"Archer."
Archer's head stopped pivoting on his neck. "Well, Chesterfield was supposed to snatch the good ones, you know, the spy ones."
"The spies?" Nathan stood up, using the bars as leverage. "What spies?"
"English spies that are noblemen."
Nathan felt the blood rush out of his head, and it was not because he was standing up.
"My father and brother."
Archer's shape shook its head. "No, just your brother. The powers that be specifically want your brother. I don't know why. They just want him. Want him brought to France."
"Napoleon wants my brother brought to France? Why?"
Archer made another one of those really loud gulps.
"Why, Archer?" Nathan pressed and was pleased to hear Archer crack.
"Bait. They're going to use your brother as bait."
Nathan's hands did clench around the iron bars then, and he was amazed the iron simply did not shatter in his grip.
"Napoleon thinks my father and I will follow."
"And then they'll capture you and more will come. Rescue mission, you know." Archer was pacing, one hand trailing back and forth across the bars.
"No. The War Office won't send more after my father and I."
Archer laughed. "I know that. You know that. But again, desperate, not good."
"This isn't even a desperate plan. It's just stupid."
"Fabulous. You can tell good old Nappie when you see him."
The sound of clinking metal stopped their conversation. Keys were being inserted in a door somewhere.
Archer swallowed harshly again. "Uh, oh. They're coming for you." He looked through the bars at Nathan. "I'd play dead again, if I were you." He laughed at his own joke.
Nathan straightened his greatcoat so he looked presentable when they came instead. After all, he did not want to kill a duke without looking at least presentable.
A door opened and light flooded the small passageway between the cells. Nathan squinted in the intense light. Someone with a heavy trod started down steps, stone steps from the sound of the clinking metal. Another trod interrupted the pattern of the first. This one lighter, more elegant.
Nathan looked away from the light to let his eyes adjust naturally. When he looked back, two men were standing in front of him. One that smelled bad and another that would never be caught smelling in his life.
"Your grace," Nathan nodded at the non-smelling one.
Nathan thought he would feel rage, unstoppable, uncontrollable rage upon seeing the man who had raped the woman he loved. But he did not feel anything like that at all. What he felt was simple. Basic. And, now, he was completely in control of it.
He was going to kill the Duke of Chesterfield. That was it. There was no counter argument; there was no rebuttal. Nathan was going to kill this man.
"Mr. Black, I'm glad to see you are awake. I am having quite a difficult time with your wife, and I was hoping you may be of some use." His voice oozed refinement.
Nathan's teeth were grinding.
"What have you done with her?"
"Unfortunately," Chesterfield paused, as if holding onto his words would make Nathan angrier. It did make him angrier, but it also made him deadlier. "Nothing. Your wife is a very stubborn woman, Mr. Black. Very stubborn." He let the words linger in the air, casting them back to a long ago place that both of them were sure to be thinking about. "I find stubbornness in women to be an appealing trait. Most of the time I enjoy it." He paused again for the same effect. Then he leaned closer to Nathan's face behind the bars. "I like it when they struggle."
"What do you want?" Nathan forced his teeth apart. The sooner this conversation was over, the sooner he could kill this asshole.
"Answers. I want answers." Chesterfield backed away. "And your wife doesn't seem keen on giving them."
"Answers to what?"
"I want to know where your brother is, Mr. Black. And I will know where your brother is." Chesterfield turned as if to move back the way he had come. "Now, please come along like a good prisoner." The white of his teeth flashed briefly in the surreal light before he disappeared into it.
The smelly man opened the cell and gripped Nathan's elbow.
"Like he said. Be good," the man snarled.
Nathan nodded his head in acknowledgement and allowed himself to be led out of the cell.
"Remember, Mr. Black." Archer shouted behind them, laughing. "Remember."
Nathan did not recognize her because she was wearing a dress. He would have made some pithy comment, but the Duchess of Chesterfield was holding a pistol, which was probably loaded, against the right temple of Nora's head. Another pistol remained at her side. He stayed quiet.
"Now. That's much better, wouldn't you say, Mrs. Black?" Chesterfield asked upon entering the room where Nathan's smelly companion had brought him.
Nora shrugged, moving just her shoulders as she sat perfectly straight and undaunted on the sofa. Nathan's stomach was knotted so tightly at the sight of the gun against her head, at Chesterfield smiling pathetically down at her, Nathan wondered how she could possibly shrug at a time like this.
He forced his eyes to move away from the gun, to see if she was hurt. And then he noticed her uniform. Her housekeeper uniform. She was wearing it, along with that damn starched white apron. She had not been wearing it that morning. He knew. She had been wearing another dress, a blue one. He knew because he had almost removed it from her. Had they made her change? But then he noticed the way the bodice fit a tad too snugly, as if there was something stuck underneath it.
They had not made her change.
Nora had put the uniform over the other dress. And that left him wondering why the hell she had done that. And when. And how. He recalled the carpetbag going into the carriage, but when had she had time to put the dress on? How long had he been unconscious?
"Mrs. Black, you should know by now that I prefer verbal responses," Chesterfield said, coming to stand between where Nathan was being held captive by the smelly man and two other equally detestable gentlemen and where Nora was sitting on the sofa being held captive by the gun her grace pointed at her head.
Nora drew in an exaggerated breath. "I told you before, your grace," she drawled the last two words, "The room shall not improve until you light a match and burn the whole place down. Those draperies are ghastly, and this upholstery looks like the contents of a full chamber pot." And then she smiled sweetly.
At that Nathan knew. He knew his wife was up to something. Nora was strong, solid, and steady. Not flippant and breezy. Nathan kept his mouth shut. Nora was facing the man that had raped her, and she was brushing him off like the bug he was. She did not need Nathan right now. So he stayed quiet.
Watching for the perfect moment to kill the Duke of Chesterfield.
"I'll ignore your sarcasm, Mrs. Black, as I feel we will get much further if we are civil to one another." The duke walked over to the windows of the small sitting room and huffed his chest out to survey the domain.
Nathan thought this must be the Duke's country home, but he could not be sure. It may be Archer's home for all Nathan knew. He should have asked the whelp.
"Mr. Black, as you can see your wife is trying my patience. Perhaps you would care to answer my questions."
Nathan did not respond verbally, but in his head, he crushed Chesterfield's windpipe.
Chesterfield turned around. "Where is the Earl of Stryden?"
Nathan saw Nora flinch out of the corner of his eye as the duchess pressed the gun harder against her temple.
"I don't know," Nathan said, turning his head casually behind him. There was a desk with no papers on it. Only a small statue of some kind of bird, a lantern, and a letter opener that flashed in the watery sunlight that spilled through the window. Sunlight? Should it not be full dark by now? Maybe it was morning again. How long had he been unconscious?
"I think you do." The duke turned around, and Nathan looked quickly back at him. "I think you may
need a little incentive to tell me is all."
"I don't need incentive to tell you something that I don't know," Nathan's voice was starting to sound like a growl, and he checked it.
The duke let out a ponderous sigh. "Oh, Mr. Black, I was truly hoping that you would be of a more polite nature, seeing as how you were raised by a duke where as your wife..." He looked at Nora. "Well, she does tend to be...lacking."
The duke flicked a piece of invisible lint off of his fine tailored coat. Nathan glanced at the man on his left. He was slightly smaller than the other two and slightly less smelly. Nathan gauged the height of the man's eye before returning his attention to the duke.
Chesterfield had sauntered over to a mirror on the opposite wall, to the right and behind the sofa Nora sat on. He fixed his waxed hair and mustache in the mirror. Neither of which moved because of his prodding. Nathan check the two men to his right while Chesterfield continued his primping. The two men were spaced out, one by the door, eight feet from Nathan. The other was only about three feet from Nathan. Nathan looked at Nora's face while studying the placement of the duchess's shoes on the floor.
"I hope you haven't forgotten that I had intended to kill your wife quite a long time ago. It was only a sudden order from my superior that stopped me from completing that objective." The duke was still studying his own reflection.
"I hope you have not forgotten that I do intend to kill you," Nathan said, no longer wishing to go along with whatever Chesterfield had planned.
The duke stopped flicking the unmoving ends of his mustache.
The two men closest to Nathan stepped up and grasped his elbows. Apparently, everyone was past playing.
Chesterfield turned around. "I'll ask you one more time, politely, and then I will be forced to use more extreme methods to get an answer to my question." The duke had strolled over to Nora while he had been speaking, and now he ran a single knuckle along her cheek.
Nathan saw her eyes go out of focus, and he reacted, straining against the arms that held him. The Duchess of Chesterfield moved her pistol, aiming it at his chest.
"Where is your brother, Mr. Black?" Chesterfield asked.
Nathan felt his bones grinding together under the steely grips of his captors. He blinked at the pistol held at the level of his heart and stared into Nora's eyes. Chesterfield slid his hand along her cheek and cupped the back of her head. Nathan felt a growl growing in his throat.
And then somewhere a door crashed open.
Chesterfield dropped his hand and turned to look at the door leading to the hallway. The three goons turned as well. The Duchess did not waver her stance, one pistol steady at Nathan's chest, one against Nora's temple. Nora's eyes had glazed over, and Nathan focused harder on them, willing her to concentrate on him.
"Go see what that was," Chesterfield said to the man at the door. "You, guard the door," he said to the man holding Nathan's right arm. "I advise you not to move, Mr. Black, or my darling wife will put a bullet in your heart. And then what good would you be to this slut?"
Nathan flexed the fingers of his now free hand, let the blood flow into his fingers, and counted the beats of his heart, slow and steady. He checked his breathing. Footsteps echoed down the hallway to the open door.
Chesterfield had turned back to Nora.
"Shall we get started, my dear?" His fingers went to the fastenings of his trousers.
Nathan breathed. In. Out.
The footsteps in the hallway stopped. Chesterfield pushed Nora back on the sofa, perching himself between her legs, one hand bracing himself up on the back of the sofa, the other still working on his trousers. Nora had suddenly gone limp, seeming to meekly obey this man who had raped her. The terror in her eyes told Nathan her control had been swamped.
Shouting came through the open doorway. More footsteps. A gun fired.
The man still holding Nathan jumped. Nathan pivoted. He snatched the letter opener off the desk. The Duchess discharged her weapon into the chest of the man still trying to hold onto Nathan. The man at the door charged at Nathan. Chesterfield was yelling at someone, probably him, but Nathan was not stopping to listen. He raised the letter opener and drove it into the charging man's eye. The now dead man on Nathan's left gripped Nathan's elbow as his muscles clenched in the last spasm before death. Nathan went down. The Duchess aimed the other pistol.
Two shots rent the air at once.
~
This was the second dead man to be dropped in Nora's lap. Only this time it was a tad more literal as the Duke of Chesterfield lay dead on top of her. She still gripped Nathan's pistol, jammed awkwardly in her stomach as the dead man's weight pressed into her. There was a dampness seeping into her dress that was not blood. Apparently, dead people wet themselves upon the moment of actually ceasing to live. Nora waited knowing someone was going to lift this man off of her, but she feared it would not be Nathan. She had heard that other shot. Had seen the Duchess lower the weapon at Nathan's falling body.
So when the body did move and Richard's face appeared above her, she did not flinch. She did not gasp.
She said, "Nathan?"
"What the bloody hell are you doing with my gun, woman?"
Nora turned her head against the cushions of the sofa, a hot hope spiraling through her.
Nathan was attempting to dislodge his elbow from his own dead man. He tripped over the carpet when the dead man suddenly let go and half fell into Nora on the sofa. He knelt on the carpet beside her, smiling goofily.
Nora did not know what to say. Too many emotions were hitting her at once. They were safe. Nathan was alive. Chesterfield was dead. She was married to the man she loved, and they had the rest of their lives in front of them. What did one say?
"He peed on me," she said.
Nathan's eyes traveled down the length of her. "Yes, I'm afraid that tends to happen when people die. They lose muscle control."
"Oh."
Neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other smiling like fools. And Nora was completely all right with that.
But then Richard cleared his throat. "I think we'd best be getting out of here before some nosy neighbor shows up."
Nathan looked around as if he had realized for the first time that his father was there.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, standing up and drawing Nora with him.
"Saving your ass." He nodded at Nora. "Pardon my French."
Nora just kept smiling.
Nathan looked behind him where the very dead Duchess of Chesterfield was lying in a pool of her own blood. "And shooting duchesses?"
"Only ones who are going to shoot my son," Richard answered.
Nathan nodded, took Nora's hand, and walked out of the room.
"So what are you doing here?" Nathan asked, once they were moving swiftly along the corridor, and he could expect his father to give a clear answer.
He kept Nora tucked under his arm, and Nora did not mind at all.
"Samuel is quite the spy, Nora. The butler at Archer's townhouse told us the French want Alec."
Nathan nodded. "Archer said the like."
Richard stopped. "Archer?"
Nathan stopped as well but did not relinquish his grip on Nora. Nora unconsciously snuggled closer.
"He's in the basement. Or dungeon rather. I'm sure someone will find him eventually."
Richard nodded and continued moving along the corridor leaving the treasonous spy to his fate.
Now they only needed to get to Alec before the damned French did.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nora tied the bow of her now clean apron at her back. The material snapped with starch. She smiled appreciatively and turned away from the mirror to find Nathan staring at her from across the small inn room.
"You're beautiful," he whispered, as if saying it too loudly would make her vanish.
She walked over to him, slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest.
"And you look rather fetching in tha
t livery, Mr. Black." She tilted her head up to look at him.
He was smiling. "You think so?"
Nora purred in her throat and felt Nathan's reaction stirring low against her stomach. She laughed.
"You always look rather fetching but even more so in the Duke of Lofton's colors."
She laid her head back down, and Nathan nuzzled her hair.
"Are you sure about this, Nora? I don't want to put you in any danger."
Nora only smiled. Her son was a great spy now. Having found out the plan in store for the Earl of Stryden, Nora had been assured that he was safely tucked away in York under the watchful eye of a formidable woman known only as Great Aunt Lydia. And Nora and Nathan were to act as servants for the Duke and Duchess of Lofton as they traveled on their belated honeymoon. Not that Nora would have to do much acting. But Nathan had been against the whole thing. He did not want to put Nora in danger. And of course, Nora had steadfastly refused to let her husband go on this journey alone. The Earl of Stryden was her family now, too. And she was going to do everything she could to find him before it was too late.
And so Nathan was dashing in his livery, the reds and blacks of the Duke of Lofton's colors. And Nora was back in her housekeeper's uniform.
And they were holding onto each other, because they had been separated for far too long.
"Nora?"
"Mmm?"
"Why were you wearing two dresses?"
Nora blinked. Of course Nathan would have seen that she had been wearing two dresses.
"I needed the layers to conceal your pistol. I used the apron pocket to hold it, but the rest of the material kept the bulk of it hidden."
"Oh."
"Nathan?"
"Mmm?"
"I love you."
He did not say anything. His heart beat against her ear, and Nora listened to it as his breathing countered it. The rhythm of his breathing was interrupted as he eased her away from him.
"Nora, why did you marry me?" he asked, once she was looking up at him.
She looked down at her hands where they had come to rest against his chest.
"I trusted you," she whispered.
Nathan's finger under her chin raised her eyes to his.
Son of a Duke Page 24