Carefully, he skulked along the walkway, keeping out of sight but inching closer to the wagons and his unwary father. He watched carefully for his chance. Any minute now Nedley was bound to glance away, or step back indoors, and he would…
“Ah, here’s the very devil,” a voice growled in his ear.
The cold sting of metal pressed into the back of his neck. Damn. Someone had discovered him, and this someone had a gun.
“We’ve been a waiting for ye,” the someone said in a familiar voice.
It was the bloody thug they’d left tied up at the docks. How the hell had the man undone himself then made it here before…Well, he supposed it really wasn’t so difficult to believe. Harris had hardly come straight here, had he? No, he’d certainly allowed plenty of time for the rogue to loose his binds and arrive to warn his master. Damn, damn, and damn.
“Here he is, sir!” the mongrel called out.
Nedley glanced their way, holding up one hand to block out the light from the nearby street lamp so he could make them out in the shadows. He smiled.
“Ah, Lord Harry. At last. So good to see you. I’ve been expecting you, ever since Bert here had the good sense to come tell me you’d managed an escape.”
Harris could only glare as the thug—Bert, he supposed—shoved him out into the light and forced him to move toward the grand stairs at Burlington’s front door. Uncle Nedley watched with a smug smile. Damn it some more.
“So what has taken you so long?” he asked, then grinned even broader. “Oh, I think I can guess. Where is your lady fair, anyway? You didn’t lose her, I hope?”
“She’s someplace where you can never reach her,” Harris answered.
“How noble. You saw to her safety before you came to look after your father. Touching. Don’t you find that touching, Professor?”
“Leave him be, Nedley,” Oldham called out from where he stood near the wagon. “You’ve got what you wanted. I’m ruined, my life’s work is destroyed, you’ve made your profit…What do you need with my son?”
“Your son?” Nedley left his place at the door and made his way to stand near them on the street. “You think I did all this to hurt you?”
Oldham was glaring at Nedley. There was real hatred in his voice when he spoke. “His mother told me how you’d leered after her, tried to comfort her as her husband languished in his sickbed. You’ve always hated it that she turned to me all those years ago instead of you.”
Harris cringed. He knew the story. The former marquis—the man everyone assumed was his father—had suffered from some of the same weakness that plagued his older brother. His mother was young, lonely, and caring for a sickly child as well as a dying husband. She’d rejected the unwanted attentions of her brother-in-law, yet fell in love with a lowly tutor, a lonely man who was grieving the recent loss of his wife. For years, Oldham had not been told of the product of that brief union. The marquis had forgiven his wife and raised Harris as his own, until his death when Harris was just a child.
Nedley had known, though. He’d guessed it. Harris was nothing like his supposed father or his weak, incapacitated brother. Nedley had known and had made life hell for them once the marquis died. He’d taken over as trustee and punished Harris’s mother for her refusal. He’d punished Harris for his mere existence. Now, apparently, he was punishing Oldham, as well.
“Oh, but you are mistaken, Professor,” Nedley grumbled. “True, I have heartily enjoyed engineering your downfall, but that was merely a side effect of my real goal. Come indoors and we’ll discuss this like gentlemen.”
It was spoken as a suggestion, but the gun jammed into his skin assured Harris that there would be no quibbling on the matter. The thug brushed his hands over him, discovering his pistol, and disarmed him. Damn. He’d carried the heavy thing all over London for nothing! Uncle Nedley laughed.
“You are completely out of your element here, Harry. Do stop sulking and cooperate.”
The whole group of them traipsed indoors, with one hired thug left outside to guard the wagons. Harris slid an apologetic glance toward his father, who simply shrugged. Whatever Uncle Nedley had planned, they would soon be finding out all about it.
He ushered them into the room that had been used for housing the artifacts. There was no sign of Lord Burlington, but there was ample sign of his lady. She sat quite contentedly in one of the comfortable chairs. She seemed rather pleased to see Harris, too.
“Lady Burlington,” Harris said, nodding toward her. “I see you are keeping excellent company again.”
“And I see you are, once again, in quite a load of trouble,” she replied.
“So what do you plan to do now, Nedley?” Oldham asked their host. “Have your brutes drag us out to Burlington’s garden and garrote us quietly?”
Harris could have chosen a much less gruesome way of phrasing things, but he did admit he was rather interested in hearing his uncle’s answer to the question.
“Of course not,” Nedley said. “We’ll stay right here and your son will shoot you in the heart. I will be forced to kill him, of course. Purely in self-defense, you see.”
“What?” Harris exclaimed. “I won’t shoot him!”
“No, of course you won’t,” Nedley said with a weary sigh. “Which is why I’ll have to do it myself and then simply tell everyone that you did it. We had planned to carry things out a bit differently, but now that you’ve left the docks and come here, we’ll simply have to improvise.”
“No one will believe it,” Harris declared. “Why on earth would I shoot my own father?”
“Because he discovered that you were double-crossing him. He was planning to sell the antiquities back to the Egyptians, but you sold them to the French. He confronted you, so you killed him. Poor, poor Lady Burlington was caught in the middle of this, seduced by your smooth words and your charming ways. You used her to get to the treasures, you vile snake, and then you murdered her husband.”
“I used her to…wait, where is her husband? You lunatics haven’t already done anything to him, have you?”
“Sadly, the lout hasn’t yet returned from tonight’s debauchery,” Lady Burlington said, brushing lint from the fabric of her chair. “But as soon as he does, you will end his life in a fit of jealous rage.”
“In our grief at such tragedy, her ladyship and I will comfort one another,” Nedley said, smirking. “And you will have all that blood on your hands.”
This was beyond ridiculous. Just how many people did they think Harris could murder in one night? First they planned to claim he’d killed Penelope, now his own father and even poor Burlington. What next? Wait, he truly did not want to know that. The way his day had been, he could expect something even worse to come barging through the door.
And here it was now. Footsteps pounded and voices called out from the entrance hall. Harris was almost afraid to wonder who this might turn out to be.
Chapter Twenty-one
“There he is!” Penelope shouted, peeking around Anthony as he flung open the door to Lady Burlington’s favorite drawing room.
Nedley Chesterton was there, holding a pistol aimed at Lord Harry. His thug was holding one, too. Heavens, but Nedley’s pistol seemed oddly familiar. Had it been Lord Harry’s? Well, that was rather careless of him.
“What the hell is going on here?”Anthony demanded.
Nedley glanced back and forth between her, Anthony, the local magistrate, and the three constables he’d brought with them. It was obvious the villain was formulating another plan. Thank heavens they’d gotten here before he’d been able to carry out whatever had been his last plan.
“I’m glad you’re here!” the villain cried out. “This man was trying to murder me!”
He pointed at Lord Harry. His rather strong accusation was somewhat diluted by the fact that Lord Harry was standing all the way across the room and completely weaponless. And was ragingly attractive in his disheveled attire. Well, she supposed that part may have been having more effect on her t
han it did on Anthony and the constables, but still…she was awfully glad to see him breathing.
But now Lady Burlington spoke up, jumping to her feet and rushing to Nedley’s side.
“Yes, it’s true,” she agreed, in a great flurry of sudden nervousness. “He burst in here, threatening to take horrible liberties with my person if I didn’t allow him access to my husband’s collection.”
“So he could abscond with it, selling it for filthy profit,” Nedley added, then pointed a hateful finger at Professor Oldham. “Aided, no doubt, by the man who cuckolded my poor dead brother!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Professor Oldham said. “I would never sell these precious items for mere profit. They belong to the people of Egypt!”
Arguing erupted. Nedley accused everyone of all sorts of things, Lady Burlington moaned about how poorly used she’d been, Lord Harry defended his father, Professor Oldham rattled on with something about how a certain pasha named Ali was eager to have the treasures returned, and the magistrate called for everyone to calm down. Anthony appeared to be suffering some digestive ailment. Penelope merely wanted it all to be over so she could throw herself into Lord Harry’s arms again.
The pandemonium was only silenced when the front door behind them opened and someone else came charging into the house. Nedley turned his gun in that direction, and two constables lunged out to grab the arms of this latest arrival. Everyone grew silent and craned their various necks to see who it was.
“Markland,” Lord Harry said. “I should have known you’d be involved in this.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Mr. Markland—somewhat out of breath and clearly as confused as any of them—asked as the constables dragged him into the room. His gaze paused over Professor Oldham.
“Father, are you unharmed?”
Father? Did Penelope hear that correctly? Mr. Markland called the man father? But she thought the professor was Lord Harry’s father. How could Mr. Markland be so confused?
Professor Oldham seemed confused as well. He smiled at Markland and nodded. “I’m fine, my boy, just fine. Had a bit of an ordeal, but it appears the worst of it is over now, thank heavens.”
“No, no,” Nedley cried out, now turning his gun toward the magistrate. “Nothing is over! These men were trying to kill us, I say! Take them into custody, man.”
The magistrate seemed unsure what to believe at this point. Fortunately, Lord Harry seemed to know exactly what was needed. He leapt toward his threatening uncle, hitting the man with force enough to knock him backward and off his feet. The hired thug noticed, too late, and fired off his pistol.
Penelope cried out—as did Lady Burlington—but a constable grabbed the thug and held him. It seemed the brute was a dreadful shot and no one was hit. The gun in Nedley’s hand was now safely in Lord Harry’s hand as the older man hit the carpet with a house-shaking thud.
The magistrate was taking no chances, though, and pulled the gun from Lord Harry’s hand. Penelope fumed with anger to see him treated so roughly, but Anthony spoke up before she gathered her breath to do so.
“Have a care,” he called out to the magistrate. “This man is not the villain here. He’s been one of the victims, kidnapped by his own uncle. That man.”
Now it was Anthony’s turn to point, and he did, directly at Nedley Chesterton. One of the constables trotted over to him and helped him up, keeping a firm hand on his arm, however.
“What’s your part in this, Markland?” Lord Harry asked. “Are you in league with my uncle, trying to make a profit off your own father’s hard work?”
Mr. Markland gave a condescending sneer. “Ah, my dear brother. Such a joy, as usual. How does our father tolerate your company for such extended periods?”
“He seems to tolerate that every bit as well as he does such prolonged separation from you,” Lord Harry replied with a smirk to make Mr. Markland’s sneer look amiable.
“Now, boys,” Professor Oldham said with no smirk or sneer at all. He seemed rather uncomfortable, which, she figured, was to be expected. “I know you have unresolved issues between you, but—”
Once again, the tension in the room was enhanced by the sound of the front door opening and footsteps entering. Who on earth could this be? Penelope could scarcely guess. She couldn’t imagine it might be anyone particularly helpful, though.
At first glance, it seemed she was right. Two men appeared in the doorway. They were tall, and made to look even taller by the elaborate turbans they wore on their heads. They were bearded, and their baggy, flowing apparel was accentuated by richly stitched sashes cinched tightly at their waists. Lethal swords hung at their sides, and their dark eyes seemed to miss nothing as they peered at the frozen assembly.
“Khalil! Ibrahim!” Professor Oldham suddenly called out.
“You are acquainted with these, er, gentlemen?” the magistrate asked. It seemed a very good question.
“But of course,” the professor replied. “They are our dear friends.”
Dear friends? Heavens! Penelope had met Lord Harry’s murderous family members and now these sword-bearing dear friends…She would hate to imagine what an actual enemy might look like.
“It’s good to see you both,” Lord Harry said to the slightly terrifying men. “Although I went by the house and was told you had not arrived.”
“We could not go there,” one of the men replied in remarkably excellent English. “Someone was following us and we knew there was danger.”
“So they came to me,” Mr. Markland explained, seemingly quite proud of this fact. “And told me their concerns. They were fortunate they found me at home. When they arrived, I was right in the middle of assisting a friend who, I’m sorry to say, is quite vexed with me now for forcing this change in his plans.”
At that very moment, the voice of someone quite vexed indeed could be heard in the entryway. Footsteps sounded with it. Two sets, if Penelope was not mistaken. And oddly enough, the footsteps seemed to be accompanied by domestic bickering.
“But my dearest, I’m determined to press Markland into taking us straightaway, just as he promised,” a male voice was saying.
His companion appeared to be female. And familiar.
“But perhaps this isn’t such a grand idea for us anyway,” she said.
Penelope was still in the midst of trying to convince herself she’d misguessed the owner of this voice when these two latest arrivals came into view through the doorway. Footsteps and bickering ceased immediately and their eyes got large. The masculine half of the pair took his partner’s hand and pulled her closer to him.
“By the devil, what’s all this?” he asked.
“Good evening, Cousin,” Lord Harry called to him.
Indeed, it was quite a shock to find Mr. Ferrel marching in this way, but what Penelope found even more amazing was his companion. Maria! And good heavens, why was she clinging to Mr. Ferrel as if she honestly enjoyed clinging to him?
Could it be that perhaps she did? Oh my, things began to dawn.
Judging by Mr. Ferrel’s protective stance and Maria’s fearful clinging, Penelope began to realize just exactly what her friend had been trying to tell her in that letter earlier. Maria had not been confessing her love for Lord Harry, but by some odd twist she’d been talking about Mr. Ferrel! But of course it all began to make sense now.
“Maria!” she exclaimed, rushing to her friend. “You and Mr. Ferrel are eloping!”
“Penelope!” her friend exclaimed in return, letting go of Mr. Ferrel only to latch onto her. “Please say you do not hate me for it.”
“No, of course not,” Penelope assured her. “You are free to marry Mr. Ferrel anytime you like, but I cannot help wonder at your sudden arrival. How on earth did you know to come here?”
“We didn’t,” Maria said. “Mr. Markland was being so kind as to help us run away. We were going to go by boat so it would be difficult to find us, but then his, er, friends showed up. We were already inside the carriage on our
way to the river and Mr. Markland said there was no time to rig up another. He made the driver come here straightaway.”
“And I’m glad we did,” Mr. Ferrel said, glaring at Nedley. “Father? What is all this? What is going on?”
“I’ll be the one asking questions, my boy!” Nedley declared. He appeared even more unpleasant than usual, and the way he was glaring at Maria was simply uncalled for. “What do you mean, running off in the night with this…this…”
“This beautiful young woman?” Mr. Ferrel finished for him. “I love her, Father, and I will marry her, with or without your blessing.”
“But I expressly forbade it! You’ll be a duke someday. You can do far better than this…this…”
“No, Father,” Mr. Ferrel said, enunciating carefully. “I will be husband to Miss Bradley someday. Lord Harry will be the duke.”
“Not if I can help it, he won’t!” the angry parent said.
Without warning, he broke free from the constable and lunged. Not at Lord Harry, as Penelope might have expected, but at her. She was too stunned to move. He held her firmly, pinning her arms to her side. Shockingly, the man produced a knife from just inside his coat. It glinted briefly in the flickering lamplight, then he was pressing it tightly against her throat.
How in mercy’s name did this come about? She shifted as much as she dared, angling her head just enough so that she could find Lord Harry. He met her eyes. His expression assured her that he had no intention of letting this horrible man damage her. Indeed, she knew he would not allow it. Despite the warm metal of Nedley’s knife, she willed herself to relax.
“Release her or I’ll shoot!” the magistrate called out.
Nedley ignored him. His hold on Penelope seemed to only get tighter.
“You’ll have to shoot through her, then,” he said. “Now get out! Everyone but my nephew, get out!”
No one moved. She felt the knife press harder into her skin.
“Let her go, for God’s sake,” Anthony said. His voice cracked just the slightest bit. How very sweet! Her brother actually worried for her.
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