“She’s trying to tell me something,” Hal said, tapping the note against his thigh. “She’s trying to tell me where she is.”
“How so?” Rob asked.
“The business of being lovers. We never were, but I told her about the tunnel from my study to the dower house. I said our great-great-grandfather kept his boots dry when he went to visit her by using that tunnel.”
“Clever girl!” Rob slapped Hal’s shoulder. “Come on. What are we waiting for? If they have Leah in the dower house, then presumably Jean-Philippe is there too.”
“Have you sent someone upstairs to look after the injured guards?” Hal scowled. “Not that they deserve it.”
“Yes, already done.”
“Right, go downstairs and ask Darius not to let Flick out of his sight. Doubt that he’ll argue about that one, but I want to be sure she’s protected.”
“What about Gabe? I expect he’ll want to come with us.”
“No, ask him to keep Leah’s sister similarly engaged. Then round up Wright. Make sure you’re both armed and make your way to the dower house without being seen. Wait outside for my signal.”
“What will that be?”
“No idea yet, but you’ll know it when you hear it.” Hal grimaced, fear for Leah’s safety and determination to rescue her fuelling the gesture. “I shall go by the tunnel and surprise the scoundrels.”
“You shouldn’t go alone, Hal. These people are ruthless, and I need you to stay in one piece. I have enough to deal with chasing off the contenders for my chess crown. I have absolutely no wish to become a marquess by default.”
“But if you come with me, then our dear stepmother could finish up a little closer to achieving her ambition of having her son grab my title.” This time it was he who slapped Rob’s shoulder. “I know those tunnels. Leah’s captives have no idea they exist, which gives me an advantage. Even so, stealth is more important than strength of numbers.”
“Very well, big brother, but if I hear screaming, or any sort of disruption, Wright and I will go in regardless.”
“That’s good to know.”
The brothers shook hands and, grim-faced, went their separate ways.
* * *
All Leah’s bravado left her in an extravagant whoosh of escaping air. This young whelp was deranged. Growing up in the lap of luxury, what cause did he have to resent his father so? Leah glanced at Martel leaning casually against the mantelpiece. The cynical light in eyes that didn’t waver from her face answered her own question.
He had yet to speak a word but Leah suspected that he was the brains behind this evil scheme. Constantly at Jean-Philippe’s side whilst his father aided the British cause, he had fed on his charge’s dissatisfaction, manipulating it for purposes of his own.
“Why would you wish to kill Hal?” Leah asked, too shocked to keep her voice completely even. “All he ever did was try to help you.”
“He turned my father into a traitor, he and people like him!” Jean-Philippe said, flushing red with rage.
“No one forced your father to do what he did. Presumably he was guided by his principles.”
“If you had any idea what it was like for the aristocracy in France after that damned revolution, you wouldn’t entertain such a spurious notion.”
“You can’t know what France was like in those days either,” Leah pointed out in a reasonable tone. “You’re far too young.”
“My grandfather had to hide out like a common peasant to avoid the guillotine,” he said, talking over Leah’s interruption—probably not even hearing it. “Our lands and wealth were grabbed. All we had was what my grandfather and father managed to hide away before they made their escape. They lived lives of drudgery until that devil Robespierre was finally done away with and life slowly returned to normal. My father and grandfather reclaimed our lands and gradually restored our family to its rightful position.” He paused to flap a hand, obviously warming to his crazy theme—a theme that had been planted in his head by Martell. “And then, my father became a traitor to all he’d striven to achieve by working against France for the benefit of the English.”
“Perhaps he could see what is now evident to the rest of the world. Napoleon was a dangerous megalomaniac who had to be stopped.”
“My father was going to move us to England,” Jean-Philippe almost screamed. “Apparently senior members of the French army suspected him—rumours of retribution abounded and he needed to move for his own protection. Your government were happy to accommodate him, but to even consider such a move...bah! To turn our backs on everything my grandfather stood for, suffered for, without even consulting me.” He cast a glance at Martell, expelling deep, angry breaths through his nose. “It was not to be borne. It would have been history repeating itself and we couldn’t allow that to happen.”
“And so you murdered your own father without a qualm.”
“Not without a qualm, non. I’m a reasonable man so I explained my misgivings and gave him the opportunity to change his mind.”
Leah screwed her features into an expression of distaste. “Oh well, then, that makes it perfectly all right.”
“He didn’t take me seriously. He just laughed and said I would do as I was told.” Jean-Philippe narrowed his eyes, his expression rife with bitterness. “He made the same mistake he’d made many times before, treating me as a child with no thoughts or opinions of my own.”
It was deathly quiet in the room as Leah thought about this ideological, dangerously unbalanced young man’s rationale. Most of what he’d said made a chilling sort of sense, but she couldn’t quite believe that he’d come to England just to kill Hal. Why take such an enormous risk? She decided to push him on that aspect of his story. “You must have had opportunity to attack Lord Denby on the boat. Why wait so long?”
Jean-Philippe rolled his eyes. “Idiot! His crew are fiercer than any watchdog. They would have known it was me and I never would have left that boat alive.”
In a moment of clarity Leah understood what had really happened in France. “No one seriously suspected your father of treason,” she said slowly. “He wanted to move to England for other reasons.” She paused to assimilate her thoughts. “He became accustomed to English ways whilst serving here as ambassador at the king’s court and enjoyed the respect his position afforded him. Offered the opportunity to resume that life by way of thanks for his services to the crown, he chose to accept it. That is what you could not tolerate.”
“You know nothing,” Jean-Philippe spat sulkily.
“He felt it would be expedient to leave France for a while, until things settled down, just in case there were any doubts circulating about his loyalty. You, on the other hand, couldn’t risk the slightest rumour emerging about your father’s real activities during the war and his reasons for returning to London. It would have tarnished your precious family name beyond recall. And so you hid out in a place where you knew Lord Denby would find you, having first made it known that you’d seen an Englishman kill your father and were chasing him down. You would have then returned to France, quite the young hero, and taken over your father’s title and estates.”
“And so I still shall.” He grinned, disconcertingly confident. “Now, mademoiselle, it’s time to write that letter. Tell Lord Denby to meet us at the boathouse before the fireworks start at midnight.”
“Why would I deliberately draw my lover to his death?”
Martell levered himself from his position by the fireplace and stood directly in front of her, his eyes as cold and hard as ice. “There’s no saving Lord Denby,” he said. “But if you do as we ask, then your own life will be spared.”
Of course it will. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Because you have my word,” Jean-Philippe said grandly.
“But I know what you did. How do you know I wouldn’t tell the authorities?”
“Bah!” Jean-Philippe waved his arms in dismissal. “Who would listen to you, a paid courtesan? I saw how the gentry viewed you with ext
reme distaste when you danced with Lord Denby. If you don’t do as we ask, we shall still spare your life but make it very obvious that you killed his lordship.” He threw a gleeful glance Martell’s way, clearly delighted with his twisted logic. “The result of a lover’s tiff.”
“Very well then,” Leah said, with feigned reluctance. “You leave me with no choice.”
In actual fact she was keen to write. She’d think of a way to warn Hal, which would give him an advantage. There was over an hour before the fireworks were due to start. A lot could be achieved in an hour.
She wrote quickly, trying not to make it appear obvious that she was carefully choosing her words. They would read her missive and she worried about the rather obvious clue she’d left.
“What’s this?” Martell bashed the paper with the back of his hand. “This business about keeping his boots dry.”
“It’s a signal that I wish him to make love to me,” she said, smiling sweetly. “A secret way we have of communicating. When he reads that phrase, he will know the note isn’t a forgery.”
“And he is so keen to experience your charms that he would come to you in the middle of a ball?”
“Oh, yes,” Leah said with absolute confidence.
The two men exchanged a brief glance and nodded.
“Very well.” They opened the door and passed her note to someone waiting outside. “Deliver this to the gatehouse at once,” Martell said in French.
Damn, Leah hadn’t stopped to think there might be more of them. She fervently hoped Hal wouldn’t come alone, wondering what she could do to even up the odds if he did. She eyed a heavy vase on the table close to her. If she could divert their attention now, perhaps she’d manage to bash at least one of them over the head with it.
As though reading her thoughts, Martell produced a strong length of rope and bound her hands behind the back of the chair, hurting her shoulders as he yanked her arms back with unnecessary force. He then smirked as he lifted her skirts and secured her ankles to the legs of the chair. The ropes were so tight that she was afraid they’d cut off her circulation. Not that it really mattered. Unless Hal got here in time to rescue her, she would soon be dead anyway.
In spite of their assurance, she was well aware that she couldn’t be allowed to live.
* * *
Hal strode to his study, closed and locked the door behind him. He found his trusted dagger in a desk drawer and slid it into his waistband. He thought about a pistol but dismissed the idea. Rob and Wright would carry firearms aplenty. Hal contented himself with just a knife. He wasn’t about to discharge a gun anywhere near Leah if it could be avoided. Bullets had a habit of going astray, especially in small buildings.
Holding a lantern in one hand, Hal released the catch behind the third bookcase on the left. The shelves swung forward without making a sound, revealing the steps leading to the dark passageway beyond. Grimacing, Hal descended, anger and determination strengthening his resolve. If Leah’s captors had harmed one hair on her head, he would not be responsible for his actions. He ground his teeth, too intent on his purpose to spare time to examine the intensity of his feelings. The degree of chronic fear for her safety that gripped his heart like a vice.
Progress was frustratingly slow since the passageway was narrow and hadn’t been used for a long while. Some small pieces of rock had fallen, littering his path. He didn’t think that any noise his boots made in contacting them would penetrate the thick walls of the dower house. Unwilling to take that chance, he was obliged to place each foot carefully, testing the ground beneath it before transferring his full weight onto it. Quelling his impatience, he speculated upon the situation he was likely to be confronted with, convinced he was missing something vital.
Hal stop dead in his tracks when a truth so obvious that he ought to have seen it weeks ago hit him broadside. It was too much of a coincidence that both Leah and Jean-Philippe would disappear at the same time. Whoever had taken Leah had done so to lure him to her aid. Phillips and Humphreys knew nothing about Leah. They had only met her for the first time that night and nothing about their behaviour this evening had roused his suspicion to the slightest degree. Even if, as Rob suggested, his partiality for Leah had been apparent and one of them was the traitor, there would have been no opportunity for them to arrange her abduction.
Jean-Philippe on the other hand, had seen Leah on his boat, had probably watched Hal kiss her. He had certainly heard her beautiful voice and must have gauged the profound effect it had on Hal, even in the brief time they were on the deck together before Hal had Jean-Philippe bundled away.
Could it be? Was it really possible?
Did Jean-Philippe actually have it in him to murder his own father?
Hal’s every instinct, everything in him that was good and honourable, rebelled at the thought but he could think of no other explanation to fit the facts.
He had absolved his suspects and no one else had been sniffing round Denby, asking awkward questions whilst Jean-Philippe had been on board The Celandine. Hal only had Jean-Philippe’s word that an Englishman had killed his father but he, and his superiors at the Admiralty, had accepted it without question. None of them had considered that a mild-mannered, rather underdeveloped young man—still a youth really—could possibly be involved. It had been a brutal, frenzied attack that had killed the comte, one that still caused Hal to wonder if he was on the right track.
Hal had only met Jean-Philippe on a couple of occasions before the hostilities came to an end. Prior to that he had mostly been at the comte’s country estate, safely tucked away with his faithful tutor, Martell.
Ah, Martell!
Hal slowly recommenced walking, finding it far easier to believe that Martell had something to do with the comte’s death. There was something about him that had never sat comfortably with Hal. His saving grace was that he was devoted to his young pupil—perhaps too devoted. Hal had actually been glad that Jean-Philippe had someone with him whose society he enjoyed whilst confined on board The Celandine.
As he continued his cautious approach to the dower house, Hal became increasingly more certain that he was correct. Even so, he still had trouble accepting that he’d actually been duped by the young pup and his handler. He ground his jaw, determined, first and foremost, to rescue Leah. Then the pugnacious Frenchmen would pay for their dastardly deeds.
He reached the steps that led up to the dower house and paused, convinced that he could hear something—some melodious sound completely at odds with the circumstances. It took him a moment to realise that what he could hear was singing.
Beautiful singing.
His heart lurched. Leah was pouring her soul into Countess Almaviva’s aria from The Marriage of Figaro. Hal recognized the haunting beauty of a piece that had always been a favourite of his. He enjoyed opera and had once confessed to Leah that he particularly enjoyed Figaro.
“What the devil,” he muttered. Why had she chosen to sing at such a moment?
Then it came to him. She was warning him of the dangers. Unlike her captors, she knew he would approach the dower house via the tunnel but she couldn’t be sure that he would have figured out Jean-Philippe’s duplicity. Figaro had been banned in Vienna during the decade before the French Revolution, considered dangerous because of its satirical take on the aristocracy.
The admiration Hal felt for Leah’s quick-wittedness and bravery strengthened his resolve. She must be terrified and yet had remained levelheaded enough to think of a way to warn him that was unlikely to register with her captors. Hal rose to the challenge, determined that her resourcefulness would be rewarded with quick and decisive action on his part.
So resolved, he found the catch that opened the door, took a deep, fortifying breath and pushed it forward with one decisive thrust of his hand. He stepped through it, taking in the scene that greeted him at a glance. Leah was bound hand and foot but still singing beautifully enough to soften the hardest of hearts. Jean-Philippe and Martell certainly seemed en
thralled—so much so that it took them a moment to realise Hal was actually there.
Leah stopped singing and slumped against her bonds. “You are come at last,” she said softly.
“Did you doubt me?”
“Never.”
Casting her a glance intended to convey confidence, he walked directly towards Martell, whom he considered the more dangerous of the two. The man had already recovered from the shock of Hal’s arrival and was reaching for his weapon. Without breaking stride, Hal knocked the pistol he’d drawn to the floor and sent Martell tumbling after it. The Frenchman reacted quickly, rolling into the fall and reaching for the pistol again in the same movement. Hal applied his booted foot to the man’s hand, increasing the pressure until he heard bones crack, and Martell screamed in agony.
He hadn’t worried unduly about Jean-Philippe, not considering him particularly dangerous without the support of his mentor. Besides, all the commotion of his brief scrap with Martell would be enough to bring Rob and Wright running.
Except no one came bursting through the main door. Unperturbed, Hal turned to Jean-Philippe, ready to deal with him, only to find he had a pistol of his own. With a murderous glint in his eye, he trained it directly at Hal’s head, holding it in a rock-steady hand.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said in a glacial tone.
Chapter Nineteen
Hal’s appearance caused the strain Leah had been holding at bay to settle about her like a dull ache. Convinced that he’d be able to handle these two without input from her, she sagged against her bonds, physically and mentally exhausted and more than happy to cede control of the situation to him. A ferocious scowl etched deep furrows in his forehead and he looked ready to commit murder. A shudder passed through Leah. She had always sensed that he would be dangerous when roused and was glad not to be on the receiving end of his fulminating anger.
The thought had barely crossed her mind before he lost the advantage. It happened so quickly that she barely recalled how it had happened. One moment Hal was in command, the next Jean-Philippe was training a gun on him. There was a commotion outside, presumably Hal had brought others with him, and they were dealing with the rogues stationed there, but no one immediately came to Hal’s rescue.
Compromising the Marquess Page 23