by Cheryl Holt
Miss Fogarty was there too, and a quarrel was ensuing. Miles was armed with a small pistol, holding it loosely and not aiming it, but he certainly appeared as if he wouldn’t mind pulling the trigger.
“What the devil?” Michael muttered, and they kicked their horses into a gallop and raced up the drive. They jumped to the ground and had barely landed before Miss Fogarty was upon them.
“I’m so glad to see you!” she fervidly said to Kit. “You won’t believe what happened!”
“Yes, I will.” Kit pointed at Miles. “Why is he preening?”
“He found out about Mr. Drummond’s past.”
Kit felt sick. “From who? Was it Miss Sophia?”
“No, it was me,” Miss Fogarty glumly admitted. “I blurted it out without thinking. I shouldn’t have, but I was distraught.”
“What did he do? It looks as if it’s very bad news.”
“He went to the authorities and swore Mr. Drummond was a prison escapee! He claimed Mr. Drummond had fled the penal colony prior to his sentence being completed.”
“Why would he assume that?”
“He’s grasping at straws. I told him he was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s just informed us that he filed legal paperwork to have the estate returned to him, that an escaped felon had no right to seize an honest man’s property.”
“Where is Damian?”
“Some men arrested him! They beat him with a club and took him away.”
Kit gasped with offense. “He’s already gone?”
“Yes.”
“To where?”
“Miles said to London, to jail. He’ll be transported again—to Australia—before anyone has a chance to help him.”
Michael gestured to Damian’s entourage and asked, “Why didn’t they prevent it? Were they twiddling their thumbs?”
“He was captured out in the woods when they weren’t around to see.” She laid a palm on Kit’s arm. “He was terribly injured. They kept hitting him and hitting him with that club. He was unconscious when they rode off. Can you find him? Can you save him?”
“Yes, we can find him.” He wasn’t sure it was true, but he wanted to seem confident. He glanced over at Michael. “Will we be able to?”
“Oh, absolutely. I have a special relationship with the people at Newgate Prison. In my line of business, it’s important to have friends in a place like that. No one comes in or out without my being apprised. We’ll get him back.” He peered over at Miss Fogarty. “How long ago did they leave?”
“It’s been several hours.”
“By horse or by coach?”
“Coach.”
Michael looked at Kit. “If they’re traveling by coach, we’ll catch them easily.” He glared at Miles who was smirking and simpering, the obnoxious Portia glued to his side as if they were a royal couple that had just been installed to their title. “Is that dandy the illustrious Miles Marshall?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
Michael marched off, and Kit hurried after him. They pushed through the crowd, and without any warning, Michael walked directly up to Miles and punched him as hard as he could.
The blow was unexpected and landed with a fierce impact. Miles flew into the door, then slid to the stoop in a stunned heap. His pistol skittered away, and Kit picked it up and stuck it in his coat.
Portia had lurched away and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Be silent,” Michael calmly told her, “or I’ll hit you next!”
“Help him! Defend Mr. Marshall!” Portia bellowed to the surly group of onlookers, but they only took orders from Damian. They stared at her but didn’t move.
Michael shoved Portia aside, then grabbed Miles by his shirt. One-handed, he lifted Miles to his feet. Blood poured from his nose, his eye swelling shut.
“You little worm!” Michael hissed. “How dare you hurt my friend? Don’t you know I’ll have to extract a very steep punishment?”
“Who are you?” Miles demanded. “Get off my property!”
“It’s not your property, you thick oaf.”
“You! Roxbury!” Miles commanded. “Get off too, and take Drummond’s men with you. I’ve been trying to tell them to go, but they won’t. All of you go! Now!”
Michael said to Kit, “He’s an idiot, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Miles was too stupid to be quiet. “Portia! Summon the servants!”
She scooted behind him and entered the manor. She shouted for the footmen to attend her, for the butler to attend her, but she might have been calling to an empty house.
“You’ve cooked your goose, Marshall,” Kit said.
“How could I have? Your Mr. Drummond has vanished, and I’ve already filed paperwork to have Kirkwood returned to me. A felon can’t roam England harming decent citizens such as myself.”
“Listen to me, Miles—” Kit started.
“It’s Mr. Marshall to you.”
“Listen, Miles, Damian’s not an escapee. He served his time and paid his debt to society.”
“Well, the courts will sort it out. In the interim, your Mr. Drummond will have a nice voyage to Australia.”
The comment had Michael laughing aloud. “I’m going to enjoy this so much.”
Miles frowned. “Enjoy what?”
“Killing you.”
“What?” Miles shrieked. “Release me, you fiend.”
Michael asked Kit, “Where shall we do it? Out in the woods?”
Miles was visibly alarmed. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re debating the best spot to murder you,” Michael replied. “What does it sound like?”
“You can’t murder me! Help! Help!” he shouted as Portia had, but the bystanders simply continued to glare.
“I’m a fair-minded fellow,” Michael cordially said, “so I’ll let you choose your ending. Would you like me to cut your throat or shoot you through the middle of your cold, black heart?”
“You will not kill me!”
“Yes, I will.”
“Georgina!” Miles screeched. “Georgina, stop them!”
She was frozen in place, appearing very nervous, but confused too about whether she should intercede on Miles’s behalf. Michael Scott Blair was dangerous, and when riled, it was pointless to reason with him.
Still though, Kit advised, “You shouldn’t kill him, Michael.”
Miles slumped with relief, as Michael asked, “Why not?”
“Damian will be eager to handle it himself. The only obstacle that prevented him so far was my convincing him not to, but after this misadventure, he’ll proceed.” Kit glowered at Miles. “And this time, I won’t dissuade him.”
“Drummond will never be back!” Miles huffed.
“You don’t think so?” Michael grinned. “I’m betting he’ll be here in a few hours. Watch your back, Miles. He’s a sneaky devil. He’ll come at you from behind.”
Michael traced a finger across his neck, as if a quick throat-slitting would be the method of Mile’s demise. Then he loosened his grip on Miles’s shirt and tossed him away. Miles collapsed again.
Kit and Michael spun away, and Kit said, “Let’s ride like the wind. I want to catch up to him as fast as we can.”
They ran for their horses, but Miss Fogarty stepped in their path.
“Will you find him?” she inquired.
“Absolutely,” Kit guaranteed.
“He was badly hurt. You may need a doctor.”
“I’ll care for him myself,” Michael said. “I’ve treated many serious injuries, and I’m better than any drunken sawbones.”
“Should you take some guards with you?” she said. “There were a dozen or more men surrounding that carriage.”
“We don’t need any extra men,” Michael insisted.
They both mounted, and she looked glummer by the second.
“What if you can’t locate him?” she asked.
“We will, Miss Fogarty,” Kit assured her.
“What if
he’s…dead or—”
“He’s not dead,” Michael scoffed. “He has nine lives, and he’s only used three or four of them.”
Kit nodded to the house where Miles had crawled inside. He’d closed and locked the door, apparently believing a paltry lock could keep him safe from Damian’s wrath.
“It might be wise to talk to your cousin, Miss Fogarty,” he told her.
“I’d rather not. He’s finally vexed me beyond my limit.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t joking when I said Damian will murder him.”
She blanched with dismay. “He wouldn’t…would he?”
“He definitely would. He definitely will so you should encourage Miles to haul his sorry behind off Damian’s property.”
“I will talk to him,” she said.
“We’ll be back this evening. If not then, it might be a day or two. If we can’t make it that quickly, I’ll send a message.”
“All right.”
“Don’t worry about Damian. He’ll be fine.”
“I’ll take you at your word, Mr. Roxbury.”
Kit glanced around, anxious to see Sophia, but she was nowhere in sight. “Would you tell Miss Sophia I’ll return shortly?”
“I will.”
“And tell her—once I arrive—she and I have to have a long chat.”
With that, he yanked on the reins, Michael did too, and they galloped down the lane, their horses rapidly carrying them out to the road.
“Who was that man with Roxbury?”
“I have no idea. I wasn’t introduced.”
Miles scowled at Georgina, but she didn’t have the energy to scowl back. She just wished she could leave the despicable spot forever. Such horrid events were simply beyond her ability to comprehend.
She’d always grasped that Miles was a cruel bully, but she hadn’t realized the true state of his malice. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Damian being pounded with that club. She heard the dull thud as it had landed on his skull, ribs, and bones.
Miles had reveled in the attack, assuming his scheme had succeeded. Years earlier, when he’d evicted Damian, Damian had been a boy who hadn’t had the wherewithal to fight him. But he wasn’t a boy anymore. He was deadly and driven and would avenge himself for this latest imbroglio.
Miles’s life was in jeopardy. She knew it as certainly as she knew the sun would rise in the east.
“You can’t stay at Kirkwood, Miles,” she said.
“I’ve never valued your opinion, Georgina, so be silent.”
“Mr. Roxbury swears that Mr. Drummond will kill you when he returns.”
Miles smirked. “He won’t return, Georgie. How often must I say it?”
“They’ll find him and bring him here, and if he doesn’t kill you, that dark-haired stranger will. He looked as if he’d enjoy it too.”
“I am a renowned gentleman and a wealthy landowner.” His remark completely ignored the fact that he was no longer wealthy or a landowner. “The entire trio—Drummond, Roxbury, and their criminal companion—will be hanged. That oaf who assaulted me? He’ll learn about the power I can wield.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she asked.
“About what?”
“About them. About Mr. Drummond.”
They were in the front parlor, and the housekeeper was pressing cool cloths to his swollen nose. He waved her away, shoving her out of the room.
“Shut your mouth, Georgina,” he snapped once the woman had fled. “I’m weary of your harangue.”
“Mr. Roxbury told me to warn you and I said I would.”
“I’ve dealt with your precious Mr. Drummond. Why are you so concerned about him anyway? Don’t tell me you’re fond of that cretin.”
“I’m not. I feel awful about what occurred, and I sense doom approaching at a very fast pace.”
“I rid myself of Drummond years ago, and I’ve simply done it again. I can’t figure out why you’re in such a dither.”
“Why are you acting this way, Miles? The estate isn’t yours. You have no right to it, yet you had the legitimate owner arrested and hauled off to jail.”
“Yes, and I’ve already filed papers to get it back. A dangerous felon can’t own property.”
She threw up her hands. “I keep talking to you in the English language, but you don’t understand a word of it.”
“I understand just fine. Better than you. No one could retrieve Kirkwood for us. Not Mother. Not you. Not Sophia. Not my hoard of lawyers. Not my worthless acquaintances. I did it, and shortly Kirkwood will be mine again.”
“I always thought your mother was the insane member of the family.”
“I won’t listen to your insults, Georgina. I’m unwell, and it’s outrageous that you’d plague me when I’ve been so maltreated.” He rose and started for the door. “Make yourself useful. Isn’t that what you’re good at? Go up to Mother’s room and help her put her things away. She’s been horrifically distressed, and she needs to sleep comfortably in her own bed tonight.”
With that, he strolled into the hall and called for a footman, demanding to be assisted to his bedchamber, to the master suite he’d once again claimed for himself.
She dawdled, desperate to persuade herself that Miles was correct and she should help Augusta. The house was in an uproar, and she could calm chaos, but she was so anguished.
She was merely an ordinary woman who’d lived in the country her entire life. Yet she’d been pummeled by emotional turmoil and tragedy, and she couldn’t move beyond the desolate spot where she was currently located.
She’d fallen in love, been ruined, and been denied by the man of her dreams. She’d lost the job she’d cherished, and had been informed she was being evicted. Her aunt and her cousin had ordered her to disgrace herself with their enemy.
She’d never been welcome at Kirkwood, had never been appreciated or esteemed for any trait. She’d worked and struggled to prove herself valuable and necessary, but she’d been constantly shunned and disrespected.
Of a certainty, Damian would return with Mr. Roxbury and their dodgy friend, and she couldn’t be present when they arrived. She didn’t care what might happen to Miles, but she had no desire to watch. Nor could she imagine having to cross paths with Damian. The very idea left her nauseous.
She had to leave Kirkwood, but where would she go? How could she find a place where she was liked and accepted? There had to be a place like that in the world.
She forced herself out to the foyer, and she tarried, her misery acute and overwhelming. Miles had suggested she aid Augusta, but she couldn’t abide the notion.
As she stood like a statue, Portia appeared on the landing. She stared down at Georgina with a look of disgust and disdain, and Georgina could have burst into tears. Could one more person be awful to her? Would the dreadful day never end?
“Georgina, there you are,” Portia said. “Your aunt and I have been searching for you.”
“Why? What do you need?”
“Please come upstairs. We’ll discuss it in Augusta’s suite.”
Georgina sighed. She couldn’t bear to chat with Augusta and Portia. No matter what the topic, she’d be blamed for whatever was vexing them.
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Would you attend us now? I’m afraid this can’t wait.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
What do you need, Augusta?”
“Sit down, Georgina.”
They were in Augusta’s bedroom suite, the servants having quickly carried her clothes back from their awkward sojourn to Drummond Cottage. The space looked as if she’d never left it, as if the prior turmoil hadn’t actually happened.
Augusta had arranged for the encounter. Two chairs were side by side in front of the fireplace, and she and Portia were seated in them. They’d put a chair across from them for Georgina so she was about to be scolded for an infraction.
She’d endured many such meetings in her life, but she was irked to have Portia observing as she was reprima
nded. Portia wasn’t yet officially part of the family, and Georgina was in no mood to be lectured by her.
“What have I done? From your dour expressions, it must be horrid.”
Portia started the conversation, which raised Georgina’s hackles.
“Miles and I have decided to wed immediately.”
Georgina smiled a tepid smile. “Have you?”
“We’ve delayed in the past, but we’ve seen the risk presented by our postponing the inevitable. We’ve sent to London for a Special License.”
“Congratulations.” Georgina wasn’t sincere, but it was the required response.
“We’ll hold the ceremony tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you should?”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
“I have no doubt Mr. Roxbury will find Mr. Drummond and bring him back. You’re not as deranged as Miles, Portia. You have to know he’ll reclaim what is his.”
Augusta sniffed with offense. “You were always such a disloyal child.”
The barb hurt, but Georgina was used to being denigrated. “I’m merely stating the facts. I don’t understand why you and Miles are having such a difficult time accepting reality. Mr. Drummond will return, and once he does Miles is in danger.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Augusta huffed. “Men might solve their problems in a violent manner in the land where Mr. Drummond has been living, but this is England. A lowborn criminal of his type wouldn’t dare harm a gentleman of Miles’s status.”
“I’m just the messenger, Augusta,” Georgina said. “I’m trying to get you to recognize Miles’s jeopardy.”
“Be silent, Georgina. You exhaust me with your negative opinions.”
“Fine, I’m happy to be silent.”
Portia went on. “As I was saying, we intend to hold the ceremony tomorrow. After all the upheaval, we have to exhibit a show of unity to the tenants and staff. Matters must revert to normal.”
How would that be possible? Even if Mr. Drummond never returned, he must have drafted a Will so his heirs would appear in his stead. His executor was probably Mr. Roxbury and—with the help of the dark-haired stranger who’d been with him earlier—he would easily take over.