The Seduction

by Julia Ross

  Alden sank to the ground, pulling Juliet down beside him. He took off his coat and wrapped it over her shoulders. She had no idea what he planned to do next and she hadn't asked him. They sat side by side in absolute silence, while the irises were trampled and the marsh grass cut away. There seemed to be no good outcome to any of this - whether Lord Edward found Harald Fairhair's treasure or not, she was still married to George Hardcastle.

  Α cock crowed somewhere, then another, a raucous echo from the home farms. Ducks startled into sudden flight from the lake near the house, rattling the air with their wings as they passed. The eggshell colors bleached from the sky, mutating into the clear blue of an early summer morning.

  Juliet let her hand lie in Alden's palm and listened to the throb of her own heart as the picks rose and fell, and the duke's son paced beside an ever-growing pile of dirt. It was an hour, maybe two, before the sun broke over the treetops to flood the diggers with color. Lord Edward's gray coat flushed to rose pink, his face leaped into focus, stark with powder and rouge and the patches that covered his scars. He pulled off his tricorn and scratched under his wig.

  The soil in the pit was becoming damper. The picks had given way to shovels now. At each stroke they sucked and popped as bricks of earth were removed. Juliet watched with her heart in her mouth. She knew there was another kind of treasure here. She just didn't know what she'd do if Lord Edward found it.

  ALDEN WATCHED THE MEN LABOR. HE HAD THROWN HIS NET wide, weaving this trap. Α dozen things could go wrong. Devil take it, a hundred things could go wrong, yet none of it truly mattered, not even revenge on Lord Edward, as long as Juliet loved him. She sat beside him in the damp, shadowy morning, her hand in his. He knew that this invasion of her childhood home distressed her, and he had taken a further risk she didn't know about: he had sent a letter explaining everything to her father, for he knew that Lord Felton was home. If the earl didn't come, she would never know that her father still turned his back on her. Yet if he did-?

  The desire to protect her, save her from harm or distress, seared Alden's heart.

  Ι would slay dragons for you, Juliet. Ι would storm the walls of Troy. Ι would fight the hoards of Genghis Khan. Anything to protect you and save you from harm. My heart trembles and swells, Juliet. Is this love?

  Yet he could not save her from this: this witnessing at her childhood home or the results of that, if what he had planned didn't happen as he hoped.

  Lord Edward's boots wore a dark track in the dew-soaked grass. Across a distant field a small herd of cows began to stream toward their barn, ready for morning milking. The sun grew warmer.

  The laborers were working in shifts now. The hole was growing deeper. Α pick clanged against something hard.

  Lord Edward spun about.

  "You have something?"

  The laborer bent and began to scrape with his shovel. "Looks like a box, my lord."

  "Α box!" Ignoring the damage to his breeches, the duke's son dropped to both knees in the dirt at the edge of the pit. "Lud, man! Hand it here!" He reached down with both hands.

  The laborer handed him a mud-covered cube.

  And all hell broke loose.

  Juliet tore her hand from Alden's and raced down the slope, shouting.

  Alden sprang up and ran after her.

  Several men jumped out from behind the ruined brick wall and began to run toward them.

  Across a far field, a man on horseback came galloping ever closer.

  Lord Edward's laborers flung aside their tools and took to their heels.

  "How dare you!" Juliet yelled. "That's mine!"

  Clutching the box to his chest, the duke's son scrambled to his feet, stepped back and slipped into the pit.

  In a flurry of skirts, Juliet skidded to a halt at the edge of the dirt pile. Alden caught her, just as the other men came up behind them, led by an older man, obviously a peer, in a white wig and expensive green frock coat.

  Juliet lifted her head and met the man's raw gaze. For a moment they stared at each other in silence.

  "Lud!" she said at last with a half-laugh. "Father?"

  "Well, madam." As if paper blew in a storm, Lord Felton's face crumpled. "It has been a long time, but you find me well enough, daughter. "

  He held out his arms. Alden watched as Juliet walked directly into her father's embrace. Thank God!

  "Perhaps," Alden said to the gaping servants, "someone should help Lord Edward out of the mire?"

  Immediately several of the earl's servants reached down. Smeared with mud, Lord Edward was pulled onto the grass. As he stood, his wig fell, revealing the stubble of his shaved head beneath. The powdered headpiece lay ignored on the ground, where one of the menservants inadvertently ground it into the mud.

  "Damme, Lord Edward!" the earl said. "What the devil do you think you're about, digging a great pit on my land, what?"

  The duke's son bowed, still hugging the box. "Lord Felcon, your servant, sir. Your indulgence, Ι pray." Bareheaded in the ear1y dawn light, Lord Edward shimmered like a shard of ice, hard, brilliant, with no loss of dignity. "Your daughter and Ι were once engaged to be married-"

  "Ι am aware of that, sir," the earl said.

  Lord Edward bowed again. "Ι have been forbearing, you must agree, sir, even in the face of ridicule and scandal. Ι have been constant, even in the face of faithlessness." He glanced pointedly at Alden. "Even now, when Ι discover your daughter once more in such unfortunate company-"

  The earl looked uncomfortable. His hands dropped, then he waved his servants away, out of earshot. "Ι have no quarrel with you on that score, sir. My daughter has much to answer for, Ι don't deny it."

  The powdered face smiled. "Yet Ι have only wished to regain her affections. To find her treasure seemed but a small step-"

  "Then you admit the box is mine," Juliet interrupted, stepping forward.

  "Ma'am, my heart is yours." Lord Edward spun to face her, eyes glittering, a muscle leaping in his jaw, though his tone was bland. "But this box? Perhaps you forget what happened at Marion Hall?"

  Juliet stopped dead.

  The moment stretched, ripe with chaotic possibilities.

  Pink coat skirts belled as the duke's son turned back to the earl. "Sir Reginald Denby's country seat-"

  Juliet stood like a birch tree, white-faced, on the grass.

  "Perhaps you have heard of it, sir?" Alden interjected helpfully. "Α place known for its interesting architecture."

  With a puzz1ed frown, the earl stared at the duke's son, then broke the silence as if he broke glass. "To what the devil do you refer, sir? My daughter was at Marion Hall?"

  "Alas, and in the company of Gracechurch, whose reputation is well known."

  "In spite of which sad fact," Alden said, "Lord Edward once again offered for your daughter's hand, which he would hardly have done if she had been in any way compromised by my unsteady self-"

  "She refused me." Lord Edward's voice rang. "But she gave me her locket and the rights to this box, if Ι could find it. "

  Juliet looked stunned.

  "This is true?" the earl asked.

  "Gracechurch will no doubt corroborate what Ι say," the duke's son said, triumphant. "Unless he remembers the evening differently? Do you, Gracechurch? Must Ι bore her father with more details of what Lady Elizabeth Juliet Amberleigh said and did that night?"

  "Quite unnecessary, Ι am sure," Alden said faintly. Α mad urge to laugh was almost his undoing.

  "Then who would dispute that this box is indeed mine?"

  "No one here, Lord Edward," Juliet said. "Since Ι apparently gave it to you so freely, by all means, keep the box. Yet Ι will give you the value in cash of its contents."

  "Are you mad, ma'am? Harald Fairhair's treasure?"

  Alden swept the duke's son a bow worthy of any drawing room, using his handkerchief co add a particularly insulting flourish. The lace caught a clear ray of light breaking over the trees, flashing for a moment like a white bird.
>
  "Alas, sir," he said. "If Ηarald Fairhair put his gold in that box, I'm afraid he must have traveled forward in time to do so. That is a tea chest, Ι believe, made about twenty years ago?"

  "Which Ι once buried here," Juliet said gaily, "with Κit. The soil must have subsided, to make our box sink so deeply into the ground."

  Lord Edward glanced down at the mud-caked wood. Without a word he pulled open the lid. Beneath the rouge and patches, his face turned white.

  The box fell to the ground as he reached into a pocket and brought out the locket. He stared at it for a moment, his mouth frozen in an odd grimace.

  Alden plucked Juliet's gold from his enemy's suddenly nerveless fingers. "Disappointed, sir?"

  With arctic bravado, his face a wax mask, the duke's son raised both brows. "Lud, sir, a mere trifle-"

  "Compared to the Isle of Dogs Company? The fur trade? That nice network of investments recommended by Robert Dovenby?"

  Like a marionette, Lord Edward jerked. "What the devil do you know about that?'"

  Alden smiled as he ran his thumb over Juliet's locket, then handed it to her. "Only that you are betrayed in your turn, sir. Did you really think the Dove was your friend? You are ruined, I'm afraid. Would you like all the details?"

  One by one, he began to name them: the nonexistent ships, the cargoes never purchased, the empire of fraud and greed so willingly entered into . . .

  Α catalogue of ruin.

  The duke's son ground ringed knuckles against his discolored teeth, his jaw working. Sliding down into a crouch, rose skirts crushed over the scabbard at his hip, he clutched his prickly head in both shaking hands. The silence was deafening.

  Alden leaned down and picked up the box. "It's a charming feeling, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "Good for the bowels."

  Leaving the duke's son huddled on the dirt pile, Alden gave the box to Juliet. "So what is inside? Ι must admit to a natural curiosity."

  Juliet took Alden's handkerchief and spread it on the ground. She lifted the lid of the box and poured out the contents. Α tumble of tiny men fell onto the square of linen.

  "Ah," Alden said, dropping to one knee to look at them. "Toy soldiers. "

  Juliet met his gaze and smiled, before she turned to her father. "Yes, toy soldiers. Kit's favorites. We buried them here in fun, then couldn't find them again, however much we dug for them. It was just a child's game, based on the cryptic numbers in the locket."

  "Child's game, what?" Lord Felton said, bending over the toys. "Then my daughter played a trick on you, Lord Edward, when she sent you here to dig a hole to Hades on my property. And from what Lord Gracechurch has written me about your affairs, sir, your trickery, your fraud, and your treatment of my daughter - with proof, Ι might add, sir, with proof - I'd say the jig is up for you, sir. My daughter deserves a better man than you, Lord Edward Vane!"

  Face wet, as if slick with melting ice, eyes fixed on Juliet, the duke's son sprang to his feet. Too quickly for Alden to protect her from what Lord Edward did next.

  Ι would slay dragons for you. Ι would storm the walls of Troy. Ι would fight the hoards of Genghis Khan to protect you and save you from harm.

  But he was too far away, sword hanging useless at his side, and kneeling.

  As if he watched from some great distance, Alden saw Lord Edward smile at her. As slowly as honey dripping from a spoon, the duke's son reached inside his coat and drew something out. The object caught a flash of sunlight as it turned, sparking in the cold morning, piercing, brilliant, striking like a knife into Alden's heart - although the lethal intent wasn't for him.

  It was for Juliet.

  Too late, she flung up a hand as Lord Edward raised a dagger and made ready to throw.

  Alden had only that slow, nightmare split second to leap ten feet, to draw a pistol, to shout, to stop time. As he threw himself toward Juliet, hell seemed to close around him, roaring demonic screams in his ears, stopping his heart cold in his chest. All he could achieve was the shout: the last word she would hear on this earth, filled with the entire contents of his soul.

  "Juliet!"

  An echoing retort rang in his ears. Eyes wide with shock, Lord Edward dropped the dagger and crumpled to the ground. Alden crushed Juliet unharmed in his arms as he stared up into the smoking barrel of a pistol and another face, contorted with fury: the horseman.

  The horseman who had been thundering toward them all across the pasture, brought from London by one of Alden's messages.

  "Lud," Alden said. "It's Hamlet. Will anyone be left standing at the end of the play besides Horatio?"

  "Bastard!" shouted the horseman. "The bloody bastard!"

  Lord Edward writhed on the ground, clutching his shoulder where blood oozed between his fingers. "Hardcastle? Lud, sir! You shot me?"

  His face murderous, George swung from his horse and stalked toward the duke's son. Before he reached him, at a signal from the earl, several of Lord Felton's men caught his arms and held him pinioned. The earl moved to stand beside his daughter. Juliet glanced at her father and grasped his arm, allowing Alden to move away, freed for action.

  "We are ruined, sir!" George hissed, staring at Lord Edward. "Ruined!" Tugging against the restraining arms, he thrust his head forward and spat. "Your investment schemes have proved to be a bloody bubble, sir. Our creditors already know it. Everyone knows it. Everything has imploded. Everything!"

  "Alas, Mr. Hardcastle," Alden said. "Lord Edward has already discovered the depth of his own deceptions. Your news is only confirming it."

  "He ruined my business to start with! Set himself up in competition with my timber trade, ruined me, then offered to help me out, so he could ruin me more completely." George swung his head back toward the duke's son. "They're after us for fraud, sir, and embezzlement. Ι could hang."

  "Then hang, sir!" Lord Edward retched once into the dirt. "And curse your father's ignoble blood, which won't protect you from the gallows."

  "Damme, sir! If we hang, we hang together!" shouted George.

  "Alas, whatever he has done, they will not hang a peer's son, Mr. Hardcastle, but they might hang you," Alden said. "However, if you leave now for France, you may yet escape the noose. Though not before you and Ι settle a few differences, of course."

  Blood seeped steadily between the long fingers clenched on the pink coat, yet with mad defiance, Lord Edward laughed and sat up. "You would duel with scum like that, Gracechurch?"

  "Lud, sir," Alden said with the lift of one brow. "Sooner than Ι would duel with scum like you."

  The duke's son sprang back to his feet, sunlight blazing from his now drawn sword. For a moment he stood poised, that lethal, practiced fencing partner, one of the best swordsmen in England. Yet he was losing blood, his cuff stained red, his sword hilt slick in his palm.

  Purely in self-defense, Alden's own blade hissed into his hand. Yet with a short bow, he gestured as if to throw the rapier aside. "1 never duel with a bleeding man, Lord Edward. It makes him mean - and it removes all the art from the game."

  Face glassy, ignoring Alden's undefended stance, Lord Edward thrust hard for the heart.

  Alden parried and sidestepped. At his enemy's next lunge, he disarmed him. Scooping up both the dropped rapier and dagger, Alden threw the weapons aside, where one of the menservants gathered them, then began to toss his own sword to Lord Felton.

  Yet as he turned, Juliet screamed. Lord Edward had grabbed the handle of an abandoned pick. He swung it with mad strength, the heavy steel dull, spattering mud. Alden's rapier shattered, blade severed from the guard, the shock of it numbing his arm to the shoulder as he barely deflected the blow. He ducked, snatched, and averted the next strike with a shove1.

  "Faith, sir, a most original choice of weapons." Alden dodged again as the pick crashed past his head. "What about a duel with scythes?"

  "Fight me, damn you!" Lord Edward shouted, though his sleeve bloomed with red poppies, streaming to the wrist.

  "Get well, sir," Alde
n said kindly, "and Ι will meet you in a hay meadow. Ι guarantee to best you by the third windrow."

  Metal rang again as Alden snared the head of the pick with his shovel. He twisted hard. The pick fell to the ground.

  Lord Edward sank to his knees as if his puppetmaster had severed his strings. "Ι should have poisoned you like vermin-" he began, but he looked over his shoulder and grinned like a death mask.

  George had wrenched away from his gaping captors. Before anyone could stop him, he launched himself at Lord Edward and flung him td the ground. As George's fist crashed into his injured shoulder, the duke's son shrieked once and fainted.

  "Scum?" George shouted. "Scum!" Without compunction, he reared up on both knees, grabbed a rock from the dirt pile and brought it down with a sickening crash on Lord Edward's naked head.

  Alden leaped, pinning George down with one knee and trap ping the man's arms behind his back. He wrenched off his cravat and used the strip of linen to bind George's hands, before handing him back into the custody of Lord Felton's men.

  "Lud, Mr. Hardcastle," he said. "You have just murdered the son of a peer of the realm. Ι am damned sorry for it, because once he was fit - I had every intention of murdering him myself." He dusted off his palms with a fresh handkerchief and bit back real anger. "Though I'm damned if Ι would have slaughtered an injured man in front of my wife."

  Her back rigid, her hair rich in the now bright morning sun, Juliet had pressed one hand to her mouth and spun about to walk away, followed by Alden's silent, agonized apologies: that he had relied on those heedless menservants, had not seen this coming and prevented it.

  George glanced after her. "The damned whore! She's no bloody wife to me!" He swung his head. "When we first married, she tupped me like a sailor's doxy, but now she won't even f-"

  Lord Felton brought his stick down across George's mouth. Alden caught the earl by the arm. "Enough death, perhaps, for one morning? Ι didn't mean that business about Hamlet literally. Mr. Hardcastle is distraught over his financial losses. He did not intend to become a murderer."

  Lord Felton turned to Alden, his face set in lines of command, a peer of the realm witnessing mayhem in his own domain. "Yet murder is what happened. You planned all this, what? When you sent me that letter asking me to come out here this morning - intercept Lord Edward and his men, meet my daughter again - you had all this planned?"