When Mrs. Flynn retreated to the kitchen, the reverend said a prayer over the meal. Though their heads were bowed, Trevor and Grace gazed at each other across the table with a sparkle of impropriety in their eyes.
“So, how long is the guest list these days?” her father inquired a little while later, as they dug into the meal.
“Well, we have a bit of a dilemma,” Trevor answered. “I have brothers, sisters, and all their families with them, and my fellow agents from the Order, and there’s nowhere to put them all. The village inn isn’t nearly large enough, and even if it were, I’m afraid some of my siblings would not consider it fine enough for them.”
“Well, I don’t think we can count on the Windleshams opening up their home to offer hospitality, even for the family of a duke,” Grace drawled. “Pity.”
“Nor Lord Lievedon, considering George’s role in all this,” her father added wryly.
“Maybe it would be easier if we just eloped to Gretna Green,” Trevor said, then he took a large bite of beef.
“Certainly not!” her father said with a scowl of indignation. “I’ll not have my daughter married by some Scottish blacksmith.”
Trevor sent his bride-to-be a wink.
“Humph,” said Papa, but Grace just gazed at her intended with an adoring blush.
Just then, Nelson growled, perking up from where he had curled in the corner awaiting a handout that was sure to come. The spaniel suddenly jumped to his feet and trotted toward the front door to investigate. Then a bark exploded from him.
“Stop that racket!” the pastor scolded.
Trevor rose to restrain his pet, waving off Mrs. Flynn, who came hurrying out to assist with a dish towel over her shoulder. “Someone at the door, sir?”
“I’ll get it,” Trevor said casually. They heard him a moment later ordering his dog to be quiet. Nelson obeyed, and when the door creaked, Grace could hear Trevor talking to someone. “You’d better wait here for a moment,” he said to their visitor before coming back into the dining room.
“It’s your friend George, Lord Brentford,” he said, bracing his hands on his waist. He gave Grace a probing look. “Do you want to see him or not?”
“Of course, send him in,” her father said, though for Grace, the decision was a bit more complicated. Still, it was her father’s house, and she knew that it was wrong to hold a grudge. She nodded to Trevor and decided to be cordial to the bounder.
A moment later, George came into the room, looking chastened. Her father stood and shook their visitor’s hand.
“Of course you can come in,” he told the prodigal warmly. “You’re always welcome here, m’boy.”
George lowered his head, then glanced uncertainly at Grace. “Thank you, sir. Miss Kenwood,” he added a bit more gingerly.
“Join us,” her father invited him, gesturing toward the empty chair. “Have you eaten? Please, help yourself. Mrs. Flynn,” he called to the housekeeper. “Would you set a place for Lord Brentford?”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m not hungry—”
“Nonsense. A healthy young man will never turn down a good meal, in my experience.”
George smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, sir, you’re very kind,” he mumbled, offering the housekeeper a smile that signaled his willingness to be fed, after all.
“What brings you to Thistleton, Brentford?” Trevor asked in a mild tone edged with skepticism. He took a drink of his wine while his dog returned to his spot in the corner.
“Oh, nothing.” George swallowed hard.
Grace furrowed her brow and looked askance at him.
“Let me guess,” Trevor said. “You came to try again with Miss Windlesham. I do admire your persistence.”
“Oh, but if that’s the case, I fear you are too late,” Papa spoke up. “The Windleshams left today for Brighton. They find themselves with an urgent wish to escape our fair village for a while. And no wonder that, with the spectacle Her Ladyship made of herself, screaming at my daughter. I fear you have just missed them.”
“Actually, no, sir,” Mrs. Flynn interjected with a cautious glance as she returned to lay out a place setting on the table for their guest.
“Oh?” George perked up, no doubt in spite of himself.
“Aye. I heard from Sally they got a late start. Trouble fittin’ all the luggage the ladies wanted to bring along onto the carriage,” she said with an arch look. “So perhaps His Lordship won’t be staying for supper, after all?” the old housekeeper inquired, glancing at George.
Papa looked at him, as well. “You might still catch them if you hurry.”
George shook his head wearily. “I didn’t come here for Callie. She’s made her feelings abundantly clear. No, the real reason I came is to apologize to you,” he said, turning to Grace.
She could have choked on her food. George the brat apologize?
“You asked me to use discretion, and I promised you I would. But I lost my temper at some of the cruel things Callie said, and I revealed news that wasn’t mine to tell. Frankly, I threw it in her face. I wanted to hurt her,” he admitted, “but I never wanted to hurt you. You’re one of the best friends I ever had, Grace. Losing Callie is bad enough. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if you should hate me, too.”
Grace felt her anger melt away in an instant at his little speech, his eyes wide and earnest. “Oh, George, you are so dear,” she said in spite of herself, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. Tears welled in her eyes. “Of course you haven’t lost my friendship. You’re like the little brother I never had. I’m so sorry it didn’t work out between you and Callie. You always seemed so perfect for each other. I don’t know what the girl was thinking. And I wish you hadn’t told her, so I could have handled it more delicately.
“But—then again,” she continued with a shrug, “I also have to thank you. Because when I saw you take the chance, risking your heart to go to her, it gave me the courage, in turn, to tell Trevor how I felt about him. If not for that moment of inspiration you gave me, the truth is, I might’ve stayed a blushing, tongue-tied spinster forever.”
“You really think I would’ve let that happen?” Trevor drawled, his sardonic tone lightening the mood.
After a moment’s laughter, George turned to her again.
“As long as you forgive me. That’s all I care about. I should be crushed if I were disinvited to the wedding.”
“Of course you’re invited to the wedding, George,” Grace said.
“Good. You’d better take care of her,” he added, wagging a finger at Trevor.
The bridegroom-to-be bowed his head. “You have my word as a gentleman. Miss Kenwood will be treated like a jewel in a velvet box when she is my wife.”
“Here, here,” Papa said, “I’ll drink to that.” He raised his glass, and the rest of them did the same.
Mrs. Flynn quickly filled George’s glass, then at Grace’s insistence, poured one for herself, as well, to join in their toast to Grace and Trevor’s happiness.
It was a bit later, as they were finishing the meal, that Grace finally worked up her nerve enough to broach the subject of George’s new mistress.
She looked askance at him, and still could have wrung his neck about leading Marianne back into her old life, but it wasn’t as though he had put a gun to her head.
Marianne had made the decision herself, and there was only so much you could do for someone.
“So how is Marianne?” she asked.
George looked at her like a startled hare.
Trevor’s eyes narrowed. He studied him intently. “You seem nervous tonight, Brentford.”
“What, me?” He faltered.
“Is everything all right?”
Suddenly, they heard voices outside, but Nelson’s instant outburst drowned them out.
The dog launched himself toward the front d
oor, barking more viciously than they had ever heard.
“Oh, God.” George’s face was turning ashen. “They’ve found me.”
“Brentford.” Trevor stared at him in ominous, brooding calm. “What have you got yourself into?”
But George couldn’t even speak, his gaze darting around the room. When he spotted the back door out the kitchen, he swept to his feet. “I’ve got to get out of here. They must’ve seen my carriage.”
Trevor grabbed his arm. “Who?”
George blanched. “Marianne’s former flash man, Jimmy Lynch,” he admitted in a shaky whisper. “He came to see me in London. We had—words. I’m afraid I-I, well, I-I rather stabbed him.”
Grace gasped.
“Sliced open his arm. Well, he was pointing a pistol at me!” he hastily explained. “But apparently that wasn’t the end of it. The rookery bastard vowed he’d kill me for the insult.” Staring at the door as though he expected Lynch to come bursting through it at any minute, George swallowed hard and tried to smile. “Dashed if he didn’t also turn out to be the leader of a gang. Just my luck.”
“So you led them here?” Trevor answered, while Nelson continued barking up a frenzy at the front door.
“I didn’t think he’d follow me out to the country, let alone the parsonage! I meant to hide at Lievedon Hall, but when I got there, I couldn’t stand being alone in that big, empty house. That’s why I came here. I didn’t mean any harm! I just didn’t want to be alone. I can’t believe they tracked me here to Thistleton! Poor Marianne,” he said suddenly, his face darkening. “She wouldn’t have told Lynch where I went unless he did something awful to her, I’m sure.”
“Oh, no,” Grace breathed, her heart pounding. “Trevor, I think this is the man who used to beat her.”
George glanced from Grace to Trevor and nodded. “Judging by how I saw him treat her, I’d assume so,” he whispered, ashen-faced.
Trevor glanced coolly toward the door. A peculiar icy gleam had come into his eyes. “All of you, remain calm. Sit still. I’ll handle this.”
“What are you going to do?” Grace asked quickly.
“Just talk to them.” He threw his napkin down onto the table. “George, it would probably be best if you stay out of sight unless I call for you.”
“Gladly.”
“Do they want money?” Trevor asked.
“Not anymore,” he forced out. “I think now Lynch just wants my blood.”
Trevor considered this with a nod, then he stalked out of the dining room and went to the front door of the parsonage.
Grace stared after him with her heart in her throat. She did not insult his intelligence by warning him to be careful, but exchanging a frightened glance with her father, she fought to keep the threat of panic under control.
George, however, was losing that battle. “They’re going to kill me.”
“Now, now, if Trevor says he can handle this, he can,” she assured him with more conviction than she felt. “You’re the one who told me he knows all those ways to kill someone with his bare hands, remember?”
“I remember you were appalled.”
“Well, maybe I was wrong to be. I’m sure he’s faced much worse than some lowly rookery vermin. Don’t worry, he’ll have it all sorted soon.” She hesitated. “Do you think we should hide you somewhere in the house, George?”
“No point. If they saw my carriage outside, they know I’m here. Montgomery can try reasoning with them, but I don’t think they’re going to be satisfied until I go out there myself to pay the piper. I’m certainly not going to let them do anything to hurt the rest of you,” he added in grim resolve.
“Give Trevor a few minutes first. Let’s see if he can reason with them,” Grace insisted, though her heart pounded with sickening dread.
George looked terrified, but it was the fear on her father’s face that rattled her most of all.
“Papa, don’t,” she said in a taut voice when he rose to his feet.
“I should go out and stand with him. If God be for us, who can be against—”
“They have guns,” George said.
“Trevor told us to stay here. If we stray from his orders, we might only make things worse. It’s a delicate situation. Besides, we need to stay with George.”
The young dandy stared in the direction of the doorway. “Rev,” he said, “now might be an excellent time to pray.”
Trevor walked out slowly into the night, counting four scruffy-looking cutthroats riding around the parsonage on horseback, obviously trying to get a look inside the building and possibly assessing it for possible points of entry.
There was no way he would let that happen. They weren’t getting past him.
He checked his fury as they spotted him standing in the front courtyard in a casual pose; he propped his fists on his waist so they could see he was not armed.
They urged their horses over toward him, halting in the lanternlight outside the front door.
“Evening,” he greeted the strangers in a pleasant but guarded tone, while his dog continued barking wildly in the front bay window. “Can I help you boys with something?”
“This your house?”
“Who’s asking?” he replied.
“That’s none of your affair.” The young, bearded rider on his left dismounted and stepped toward him aggressively.
Trevor just looked at him, unimpressed.
“Take it easy, Jonesey,” the one in the purple coat ordered, still sitting astride his horse.
The bandage on his arm confirmed that this was the man George had wounded—the leader, Jimmy Lynch, Marianne’s former flash man. “We’re here for Lord Brentford, and we’re not leavin’ till you hand ’im over.”
“He’s not here,” Trevor answered serenely, glancing from man to man, noting the weapons each one carried. “We don’t get many strangers out here. I didn’t catch your names?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” sneered the scar-faced horseman on Lynch’s right. “You either hand over that snot-nosed brat, or we’ll come in and get ’im ourselves.”
“What’s all this about?”
“Stay out of it, hayseed! Our business is with him. Just hand him over, and we’ll be on our way. No one else gets hurt. If you refuse, you’re not going to like what happens.”
“It’s not wise to threaten me.”
Lynch shrugged. “Give him up, or we’ll burn your village to the ground, it’s that simple.”
Trevor felt the readiness for battle rushing hard into his veins, familiar, terrible, and bracing. His heart pumped with martial eagerness, but with civilians just inside the house, the most important civilians in his life, he had to be cautious, given the odds were four to one and the enemy had the advantage of height astride their horses.
“I don’t take kindly to strangers coming into my town making threats.”
They laughed at him, arrogant and careless.
“Friend, I’m going to give you one last chance to hand over that little strutting coxcomb before we come in and get him ourselves,” Lynch said.
“I’d like to see you try it.”
Lynch laughed harder, his voice as harsh as gravel. “You think this is a game?” he demanded. “Maybe this will convince you we’re not playing around. Jonesey, shut that fucking dog up.”
To Trevor’s left, the bearded man who had dismounted raised his pistol at Nelson, who was still barking through the window pane.
Trevor attacked, swinging his arm down with a clubbing blow to Jones’s forearm; Jones’s firing arm dropped, and when he pitched forward a little, knocked off-balance, Trevor drove his elbow back and nailed him in the throat.
Jones dropped his gun to clutch his damaged windpipe, gagging in shock; Trevor bent and picked up the weapon, turned, and fired on the middle rider, who was reaching for his gun. The m
an pitched off his horse with a garbled cry.
Less than five seconds had passed as Trevor strode toward the third man and pulled him off his horse, turning to use the blackguard’s body as a shield when Lynch fired at him.
“Son of a bitch!” the gang leader cursed, but he did not waste time apologizing to his friend for shooting him.
Instead, Lynch wheeled his horse around and fled, galloping off down the drive.
“Too easy,” Trevor mumbled to himself, his chest heaving.
Grace came running out. “Are you all right? We heard shooting!”
“Fine. Get back in the house.”
“Trevor, what are you doing?” she cried, when he swung up onto one of their horses.
“I’ve got to catch the leader. Brentford!” he bellowed, gathering the reins as the young earl and the pastor followed her out. “Deal with these three.”
“Good God,” Kenwood uttered.
“Blazes, you’re efficient, man!” George exclaimed.
Grace glanced around at the three dead or dying men, then lifted her head and looked at Trevor in shock.
The horror in her eyes unsettled him far more than the quick skirmish he had just fought. Indeed, to him, this was merely business as usual, but the shock on her face took him off guard. He found himself arrested by a sudden cold wash of dread that he might have just ruined his own life. Cut down all the promise of their future together when he’d put down this threat.
“I could never love a soldier.” With his casualties lying at his feet, her words from weeks ago suddenly rang in his ears and hung in the air between them like a fog, for how could a pastor’s daughter ever love a man trained as an assassin? She served the cause of love while he was an abomination.
It was a role he’d learned to live with, as long as the world at large—his family, those close to him—never quite figured out how it really was, not the asinine hero tales in the papers.
Only his Order brothers, who’d made the same sacrifice of their humanity, could ever fully understand.
Grace never would. This would be the barrier between them, he saw now, the limit of how far she could go with him. In truth, she should never have to face such things.
Gaelen Foley - [Inferno Club 06] Page 30