Hands raised meekly in surrender, Bromley followed his employer.
Eustace halted in the doorway. A strong forearm still held Emily against him, the knife blade pricking her throat. Her uncle’s attention was locked on Grafton and Bromley while Eustace nudged Emily farther into the large rear office. Like a tomcat, though, he had sensed movement behind him, and something poked him sharply in the back. A deep, demanding, male voice ordered, “Don’t move, Dancy, or I’ll put a bloody bullet through your gut!”
Chapter 18
AS a young lad Eustace learned to fight dirty on the streets of White Chapel. Now a man full-grown, he was lethal. He whipped around, keeping Emily in front of him as a shield, and faced his unknown attacker.
“I’ll cut her throat if…” He let out a surprised grunt. “Damme if ye weren’t fakin’ it! Ye don’t hold a pistol a’tall!” An angry snarl roared out of his throat. “Drop that blasted ridin’ crop whoever ye are. And do it now! Then git over there and stand with Grafton and his bloody clerk!”
Unsure how to handle the situation, Gavin paused. Things had moved fast when Dancy pressed the knife’s blade against Emily’s throat and forced her into the back room. Gavin kicked himself silently that he hadn’t the good sense to bring a pistol with him to Tunbridge Wells. What a costly mistake!
His only weapon was his riding crop, so he had jabbed the tip sharply against Dancy’s back. If he’d been thinking clearly, he might have grabbed something heavy from Grafton’s desk and struck the bastard over the head with it. The moment passed, however, and Eustace now held the three men at bay and held Emily captive.
“None of you move!” Eustace demanded. His grip on Emily loosened only a tiny bit when he half turned back to Grafton. “Where d’ye keep yer strongbox?”
“What the devil d’you think you’re doing, Dancy? Y-you just can’t—”
“Shet yer trap! I can and I will. Now get the box from wherever ye hide it. Do it or…”
Eustace made a menacing move as if to slash his ward’s throat.
Emily whimpered. Her eyelids were squeezed tight, and she shivered with fright. Would her uncle truly cut her throat?
“All right! All right, hold on! I’ll get it! Don’t hurt the girl!” Grafton blurted. He darted toward his desk when Eustace stopped him cold. “Stop! Not ye! I wants yer clerk to get it and put it atop yer desk.”
Grafton turned toward Bromley. His clerk looked wilted, his complexion pale as cow’s milk, his expression bug-eyed and frightened. A loyal and intelligent worker, otherwise, the man shivered in his shoes when a customer spoke to him too sharply. Capturing Bromley’s fearful eyes, Grafton blinked, several times and slowly nodded. “Go ahead, man, you know where I keep it.”
Bromley swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down in his skinny throat as he edged warily around the desk toward its rear, his thin shanks sliding along the desk’s polished edge as he stayed as far away from Eustace as he could. “Get a move on, damn ye!” Dancy ordered, brandishing the knife at the clerk and urging him to move faster.
Gavin saw the knife no longer pricked the soft skin of Emily’s throat. Earlier, he’d watched a thin trickle of blood ooze down the side of her neck. A sudden fierce and totally unexpected intense rage punched him in the gut. With Eustace touching her, Gavin wanted to strangle the bastard with his bare hands. A glance flickered for an instant between him and Grafton as the rotund solicitor’s eyes clashed with Gavin’s.
Meanwhile, Bromley reached behind Grafton’s desk. He was about to lean down and open a bottom drawer when Eustace moved quickly, maneuvering Emily closer so he could see what the clerk was about.
Outside in the anteroom, a clatter of pounding feet and several voices erupted from behind the closed door to the back room. Eustace’s head whipped round to the front of the building. “Bloody hell, now what!” he muttered, his eyes alert.
Dancy’s attention was diverted for only a second or two but it was long enough for Gavin to lunge at him. The earl grabbed Eustace’s knife hand, grappling with him and twisting his wrist aside forcefully. Leathem’s iron grip never released its hold. It gave Emily time to wiggle from under Eustace’s forearm and escape. She stumbled and landed on her knees.
The men behind her fought for an upper hand. The knife slithered from Eustace’s fingers, clattering onto the floor next to Emily. She grabbed it, not thinking, and scrambled away from the brawling pair with the weapon in her hand. She struggled to her feet, the knife now clutched against her bosom.
Meanwhile, Bromley yanked open a drawer in Grafton’s desk with fingers that shook, and grabbed a loaded pistol. Hurriedly, he shoved it across the desktop to his employer. Backing away, fearfully, he watched what was taking place in front of him.
Like many of his peers, Gavin exercised in the boxing ring, enjoying bouts of fisticuffs with friends and sparring partners. It had been years since he actually engaged in a real fist fight like this. However, his bloodlust had flared hot and wild seeing Emily’s neck pricked by her uncle’s blade. Once a wily street fighter, Eustace’s loose living had taken a heavy toll on his speed and strength. He was big, but soft and flabby. Instead of fisticuffs, he visited London’s gaming hells and brothels. He quickly encountered a force behind the earl’s well-toned physique.
The earl, however, kept himself in physical, mental, and emotional condition.
In Grafton’s office, Leathem had removed his leather riding gloves. Now bare-fisted, he pounded Eustace Dancy’s spongy belly, swinging clenched fists at his opponent and battering the man unmercifully. The men were matched in size, but Eustace was not nearly as skilled nor quite as young as the earl. Again and again, Leathem’s unrelenting need for punishment burned fiercely in ebony eyes glued on Eustace’s bloodied countenance.
The earl’s tightly tailored superfine riding jacket had split open down the back as he connected several times with Eustace’s jaw. He grinned silently as his knuckles cracked and met the bridge of Dancy’s nose, flattening it to one side. Blood gushed like red wine out of the nostrils, pouring down over Eustace’s split lip and chin. Leathem heard his jacket’s seams tear wider as he pulverized Emily’s uncle with several vicious body blows.
By now, Eustace had given up. He grabbed at his face, crumpled to the floor, and rolled over on his stomach, trying to protecting himself as much as possible from Gavin’s powerful, pounding fists.
A pistol cocked and held at the ready had Grafton shouting to get Leathem’s attention. “My lord! My lord! For heaven’s sake, man, stop hitting him! You’ll kill the blasted bugger!”
The earl’s chest heaved, but he was ready to continue the fisticuffs. Leathem’s fists clenched at his sides, waiting anxiously to hit Emily’s uncle again. His dark eyes blazed with fierce animosity as he straddled Eustace; his long legs spread wide as he hovered above the whining, sniveling, quivering culprit. He was puffing rapidly as the fist fight ended, but his blazing gaze was still locked on the man who cowered beneath him.
Emily tried not to fall prey to hysteria. When her uncle had grabbed her, it had been difficult for her to breathe. But now her palpitating heart slowed as she pulled in needed oxygen. Eustace turned and looked up at Emily. His disdain for her remained. He had fabricated lies to hurt her and abused her mentally if not physically. Hatred lurked in the depths of those hard eyes. Emily never knew why he felt that way, but he did. She finally convinced herself it wasn’t her fault, because he had never been a true member of her family. Instead, he had been a harsh, cruel, and unscrupulous coward. What he did to her and Betsy today was more than hateful and cowardly. Emily vowed she would never again be afraid of him.
Emily filled her lungs. Breathing deep had calmed her nerves. A weight had been lifted from her. Somehow Leathem had found her and came to her rescue. Then he fought her uncle like a champion knight. She would fear no evil with the earl to protect her, but she still dared not accept the earl’s offer after learning of her parents’ disgrace.
The lawyer shouted, his voice finally making it through from a red haze of rage that had gripped Gavin. With a monumental effort, the earl stepped away, panting, still glaring down at the cringing scoundrel underneath him. Leathem’s fists now hung loose against his sides as he slowly flexed his fingers and bruised knuckles. His head had cleared enough when he saw Grafton reaching out to stop him. Behind the lawyer, Bromley quivered like a milksop, his face flinching behind the large, mahogany desk. For an instant, Leathem forgot who else was in the room, until he heard an audible gasp from behind him and spun around. Emily stood several feet away, a knife clasped against her bosom. Her blue eyes swung up to meet his dark chocolate gaze. They stared at one another silently, unmoving, gazes locked. Tearing her eyes from his, Emily at last peered down at the knife, and then let it slide slowly out of her fingers. It fell to the floor with a loud thunk. Blinking, she looked up blankly at Gavin. He stooped down and retrieved the knife, holding it in one hand as he exhaled deeply. “My dear…Emily…” he began.
Emily was no longer a captive, nor was she bleeding from the cut in her neck. She heard a totally new tone in his words at the same time she murmured, “Good heavens, Lord Leathem…”
Something had happened between them at that precise moment. That very intimate moment held sway until too many voices speaking at once, distracted them, and it broke off.
Outside in the anteroom loud shouts and clenched fists pummeled the thick door to Grafton’s rear room.
* * * *
Will, Dolly’s husband, and another hostler from the Fallen Virgin Inn were the first to burst into the back room. The young man jerked abruptly to a halt, blocking the threshold as Betsy and Dolly almost ran into his back.
“We heard there was trouble in here, Mr. Grafton,” Will explained, his eyes searching the lawyer’s face before swinging them over to the clerk hovering in a corner. For the moment, Will ignored Emily and Gavin.
“My wife’s cousin was outta her mind with fear for her friend, so we came to help!”
Will then spied a man sprawled on the floor. His eyebrows jerked up. “Gawd help us! That’s ’im! I tho’t ’twas one of our stable hacks tethered to that carriage out front.” The groom stepped closer, recognizing Eustace even with the swollen eye, bruises and other contusions, a split lip, and blood dribbling slowly from his nostrils onto his shirt front.
“Blast me, if he ain’t the bloke what grabbed the reins right outta me hands this mornin’ at the inn, and jest rode orf!”
Will glanced at Grafton. He still hadn’t spoken to either Emily or Gavin, concentrating on what took place in front of him. “Mr. Grafton, sir. That scoundrel never paid me for use of that horse. I’d best go find Magistrate Thurston—”
Will’s two burly stable mates closed rank behind him, nodding in agreement. “That’s ’im all right!” one said, echoing Will’s accusation.
Grafton said, “All right! Go find the magistrate and bring him back here! And hurry! This fellow needs to be taken into custody!”
“Ye ain’t niver gonna get away with this!” Eustace snarled at everyone in the room with his angry declaration. He lay flat on his back, his swollen lips flapping to shape words. “I’ll see to it the magistrate knows what’s true here and what ain’t, see? He’ll set it all right!” Eustace blubbered. ”I ain’t done nothin’ wrong!”
Will and another hostler stood over Eustace when he muttered a string of the vilest, bluest curses and epithets even the grooms never used. Meanwhile, one of Will’s stable mates ducked out the back door of Grafton’s office, eyeing the magnificent stallion Gavin had tied there, before speeding toward the magistrate’s office and gaol on High Street.
Betsy now pushed into the room, stopping short when she saw Eustace lying on the floor. Then she spotted Emily and squealed happily. “Oh, thank Gawd, Miss Emily. I didn’t know what to think when he…! Lordy, are ye all right? I prayed ye wasn’t hurt, but I dint know for sure what to think or what happened to ye—”
The maid’s trembling lips suddenly clamped together. She sniveled, hesitating for a few seconds before throwing her arms around Emily, blinking back tears of gladness. Emily melted into her friend’s embrace and sighed. “Betsy, oh Betsy, I’m fine,” she murmured. “Really. What about you? Did Eustace hurt you? And how did you get loose?”
“I’m fine, too,” the maid answered. Quickly, she let go of Emily, and stepped away. “Oh, Lord Leathem!” she exclaimed, her expression openly astonished when she spied the earl.
“M-My lord, what are you doing here?” The words burst from her lips without thinking. She clapped a hand over her mouth, a horrified look on her face because of her unseemly remark.
Gavin didn’t remark it. Instead, he said, “I came to Tunbridge Wells to help Miss Dancy locate her relatives.” His smile, however, was all for Emily. “I daresay we arrived at almost identical destinations. But I expect, however, that our questions need to be answered in Lesser Bodem.” His statement was meant primarily for Emily’s ears, but he went on, “Em—err, Miss Dancy, are you lodged at the Fallen Virgin Inn?”
She nodded, dazed a bit yet from the day’s unusual happenings and the sudden and unexpected appearance of Leathem in Percy Grafton’s office.
“Then allow me to escort you and your maid to the inn. I believe I saw Porter’s carriage out front. We can use that.”
Again, Emily nodded.
Leathem turned to one of the hostlers. “We’ll take the animal tied to the rear of the carriage to the Inn’s stables. My gray horse is tied out here at the back of Grafton’s office Bring him with you. Meanwhile, Will, you must keep an eye on Dancy. Don’t let him out of your sight. Find cord or rope and bind his hands. He’s crafty and very dangerous even in his bloody and battered condition.” Gavin threw a knowing glance toward the solicitor who held a loaded pistol pointed at Eustace. “I’m sure Mr. Grafton will want to press charges after what has happened here. Am I correct, Grafton?”
“Of course, I will, my lord,” Grafton agreed most heartily. “I daresay, I’ll give Thurston enough reasons to lock him up for an indeterminate stay. Especially after the magistrate hears what else the bast—err—dastardly scoundrel did to threaten his ward—Miss Dancy—here and elsewhere.”
Gavin grabbed his top hat, riding gloves, and crop off Grafton’s desk. “Good. I’ll stop by the magistrate’s office when I have Miss Dancy and her maid settled.”
With a smile, Gavin turned back to Emily and Betsy. “If you ladies are ready, I suggest we be gone.”
Will stopped Gavin as they were leaving. “M’lord, ye have a mighty powerful set of mitts.” Will winked. “But don’t worry. I ain’t likely to let that rascal go afta what I jest heard.”
Dolly stood in the doorway. She reached over and tapped on her young cousin’s arm. “’Twas a good thing I was on my way home, Betts. ’Twas a miracle that you had the gumption to kick the carriage door.” She turned and scowled again at the man sprawled on the floor of Grafton’s office.
“Gawd, yes, Dolly,” Betsy went on. “I don’t know what I woulda done if ye hadn’t showed up when ye did! I think Miss Emily still looks a bit shaky.” She leaned closer to whisper to her cousin. “I’ll tell her what happened later. She’ll want to thank ye herself.”
The Porters’ driver lounged on the bench seat on the carriage in front of Grafton’s office where he should have been an hour ago. He straightened up quickly when he saw the earl and the two women coming his way. Gavin let down the carriage steps and helped the pair into the carriage.
“I’m Leathem, a friend of Viscount Porter,” he said, addressing the driver. “Drive us to the Fallen Virgin Inn. The horse tied to the boot belongs to the Inn. There’s big gray horse that belongs to me, and when he gets there, see that he is rubbed down, fed, and given a stall. I will speak with you a bit later.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The driver adroitly maneuvered the carriage out of the alley and drove it, the horse tied beh
ind it, onto High Street. Quickly, he deposited the vehicle’s occupants at the entrance to the inn and drove the carriage into the stable yard.
* * * *
A less formidable coach halted in front of the red brick building just as the Porters’ carriage pulled out of the alley. A young lad in country clothes hopped down, pulled open the door, and lowered the metal steps. He held out a helping hand to the aged man inside. Bent over, Squire Henry Morrow slowly slid his ancient legs and feet to the ground. One gnarled, leather-gloved hand gripped a polished cane’s ivory-carved handle.
“Good, lad,” he said. Henry straightened his shoulders and settled his top hat more firmly atop his head. It had been a while since he dressed like a gentleman. This afternoon he wore an out-of-fashion cutaway, a linen shirt and cravat, a brocade waistcoat, pantaloons, and leather boots. He even had his whiskers trimmed by one of his male servants.
“Now help me up the steps and get me inside,” he told the boy. “I’ve business with Percy Grafton.”
The anteroom in Grafton’s office was empty when they entered. Morrow hesitated before ordering the lad gruffly, “Go on, go on, I’m fine now. Wait for me outside until I call for you.” The lad nodded and left him. Morrow shuffled slowly toward a half-opened doorway in the rear. No one had heard the front door opening, so the squire wasn’t greeted until Bromley saw him. “Good day, sir. My name is Bromley. I’m Mr. Grafton’s clerk. May I be of some help?”
The squire countered with a raspy grumble, unable to see into the back room with Bromley blocking his view. “You can tell me, young man, if Percy Grafton is in. I’m here to see him on important business.”
The clerk abruptly stepped aside. Morrow’s craggy eyebrows rose beneath the brim of his top hat when the squire suddenly exclaimed excitedly, “Damnation! Someone managed to apprehend the black-livered devil!” The Squire’s ancient, cackling laughter burst out loudly. A satisfied glance beamed from behind his toothy grin. Faded, blue eyes sparkled when Henry asked, “Who caught the bloody scumbag? Whoever he is deserves a rich reward! Bring the man to me!”
The Marriage Bargain Page 20