, saying tersely, ‘Here. Take this.’

  In the second Eden turned slightly to stretch out his hand, Northcote lurched to his feet and Nicholas roared out a warning – but just an instant too late. The tip of Northcote’s sword sliced across Eden’s ribs in a long ribbon of red. Tobias swore and Ned stepped away from the wall. Eden, however, merely shook his head slightly … and finally exerted the full sum of his skill.

  Finding himself engaged in a fast and furious assault which earned him a number of pricks and cuts whilst driving him back again across the room, Northcote had no time for anything except defence. His breath coming in ragged gasps and knowing he couldn’t stand this pace for long, he sought an opening and suddenly thought he saw one. It was a mistake. His last one.

  Lunging precisely as Eden had intended he should, his sword was once more deflected … and Eden’s own blade travelled unerringly on to bite deep into his heart.