Too Wicked to Love

by Debra Mullins

  “Was it Black Bill?” John asked, hurrying down the stairs.

  “The highwayman? No, sir. At least Miss Annabelle says it wasn’t. Says she’s met Black Bill before, and this is a different bloke.”

  They reached the first floor. “Where are they, Andrew? The drawing room?”

  “Mr. Bailey’s study, sir.”

  John nodded and shot down the next flight to the ground floor. “Has the magistrate been called?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Bring him to the study as soon as he gets here.” As the footman nodded and hurried off to obey the order, John strode into Virgil Bailey’s study.

  Annabelle sat in a chair in front of her father’s desk. Her mother sat beside her in her wheeled chair, holding her daughter’s hand and sniffling into a handkerchief. Genny and her mother hovered around Annabelle and Dolly. Behind the desk, Bailey and the admiral conferred in low voices.

  “Mr. Ready.”

  John turned to see who was addressing him and found Sir Harry sitting in a chair near the door. His hair looked as if he had raked his hand through it more than once, and his clothing was askew. There was no sign of the baronet’s usual jocularity; in fact, the hazel eyes behind his spectacles held an edge John had never before seen in the humble country gentleman. “Sir Harry, are you all right?”

  “The blackguard ambushed us,” Sir Harry replied. Even his voice sounded stronger, more commanding. “Are you aware, Mr. Ready, that Miss Bailey has asked me to teach her to drive?”

  “I was not.”

  “It seemed a simple enough request, and she is such an independent spirit. It seemed harmless. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

  John nodded and made a note to speak to Annabelle. She knew she was not supposed to go anywhere without him. “Miss Bailey can be quite convincing.”

  “She can indeed. At any rate, we were in my gig with my mare Brownie. She is a most docile animal, Mr. Ready. I’ve had her for years and felt she was of sufficient temperament for a lady to drive.”

  “Understood. What happened?”

  “Miss Bailey had the reins, and we were laughing over an amusing anecdote I had just told. Suddenly a masked man leaped out of the bushes and pointed a pistol at us. He demanded that Annab—I mean, Miss Bailey—descend and go with him or else he would start shooting.”

  “Do you carry a pistol, Sir Harry?”

  “Not normally, but I shall do so going forward, that is certain.” The baronet’s mouth thinned. “I am an excellent shot, Mr. Ready. The villain will not catch me unawares again.”

  “I assume then that he escaped?”

  Sir Harry nodded. “He did.”

  John sighed. “How is it you can live in an area with a notorious highwayman yet drive about the countryside unarmed?”

  Sir Harry narrowed his eyes. “I never said I was unarmed, Mr. Ready.” He grabbed his cane, twisted the head, and tugged, revealing a gleaming steel blade hidden in the harmless-looking staff. “I said I did not have a pistol.”

  John gave a half smile. “Very ingenious—and lethal. I assume you know how to use this weapon, and he simply did not come close enough to give you the opportunity.”

  “You assume correctly, which is another reason why I shall also bring my pistol from now on.” He drove the blade back into its sheath and twisted the head of the cane to lock it into place.

  “I doubt Miss Bailey will be taking any more driving lessons for a while,” John said.

  “Agreed.”

  “But your lack of opportunity to use your weapon now begs the question—how did you get away?”

  “Miss Bailey saved us.” Sir Harry smiled with some admiration. “She got out of the carriage like he told her to. Then that fellow tried to grab her and drag her off, but she apparently dug her heels into the ground to make it harder for him. While he was distracted, I charged at him with the gig. He let go of Miss Bailey and aimed the pistol at me. But Miss Bailey grabbed a rock and slammed it onto his gun hand, then kicked him in the back of the knee. He dropped like a stone—excuse the pun—and let go of the pistol. She grabbed the weapon, then jumped into the gig, gave the pistol to me, and took the reins to race back here. Well, as quickly as Brownie can race.” Sir Harry sent an approving glance at Annabelle. “She is a remarkable woman.”

  “I am glad you are both unharmed,” John said. “If you will excuse me, I must go speak to Miss Bailey. The magistrate should be here at any moment.”

  “Old Gunston? I would not count on much help from that quarter.”

  Sir Harry’s words stopped him when he would have walked away. “Why is that?”

  “Gunston was a crony of Raventhorpe’s father.” When John said nothing, Sir Harry gave a little laugh. “Come now, Mr. Ready. Surely Raventhorpe was behind this incident. Even in exile, he can make his presence felt.”

  John contemplated his next words carefully before speaking them. “Forgive me, Sir Harry, but I was under the impression you and Lord Raventhorpe were friends.”

  Sir Harry gave a smile that seemed to hint at more secrets than it revealed. “ ‘Friends’ is too strong a word. We were hunting mates for years, which is where I got this.” He tapped his bad leg. “Raventhorpe always said it was an accident, but I cannot help but wonder if he simply did not like that I was a better huntsman than he was.”

  “He shot you? Deliberately?”

  Sir Harry shrugged. “The details of that day are murky in my mind.”

  “If he shot you, why do you continue to socialize with him? You might very well be his last friend in the upper reaches of society.”

  “Upper reaches? How exalted. No, I am simply a country squire. I am happy here with my fields and my horses and my tenant farmers. That does not threaten him. And there you go using that word ‘friend’ again. You know, I embrace the philosophy of the Chinese general Sun-Tzu.” Sir Harry leaned in, a conspiratorial grin curving his lips. “ ’Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ ”

  “A wise philosophy.”

  “I thought so—especially when it comes to Raventhorpe. You know as well as I do that he will not simply ignore the slight Miss Bailey dealt him when she jilted him. He will want revenge.”

  “I know.” John glanced over at Annabelle, then noticed Virgil waving him over. “I had best go speak to Mr. Bailey. But thank you for the information on Gunston. I will keep an eye on him when he gets here.”

  “I am going to stay here and rest my leg. I’m afraid I aggravated it with all the excitement.”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” John turned to leave.

  “If you need help,” Sir Harry said as he started to walk away, “my sword is ready.”

  John gave him a nod, then went over to the others.

  Dolly caught sight of him first. “Oh, John! At last you are here!” She threw up her hands, her white handkerchief fluttering like a flag of surrender. “Dear Annabelle was set upon by a highwayman!”

  “Not Black Bill,” Annabelle said with a stern look at her mother.

  “I don’t know how you can tell one from the other,” Dolly said with a huff. “A villain is a villain.”

  “It wasn’t Black Bill,” Annabelle said. “I wish he had been there, though. Considering he saved my life once.”

  “Yes, yes. When Lord Raventhorpe carried you off to force you to marry him.” Dolly covered her eyes with her hand. “Just the memory of it makes me feel faint.”

  “Black Bill was the one who stopped the coach and knocked Richard unconscious that day,” Annabelle said. “Otherwise, Samuel might not have caught up to us in time, and I might have ended up Lady Raventhorpe.” She scowled at her mother. “In fact, if Black Bill had been there today, I have no doubt he would have protected me from this horrible man as well.”

  “From what I hear,” John said, “you protected yourself.”

  Annabelle smiled, pride lingering in her eyes. “I just did what you told me to do.”

  Curious gazes turned toward him.
“I have been teaching Miss Bailey to defend herself,” he said. “She is an excellent student.”

  “Or you are an excellent teacher,” Dolly said with a sniff. “Oh, I cannot wait for this darned leg of mine to be healed so we can leave this dreadful country! I cannot endure any more attempts to run off with my daughter!”

  “Oh, Mama.” Annabelle rolled her eyes.

  “The magistrate should be here shortly, so we can report the incident,” John said. “A pity the villain got away.”

  “I did what you taught me. I got free and ran,” Annabelle said. “I didn’t even see where he went.”

  “Which is exactly what you should have done.” John looked around at the other ladies. “I would strongly suggest that none of you go off alone anywhere. Always take a male escort with you.” He glanced at the admiral and Virgil. “It might be a good idea to carry a pistol with you whenever you leave the house, gentlemen.”

  “Agreed,” the admiral said. Virgil nodded.

  A footman knocked on the open door of the study. “Sir? The magistrate has arrived.”

  “Send him in,” John said, then caught himself and looked at Virgil. “With your permission, of course, Mr. Bailey.”

  “Yes, yes,” Virgil said, waving a hand.

  The footman disappeared for a moment, then returned with two gentlemen. “Lord Gunston and Mr. Timmons,” he announced, then stepped aside.

  “Timmons?” John repeated, but the men were already entering the room. Could it be . . . ? Bloody hell, it was. Eustace Timmons—Tim to his friends—a face from his past that he had never expected to see again.

  “I am looking for the master of this household,” Gunston said in his booming baritone. “Which of you is Mr. Bailey?”

  “I am Virgil Bailey.” Virgil stepped forward as the men swept past the other occupants of the room.

  John turned his back so they would not see his face. What the devil was Tim Timmons doing here?

  “I am Lord Gunston, the magistrate. This is my friend Mr. Timmons. We were dining together when your summons arrived.”

  “I wish we were meeting under different circumstances,” Virgil said. “Do you know Admiral Wallington-Willis? And this is his wife, Mrs. Wallington-Willis . . .” Virgil continued around the room, introducing everyone to the newcomers. John managed to stay off to the side and out of visual range of the men, arranging it so Virgil skipped him in the introductions. When Virgil got to Sir Harry, it became clear they all knew each other.

  “Sir Harry Archer,” Virgil said.

  “Ah, Sir Harry. You are a guest here?” Gunston boomed.

  “I am,” the baronet replied. “Good afternoon, Lord Gunston. And to you, too, Mr. Timmons.”

  Tim gave a nod and murmured a return greeting, but the magistrate just smirked at Sir Harry. “Bad day, eh?”

  “Sir Harry was with my daughter when the highwayman attacked them,” Virgil said. “He can offer additional details.”

  “You are certain it was not Black Bill who was behind this mischief?” Gunston demanded.

  “Yes,” Sir Harry replied.

  “I have seen Black Bill,” Annabelle said. “This was not the same man, Lord Gunston.”

  “You are overset, Miss Bailey,” the magistrate said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I am certain Archer here will provide us with the accurate details of the incident. I have no doubt it was indeed Black Bill who waylaid you. He is known to haunt these lands.”

  “Raventhorpe lands,” Tim said sagely.

  “Bailey lands now, Mr. Timmons,” Virgil corrected. “I purchased this estate from Lord Raventhorpe some months ago.”

  “Of course. You are right, sir.” Tim glanced around, no doubt gauging the level of anxiety in the room. “But perhaps Black Bill does not keep up with the local gossip.”

  This generated a laugh, and Tim smiled. Once more his gaze swept the occupants of the room, but this time it crossed over John, then came back. Held.

  John could see the puzzlement in his face. No doubt the other man sensed something recognizable but could not place John’s current appearance as familiar. His gut clenched. Would Tim see the stripling lad of seven years ago in the bearded, competent man of today? Or would he look past him with a stranger’s stiff politeness?

  “And who is this?” Gunston asked, coming toward him. Tim trailed behind more slowly, a frown on his face.

  “Lord Gunston, this is Mr. Ready, a friend of the family,” Virgil said.

  “Mr. Ready,” the magistrate repeated. “Odd name, that. Wouldn’t you say, Tim?”

  “Yes, odd,” Timmons agreed. He held out a hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ready.”

  “Pleasure is mine,” John replied, shaking his hand once, then dropping it.

  “Were you a witness to the attack?” Gunston demanded.

  “I was not,” John replied.

  Gunston gave a snort and looked around. “Which of you were in the gig when the highwayman attacked?”

  Annabelle spoke up. “Just me and Sir Harry. No one else was there.”

  “Then you are the two people I must interview. Everyone else, please leave the room.”

  “I insist on staying with my daughter,” Dolly said. “Besides, it is quite cumbersome to wheel me about.”

  Even Gunston was not immune to Dolly’s charm. “Absolutely, Mrs. Bailey. I have no objection to you staying as chaperone. But everyone else must leave, even you, Timmons.”

  “I thought I might help,” Tim said.

  “No, no. I am obligated as magistrate to do all the questioning in the strictest confidence. You go with the others, keep everyone calm. Mr. Bailey, certainly you have a drawing room where everyone can wait?”

  “Of course we do,” Virgil said. “Upstairs.”

  “Accompany them all upstairs, Timmons. I will stay down here with the others.”

  “I’m staying, too,” Virgil said. “It was my daughter who was nearly abducted.”

  “Very well,” Gunston said, pursing his lips in contemplation. “But everyone else must retire to the drawing room.”

  As John allowed himself to be herded out of the study with Genny and her parents, he noticed Tim casting him covert glances. Would that look of puzzlement on his face soon give way to condemnation when he recognized John? Or would Tim never associate the man before him with the acquaintance from years ago?

  And if he did recognize John, what would he do about it? Was seven years of hiding about to be undone by one unexpected guest?

  Genny trailed behind her parents and Mr. Timmons so that she fell into step next to John. “Can you believe it?” she murmured. “Just when we thought Annabelle was safe, someone tries to abduct her.”

  “I never thought she was safe,” John said. “That is why I have been teaching her to defend herself.”

  “And a good thing you did. It seems she put her lessons into play today.”

  “Anything to keep her out of Raventhorpe’s clutches.”

  “Do you really think this had something to do with Lord Raventhorpe?” Genny asked. “I thought he was in exile in France.”

  “He may have hired someone to do the deed.”

  “I had not thought of that. Would he go so far?”

  “I believe so.” John slid a wary glance at Mr. Timmons. “He was utterly furious that she jilted him to marry Samuel. He is the type to want revenge.”

  “He would have to get someone to help him,” Genny said. “As I recall, you shot him.”

  “I did. Right in his . . . in the seat of his trousers.”

  She giggled. “I bet that angered him even more.”

  “It did.”

  She fell into silence as they neared the drawing room. The past hour since Annabelle and Sir Harry had come racing back to the house had left her nerves frayed, and she was more than happy to have John there with her. He had taken on a rather commanding role, getting everyone’s stories about the incident, giving orders to the staff about how things should be hand
led. He seemed comfortable in that position of authority, which only sparked her curiosity.

  “Were you ever a captain of a ship?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have no desire to be in command of others. I am content to have a bed and food at the end of the day.”

  “You wear command very well,” she said, slowing. “Almost as if you were born to it.”

  A flicker of concern crossed his face, and at that, she wondered if she had stumbled onto something.

  “Mr. Ready.” Timmons lingered outside the drawing room. “A word, if you do not mind.”

  “Of course.” John waved Genny on.

  Reluctantly, she obeyed his direction, slipping into the room with her parents and leaving him with Mr. Timmons.

  John faced his old acquaintance with some trepidation. Had Timmons recognized him? If so, what would he do?

  “Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Ready,” Tim said, “but I feel as if we have met before.”

  “Indeed?” John kept his face a bland mask of polite inquiry. “Where, do you suppose?”

  “I cannot quite place it, but you seem very familiar to me.”

  “I do not see how,” John said. “I have only been in England for about a month.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  “America.”

  “Oh. Well, I have never been there.” Tim frowned, scratching his jaw. “You are English, though. You do not have an American accent.”

  “My parents were English,” John said.

  “Ah, so you probably speak like they do.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “This will drive me mad until I get to the bottom of it,” Tim said with a little laugh. “Eventually, I will figure it out. You do remind me of someone.”

  John smiled politely, but his heart thundered in his chest. He had been so careful. Stayed hidden, resisted the temptation to revisit some of the places of his childhood. Had not even seen his parents. Would he now be undone by a chance encounter?

  “Shall we join the others?” John asked. “They must be wondering why we are so rude as to ignore them. And the admiral is not a man you want to cross.”

  “Oh, of course, of course.” Tim adjusted his jacket. “Ah, that is Admiral Wallington-Willis, correct? The Admiral Wallington-Willis?”