The Madcap Marriage

by Allison Lane

  “Probably.” He hated to admit it, but Portland was in better shape than he was. Portland’s injuries would have laid him out cold. His own lesser ones made staying on his feet difficult. But he couldn’t waver. He would not give Portland the satisfaction of seeing him collapse – or the opportunity to make off with Helen. “Any luck with Barney?”

  “Some. They were hired three days ago, though he doesn’t know by whom. A broker handled the deal.”

  “Broker?”

  “Brokers fill temporary jobs – some honest, some not. Barney won’t name the fellow, but I can find him. There are only half a dozen brokers who frequent the area where they met.”

  “How do you know—”

  Portland lowered his voice. “You’re out of your depth, Thomas. I work for the Home Office recovering stolen information. Many French couriers frequent the stews.”

  “You track spies?” Hillcrest’s charges taunted him. Worthless … useless … wastrel … a gentleman’s primary duty is to get an heir. He’d always consoled himself with the nobility of defending his mother, but next to Portland’s record, he felt a fool.

  “I used to, which is why we couldn’t marry sooner. Now that the war is over, I’m retiring.” He glared. “Anyway, once I identify the broker, I’ll find out who hired him.” He nodded toward the attackers. “Barney swears they were supposed to rob you and teach you to mind your own business, but I don’t believe it. You’re heir to a title. Every runner in England would be after them once you spoke your piece. But Barney won’t confess to attempted murder. He’d hang. What he’s too stupid to realize is that whoever hired him can’t let him live.”

  “So tell him. Maybe that will shake some information loose.”

  “Like what?”

  “Who else was hired? Steven can’t seriously expect to find me at Hillcrest. Everyone knows I avoid the place. Posting Barney and Arnold here was a contingency plan. The smart assassins will be waiting near Audley.”

  “Or in town.”

  “Another possibility – we left four days ago.”

  “You spent four days with Hillcrest?” His voice rose in astonishment.

  “Of course not! We needed to speak with Lady Alquist. I believe Alquist was murdered.” He might hate Portland, but a Home Office investigator was the ideal ear for his suspicions.

  “Why?”

  Rafe explained, adding, “This attack adds credence to my theory.”

  Portland swore. “I can’t believe Helen didn’t tell me about Steven.”

  “Forget Helen.” He glanced up as the first drops of rain hit his face. “Where should I take this pair? Squire Hawkins is the nearest magistrate. Or should we go to London?”

  “The squire. He’s a good man.” He paused. “Were you headed for town?”

  “No. For Audley. But this attack—”

  “Changes nothing. Helen will be safer in the country. I’ll take care of these two, then investigate Steven and Dudley. Don’t argue,” he added, when Rafe tried to protest. “I am used to following such trails. And I know London’s shadier neighborhoods better than you ever will. You won’t learn anything useful in brothels, Thomas.”

  Rafe clenched his fists, but it was true that he knew nothing of London’s underworld. And Helen had been right, damn her hide. Returning to town might kill him. Yet he didn’t want Portland poking about in his business. Nor did he want to lead Helen into the danger he feared awaited them at Audley.

  “Steven is probably waiting for this pair’s report,” said Portland, noting his indecision. “He won’t stir until he is safe, so you needn’t fear Audley. Now that you’re warned, you can avoid further ambush. No one will attack you while Helen is nearby. They need her unharmed.”

  Rafe nearly snarled at the suggestion that he hide behind Helen’s skirts.

  “I need to help,” Portland added. “For Helen, because I wasn’t there when she needed me. For you – you saved my life, and I always pay my debts. And finally for Alquist. He was a good man. I must see his killer pay. Trust me. This transcends our differences.”

  “Because of Helen.”

  “I love her. You can’t change that.” He jerked his head toward the coachman, who was returning with three horses. “Help me tie this pair to their cattle. I’ll take it from there.”

  Rafe couldn’t afford to refuse Portland’s help. Oddly enough, he did trust him in this. His own efforts would be better spent protecting Helen and Audley. But he couldn’t leave just yet.

  “I’ll accompany you to the magistrate. Don’t kill yourself being a hero, Portland. I doubt you can sit a horse.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Helen flinched as Rafe slammed the carriage door in her face. He was furious – as was she. When he and Alex had squared off, she’d been appalled. Hadn’t they taken enough of a mauling from the attackers? How could they turn on each other?

  Now she knew. Rafe may have schooled his voice, but Alex had not.

  Fleeced.

  Rafe’s fortune derived from Alex’s gaming losses. Lady Alquist was right. Alex still bore a grudge about that game.

  But Rafe’s fury must extend beyond having risked his life to save his worst enemy. Whatever his reasons for wedding her, he hadn’t expected it to kill him.

  The carriage lurched into motion. Rafe rode Alex’s mount, leading the highwaymen’s horses. Alex’s voice rumbled from the box.

  Knowing about Alex’s mission did not mitigate the pain he’d caused. He’d been a man of the world who should have understood that abandoning her after raising expectations would destroy her reputation – at that point, a gentleman would only flee if he learned that she took frequent lovers. So she was ruined. People cut her and forbade contact with their daughters. The only men who called wanted Audley, not her.

  He hadn’t changed. Using duty to excuse his behavior was being deliberately obtuse. And utterly selfish. Had he even once looked beyond his own desires?

  Thunder crashed, releasing torrents of rain as the carriage halted before a small manor. Servants rushed out to cluster around Rafe’s prisoners. One of them finally opened her door.

  “Welcome to Hawkins House,” he said, shielding her with an umbrella. “Mrs. Hawkins will be pleased if you would join her while the gentlemen conduct their business.”

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Rafe silently handed Helen into the carriage, fearful that a word would unleash a tantrum. She was strung tight as a bow. He wanted to believe it was shock, but he knew better. Fury emanated in waves, aimed squarely at him. Not until they pulled away did he relax.

  Too soon.

  “Why did you lock me out of that meeting?” she demanded.

  “There was no reason to put you through another ordeal. The day has been—”

  “No reason?” she spat. “It’s my uncle and my problem. I shot that man, for heaven’s sake. How can you claim no reason?”

  “Helen.” He tried to catch her hand, but she jerked away. “Helen,” he tried again. “Calm down. You are nearly hysterical, which isn’t like you.”

  “I am not hysterical,” she snapped. “I’m furious. I should have met with the magistrate. You were too busy defending yourself to take in details, so my testimony is important. Did you tell him about the knife?”

  “What knife?”

  “The blond was pulling a knife when I shot him. That’s why I aimed at him instead of the other. It’s an important point, for it explains the shot. But your high-handed orders kept that fact quiet. How dare you leave me with that stupid woman and her disgusting tonics?”

  He gave up. “Maybe I was wrong, but you were in shock. Shooting a man is not easy.”

  “No, it’s not, but shock does not excuse ducking responsibility. You had no right to lock me out.”

  “Agreed. Write Hawkins a letter.”

  She glared, but it was a reasonable suggestion. He wasn’t about to turn back. If she contradicted his own tale, they would be here all day sorting out details.

 
; He couldn’t believe she was upset because he’d protected her from Hawkins. The squire considered women weak, meek creatures unable to comprehend serious matters. If Helen claimed responsibility, Hawkins would suspect her of lying to cover some dastardly deed. He might even give credence to the claim that Portland had attacked two innocent travelers.

  He tried to explain, but she cut him off. “If Mr. Hawkins is that credulous, I’m amazed that you left Alex with him. He needs a doctor and reliable nursing. That woman will kill him with her potions.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “He’s not. He was unconscious when we arrived. His ribs—”

  “If he needs attention, I’m sure he’ll seek it when he reaches London.” Her concern infuriated him almost as much as her arguments. And the effect she was having on his libido made it worse. How could he lust after a termagant? Surely he should prefer someone anxious to please him. Yet her spunk hardened him faster than any seductive caress.

  “London!” she shrieked. “He can’t sit a horse long enough to reach London. This storm will likely give him lung fever if he tries.” She rose as if to jump out and return to the house.

  “Sit down! Portland is perfectly capable of looking after himself. He’s an investigator for the Home Office, for God’s sake.”

  “That doesn’t make him invincible! It took him three months to recover the last time.”

  Rafe clenched his fists. “If he needs care – which is debatable – he will do better in town anyway. The only doctor around here is as likely to kill him as cure him. I wouldn’t send a rabid badger to the man. Mrs. Hawkins and her tonics are far better.”

  She opened her mouth, but he cut off her next objection. “We cannot offer him a ride unless you wish to postpone your arrival at Audley by at least a day. It is already well past noon and this rain is turning the roads to quagmires. We’ll have to travel half the night if we hope to arrive tomorrow. And even then we won’t catch up with our baggage until morning. London traffic would add several hours to the journey.”

  “I still think we should help him. Riding will aggravate his injuries.”

  He ignored an urge to pull her into his arms. “Trust me, Helen. Portland knows far better than you how to manage injuries. You will be better off resting. No matter how necessary that shot was, you cannot harm another with impunity. Sleep. You need it.”

  But suggesting that she sleep was a mistake, he admitted soon after she closed her eyes. Silence gave him too much time to think – and yearn.

  Helen looked more delectable every day, yet it was increasingly clear that she didn’t want him. Portland swore he loved her. It looked as though she loved him back.

  He cursed.

  What perverse fate had placed her in jeopardy when her betrothed was unavailable?

  Hillcrest’s tirade had forced her to admit what she had thrown away by giving in to Rafe’s pressure. He might bear a mild resemblance to Portland, but they were nothing alike. Hillcrest’s criticism always hurt, but most of it was true – he was indeed a wastrel, prevented by Hillcrest from helping with the estate yet barred by custom from doing anything else. Even his dream of a seat in Commons would never happen because his ideas made finding a sponsor impossible. So he had to admit that Portland was the better man. While Portland had heroically risked his life to defend England from spies and traitors, Rafe had risked nothing more than the French pox by warming an endless procession of beds. His only goal had been to avoid Hillcrest’s plots. He couldn’t even take credit for his fortune, which had been won by luck and quadrupled by Brockman.

  What a sad commentary on his life. His mother would have been appalled. Portland was right to despise him.

  But no more. He had hidden behind a false image long enough. It was time to prove he was a man, not a fribble. And his marriage was the best place to start.

  Already it was vastly different than he’d expected, but honor demanded he uphold his vows – starting with the protection he’d promised. So far he’d acquitted himself poorly, first exposing Helen to Hillcrest’s sharp tongue, then leaping blithely into battle with men who would have ravished her the moment they’d defeated him. And his attempt to protect her from Hawkins hadn’t worked, either. She’d been furious at his lack of respect. Had he taken credit for shooting Barney in a pitiful attempt to bolster his own showing?

  Determination faded as his faults paraded through his head. What did he think he could do for her? Helen had already saved his life and his reputation. He’d never met a female less in need of protection. So what the devil was he supposed to do with himself while she ran her estate, oversaw her trust, and calmly shot any highwaymen who wandered by? She was making him feel more insignificant with each passing hour.

  He sank deeper into his seat, stretching his left leg to relieve its growing pain. Barney had done something to it in that first mad rush. And Portland’s unexpected blows weren’t helping any. One had landed on the bruise Steven had inflicted.

  A soft moan drew his eyes to Helen, curled up on the opposite seat.

  She’d been right about one thing. Somehow they had to come to terms. He could no longer accept the idea of leaving her at Audley while he returned to town. Every time Portland disappeared, he would wonder if the man was calling on her.

  Intolerable.

  So they had to live together, which meant she must relinquish some of her power. If she wouldn’t trust him, then she must turn Audley over to the steward so she could accompany him to town. He needed to work harder at finding a sponsor if he ever hoped to win a seat in Commons – he wasn’t ready to abandon his political aspirations, and waiting for Hillcrest to die so he could sit in Lords was too frustrating.

  But before he could decide how to win her cooperation, he must learn more about her affair with Portland. And to do that, he must appease her temper, then phrase his questions so they sought information without challenging her.

  By the time she woke, he had his plans in place and his temper under control. “Do you play chess?” he asked, hoping the game’s ritualized warfare might drain her belligerence.

  “Not well.” She smoothed her skirts, drawing his gaze to her legs.

  “I’ve little else to offer in the way of entertainment,” he said, forcing his eyes up. “Shall we try a game?”

  She shrugged. “Why not?”

  He set up the traveling board, waiting until the game was well under way before speaking. “Thank you for helping back there. Where did you learn to handle a pistol?”

  “Mama.”

  “Your mother taught you?” He’d expected her to name Portland – especially in light of Portland’s claim that his position put her in danger.

  She nodded. “Grandmother was nearly killed by a highwayman when Mama was twelve. She was so furious that her coachman had forgotten the blunderbuss he carried for just such a contingency that she demanded Grandfather teach her to shoot and install pistols inside her carriage. She then taught Mama, who in turn taught me.”

  “I would not have believed a lady could control the recoil,” he said, absently moving a pawn.

  She frowned at the pistol, which he’d returned to its holder. “Yours is considerably larger than the ones I learned to shoot, but ladies are not helpless, Rafe.” She turned back to the board, grinning when she spotted his newly exposed knight. Her queen snatched it up.

  “Botheration.” He hadn’t been paying attention. The day’s events had shaken him more than her. But at least he’d succeeded in relaxing her. It was time to seek answers. “Why didn’t you tell me that you and Portland were betrothed?” He moved another pawn.

  “Betrothed! What gave you that idea?”

  “The words, She’s my betrothed, as he punched me in the stomach.”

  She trapped his castle in a corner. “He lied. He’s good at that.”

  His heart leaped, but he thrust it down. Helen was too aware of Portland to deny the connection. And while Portland exaggerated on occasion – like turning a few heated wo
rds into a duel when he trumpeted the tale in public – the man was a gentleman born.

  “How long have you known him?” Rafe asked, trying to sound calm.

  “Four years.” Her voice broke.

  “Four years,” he repeated. So Portland was the suitor Lady Alquist had mentioned.

  “It’s also been four years since I’ve seen him,” she snapped. “You, of all people, should know him well enough to disbelieve his claims.”

  “Men don’t claim betrothals that don’t exist.”

  “Hillcrest did – or was that another lie?”

  Rafe drew in a deep breath, returning his attention to the board. “Hillcrest is my father. You saw for yourself that he’s mad. And Steven is venal,” he added when the name hovered on her lips. His statement had been ill-worded under the circumstances. “But why would Portland lie about your betrothal?”

  “Why does Alex lie about anything?” She sighed. “Four years ago he spent time with our neighbor. You know what happens when a new face arrives in the country – picnics, routs, dinners, even a ball. So I saw him often. But when his business was done, he left. I’ve not heard from him since.” She turned to the window to hide suddenly bright eyes.

  Portland’s voice echoed – I love her … she’s my betrothed.

  Pain exploded through his chest. Nothing had gone right since Alquist’s death. He stared at the chessboard, trying to regain his composure, but the pieces all looked alike.

  For years bored wives and avid courtesans had clamored for his attention. None had sought more than light diversion and the cachet of sharing his bed – he was well known for discrimination – yet they’d puffed his pride, convincing him that, at least in this arena, he was out of the ordinary.

  Now he knew better.

  He’d experienced much rejection, but it had never before been personal. Hillcrest hated anyone who supported his wife. The strictest matrons decried his false reputation. Portland attacked him to shift blame from his own stupidity.

  Now two women in two days had turned on him. Him. His core. His essence.

  Alice’s words had plagued him since she’d cornered him on the terrace last night. When I saw your marriage announcement, I was filled with joy … you terrify me … your size … your intensity … your interests.