Realm 06 - A Touch of Love

by Regina Jeffers

  Silently, she approached the window. It was designed so a person could step through; therefore, she lifted her skirts to enter the space. Inside, it was barely wide enough to stand without bumping the walls. She had never seen anything like it, but she had read of such architectural features–a space between the outside façade and the inside walls–used as an escape in case of fire on the upper levels. A person could pass through the narrow passage quickly if a fire prevented a more conventional escape.

  The flicker of light, which had caught her attention previously, showed above her, and Lucinda dropped into the shadows. Her heart pounding a tattoo, she clung to the wall’s sandy mortar. A dark staircase led to an unknown end, and Lucinda debated whether to follow the moving light. Surely her uncle had warned Sir Carter and his friends. They would search for Mr. Monroe, but what if they had not seen what she had? She must discover the reason for Dylan Monroe’s presence under the prince’s roof and report back. If no one else knew where in Carlton House the man hid, it fell to her to expose him.

  With a deep breath to steady her frayed nerves, Lucinda began a slow and careful climb. Using one hand to steady her step, as well as to announce a turn in direction, she searched the blackness for the light and for where Sir Carter’s enemy had disappeared. “Please God,” she whispered. “Protect those who Mr. Monroe hunts.”

  Finally, she came to a dead end. For a few panicky seconds, Lucinda thought she had unknowingly sealed off her escape, but then reason arrived. If she were on a staircase, there must be a connecting passageway and a door. Cautiously, she ran her hands over the wall before her–only permitting her fingers to skim the surface–searching for a latch. When she grazed the thin piece of metal, she released the breath she held. Grasping it firmly, Lucinda turned the bar to the right. A soft click set her heart pounding double time, and she paused to listen for any indication of what awaited her upon the door’s other side; yet, no sounds penetrated the space. With another steadying breath, she turned the handle far enough to release the latch.

  Again, Lucinda paused; yet, only silence filled the air. With effort, she pushed against the door. It moved easily, but she did not. Fear incapacitated her. A narrow strip of light no more than an inch filled the staircase, and Lucinda took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She peeked through the opening. The passage glowed as if dawn had broken. Multiple lighted candles reflected off highly polished crystal and gold. She was above the ballroom.

  Curious, Lucinda edged the door further, as more light invaded the stairway. With cautious steps, she slipped through the opening.

  She was on a balcony, overlooking the prince’s ballroom. It was narrow, likely no more than five or six feet wide. In addition to providing a decorative element to the room’s design, the balcony would be used for servants to clean the painted ceiling of pesky spider webs and dust. A similar balcony ran along all four sides of the long room.

  Clinging to the wall, Lucinda searched for Dylan Monroe. The glare from the magnificent chandeliers half blinded her, but she found him, squatted by a support, where those below could not observe him. In his hand, the man she had once thought all that was amiable held a long gun.

  A familiar voice said too loudly, “It ‘pears, Your Highness, my family ‘as deserted me.” Sir Carter! Yet, he sounded inebriated, something Lucinda thought impossible. “What should I do?”

  As she looked on, Monroe edged closer to the decorative balustrade. He cocked the gun’s trigger.

  “Remain with me, my Boy!” A voice sounding very much of the prince’s breathy squeak sent a feeling of dread down Lucinda’s spine. Dear God! she thought. Monroe means to kill the prince or Sir Carter, and I am the only one who can prevent the interloper’s success.

  Carefully, she inched closer, assuming cover behind a draped support pole. Lucinda tucked her dark cinnamon gown about her legs to prevent it being seen by Monroe, while she peeked through the draperies’ folds to determine the man’s next move. She held no weapon–nothing but her mind and her determination. If necessary, she would throw herself upon the man. Lucinda could not permit Dylan Monroe to harm England’s future king or Sir Carter Lowery.

  When Monroe stood to take a shot, she prepared to propel herself into his back, hopefully knocking Monroe onto the floor below and not following him over the edge. Squeezing her eyes shut to the reality of the situation, she dropped her skirt tail and stepped into the open, but before Lucinda could react a gloved hand covered her mouth, stifling her warning scream. She had failed.

  Carter’s hold on the prince’s shoulder tightened. Above all other actions, it was his duty to protect England’s future sovereign.

  “You will not live another day,” Carter hissed as the man prodded the prince with both a taunt and a threat.

  “Yet, I will die a happy man,” the stranger declared baldly.

  “You cannot kill us both,” Carter argued. He searched the area for assistance. All of his men remained too far removed to prevent the interloper from firing.

  “Not true,” the prince’s attacker said with confidence. “Look to the heavens, Sir Carter.”

  Carter’s heart lurched as his eyes rolled skyward. Above him stood Dylan Monroe, a long rifle held confidently in his former assistant’s grasp. The elder “Monroe” would place a bullet in Prinny’s back, and the Realm-trained marksman would shoot Carter where he stood. Pennington must have followed Carter’s gaze for the Realm’s leader motioned Kimbolt to take the shot to kill Monroe, but Carter knew Kimbolt’s efforts would come too late. Both assailants had known the risks of such a grand plan; they were prepared to die to achieve their goals.

  Lucinda thought to struggle, but she opened her eyes to Lord Godown’s beautiful countenance. He motioned her to silence, and Lucinda nodded her agreement. From where he had come, she did not know. She had certainly not heard his approach. He placed her behind him before silently withdrawing a polished knife from a case beneath his jacket. Motioning her to step away, Lord Godown caught the knife by its tip.

  “Monroe!” he said with a deep threat. The next few second held pure chaos; yet, she witnessed it all as if in slow motion.

  At the sound of his name, Sir Carter’s former assistant spun toward them. He fired, but the bullet lodged in the ceiling with plaster raining down upon them. Amazingly, Lord Godown did not even flinch. He stood before her, a conquering Adonis. A flick of his wrist was all that moved–the knife turning end over end to lodge in the soft part of Dylan Monroe’s throat. Blood sprayed upon the man’s white shirt and footman’s garb. A second shot followed, and a hole opened in Monroe’s forehead; he tumbled over backward, arms spread like a vulture’s wings.

  The sound of a collective scream, a third gunshot, and a solid thud announced the crisis was not over. She and Lord Godown rushed to the balustrade to peer over the side. Both the prince and Sir Carter laid sprawled upon the polished floor, which held a trail of blood. Directly below them, Monroe’s contorted body lay sprawled upon the floor. Lord Godown caught her to him, and Lucinda buried her face into his chest. She could not look upon the broken body of either Mr. Monroe or Sir Carter Lowery.

  One second Dylan Monroe had held a gun upon Carter, and the next the man turned away. Carter did not wait to learn the reason. It was his opening. He caught the back of the prince’s finely tailored coat and yanked hard as he shoved Prince George to the side. The double ring of exploding gunfire from above announced a change in the situation, but Carter had no time to consider his actions. As he tumbled after England’s future monarch, a third shot caught his right shoulder, but Carter held on tightly to the prince, instinctively, covering the future George IV’s body with his own.

  Screams filled the room, both before and after a loud thud, which vibrated the wood around him. With a sharp inhalation to ward off the pain shooting through his shoulder, Carter’s head popped up to survey the scene. The sound of retreating footsteps and additional screams had him turning to see the elder “Monroe” racing toward a side entrance.r />
  “I have the prince,” Kerrington ordered from beside him, as Carter worked to free himself from Prince George’s amazingly strong grasp. “Catch the attacker.”

  Carter broke the prince’s hold and rolled away from the rotund Regent, sprawled upon his back. “Swenton!” Carter called as he scrambled to his feet to give chase. “The other entrance!” He pointed to the servants’ passage. Carter held no doubt his friend would respond.

  Blood dripped from his shoulder, but he ignored the wound. He chased the prince’s attacker through passages he did not know existed. He could not understand how with the prince’s many servants, no one appeared to slow the man’s progress.

  Although years older than Carter, the elder “Monroe” had had a significant start upon him, and Carter’s wound prevented him from using both of his arms to balance his run. The man overturned expensive statues and vases, leaving Carter to vault the debris. The water from the flowers turned the marble into slippery footing, but he refused to abandon the gambit.

  The man turned to his right, and Carter followed only to see the elder “Monroe” bursting through a patio door leading to the garden. As he ran, Carter fished his gun from its holster, but he thought only to use it if he knew a clear shot. The prince’s attacker followed the groomed path, while Carter forced his way through potted palm, rose briars, and clinging vines. A small wall announced the Carlton House stables on the other side, and his assailant deftly climbed the bricks at its lowest point.

  Carter could hear the man drop to the other side several moments before he vaulted the wall with more energy than he possessed.

  Jumping down from the barrier, Carter raced toward the stables, making the ready assumption the culprit had had a horse waiting for his escape. It might have been better for his attacker if the man had turned toward St. James’s Park, which fronted the prince’s home–more room to hide, but Carter was thankful for the confined space of the stables for their confrontation. With gun in hand, he raced into the prince’s stables to search the stalls. Moving cautiously along the closed gates, he quickly surveyed each enclosure, some with animals and some without.

  Heart pounding from his run, as well as from fear, Carter slowed his steps: The man he chased had nothing to lose–the elder “Monroe” would fight fiercely. Reaching the last of the stalls, he caught the gate’s latch, but a sound behind him told Carter he had missed the obvious. His attacker broke from one of the first gates, running along side the saddled horse to prevent Carter a clear shot.

  “Damn!” he growled as he gave chase. Exiting the stables, Carter scanned the area. In the distance, the elder “Monroe” pulled himself into the saddle. Carter’s heart knew instant regret; the man would escape. However, before he could return to the stable to claim a mount, a shot rang out, and the man who had created havoc within the prince’s palace slumped over the saddle’s horn. With the man’s lose hold on the reins, the animal bucked, throwing the prince’s attacker to the ground with a bone-crushing slam to the hard dirt.

  “Mrs. Warren…” Lord Godown urged. “Look!”

  Lucinda turned to see Sir Carter fighting his way to his feet, and her heart soared. Lords Worthing and Hellsman, Viscount Lexford, and a man she did not recognize had surrounded the prince, guns evident in their grasps. Although pandemonium reigned, her heart celebrated the fact Sir Carter lived. However that moment of elation quickly faded when she noted the blood upon Sir Carter’s shirt and dress coat. “He in injured!” she gasped and turned to race to the baronet’s side.

  Lord Godown caught his arm. “Where do you think you are going?”

  From her eye’s corner, Lucinda saw Carter race from the room. “Wherever the baronet goes,” she said defiantly.

  The marquis warned. “It is too dangerous. I will go.”

  Lucinda held his gaze. “Did you not see the blood?” she demanded. “Sir Carter requires my assistance.”

  “Lowery is trained for such conflict,” he argued.

  Never before had she felt such urgency. Any delay could cost the baronet his life. Tears filled her eyes, but Lucinda held them at bay. She whispered hoarsely, “Do you not understand? Sir Carter could die without my telling him…” Her voice broke, and despite her best efforts, a single teardrop slid down her cheek.

  He stared at her for several elongated seconds before understanding dawned. The marquis examined her countenance closely, and Lucinda permitted him to see the depth of her unspoken affections for the baronet.

  “We will go together,” Lord Godown insisted. However, he did not immediately release her. Instead, the marquis turned to the disorder below them. Leaning over the balustrade, he called, “Grace!”

  The woman Lucinda had learned to be the Marquise of Godown looked up. She certainly was not the most beautiful woman in the room, but even to Lucinda’s untrained eye, she took note of the lady’s natural elegance, a trait that would easily attract a man such as Lord Godown. “Yes, my Lord?”

  “You hold my deepest regard,” he said intimately as the room looked on.

  “As you do mine, my Lord,” Lady Godown said boldly.

  The marquis nodded his acceptance. “Assist Lady Worthing, Lord Lexford, and your sister,” he told her. “I will return soon.”

  Lady Godown’s chin rose in command. “Be safe, my Lord. Renard and I await your presence.”

  He bowed to his wife before turning Lucinda’s steps toward the narrow stairway. She had never experienced anything so beautifully tender between a man and a woman. Across a crowded ballroom and in the midst of commotion, the Marquis and Marquise of Godown had openly declared their love. No artifice. No censure. No care for the opinion of others. Just pure emotion. Lucinda prayed Carter Lowery felt even half what the Godowns shared. If so, their future would be secure.

  She tripped along behind him, the marquis never releasing her hand. Reaching the still open window, they stepped through to stand upon the still deserted terrace. From within the ballroom, they could hear various servants and what sounded of Lords Worthing and Lexford barking orders to the prince’s guests. “Please follow Lady Lexford into the circular dining room.” “This way, please.” “The prince will recover. There is no reason for alarm.”

  The marquis meant to lead her through the throng, but Lucinda pulled him toward the terrace’s balustrade. “Look there!” She pointed to where the moonlight broke through the tree limbs to form a circle. Within it, a solitary figure crossed without stopping. Within seconds, another figure appeared, this one holding his right arm with his left.

  “Carter…” she whispered.

  The marquis tugged her to the far side of the raised terrace. “We do not have time to chase after the baronet through Carlton House’s many passageways. We will take a shorter route.”

  “We cannot,” Lucinda protested.

  “You wished to speak honestly to Lowery. That action requires we overtake him.” Without Lucinda’s permission, the marquis lifted her to cradle Lucinda in his arms before draping her over the terrace’s edge. “Avoid the rose bushes,” he warned before he dropped her to the ground clutter below. Lucinda had not had enough time to be frightened or even outraged. She landed like a cat on all fours. It was an exhilarating sensation. Since having the baronet’s acquaintance, she had faced multiple situations only a lady author of a Gothic novel could devise. She found she liked the challenges, which proved she was much more of a competent woman than Matthew Warren could ever have imagined. Colonel Roderick Rightnour would have been extremely proud of her. “I am coming down,” the marquis cautioned, and Lucinda scrambled to her feet. Within seconds, he stood beside her.

  “Some day I wish to know how you move so quietly,” Lucinda said with a smile.

  He presented her a cocky grin. “Only Lady Godown is privy to my most intimate secrets.”

  Lucinda answered his taunt. “Then I mean to make Lady Godown my dearest friend.”

  He smiled his most beguiling smile. “You will do very well for Sir Carter. Lowery should
have a bit of mayhem in his well-ordered life. The baronet spends too much time making plans for all contingencies. Let us find the man and tell him his bachelor days are numbered. Somehow, I suspect, he will not mind.” He led Lucinda in the direction the two figures had gone.

  She double stepped to keep abreast of the marquis’s long strides, but even then, Lucinda struggled not to fall flat upon her face. Within a minute, he boosted her over a low wall. Her hand came away from the bricks smeared with blood, likely Sir Carter’s, and the realization caused her knees to buckle. “Which way?” she asked numbly. Carlton House stables followed one path and St. James’s Park the other.

  “The stables,” he declared with confidence and strode away. She followed until they drew near the building. “Wait here,” he ordered. “And remain from sight.”

  Lucinda wished to find Sir Carter, but she did as the marquis said. Obviously, Lord Godown was not a man accustomed to having his instructions denied. She squatted behind a row of hedges, ones where she could view His Lordship’s cautious search. Yet, before he could examine the building, a rider less horse emerged through the open door.

  From her vantage point, Lucinda could see a man running beside the animal; however, before she could warn the marquis, the baronet burst through the door to give pursuit. He staggered–his gait indicating his exhaustion and loss of blood. Immediately, she was running toward him–the danger the least of her worries.

  The baronet swayed in place, and she meant to steady his stance; but the sound of a gunshot froze the marquis, Sir Carter, and her in place. To her horror, the man the baronet sought tumbled from his horse to strike the ground hard. Lucinda stifled her scream with a fist to her lips. Instantly, she looked to Lord Godown, but he held his gun loosely at his side: He had not had time to take aim. Then her eyes rested on the man she loved; yet, Sir Carter could not have delivered the fatal shot. He was too weak.