Angel had been so flabbergasted at the sight of her husband she had forgotten that her stepfather would be coming up the rope after her.
Crowe’s face contorted in hatred and rage at the sight of his enemy. His sword was out of its scabbard in a flash.
Lucian thrust Angel away from him into another pair of arms. “Guard her for me,” he ordered, drawing his own sword.
The arms tugged Angel back. Looking up, she saw that they belonged to the man who had come to see her husband as they were leaving for Mather’s.
“Joseph Pardy at your service, m’lady.”
His words were nearly lost in the clang of steel against steel as Lucian’s and Rupert’s swords engaged.
Their loathing for each other was clear on their faces. They began with a flurry of thrusts, parries, and feints as each man seemed bent on annihilating the other.
They were both big men, and strong. Angel’s arm ached in sympathy at the force with which, time after time, blade met blade.
She belatedly appreciated that had Lucian unleashed his full strength against her that day at Fernhill, he would have defeated her in a moment.
Angel was surprised and dismayed at how quick on his feet her stepfather was. And how cunning his hand. He was well-trained, too. There did not appear to be a move that he did not know how to counter.
Lucian fought with more dash and daring than Rupert, taking risks that made Angel cringe.
The battle raged back and forth across the deck, and neither man was able to drive home his advantage. The other men Angel had noticed earlier watched the fight silently from the shadows, taking care to stay out of the opponents’ way.
Lucian’s sudden feint followed by a thrust at Rupert’s chest took the older man by surprise. Parrying weakly, Crowe caught the forte of Lucian’s blade against the foible of his own, which nearly spun from his hand. As he attempted to recover, Lucian pressed his attack.
Rupert, retreating before Lucian’s offensive, was backing directly toward Angel. She moved quickly sideways toward a large winch to get out of the men’s path and give them more room.
Her foot became entangled in something on the deck. She tripped and might have fallen had not Joseph Pardy caught and steadied her. Looking down, she saw the offending object was a sword that had slid against the winch and now lay wedged there, abandoned and forgotten. Her foot had caught in its hilt.
Pardy smiled grimly. “The weapon of m’lord’s last opponent,” he explained. “May he dispatch this one as successfully.”
So Rupert was not the first man her husband had duelled this night. She offered up a prayer of thanks that Lucian had won. “To whom did the sword belong?” she inquired.
“One-eyed Jake.” Pardy grinned broadly. “Put an end to the miserable cur’s pirate career, ‘e did.”
Angel stifled a cry of alarm as Lucian slipped and nearly lost his balance. As he fought to recover it, Rupert instantly seized this opportunity. He dived forward, aiming his sword at Lucian’s heart.
Angel thought that her husband was a dead man, but somehow he managed to deflect the blade slightly with his own.
The steel penetrated the side of Lucian’s shirt, and blood blossomed around the hole.
Angel felt as though the sword had gone through her own heart.
“A mere scratch,” Lucian scoffed, and she dared to breath again.
Rupert growled. “Damn you, you have the devil’s own luck!”
“I make my own luck,” Lucian snapped, taking the offensive again with a thrust below the heart that had Rupert leaping sideways.
There was another spate of feints, thrusts, and parries as the two men tacked across the deck.
Out of the corner of her eye, Angel, still standing by the winch, caught sight of a figure hunched in the shadow of the gunwale. It was Horace.
She had forgotten about him, and she had been so absorbed in the duel between his father and her husband that she had not noticed him come aboard. She wondered how long he had been crouching there unobserved. His devious, calculating expression as he watched his father and Lucian fight sent a shiver of fear through Angel.
Suddenly, with a determined gleam in his eye, he pulled his own sword. Glancing in the direction that he was staring, Angel saw her husband’s back, broad and unprotected.
With a smothered cry, she bent down and grabbed the sword still lodged against the winch. She ran at Horace as he moved toward Lucian’s back, his sword raised.
Angel leapt forward. With all her strength, she brought her own weapon down on Horace’s blade as he was about to plunge it into her unsuspecting husband.
The point missed Lucian’s back by no more than an inch, but it missed.
He was concentrating so intently on his duel with Rupert that he was unaware of what had happened behind him. Lucian suddenly lunged forward, driving Rupert back across the deck.
“On guard, you little worm,” Angel cried at Horace, incensed by his sneak attack on her husband.
Horace looked incredulous. “You cannot mean—”
“Fight or die!”
He decided to fight.
Angel thrust at his belly, he parried, and she counterparried, then riposted.
Horace had neither his father’s ability nor training with a sword. He was no match for his stepsister, and she ended it quickly with a shrewd blow that sent his sword spinning from his hand.
Disarmed and panicked, he backed frantically away from her and fell over the winch behind him, landing on his back amid the rigging.
The point of Angel’s sword was instantly at his throat, lest he try to get up.
“Don’t kill me,” he pleaded in terror.
Joseph Pardy came up beside her, a new respect for her shining in his eyes. “Me’ll tie ‘im up, m’lady, and put ‘im with the other flotsam.”
She nodded and turned to see how her husband was faring.
Rupert was panting hard now. It was clear he was spent, and the end was near.
Apparently recognizing that himself, he made a wild, desperate lunge that nearly slipped below his opponent’s guard, but Lucian quickly parried, then followed with a lightning riposte in quinte that caught her stepfather completely off guard.
Lucian’s sword plunged deep into Rupert’s shoulder.
As the earl withdrew his blade, blood spurted from Crowe’s wound. He swayed, his expression one of dazed disbelief; then he crumpled to the deck.
Lucian pulled out a handkerchief, cleaned the blood from his sword, and started to sheathe it.
“Damn you, don’t do that,” Crowe growled. “Finish what you have started.”
“Nay,” Lucian said bluntly, “I prefer to see you hang.”
“Hang! I have committed no crime.”
Lucian laughed aloud at this protestation. “To the contrary, there are damned few you have not committed, including murder. You know what I am talking about.”
From the shock in Crowe’s eyes, he did.
“Don’t bother to try to deny it. Maude has told us all we need to know.”
Rupert’s already white face turned ashen.
“Bind his wound and take good care of him,” Lucian instructed Joseph Pardy and the other men who had gathered round. “He will not cheat the gallows if I can help it.”
Lucian returned his sword to its scabbard. Angel ran up to him. “You are wounded.” She pointed in concern to the blood on the side of his shirt.
“A mere scratch.”
She did not try to hide her scepticism.
He smiled. “Come with me to the captain’s cabin and you can minister to me.” He took her hand and led her down the companionway that she had seen David use earlier.
Below deck, they made their way down a narrow passageway. Soft sobbing could be heard through an open door. Angel stopped and peered inside.
David was sitting on a bunk in the small cabin holding Kitty, who was weeping in his arms.
“Don’t cry, my sweet,” he murmured reassuringly. “You are
safe now.”
“I cannot believe it is you,” she cried. “Oh, David, I was so afraid that I would never see you again. It made me realize how much I love you. Tell me that you still love me, too.”
“I do,” he said softly.
Kitty gave a little sob, and hugged him to her.
Then she said with more determination in her voice than Angel had ever heard before, “I do not care what my father says, David. I am going to marry you if you will still have me.”
Lucian tugged on Angel’s hand and guided her down the passageway. “Let us give the lovebirds a little privacy.”
“I hope Bloomfield gives his permission for Kitty and David to marry.”
“If he does not, Kitty, her mother, and I will convince him.” Lucian turned and drew his wife into the circle of his arms. Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, “Thank God, little love, you are not given to fainting and hysterics like Kitty. Though at times, I wish you were not quite so brave. God’s oath, I aged at least a decade when I realized you intended to jump into the water.” His arms tightened around her. “I was terrified that I would not be able to reach you.”
“Thank God, you could, although that was not my sentiment when you grabbed my wrist. I thought you were One-eyed Jake.”
He grinned at her. “He and I are much alike in colouring and build, which was fortunate, for his clothes fit me very well. I did not want Rupert to suspect he was climbing into a trap.” Lucian held her a little away from him and frowned. “Speaking of clothes, love, your skirts seem to be missing.”
“Oh-h-h,” she gasped, feeling hot colour flooding her cheeks. “I had to get rid of them so they would not hamper me when I tried to escape. To hide that they were missing, I kept myself wrapped in a blanket until I began climbing the ladder.”
“My clever wife,” Lucian said with a chuckle. “Let me see if I can find you something to wear.”
He escorted Angel into the great cabin. She stared in surprise at its luxurious appointments including a gilt-framed looking glass attached to the bulkhead and an oversized bunk covered with a fur rug. A coat that Angel recognized as one of Lucian’s had been tossed carelessly onto the bunk.
He went over to a cupboard built into the bulkhead. As he opened it, Angel tugged his shirt from his breeches, saying, “First, I must check your wound.”
“I was hoping it was something else you were after,” he complained with a wickedly seductive smile that turned her bones to water. “My wound is nothing, I assure you. It was another kind of ministration I had in mind when I brought you down here.”
“After I examine your wound,” she said stubbornly.
With a sigh, he pulled up his shirt to reveal that his assessment of it was right. It was no more than a very deep scratch across his side that had already stopped bleeding.
Looking up from it, Angel gasped as she noticed for the first time the array of women’s gowns in satins, brocades, and velvets in the open cupboard behind her husband. “What did One-eyed Jake want with those?”
“Nothing. This cabin was to be Horace’s honeymoon chamber with Kitty. He intended to dress her in style.”
Angel shuddered at what this night would have held for both her and Kitty had Lucian not come. She wrapped her arms around him.
“How is it that you are here?” she asked. “I thought you were riding to Dover intent on murdering poor Roger and me. The messenger who delivered Rupert’s forged note said you ran from Sir Percival’s house, shouting that you intended to kill us both.”
“He misunderstood. The pair I intended to kill was Rupert and Horace. Rupert outsmarted himself with that note. I knew as soon as I saw it that he had written it, and it confirmed my suspicions that he and Horace were responsible for you and Kitty vanishing.”
“Why did you suspect them?”
“Pardy told me that the Crowes were fleeing England on The Golden Goose this very night. I could not understand why they were in such a hurry to get away until you and Kitty disappeared. Then it made sense. I knew how determined Horace was to have Kitty and that both Crowes were thirsting for revenge against me.”
Lucian stroked Angel’s hair lovingly. “I already had Pardy collecting men to try to stop the Crowes from sailing. David Inge and I linked up with them. Fortunately, Rupert planned to wait until the tide went out shortly before dawn. So the crew, including One-eyed Jake, went off to a Gravesend brothel to celebrate their last night on land. When we reached the ship, there were only two lookouts aboard, and they had been doing some celebrating of their own. We quickly disposed of them.”
“But Pardy said that you duelled with One-eyed Jake.”
“Aye, when he and the others returned to the ship. They no more suspected a trap than Rupert did. Most of them surrendered without a fight, but not Jake.”
“How could you know that Rupert wrote the note you received at Mather’s?”
“Rupert did not realize I already had a sample of his handwriting.”
Lucian went over to his coat lying on the bunk. From the inside pocket he extracted two folded sheets of paper and opened them, laying them side by side on the bunk. It was clear from the slanting hand and the curling flourishes of the letters that both had been written by the same hand.
Angel frowned as she began reading the second note:
“Lord Ashcott: We have your precious Angel…”
Her head jerked up in shock. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it balled up under your father’s desk the night we were married.”
Angel stared at him in dawning, horrified comprehension. “That was the murder you accused Rupert of committing.”
Lucian held her tightly to him. “You were quite right, little love, to be disturbed by what happened that day. I was certain that Maude was the woman who delivered the fatal note to your father. That is the reason I was searching for her, I wanted to see the Crowes hang for his murder. And now they will. Pardy found Maude, and her confession has sealed their fate.”
“Why did you not tell me the truth?” Angel asked brokenly.
“Because I was afraid, my impetuous wife, that you would do something rash. It was another one of my attempts, misguided perhaps, to protect you.”
As Angel grasped the awful enormity of what the Crowes had done, she began to sob. She could not help it. She wept for the tragedy and horrible waste of a man as brilliant and good as her father, cut down in mid-life by greedy, worthless scoundrels.
Lucian, still holding her to him, stroked her hair consolingly and murmured words of love and comfort.
When she regained control of herself, she looked up into his silver eyes. “I thought you would never hold me like this again. Even if I somehow managed to escape the Crowes, I feared I would never be able to convince you that I had not betrayed your trust.
Lucian said, “I did not for an instant think you had, little love. When I first heard that Roger had left London in a rush, I feared that he might have abducted you.”
“You did not think that I had willingly run away with him?”
“I knew that you had not done that. You had sworn to me on your honour that you would never betray my trust, and I knew nothing on earth would make you do so.”
His mouth descended on hers in a long, tender kiss, then he lifted his head and smiled down at her, his silver eyes filled with so much love that it took her breath away.
“It took me longer than it should have to do so, but I trust you, my dearest Angel, as much as I love you— absolutely and unconditionally.”
Epilogue
The coach carrying Lucian’s brother and his family had scarcely rolled to a stop in front of Belle Haven when Fritz jumped down and ran up the steps toward Angel and Lucian, who had come out on the portico to greet them.
Angel suspected that the short, round-faced Fritz, so unlike her husband, was a copy of his father when he was young.
Lucian held out his hands. “Welcome, big brother.”
Fritz gripp
ed Lucian’s hands. “Bigger brother, I have prayed for this day for years.” He grinned, but there was a sheen to his eyes. He let go of Lucian’s hands, and the two men hugged fiercely.
Angel went down the stairs to greet Fritz’s wife, Fanny, as she emerged from the coach. She was a pretty little blonde with soft hazel eyes. Angel suppressed a gasp of surprise as she saw how big with child her sister-in-law was.
After welcoming her warmly, Angel murmured, with a significant glance at her swollen body, “We did not know.
How very brave of you to make the journey.”
“I would not have missed this reunion for anything. My husband has yearned for it for years, and I want my children to know their uncle.”
Fanny looked around at a boy of four and a girl of two, who were tumbling out of the coach. Both had pale blue eyes, round faces, and hair the colour of ripe wheat. They rushed up the stairs to meet Lucian.
The boy did not wait for an introduction. Staring up at his uncle in awe, he exclaimed, “You are even bigger than Papa said.”
Lucian laughed and hoisted the boy up in his arms. When their eyes were level with each other’s, he said, “Now you are as tall as I am, Freddie.”
The little girl, who did not even reach Lucian’s breeches, tugged frantically at his silk hose, crying, “Me, too! Me, too!”
He dropped down and picked her up in his other arm.
Reaching the portico with Fanny, Angel looked beyond her husband to his father, watching his sons and grandchildren from the door of Belle Haven. A lump rose in her throat at the joy in the old man’s face.
Fritz embraced Angel. “How happy I am to meet the woman who has made our family whole again.”
Angel’s gaze returned to her husband. After King William had returned from Ireland, ending Lucian’s duties with the Council of Nine, he had suggested inviting his family for this autumn holiday in the country. Angel had been surprised that Lucian wanted it at Belle Haven instead of his own estate, Ardmore.
“I prefer Belle Haven,” he had confessed. “From the moment I saw it, I wanted it to be my home. And we will be going there anyway for David and Kitty’s wedding.”
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