The Houseparty

by Anne Stuart

  As Elizabeth had suspected, there was a large mahogany desk in the center of the small sitting room that opened onto Sir Maurice's bedroom. The top was littered with papers and broken pens and several books open at various strategic passages. The curtains were drawn against the cloudy day, and she didn't dare pull them back to allow any more light into the room. She leaned over the desk, peering at the papers, her face screwed up into a frown as she tried to make sense of the various dispatches, notes, reports, and the like, hoping against hope that she'd find the answers to the thousand questions that were racketing around in her brain. It was beyond her. There was nothing that could help her decide just how villainous the men she loved most were.

  So engrossed was she in trying to decipher the contents of one particular missive that she failed to hear the door open, failed to notice the large, menacing figure that crept up silently behind her. She heard the faint creaking, and then a heavy object crashed down on her head, and she collapsed with a small sigh into a graceless heap on the red Turkey carpet, leaving her assailant staring down at her with mixed emotions.

  Chapter 16

  It was dark and cold, and Elizabeth was extremely uncomfortable. For one thing, her wrists and ankles were tied together with ruthless bonds that felt as if they were made of ground glass but doubtless were in actuality rough hemp. They had seen fit to tie her onto a chair, placing a gag in her mouth so that she couldn't scream for help once she regained consciousness. She tried to wriggle but found herself unable to move. As the pain in her head suddenly made itself known, she decided quickly that she preferred not to move or even breathe as long as that shattering pain continued.

  Her memory, along with her thinking processes, was a trifle hazy. It was with great effort that she remembered standing over Sir Maurice's desk. And then, nothing. Not even a flash of blinding pain, though her head was now busily making up for its original forebearance. She could see nothing and wondered if they had put a blindfold over her eyes. She squinted but could feel no cloth across her face. Indeed, as she became accustomed to the dark, a faint glimmer of light appeared in the direction of where her feet should be. Moving her aching head backward, she felt rough wool suspended over her head, and against her cheek the faint coolness of a metal button. Someone's closet, then. The question was, whose?

  But more important, thought Elizabeth, shedding easy tears of pain and exhaustion, was ridding herself of this demonic headache. With a snuffle and a small sigh, she shut her eyes again and fell asleep.

  The voices woke her. By this time the thin ribbon of light beneath the closet door was fainter, and she vaguely wondered what time it could possibly be. Surely someone would miss her before long and come searching for her? She could only hope she had been placed in the closet of an occupied room, though the coats hanging above her seemed to suggest she need have no fears on that score. If someone had trundled her off into one of the uninhabited bedrooms, she might not be found until . . . The thought was quite horrid, and Elizabeth began struggling at her bonds with renewed vigor. She wasn't about to submit tamely to being bludgeoned and trussed up like a capon, she thought furiously, ignoring the pounding of her poor abused skull. As soon as she found out who dared to assault her, she would . . .

  Suitable revenges danced pleasurably in her mind as she applied herself to her bonds, which were proving not quiet as incapacitating as previously.

  The voices came again, and Elizabeth halted her struggles. The first voice was unfamiliar to her ears. The second one she recognized with a cheerful gnashing of teeth and renewed fervor toward her bonds.

  "May I help you, sir?" It was an upper-class servant's accent.

  Fraser's voice came back in clipped businesslike tones. "I don't think so, Holmes. I was merely checking to see if I left a dispatch on the general's desk. I don't seem to find it, however."

  "I'll tell him you were looking, sir."

  The voice was sepulchral and ever so faintly threatening. Elizabeth leaned back, digesting the information as she listened to the two pairs of footsteps move away, the door open and close, and then the silence closing in once more. So she was in General Wingert's bedroom, just off the sitting room. Her assailant hadn't been able to carry her farther than the nearest closet. Perhaps there were advantages to being taller and more generously endowed than most women.

  A moment later the door opened again, quietly, surreptitiously, and a single set of footsteps entered the room. There was the quiet sound of opening and closing drawers, the rustle of papers, the creak of the bed, and then loud voices from out in the hall. The footsteps in the room moved quickly, directly toward the closet.

  The dusky light of evening blinded her as the door was flung open, and then a figure blocked it out, tripping over her in his haste to conceal himself and in the process giving her a nasty thwack on the shin. The door shut behind him, and she was trapped in the closet with a nefarious stranger.

  She was in no way surprised when Fraser's explosive whisper came to her ear. "So there's where you got to," he said coldheartedly. "Who had the good sense to tie you up and toss you in here?"

  Her response was a muffled "mmphnn" before his hand reached over her gag and silenced her. "Be quiet," he whispered, "or you may not live to make another sound if those two should hear us."

  It was the same servant's voice from before. "I have no idea what Captain Fraser was doing in the room, sir. You told me he'd have no reason to go through the contents of your desk without you present, and yet not five minutes ago I found him, cool as you please, sorting through that pile of papers there."

  "I don't know if I quite trust the good captain, Holmes," General Wingert's high-pitched voice came back to the two eavesdroppers. "He came highly recommended, but I somehow doubt his loyalty to me. He's the only one who knows enough to cause any difficulty tonight. Since he hasn't accompanied Sir Henry on his little ride, we may have to do something about him. If not this evening, then in the next few days. A riding accident, perhaps?" There was a meditative tone to his girlish voice.

  "Would you like me to see to it, sir?" Holmes inquired in the tone of voice one would use to inquire whether the stockings were suitable for evening wear.

  "Perhaps. We shall see how this night's work goes. He may have a chance to demonstrate his loyalty to me. Which direction did he go in?"

  "I believe back downstairs. That nosy Traherne girl has disappeared. No doubt he'll be trying to find her."

  "Excellent! Leonora and Adolphus are busy in a mad flirtation, and m'sister-in-iaw is sound asleep by the fire. I gather that bone-headed vicar is off trying to make up with the Irish chit, and Hatchett and the others have headed off by now. We should have only Fraser to worry about. And since he's clearly besotted with the Traherne wench, he should be no problem at all. If he is, I'm sure I can count on you to back me up if I need assistance."

  "Certainly, General Wingert. Were you planning to retrieve the list now?"

  Elizabeth drew an involuntary gasp of breath, and she felt Fraser's hot breath on her cheek. "Don't make a sound, Lizzie," he breathed, his lips brushing her skin. She squirmed in protest, moving closer to him. He seemed to take that as a sign of encouragement and continued to move his mouth along her cheek, down her neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses that completely distracted her. All the while he was listening intently to the general's treasonous plans.

  "There could hardly be a better time. We're due to leave tomorrow morning, and I don't fancy wandering around the battements at two o'clock in the morning. Besides, Leonora might choose this night of all nights to spend the entire time in my bed, and then what would I do? I don't trust the trollop further than I could throw her. She and Adolphus will make an excellent pair. The fat fool." The first pair of footsteps moved across the room. "Where's the coat, Holmes? I want the pouch in the lining. You'll take it to France yourself this time. LeBoeuf couldn't have chosen a worse time to get himself killed. We'll have to be doubly careful this time."

  "The gray c
oat, sir?" he inquired anxiously, and with mounting horror Elizabeth heard his shuffling gait moving directly toward the closet. Fraser gave her a tiny little bite on the collarbone before continuing with his demoralizing little kisses. He began to undo the buttons at the back of her neck.

  "Not in there, fool! Do you think I'd leave it in the closet for anyone to find? I told you I didn't trust Fraser. It's in the bottom drawer of the blanket press. That's the ticket." The tone of satisfaction was evident, and Elizabeth breathed a little sigh of relief. Fraser's mouth moved across her throat.

  "That's it, then." There was a curious note in the old man's voice, both of exultation and of nervousness. Like a bride on her wedding night, Elizabeth thought as Fraser's mouth edged lower.

  She made a small protesting noise as she moved closer to his commanding body, her movements hampered by the chair attached to her trim ankles. A small, silent laugh shook Fraser, and deft fingers reached up and slipped the gag from her mouth. She had scarcely a moment to draw a breath before his hot, hungry mouth covered hers. And then everything faded from consideration: the list, Jeremy, the traitorous general. There was no reality but the velvet darkness and his mouth on hers as time and space ceased to exist.

  The door closed into the hallway with a decisive snap, and the sound of the general's brisk gait faded in the distance. Before Elizabeth could begin to divine Fraser's intention, that questing mouth left hers, the door was flung open, and the tall, cadaverous figure of Holmes, the general's valet, was lying on the floor, knocked unconscious by Fraser's speedy deftness and a handy Sevres vase. He turned back to Elizabeth, his expression unreadable in the dimly lit room.

  "Sorry, darling. I think I'll leave you there where you won't cause any more trouble," he said lightly. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he had slipped the gag back over her. "There," he said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "That should keep you until I return." She cast him a mute, furious glance out of her sherry-colored eyes. He moved back to her side, kissed her on her freckled nose, and smiled down at her beguilingly.

  "I do hope you pay more attention to my wishes when we're married, my love," he said sweetly, and there was a light of devil-may-care happiness in the dark blue eyes.

  He's enjoying this, she thought furiously. Thriving on the danger, and I'm terrified. "You stay right there while I get help, Lizzie, and someone will be back in no time at all."

  She let out a muffled squeak of fury, but he merely patted her on the top of her tousled head and ran from the room.

  Elizabeth's rage gave her new strength. The knots had already been loosened from her steady struggles, and with renewed determination she wrestled with them, ignoring the pain in her wrists. Her assailant, whoever he might have been, certainly lacked experience, because within five minutes she was able to free her hands, and she was flying down the hall without even a passing glance for the recumbent Holmes. Only one of the battlements was accessible, the east one, and she had no doubt that General Wingert was now well on his way, secure in the knowledge that no one could catch him. Not a sensitive man, the general. He hadn't felt the net closing in around him. Well, she would do her part to prove him wrong. While Fraser went romping around looking for reinforcements, she would witness his foul treason and be ready to testify to it.

  She could hear Wingert up ahead of her on the winding steps. Despite his lengthy head start he fortunately had been in no hurry, convinced that all interested parties were safely accounted for. Not that he'd think a mere female to be of any moment. She could see him dimly up ahead, his short, squat form illuminated by the lamp he was carrying, shedding just enough light for Elizabeth to see her way up the winding turret behind him. The Morocco slippers had heavy soles, and she gave a precious minute to taking them off, leaving them neatly in a corner as she continued on in stocking feet, noiselessly, her attention on the evil figure up ahead as it neared the parapet door.

  The lamp up ahead flickered in the wind, and then Elizabeth was plunged into total darkness as the general vanished onto the parapet. Abandoning all thought of caution, she flew up the stairs behind him, her mind dwelling fretfully on bats. The stairs came to an abrupt halt, and she banged into a solid object that could only be the door, winding herself. Before she could hide, that door was flung open, and Sir Maurice Wingert stood there in all his fury, staring up at her tall, disheveled figure with acute loathing.

  "I should have known it would be you," he said fiercely, grabbing her arm in a surprisingly strong grip and dragging her out onto the windblown parapet. The moon was silvery bright overhead, now and then obscured by scudding clouds, and the tower glistened in the eerie light. They were alone out there, the two of them in the windswept night air, and Elizabeth knew she could expect no mercy from the furious traitor in front of her. Despite his lack of height, he more than made up for it in strength and rage. Elizabeth knew she would stand no chance against him. "How did you know I would be here?" he demanded hoarsely. "Who else knows where I've gone?"

  "I was tied up in your closet," she shot back, her voice coming in an irritatingly frightened croak. "And Captain Fraser was there with me. He's gone for help right now. You might as well give up, you know. You'll never get away with it."

  "If you expect me to believe that wild tale, young lady," the general snarled, "then you're a greater fool than I took you for. You're helping Hatchett out, aren't you? You aren't that idiot parson's sister at all but an agent just like Leonora. That's it, isn't it? Well, you knew what risks you were taking. Move over to the edge."

  "Michael!" she screamed desperately, hopelessly, as she read the murder in his eyes. "Help me." The wind took her cries and carried them out into the night. She knew it would be no use, and therefore it was with great disbelief that she saw him appear in the doorway, the wind whipping his dark hair, the moon shadowing the distant planes of his handsome face. He stood there for a moment, taking in the general's menacing form, Elizabeth cowering by the edge.

  "What's going on, sir?" he questioned in a low, evil voice, and Elizabeth stared at him in gaping amazement.

  "You know perfectly well what's going on, Fraser!" the general snapped. "Are you with me?"

  "Of course, sir. You know I always have been."

  "Then kill that stupid wench. Throttle her," the old man screamed in a frenzy. Without hesitation Michael started toward her.

  "No, Michael," she whimpered as his beautiful hands reached around her throat, the throat that a few short minutes ago had burned with his kisses, and the broad thumbs began to press against her windpipe. "No," she begged, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes.

  "Hurry up," the general ordered, fumbling with a section of the wall. Michael's hands tightened.

  Chapter 17

  Tbrough the panic that filled her came an insistent whisper. "Swoon, damn you," Michael hissed between clenched teeth. In relief, Elizabeth let every muscle in her body go slack, tumbling to the stone floor in a graceless sprawl, hitting both knees, her cheek, and an elbow with agonizing force. She kept her eyes shut out of self-preser- vation, content to lie there unmoving with the wind whistling above her and the two desperate men beside her.

  The grating of stone upon stone was unpleasantly close to her ear, and the cry of satisfaction from Sir Maurice's high-pitched voice was equally jarring. "Here's the damned thing. See to the girl, Fraser, and then we'll retire to my rooms to celebrate."

  "I think not," Sir Henry Hatchett's cool voice broke through, and Elizabeth opened one eye in a tentative squint to see the surprisingly capable looking figure illuminated in the doorway, with a shadowy, achingly familiar form directly behind him. "I arrest you, Sir Maurice Wingert, on the charge of treason."

  "Don't be absurd, Hatchett!" The general turned around slowly, an innocent expression on his face. "What maggot have you got in your brain? Treason? I never heard anything more absurd."

  "And what is that you have in your hand, Sir Maurice?" Fraser inquired in silken tones. "Billets-doux?"
<
br />   As Elizabeth pulled her aching body into a sitting position, a joyous cry broke from her lips. "Jeremy!"

  Jeremy's dear, familiar face had an unaccustomedly grim expression as his eyes flickered toward his battered sister. "Be quiet, Elizabeth," he ordered sternly. "Sounds as if you've caused more than your share of trouble these last few days. It's a wonder Michael didn't really throttle you."

  A snarl deformed the general's florid countenance. "I should have known, Fraser," he said mildly enough, holding his pudgy fist up into the wind, the papers clutched in pale white fingers. Before anyone could move, the fingers released their grip, and the papers sailed off into the wind, over the parapet and down toward the courtyard.

  Fraser swore long and brilliantly before racing off the platform and down the stairs, with Jeremy directly behind him. Sir Henry had a very serviceable pistol trained on the center of the general's ample middle, and the milky blue eyes no longer looked quite so mild.

  "Are you all right, Miss Traherne?" Sir Henry questioned, not taking his eyes off his quarry's truculent figure.

  "A trifle bruised, but nothing to signify," she said, brushing the dirt off her pale green dress as she got to her feet.

  "You won't be able to make any charges stick, you know," the general said in a conversational tone. "Those papers will never be seen again, and who would be likely to take Fraser's word against that of a Wingert?"

  "There's also my word and that of my brother," Elizabeth said sturdily, glaring at him.

  "A country nobody and a mere lieutenant," he said, dismissing them. "Admit it, Henry. You're beaten."

  Indeed, Sir Henry was looking a trifle discomfited. "If anyone can find thé evidence, Fraser can," he said simply. "He's one of my best men. What with Traherne and St. Ives down there helping, I'd back the three of them to find it."