by Darcy Burke
Glenmar bowed but Quince said sharply. “We’ve met, mother.”
The baron straightened with a look of mild surprise. “Oh, your grace?”
The baron was a man of middling height and unremarkable style. His features, his manner of dress, even his body language, all spoke of being quite ordinary. If Sabre hadn’t identified him, hadn’t said that Draco was exceptionally unexceptional tonight, then Quince would not have suspected this man of anything.
“Yes,” Quince said with a forced smile, “don’t you recall? At the Harrington affair. We spoke about gardens.”
Quince saw the barest narrowing of the baron’s eyes. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else, your grace.”
No, it was the same voice. Pitched differently for current company, but the same voice. “Do you think?” Quince asked. “That’s unfortunate because I have recently received the most excellent advice on how to get rid of snakes that are in one’s garden. If I could find the man I was speaking to that night it would be very important information for him to have.”
“Would it indeed?”
The dragon had an enormous amount of control. He barely betrayed himself by a twitch. But Quince knew the man had to be furious. Undoubtedly he had come here to gloat over the control he had gained by threatening the family of a duke. Now Quince was here to throw it all back in his face. It would do well to remember that there was nothing, literally nothing, that this man was not capable of.
Across the room Sabre saw Quince staring down Draco. This couldn’t be good, she thought. Starting a conflict with the man when there were so many innocents on the field? And who knew what lackeys Draco had, either in the room or nearby? It was a recipe for collateral disaster. But she wasn’t quite sure how to mitigate the damage as of yet. Trying to make the other guests leave when they saw no potential danger would be difficult to say the least.
At this point the best she could do was watch and look for opportunities. If Quince pointed himself at the vanguard then she would need to guard his flank and rear. And his family, as he had asked. With a small sigh she wished they had brought their swords down to supper.
FORTY-THREE
Quince clutched his wine glass with such tension he was almost afraid of breaking it. The dragon had thus far refused to be baited, and now they sat at the table across from one another. The dining room was cozy compared to most of the ducal properties. The table only seated ten and the fireplace was so close to his back that he was glad it wasn’t winter, when a crackling fire would most likely be unpleasantly hot behind him.
It was customary to spend more time speaking to the guests on your right and left than across the table, so he had yet to speak to the dragon since sitting down. Sabre sat to Quince’s right, but was currently entertaining the guest to her other side. Jeremy was across the table and to Draco’s left. It gave Quince some pause to have his brother so close to the man. Baron Granby.
Now that knowledge of Draco’s identity had been revealed it wasn’t possible to let him leave this evening without a resolution. Hopefully a resolution that included the baron leaving England and never coming back. Or, better yet, one where the baron died from some tragic accident and was never able to harm anyone else again. Quince wasn’t at peace with simply exiling the man since it was clear he would continue to hurt others. It was how the man was made, it was a sickness. But the duke wasn’t willing to risk the safety of his family and he had no doubt that turning the baron over to the Crown for punishment would only lead to unpleasant retribution. And try as he might, Quince wasn’t comfortable electing to pass judgment and kill the man outright. Or even by proxy, as he knew Robert would see the job done. That only left him with the option of driving the baron away. Convincing the dragon that leaving the duke’s loved ones alone was the safest course of action. That for the dragon to do otherwise was to risk his own life.
Now was not a time to wait. Not a time to observe. It was a time to act. Before the dragon could do more harm to his loved ones. A thought that only made him wonder what sort of relationship the baron had with his mother. Quince glanced down the table to where his mother sat at one end. It was another point to her egalitarianism that she had seated her son, the duke, mid-table rather than at the head. How friendly had she been with the dragon? Had the bastard touched her? More? Even contemplating such a thing made his blood boil again. He took a deep breath. Rage, although justified, could be deadly when confronting such a cold and vicious opponent. He took a moment to center himself, absorbing the buzzing voices at the table. Listening to Sabre chatting with her neighbor. Listening to his brother talk with the dragon.
“Lord Granby,” Quince called across the table. “Who else have you decided is a mark from the present company? I’m sure you aren’t wasting your time here. Or perhaps you are. Intellectuals aren’t known for their wealth as a general rule.”
Quince saw Jeremy furrow his brow. The baron, however, remained calm. But that calm had now iced over a bit. “I think perhaps you have had too much of that wine, your grace.”
“I doubt that I’ve had quite enough. Driving snakes from one’s garden is thirsty work.”
“Quincy,” his mother’s voice came from her end of the table. “What are you doing?”
“Dealing with a pest, mother. Don’t worry yourself.”
The rest of the company had fallen silent and watched uneasily and the baron finally spoke again. “What are you hoping to gain, your grace?”
“I have nothing to gain,” Quince corrected. “I’m only going to point out what you have to lose. I haven’t gone digging in your garden, you see. But I did go digging in my own. And the things I have found there, the papers, are shocking.”
At last. The dragon’s eyes narrowed to slits. His expression changed from bland insouciance to repressed rage. A dark flush stained his cheeks.
“The rest of you may be excused,” Quince said, relying on the authority of his station to be granted their compliance. “Baron Granby and I have some things to discuss.”
The guests rose. Granby lurched from his seat and snaked an arm around Jeremy’s throat, pressing a knife under the boy’s chin. “You have made a terrible mistake, little hedgehog.”
The duchess screamed, “Jeremy!”
Quince seized an iron poker from the fireplace and leapt on top of the table, knocking over wine glasses and crushing them under his feet, the red liquid spreading out under his boots and staining the tablecloth crimson. He pointed the poker at Draco’s head. “If you harm my brother I can guarantee you will not survive this evening. That’s ultimately what you want, isn’t it Granby? To survive? If so, there is only one way you will be permitted to do that.”
The dragon spit towards Quince’s boots. “How dare you threaten me? You are weak. Soft. You were a disappointment to your father.”
“My father never understood me. And luckily for him, I never understood him either. Had I known what you all were truly capable of then this day of judgment would have come much sooner.” He took another step forward, crunching broken glass and china underfoot. “Because believe me when I say that you have been judged. And found guilty. The only way that you will continue your miserable, execrable life is, like all pests, by scuttling into the darkness. By leaving England and never darkening our shores again, either in person or by your influence. Should any harm come to me and mine I will kill you. Should I die, the men, powerful men, who hold documentation of your murder and treason are instructed to take it to the Crown and you can rest assured that your deeds will find you hanged. Certainly you know that Cygnus’ son hates you as much as I do and would not hesitate to see you ended.”
“Why should I even believe that you have found papers? That there are any papers?”
Quince used his off hand to reach into his vest pocket, withdrawing one piece of paper. “I brought this just for you.” He tossed the paper onto Granby’s place setting. He could see indecision flicker briefly in the dragon’s eyes. It was something of a r
isk to take the knife from Jeremy’s throat since it was the primary leverage that was keeping the damned man uninjured at the moment. But they were all currently at a stalemate. From the corner of his eye Quince saw his mother drawing closer, a silver candlestick clutched in her hands. The last thing he needed was for the dragon to have two of his family at his mercy. He heard a thump and crunch behind him, and then saw another poker extended toward the baron.
“You had best heed the duke’s advice,” Sabre said. “it were left for me to decide, you would already be dead.”
The dragon sneered. “A weak boy and a woman? I don’t find myself intimidated.”
Quince arched a brow. “Would you prefer that I call in the Home Office agents that are outside? You don't believe I left my mother unprotected after your threats, do you?”
The dragon looked up and Quince could tell that the man was measuring him, calculating how possible it was that agents were outside. And whether Quince was capable of killing him outright if the situation were pushed any further.
Sabre chimed in, almost gloating. “As it was in service to a duke I’m sure Robert sent some of his best men.”
“Jeremy,” the baron said sharply, “pick up that paper so that I may read it.”
Jeremy nodded slightly. He had to lean forward to pick up the paper, making the dragon loosen his grip for a moment. The duchess took that opportunity to strike, bringing the heavy silver candlestick down on the back of his head. Quince jabbed the poker into the dragon’s chest, pushing him backward while Jeremy managed to twist away. Quince followed through, continuing to drive the man before him by force alone as he stepped off the table, and slammed the baron into the wall, rending a sharp exclamation of pain from the man. The dragon raised the hand with a knife in it and Quince knocked it from him with the poker as though it had been a stick held by a child, hearing the snap of bone from the strike, then settled the cold, pointed iron under the baron’s throat.
Sabre jumped down from the table to herd Jeremy and the duchess behind herself. She still held up the iron poker, even though it seemed Quince had the dragon in hand. She scanned the room again looking for anyone who seemed inclined to help the baron. It was hard for her to believe that he would travel without some sort of reinforcements, but she had yet to see any of the guests or servants lift so much as a finger to aid the man.
Quince spoke again, his voice cold and sharp as a sword. “Have you decided yet? Will it be death now, death by hanging, or a quiet life somewhere that I will never hear of?”
The dragon’s eyes blazed with rage. Sabre recognized that, even through his fury, the baron was still calculating. Quince had obviously surprised the dragon with both his strength of purpose and skill. The duke’s righteousness was something to behold. But that would only be a minor consideration in whatever tactic the dragon chose next.
Sabre heard a commotion from the front hallway and edged herself in that direction, just in case the dragon’s men were finally riding to his rescue. Then she heard a voice rise in irritation.
“I don’t bloody care if the Prince himself is in there. Let me pass before I throw you out of the way.”
Sabre almost laughed. Gideon. Of course. Apparently receiving a packet of papers had sent the earl into action again.
Quince pressed the poker more firmly into the baron’s throat. “You may want to decide soon. My friend is even less forgiving than I am. And remember, if I allow you to live it is under the condition of not bothering any of us ever again. No threats, no revenge. Just the opportunity to live your life somewhere else.”
The dragon nodded. Not cowed, precisely, but recognizing his lack of options.
Quince took a step back, keeping the poker leveled at the dragon, and nodded to the window. “I suggest you leave that way before the earl arrives. And find the nearest ship. If we can find you we will rescind our offer.”
The dragon managed to open the window one-handed and fled before Gideon, Robert, and Charlie surged into the room.
FORTY-FOUR
June 1815, London
Sabre had argued that a short engagement was best and her fiancé didn’t seem inclined to argue. Thus within a few short weeks she was donning her wedding dress, trying not to succumb to butterflies. Robert had granted the use of his bedroom to the bridal party so she would have more room to prepare. Jack was helping her straighten the fabric and smooth down the skirts.
“Let me give you this while your mothers are out of the room,” her friend said, pulling a small book from her reticule. It gave Sabre pause to think that she had two mothers now. More intimidating was the fact that they seemed to like each other, leaving her with the impression that there might be cases of two against one in her future.
“What is it?”
“It’s your ‘something borrowed.’ I had to return to Kellington to fetch it. You must promise me that you won’t leave it out where someone could take it.”
Sabre furrowed her brow and gave her friend a skeptical look. “What on earth is it?”
“Take a quick peek.”
She flipped the miniature book open and its purpose was immediately obvious, filled with lewd illustrations. “Oh my!”
Jack waved her hands. “Now put it away before someone sees it.”
A third voice joined their conversation. “Even a fellow Haberdasher?”
Sabre turned to find George standing in the doorway. Their friend was just between their own heights, slender to the edge of gaunt, with pale skin and light hair. Sabre was so surprised to see her that she squealed louder than when she had been a child. They all rushed forward and met in the middle of the room, embracing.
Sabre could feel tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, George! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me by missing my wedding!”
“Well, at least you planned one, short a timeframe as it might have been. Unlike our Jackie.”
Jack sniffed. “There were extenuating circumstances.”
George chuckled. “Yes. I see what comes of my leaving either of you alone.”
Sabre heard her mother’s voice. “Sabrina is everything-? Oh, George! You’re here at last. No wonder I heard shrieking.”
As George turned to greet Viscountess Bittlesworth and Duchess Telford, Sabre tucked the little book down in her bodice.
“Good thinking,” Jack whispered. “He’ll enjoy finding it later.”
Sabre turned incredulous eyes on her friend and said in a fierce whisper. “You are so naughty! I never would have expected it.”
Jack arched an eyebrow. “Let us remember who married Lord Lucifer.”
“Hush!” Sabrina admonished.
The ladies took to rearranging their bouquets so that George would have flowers to carry as an attendant. Sabre thought now that she had her best friends and was marrying the duke, everything was perfect.
Quince would have sworn that his cravat had shrunk since he dressed this morning.
“Stop pacing.”
The earl’s impatient voice pulled him up short. Both Gideon and Jeremy attended him, but currently they were seated on the wooden straight-backed chairs that lined the wall in the vestry.
“What has you worried, Quince?” the earl asked.
“I’m not worried.”
Gideon looked over at Jeremy as though for the young man’s support.
“You appear worried,” Jeremy confirmed.
“Well, weren’t you anxious at your wedding?” Quince accused the earl.
Gideon shrugged. “Of course. I hardly knew Jacqueline and you know I’m not one to back out of my commitments. Marriage, eternity with someone I didn’t know, was quite intimidating. You, however, know Sabre quite well. I assume you’re entering into this rather well informed.”
Quince knew, oddly enough, what he really wanted was Sabre. That she would know the right thing to say to keep his anxiety from overtaking him. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was so anxious.
“Perhaps today is a bad day to do
this,” he heard himself saying.
The earl raised a brow. “My job is quite clear, and that is to make sure you are at the altar at the appointed hour. If I have to knock you out to do it, you know I will.”
Quince huffed out a breath.
Gideon stood and addressed Jeremy. “Make sure he stays here. I shall return.”
After Gideon left Jeremy said, “He won’t be gone long, so what is our plan?”
“What?”
“Obviously as your brother my first duty is to you, and you want to leave. I’m thinking perhaps you should don the vicar’s robes and escape out the back. If anyone tries to stop you, simply bless them and run on.”
Quince grinned. “I had no idea you had a sense of humor.”
“You doubt my seriousness?” the marquess asked with a moderately unsettled expression.
The duke paused. Perhaps what he had interpreted as a formerly unnoticed dry wit was actually dullness. Perhaps Jeremy not only had their father’s face but more of his personality than Quince had realized as well.
Then Jeremy’s lips twitched and he was shortly reduced to helpless laughter. “You should have seen your face.”
Quince lightheartedly chucked his brother on the back of the head. “Unruly brat.”
Jeremy smoothed his hair back in place, still laughing a bit. “Like I want the earl to hunt me down and thrash me.”
The door opened again and Gideon stepped back inside with a bottle and three glasses.
Quince groaned. “Must you act like alcohol solves everything?”
“I’m pragmatic. If it didn’t work, I wouldn’t do it.”
Jeremy jumped up to hold glasses for the earl as he poured.
“Just a bit of wine,” Gideon said. “It will help to settle you.”
“Good Lord, this is the sacramental wine, isn’t it?”
“The vicar was quite happy to part with it for a generous donation.”