by Gaelen Foley
Though Robert stood at the ready, he dared not pull the trigger for fear of hitting his friend.
With both opponents now reduced to bare fists, their struggle devolved into the most brutal fight that she had ever seen.
Though Georgie had noticed the man’s jet-black hair and swarthy countenance, she did not realize just what they were dealing with until she heard the would-be kidnapper let out a curse—in Marathi.
Her jaw dropped as it sank in now that Queen Sujana’s hatred had followed them all the way across the sea. With awful memories of the battles that had left poor Major MacDonald dead and her brother wounded, Georgie grasped the fact that the man whom Ian was fighting was no Gypsy child-stealer, as the maid had naively claimed, but one of the maharani’s trained assassins!
Just then, Mr. Walsh appeared by her side and tried to pry her away from the fence before she saw something far more terrible. “Miss, you must go back inside!”
“Leave me alone!” she cried, wrenching free of him just in time to see the Indian attacker curve his hand into a hooked claw and gouge at Ian’s neck as if to tear his throat out.
But a change had come over her gentlemanly diplomat.
Savagery in him had come unleashed. His knees were muddy from the turf, his shirt was torn, his face streaked with a smear of blood, his hair wild. The angry flush in his cheeks made his green eyes burn with an unholy light.
He had jested in the past about the brutal Norman warlords in his ancestry, but now he proved their spirit in his blood as his vicious fight against the maharani’s agent climbed toward a crescendo.
Kneeling on top of his kicking, thrashing quarry, pinning him down with his greater weight, Ian planted his knee across the assassin’s neck as though to hold him immobile until the constables arrived. But then the Indian man wrapped his powerful hands around Ian’s throat in a crushing stranglehold, striving to choke the life out of him. He tried to pry the hands away, but as the seconds ticked by, nothing could dislodge their ruthless grip.
He drew his elbow back and smashed his fist into the man’s face half a dozen times in lightning-fast succession, but the massive blows with which he battered his opponent barely stunned the hardened killer.
As Ian gasped for air, his face turning redder, he must have realized that his time was running out. Georgie watched the scene unfold with horror, knowing all too well from her own battles with asthma that a person couldn’t live for more than a few moments without air.
Then she saw Ian reach for the castoff knife that he had forced his foe to drop earlier. It lay on the ground nearby.
Still holding the man down and fighting for breath, his searching hand scrabbled around for the weapon, and when he found it, his fingers flicking around its hilt, he wielded it without a shred of mercy. Arcing the knife upward, he plunged the blade into the base of the assassin’s throat.
He left it there, wrenching back to gasp for breath as the assassin’s hands suddenly fell away from his neck.
The man stopped flailing; his body went limp. He hadn’t even had time to scream, and in seconds, he was dead.
Georgie looked on in open-mouthed disbelief, relieved to the core of her soul, but scarcely able to comprehend that the diplomat Marquess of Griffith had just outfought a trained assassin and had slain him in broad daylight, there in the middle of Green Park.
Still more about him that I didn’t know…
Ian moved off his dead attacker, and the lifeless body rolled a bit to be rid of his weight. Still kneeling on the ground, he sat back on his haunches and rested his hands on his thighs; he dropped his head back, his chest heaving.
Hawkscliffe walked over to them slowly and nudged the prone man with the muzzle of his rifle.
The two lords looked at each other in grim silence, remaining like that, frozen in a fearsome tableau, as the stout-hearted constables came rushing onto the scene with Mr. Walsh hurriedly pointing the way.
Georgie stayed where she was, ashen-faced, both hands pressed against her mouth.
Throughout the park, frightened onlookers were staring from a safe distance.
Mr. Walsh finally got a leash on Hyperion and made one of the footmen drag the still-agitated dog back inside. In a sharp tone, the butler ordered the rest of the staff back to their posts as well.
Meanwhile, Bel hurried over to Georgie and curved a comforting arm around her waist. “Come, dear. Let’s go inside.”
“He killed him,” Georgie told her.
“I know. It’s all right. It’s over now.”
“Captain! Two bodies here!” one of the constables called from over by the thicket around the stand of trees.
Georgie let out a sob at the grim discovery, but Bel tried more firmly to bring her inside. “Come, now. We’ve seen enough.”
“No, I have to talk to Ian. Just let me see if he’s all right.” She did not wait for Bel’s response, but slipped back out through the wrought-iron gate and ran into the park, toward the knot of men loitering near the body—Ian, Robert, and a few constables.
As she approached, her gaze swept over Ian’s big, powerful form, scanning for wounds. He was a bit bloodied and bruised, and still trembling slightly in the aftermath of violence, but he appeared for the most part unscathed.
“I know his face from Janpur,” he was saying to the others as she joined them.
“What’s left of it, y’mean,” one of the constables muttered as they covered up the body and then carried it off without ceremony to be loaded into their wagon.
“Don’t worry, Griff, we’re going to get to the bottom of this,” Robert said, the rifle now resting across his shoulder.
“You’ve got to get Georgiana and Matthew out of London,” he answered forcefully. “Queen Sujana tried to have me poisoned before I left Janpur. Her agents raided my room and stole this locket to help them locate Matthew. Don’t you see what this means? We killed her son and now she’s come after mine. Who knows how many more of her men she’s sent after us? Her agents nearly killed Gabriel. I thought it had ended there, but I see now I was wrong. My son’s in danger, Hawk. So’s your cousin. I want them far away from here, under guard. You have to take them someplace safe.”
“Damien’s estate ought to be remote enough. It’s only a few hours from here. You know how to get there?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll send Lucien to you, as well. He’s always useful in these situations.”
Ian gave him a grim nod, then coughed and rubbed his throat, still recovering from his near-strangulation. “Frankly, I’d welcome the help.”
“My lord, would you please come with us now, sir?” the brawny captain of the constables spoke up. “You’re going to have to come with us and answer a few questions.”
Ian nodded at the man, but then noticed Georgie’s presence. “One moment, please.”
“Aye, sir.” The captain allowed this, but still eyed him suspiciously.
Her cousin Robert gave her a taut smile of reassurance as she passed him. Georgie suddenly remembered she was wearing Indian garb, not exactly decent by London standards. That would explain the odd looks from the constables.
Ian and she walked a few paces away from the others.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“I’m fine.”
“Your lip’s bleeding.”
He wiped the blood away, glanced at the trace of it on his hand, and then eyed her uncertainly. “Hawk’s going to take you to Winterhaven. Damien’s estate. I’ve, er, I’ve got to stay in Town for a while longer until all this has been straightened out.”
“Are you under arrest?”
“I don’t know.”
She glanced around and saw that the constables were already taking down the names of the onlookers who had been strolling in the park when the whole thing had happened. Another of the officers was going through the saddlebag strapped to the horse that the assassin had tried to use for his escape.
Ian followed her glance, but when she loo
ked at him again, he stared into her eyes, his expression fierce but tormented. “I’m sorry—for this,” he forced out in a raw voice.
“No—it’s all right.” She reached out and started to touch him, but something stopped her. A newfound uncertainty about him.
He saw her hesitate and closed his eyes with a stunned look, as though she had slapped him. He lowered his head. “Go,” he whispered.
“Ian, I didn’t mean—” She reached for him again, more bravely, but he pulled away.
“Look after my son, will you?”
“Of course,” she whispered with a fervent nod. “We’ll be waiting for you. Both of us.”
His nod was brooding and remote. She knew he had already shut her out as he turned away. “I’ll see you when I can.”
Short of harm befalling someone he loved, the worst thing Ian could have possibly imagined happening to him had just occurred.
He had snapped, his dark side on display for all the world to see. He felt exposed…as a monster, capable of all the same bestial, warlike impulses in mankind that he struggled to curb and channel to positive ends through his diplomatic efforts.
But what choice had he had?
The threat to Georgiana and his son had ruptured all the stiff restraints with which he had so conscientiously controlled his own nature for so long. When would he ever learn that emotions could never be trusted? Every time they came pouring out, it seemed as if something bad happened.
Well, it was done, he thought in disgust, and it couldn’t be called back now, could it? The cat was out of the bag—the tiger out of his cage.
In a way, he was almost relieved not to have to hide anymore. Finally, he could breathe, as if he’d been freed from a too-starched cravat. He rubbed his throat again, still jarred by how close he had come to death. Indeed, if he had not loosed the beast inside himself to destroy the maharani’s agent, his son would have been stolen from him for God-only-knew what purpose, and Georgiana would probably have been the next to have been killed, since it was she who had exposed Sujana’s treachery.
But in his rage, Ian had prevented that from happening. This gave him a certain dark satisfaction. Now if Queen Sujana’s agents came after his family again, he’d be fully prepared to meet death with death.
He only hoped that his victory against the assassin had not cost him what mattered most: Matthew’s trust. And Georgiana’s love.
He was willing to do anything to hold on to these two. Whatever it took. What good was anything if they didn’t feel safe around him?
But he had seen the way she shrank from him, and he was well aware of her non-violent views. He could not bear for her to look at him with the same horror and fear in her eyes that he had seen on Catherine’s face in those last few seconds before her death.
The constable summoned him then, and they left Green Park. Ian was taken into the magistrate’s closed chambers, where he spent the rest of the afternoon answering the same questions over and over again for a parade of officials from Bow Street and the Home Office.
Meanwhile, the Knight brothers’ close-knit unit clicked into action. Hawk and their good friend Viscount Strathmore used their rank to get in to see various Eastern ambassadors around London, trying to find out whether they knew anything about this plot, or Queen Sujana or her brother Baji Rao, or if Firoz had contacted them.
Lucien, meanwhile, came to look after Ian’s interests during the interrogation. A fellow agent of the Foreign Office whose specialty had been intelligence gathering, Lucien had gone on inactive status as an operative ever since his marriage, but in the meantime, he had made many friends at Bow Street. He liked to keep his spy skills honed by helping the Bow Street Runners solve the occasional baffling mystery. He was the right sort of friend to have on hand at a time like this.
As for Lucien’s twin brother, Damien, Colonel Lord Winterley, it was to his Berkshire country house that Georgie and Matthew had been taken. Bestowed on him by a grateful nation after his extraordinary service in the war against Napoleon, his beautiful estate of Winterhaven was ideally located, not too close and not too far from London. What made Winterhaven especially safe for a woman and child in danger was that the war hero Damien had established a racing stable there, which he preferred to man with battle-hardened veterans from his regiment, his own soldiers who had served under him in the war.
Lord Alec, the youngest of the Knight brothers, had gone with them for added protection along the road. Alec was also extremely handy with a sword, thanks to the constant duels he had fought in his days as the wickedest rakehell in London. A perfect foil for all of Damien’s stern, disciplined command, Alec was sharp and daring, with the soul of a gambler, although since his marriage, he no longer touched the cards or dice.
With all this help while he was detained, Ian could enjoy at least some peace of mind that Georgie and Matthew would be quite safe until he was able to join them.
When that might be was difficult to say.
The interrogation dragged on. Finally, Lucien got hold of his colleagues from the Foreign Office, who verified the link between the dead foreigner and Ian’s last diplomatic mission. His claim that the man had been Queen Sujana’s agent was backed up by the fact that his miniature portrait of Matthew, which had been missing since he left Janpur, had turned up in the dead man’s pocket. It also helped that several eyewitnesses in the park had seen the whole thing, and their testimony corroborated everything Ian had said.
Then the London map the officers found in the horse’s saddlebag provided more information when it led them to an address of one Sir Bertram Driscoll. Newly arrived from India, the nabob and his Indian servants gave the investigators a full account of how Firoz had joined them in their travels. The rest of the staff reported their fear and suspicion of him from the start.
Though Sir Bertram swore to the Bow Street Runners that Firoz had been traveling alone, Ian was not about to rest assured that Queen Sujana had not sent additional assassins to carry out her revenge.
In truth, he was shocked that she would go so far as to try to take his son in exchange for Prince Shahu’s death. Twisted woman! Ah, well. Perhaps it had been only a matter of time before one of the temperamental foreign powers that he dealt with decided to punish him personally for his role in negotiating arrangements that were not always to everybody’s liking.
Finally, Ian was informed, much to his relief, that no charges were to be brought against him.
This, the officials concluded, was a clear case of natural justice and, indeed, of self-defense, since the man had been trying to strangle him to death. Ian assured them that if they had further need of him, he would continue to cooperate, and he told them where he could be reached, either at Winterhaven or at his own Cumberland estate.
He planned to stay out of London until the sensational storm of gossip died down a bit. He had no doubt that it would be all over Town by tonight that the mild-mannered Marquess of Griffith had slaughtered a man in broad daylight for trying to kidnap his son. He did not think people would blame him, generally, but he knew for sure that they would be flabbergasted to learn that he was capable of such ferocity. He had no desire to linger here and answer their questions, in turn. He could almost hear them now. Where had he learned those skills? Had he ever killed anyone before? Private man that he was, he shuddered with aversion at the thought of all their prying, which was sure to come.
No, the most pressing matter at hand was to get to his son and his fiancée and make sure they both were safe and not too badly traumatized by their ordeal—and by what they had seen him do.
Finally walking out of the magistrate’s sweltering chambers around sunset, he and Lucien got some food and soon were on the road, riding their horses through the cool night air. Neither of them had spoken for miles, all talked out from the grueling day, each immersed in his own thoughts.
The westward road away from London stretched like a silver ribbon ahead, and Ian kept thinking about Georgiana. The way she had looked at
him after the fight. The way she had reached out to touch him and then stopped herself—had actually been afraid to touch him. Ian knew he could not have that. He was used to a Georgiana who could hardly keep her hands off him. She had gotten him addicted to her boundless affection and he’d die if she took it away from him now. He’d never had love like this before.
It tormented him to contemplate Georgie rejecting him, but Lucien’s words of a few hours ago had helped. When asked if he thought what he had done was wrong, his friend had answered, “All I can tell you is I would have done the same thing, and so would all my brothers. And, I wager, so would Georgiana’s brothers, too.”
He knew Lucien was right, and that bolstered his determination to hold onto her esteem, even if he had to take drastic measures. His work and training had made him a master of manipulation; he knew just how to seduce people by giving them their heart’s desire. By God, he was not going to lose her love now that he had finally won it, nor Matthew’s, for that matter. He felt exposed, but could not bear for them to see him as a monster, and so he had come prepared, with a special gift for his son and potent plans in mind for winning back Georgiana.
At last, Lucien signaled him to the turn ahead, leaving the road for the gated drive up to Winterhaven. Ian was pleased to find the iron gates locked, just as they should be, the gatehouse being guarded by four armed sentries. As Ian and Lucien paused to let their horses breathe, the guards told them that Damien had posted lookouts all around the boundaries of the property, and so far, all was quiet.
Welcome news, indeed.
“They’re waiting for you up at the house, my lords.”
“Thank you very much,” Lucien replied, nodding to them as the men shut and locked the gates again.
From there, it was an easy canter up the avenue of young plane trees that led up to the house. The drive meandered through the sprawling park, past the fine gardens with their ornamental lake, and of course, past the elaborate stable block. Ahead, the pale limestone mansion took on a pearly glow in the moonlight.