Turning her attention to the wide, oak-mantelled fireplace, she picked up each of the displayed artefacts in turn, carefully weighing up their possibilities as potential missiles. She was just stooping down to test the relative weights of the fire irons in the companion set on the hearth, when she heard the library door being unlocked. Picking up the poker, she stood up to face her aggressor.
A sour-faced Hazlett entered the room and, after surveying Jessica’s defiant stance for several moments, he gave a short laugh. ‘You may put down your weapon, Miss Beresford,’ he advised her. ‘Let me assure you that, as things stand, I have no designs on your person—you are far too valuable a commodity to me.’
Then, walking over to a small drum table, he reached for one of the decanters and poured himself a drink, saying, ‘Would you care for a little something, my dear? To steady your nerves, perhaps?’
When she did not reply, he simply shrugged his shoulders and, walking over to the fireplace, threw himself down into one of the leather armchairs that straddled it. Jessica, meanwhile, still clutching the fire iron, had retreated to the alcove at the far side of the room.
Hazlett sighed. ‘You really have nothing to fear from me, dear lady,’ he said. ‘Do please dispose of that ridiculous poker, otherwise I shall be obliged to come over and remove it from you, which would be a great pity, since it really would not be in my best interests to damage you in any way!’
Growing more puzzled by the minute, Jessica laid the poker down on the desktop, still within her reach, should she have need of it, and lowered herself on to the very edge of a nearby chair, poised for flight.
‘If it is not your intention to hurt me,’ she said carefully, ‘may I ask why you employed those two brutes of yours to manhandle me so roughly?’
A brittle laugh issued from Hazlett’s lips. ‘Certain circumstances require rather more forceful solutions,’ he replied. ‘I cannot imagine that you would have acceded to their polite request to accompany them!’
She frowned. ‘But why have you brought me here?’
‘All will be revealed very shortly, my dear. Suffice to say that we are about to receive a visitor—someone very close to your heart, if I am not much mistaken. If matters go according to my plan, as I have every reason to suppose that they will, I dare say that both you and he will be free to leave without a single hair of your pretty little heads being damaged in the slightest!’
Stiffening, Jessica realised in an instant to whom Hazlett referred and was quick to work out for herself the meaning behind his words. That he was using her as some sort of bait to draw Wyvern into his web was patently clear, but she still could not understand what it was that he wanted of the earl, unless…?
Then, out of the blue, it hit her. Of course! The wretched fiend was after the earl’s missing deeds of ownership! But, surely, she thought, much mystified, the whereabouts of Wyvern’s promised solution to their future happiness together had still to be discovered.
Getting to her feet, she glared angrily at her abductor. ‘You mean to use Lord Wyvern’s affection for me to blackmail him into handing over that to which you have no right! What kind of a man are you?’
He laughed again, a chilling sound and, tossing back the remains of his drink, he ground out bitterly, ‘A rather desperate one, as it happens, my dear. And you are mistaken about my rights. Until very recently, the title deeds and share certificates were in my possession but then, unfortunately, I fear that I lost them to Wyvern’s brother in a game of chance and, even though the blackguard went on to owe me a considerable sum of money, he refused to hand back the deeds.’
‘But, only last evening,’ she responded, in a tone of protest, ‘Wyvern himself informed me that the whereabouts of these documents has not yet been discovered!’
‘Ah, yes!’ he nodded thoughtfully. ‘Last evening, it is fair to say that your sweetheart spoke nothing but the truth. Today, however—’
The rest of Hazlett’s words were drowned by the sounds of a violent altercation, accompanied by the smashing of china and the splintering of woodwork outside the library door. Leaping to his feet, the viscount was at Jessica’s side before she had time to consider what he was about. Quickly withdrawing a length of cord from his jacket pocket, he motioned her back in her seat and proceeded to bind the cord about her waist, securing her firmly to the chair’s uprights.
‘Just to keep you in your place, my dear,’ he grinned, before strolling nonchalantly to the far side of the room and, after putting his ear to the door, rapped upon it three times in quick succession. On receiving the agreed signal from without, he pulled out his pistol, cocked it carefully and, unlocking the door, beckoned to two of his stalwarts to bring their prisoner inside.
As Jessica’s shocked eyes registered Wyvern’s bruised and bloodied countenance, her eyes filled with tears and she could not prevent her cry of dismay. As soon as he caught sight of her and even though his arms were both being held firmly and none too gently behind his back by Hazlett’s two pugilists, the enraged Wyvern renewed his attempts to free himself.
Raising his eyebrows questioningly at the pock-faced one of the pair, Hazlett received a brisk shake of the head from him. ‘Just tha’ there chiv,’ growled the man, kicking the earl’s recently purloined weapon across the hallway. ‘’Ad it up ’is sleeve, so ’e did!’
Frowning slightly, Hazlett motioned the men to release their captive and, prodding the point of his pistol into Wyvern’s side, he directed the earl farther into the room, kicking the door shut in the faces of his henchmen.
‘Now that is a bit of a setback,’ he drawled as, still keeping his pistol pointed carefully at the earl’s chest, he stepped away from him and moved backwards to the centre of the room. ‘I felt sure that, once you found the damned things, you wouldn’t let them out of your sight!’
‘Possibly not as clever as you think you are, then,’ returned Wyvern, through clenched teeth. His eyes flew across the room to where Jessica was sitting and he shot a questioning look at her. At her tremulous nod, a shudder of relief ran through him. ‘So, what now, Hazlett?’ he then asked, briskly wiping away the trickle of blood that had seeped down into his eye from the vicious-looking cut on his forehead. ‘More action from your bully boys, until I divulge the deeds’ whereabouts, I assume?’
‘Not at all, my dear chap,’ rebutted the viscount with a sneering laugh. ‘It is clear that you have totally failed to get my measure. I have no intention of subjecting your well-honed muscles to another pounding—I have in mind a far more tender target!’
His face suffused with anger, Wyvern took one pace forward, causing Hazlett to jerk his pistol threateningly. ‘Touch one hair of her head,’ the earl ground out, ‘and I swear that you won’t live to see another daybreak!’
‘A somewhat idle threat from where I’m standing, I would say!’ sneered the viscount. ‘I’ll give you just two minutes to decide, Wyvern. Either you tell me where you have hidden those blasted papers or I will call my men in to take their pleasure with the luscious Miss Beresford! And, naturally,’ he added, with a prurient grin, as he registered the riveted expression of shocked horror that had appeared on the earl’s face, ‘you will be allowed to stay and feast your eyes on the whole delightful procedure!’
With a wry twist of his lips, for to him, there was no other choice, Wyvern leant down and, sliding the slim package from his boot, held it out invitingly towards Hazlett, desperately hoping that the other man’s impatience to lay his hands on the eagerly sought paperwork would tempt him to drop his guard. For one split second, as he held his breath, poising himself in readiness to spring, it did indeed seem as if the viscount might be on the verge of dashing forward to rip the packet from his outstretched fingers. Sadly, it was not to be, for Hazlett suddenly checked, clearly having decided that to do so would be unwise.
‘None of your damned tricks, Wyvern,’ he panted, his eyes still on the wrapped tube in Wyvern’s hand. ‘Toss it down here, in front of me.’
Still struggling in her chair, Jessica, her stomach churning with terror as the dreadful implication of Hazlett’s threat sank in, had made every effort to release herself from her bonds, but the viscount had cleverly tied the knot well out of her reach. Frantically casting her eyes around for something that might help her in her quest, her glance suddenly fell on the glass inkstand and its almost globular inkpots.
As the wildest of ideas flew into her brain, she slid her hand carefully across the desktop and lifted the empty pot out of its housing. Desperately trying to remember her half-brother’s instructions, as he had patiently endeavoured to teach her to throw in a straight line, she kept her eyes intently focussed on the weapon in Hazlett’s outstretched hand and, at the very same instant that Wyvern tossed the package at the viscount’s feet, she lifted her arm and hurled the missile directly at the pistol.
Her actual intention had been to try to knock the pistol out of Hazlett’s hand, in order to give Wyvern a fighting chance to defend her honour, as she was certain he would have no hesitation in so doing. But her aim, whilst straight enough, was high off the mark and, when the gun went off and the viscount’s howl of anguish echoed across the room, she saw, with a curious mixture of relief and chagrin, that the inkpot had hit him squarely on his left temple, the resultant pain of which had caused him to stagger forward, lowering his right arm in the process. Hazlett, it soon became obvious, had shot himself in the foot!
Ignoring the viscount, who was now writhing on the floor in agony, clutching at his bloodied boot, Wyvern dashed to the door, locked it and dropped the key into his pocket, thereby preventing any possible entry by Hazlett’s two partners-in-crime. Then, scooping up both package and pistol, he sped to Jessica’s side and, unfastening her bonds, pulled her up into his arms.
‘My dearest love!’ he cried, his voice choked with emotion, as he buried his face in her hair. ‘Are you all right? Please tell me that the swine did you no harm!’
‘Just a few bumps and bruises,’ she assured him, as she revelled in the comfort of his embrace. ‘But you, my love? Those dreadful men must have hurt you so very badly!’
‘Nothing like the pain of finding out that that villain had you in his clutches,’ he replied savagely, as, manfully disregarding the painful bruising around his ribs, he tightened his grasp. ‘How can you ever forgive me? If I had come to the gardens as I promised you, none of this could have happened!’
Raising her hand, Jessica placed her fingers over his lips and shook her head, saying, ‘No recriminations, Ben, my love. I’m just so thankful that you found me.’ Then she paused, a look of wonderment in her eyes. ‘You were really prepared to give up your mine just for me?’
‘Of course I was, you silly little goose!’ groaned Wyvern into her ear. ‘Haven’t I already told you that you are everything to me—without you my life would be meaningless—as the past few weeks have most clearly demonstrated!’
Her wide green eyes moist with emotion, Jessica slid both of her hands to the back of his neck and, pulling his head down, she pressed her lips against his. Wyvern’s response was sweet and instant. For several minutes, oblivious to the banging on the door coupled with the moans of the injured man, the pair clung together, lost in the rapturous world of their newly discovered love for one another.
As the kiss deepened, their embraces became more passionate and urgent, sending shudders of excitement and delight cascading throughout their entwined bodies. Very gradually, however, and despite his rapidly mounting ardour, the earl managed to regain sufficient self-control to realise that, unless he found the strength to force himself away from the wondrously compelling magic of Jessica’s lips, he would be in serious danger of losing himself entirely!
‘Neither the time, nor the place, my sweet,’ he grimaced, as he reluctantly disentangled himself from Jessica’s entwining arms. ‘I believe there is the rather vital matter of a marriage ceremony to deal with before we take this any further!’
‘But that could be months away!’ pouted Jessica as, with a temptingly mischievous gleam in her eyes, she looked up at him.
‘Not if I have any say in the matter,’ he groaned, sweeping her into his arms once more and planting a fervent kiss upon her forehead. Then, stepping away from her, he jerked his head in the direction of the still-moaning viscount.
‘Better attend to the invalid, I suppose?’
Although Jessica wasn’t entirely sure that, after the way he had behaved, Hazlett deserved any sympathy, she was sensible enough to realise that something ought to be done to help him, if only to send for a physician. The banging on the door had ceased, so she could only assume that the viscount’s two henchmen had taken to their heels.
Wyvern had gone over to the viscount and was bending down to examine the cut on his temple, the blood from which, to his relief, was already beginning to congeal.
‘Great shot, by the way!’ he grinned up at her. ‘Couldn’t have timed it better myself!’
Biting back a smile, for she did not have the heart to confess that she had actually missed her intended target by a considerable margin, Jessica asked him what he meant to do with Hazlett.
‘Well, I suppose I had better try to get the villain’s boot off and see the extent of the damage—I advise you to look away if you have no stomach for it!’
‘Nonsense!’ replied Jessica, defiantly. ‘Somebody has to hold his leg while you pull!’ And, kneeling at the viscount’s side, she gripped hard at his lower thigh while Wyvern eased off the damaged boot, hastily swallowing back the bile that rose at her first sight of the bloodied stocking.
‘Shot clean through to the woodwork!’ exclaimed Wyvern, in surprise, indicating the hole in the splintered floor beside him. ‘Bit of luck, really—less likelihood of blood-poisoning!’
‘Get me to a doctor, you bloody young fool!’ vociferated the enraged Hazlett.
‘Not until we have sorted out our differences, old chap,’ responded Wyvern cheerfully as, having unwrapped his neckcloth, he proceeded to bind it tightly around the viscount’s still-seeping wound. ‘Luckily for you, the pressure of your boot seems to have helped reduce the bleeding.’
Then, with, Jessica’s assistance, he lifted the still querulous Hazlett to his feet and, after settling him in a nearby armchair, along with a large glass of brandy to help dull his pain, he led Jessica to the chaise longue and bade her sit down. Positioning himself at the fireplace, one foot resting on the wrought-iron fender, he folded his arms and scrutinised his adversary.
‘According to my sources,’ he began, ‘the Earl of Aylsham purchased the original shares for his son, young Jack Stavely, who lost them to you in a game of poker—and his disappearance was not, as is commonly believed, due to any duel to which he may or may not have challenged you on some lady’s behalf, but to his own fear that his father would come to learn of his heavy gambling losses.
‘My brother Theodore,’ he went on, ‘having won the deeds from you in a similar fashion, then proceeded to lose large sums of money to you and several others of your cronies. And so, when you learned of the mine’s sudden success, you went to a great deal of trouble and expense to buy up all of Theo’s outstanding vowels—am I, thus far, correct in my premise?’
For answer, Hazlett merely shrugged and glared at him.
Wyvern took a deep breath and, after tossing a swift smile of reassurance at the wide-eyed Jessica, who had been avidly drinking in his words, he continued, ‘Having amassed a debt of over twenty-five thousand pounds against him, you then appeared to assume that you had every right to demand the return of the deeds?’ Here the earl raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘I offered to cancel out the debt!’ the viscount burst out wrathfully. ‘Instead of which the damned fool chose to blow his brains out!’
Wyvern’s lips tightened. ‘Cancelling out the debt and taking the deeds would have left my brother with nothing,’ he said heavily. ‘My guess is that Theo, having also discovered that the mine was making a profit, but having
little heart to carry on himself, opted to take his own life in the firm belief that I would take up the cudgels on his behalf which, I must assure you, I have every intention of doing!’
Narrowing his eyes, he stared down at the scowling viscount. ‘I will have every one of Theo’s vowels from you, Hazlett,’ he ground out. ‘And, although on Monday morning you will find yourself some twenty-five thousand pounds or so better off, you may also discover that it will not do you a whole lot of good, where you are going!’
‘What are you implying?’ asked the other man warily.
‘Well, for one thing, there is the possible charge of conspiring to commit murder!’
‘Murder? Whose murder?’
‘Walter Allardyce,’ returned Wyvern, somewhat unwillingly, as he shot an anxious glance at the horrified expression on Jessica’s face. ‘Seems that one of your hired minions took a cosh to him before dragging my betrothed off into the bushes—which brings me to your second offence—kidnapping!’
‘You’ll have a job proving that I had anything to do with any of that,’ sneered the viscount.
‘Wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you, Hazlett,’ drawled a voice from the doorway and, as three pairs of eyes swung in his direction, Sir Simon Holt entered the room, accompanied by the Honourable Freddie Fitzallan. Squirming on the floor of the hallway behind them, amidst the wreckage of Wyvern’s earlier failed attempt to rescue his betrothed, could be seen the heavily bound and gagged figures of the viscount’s two bully boys.
‘Well, you certainly took your time!’ grinned Wyvern, strolling forward to grasp his friends by the hands. ‘Very welcome, nonetheless—how did you get in?’
An Unconventional Miss Page 23