The Deception of the Emerald Ring pc-3
Page 37
"Please," Letty breathed. "Please…"
Whether it was the plea or pure chemistry, the little tongue of flame gathered momentum, greedily gobbling its way down the fuse, like the fiery salamander of medieval myth.
Letty stumbled backward to her feet, watching as the flame licked toward the wall. She wanted to squeal, to cheer, to fling her hat in the air. They had done it! The fuse was lit! Giddy with triumph, Letty spun on one heel—but her cry of triumph turned to a muffled yell as someone ignominiously grabbed her about the waist from behind and hauled her painfully up into the air.
* * *
"Charge!" cried Miss Gwen, thrusting her sword parasol in the air.
Geoff caught her up halfway down the alley. "We just have to hold them long enough for the fuse to burn down to the wall," he tossed at her in a quick undertone. "No heroics."
Miss Gwen looked distinctly put out.
Putting her ire to good use, she flashed out with the point of her sword in a movement that owed more to vigor than science. Staring transfixed at the fringed purple parasol she held as a shield, her target barely had time to wrench out of her way, winning a long rent in his sleeve rather than the killing thrust Miss Gwen had intended.
"Sirrah!" snapped Miss Gwen. "Kindly stand still!"
For a moment, her opponent looked like he meant to obey. Belatedly recalling his circumstances, he scrambled for his knife, just as Geoff brought two clasped hands down on the back of his neck, sending him sprawling.
Shoving her parasol in the face of one rebel while fending off another, Miss Gwen still found the time to cast a glower in Geoff's general direction. "That one was meant to be mine," she complained.
"There are more than enough to go around," rejoined Geoff, ducking beneath a poorly planned punch.
Unmoved by that sensible sentiment, Miss Gwen expressed herself volubly as to the general uselessness of the male gender.
"Sharp-tongued old besom," grumbled one of the rebels. "Couldn't get a husband?"
Miss Gwen pinked him in the knee.
Leaving Miss Gwen to settle accounts with her admirer, Geoff repelled one assailant with a stiff elbow to the throat while driving his fist into the stomach of a second. The man doubled over satisfactorily, unreeling a stream of colloquial curses that mingled oddly with another noise, a cry that sounded more alto than baritone, and made Geoff's chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the knife blade that had just scraped stingingly across his ribs.
Dispatching the wielder of the knife—momentarily, at least—with a leg hooked beneath his knees, he heard Letty, quite definitely Letty, demanding that someone put her down, right now.
The man Geoff had tripped stumbled to his feet and staggered forward again.
"That was Letty," Geoff said shortly, finishing the man off with a blow to the head with the butt of his pistol. Four men lay groaning on the turf in various positions of pain, leaving only two to be dispatched. "Can you hold them?"
Miss Gwen ran one of the remaining two through the shoulder with her sword parasol. A grim expression of satisfaction showed on her face as he collapsed groaning at her feet.
"What are you waiting for?" she demanded, as she advanced on her final opponent.
Geoff didn't need any further urging. Sprinting down the length of the house, he called back over his shoulder, "I'm in your debt."
"Your first child, Pinchingdale!" Miss Gwen cackled.
As Geoff skidded toward Patrick Street, he could hear Miss Gwen behind him, knocking open the roof of the henhouse and urging its feathered contents onward. "Peck, my pretties! Peck! That's the way!"
It was enough to make one feel sorry for the rebels.
Geoff skidded to a stop, scanning left, then right, just in time to see Letty tumbling backward over the side of a wagon several yards away. She disappeared among a spurt of straw as the driver slapped the reins, urging his horse forward. The wagon started with a lurch that sent Letty's head, briefly visible above the slats that boxed in the sides, straight back down again.
She wasn't hurt.
Relief was rapidly replaced by rage as Geoff recognized the driver. He hadn't bothered to wear a hat, and the sun shone right down on his infamous sideburns.
Jasper had Letty.
Chapter Twenty-nine
One minute Letty was admiring her handiwork; the next she was dangling a foot off the ground.
Two large hands grasped her under the arms, yanking upward. Letty howled with indignation and pain. That grip under her arms hurt, with a throbbing pain that did not get any better when her assailant gave another concerted pull, raising her another half inch and threatening to dislocate her arms from their sockets. Letty batted ineffectually behind her, but she had failed to take into account quite how difficult it was to hit someone who had one by the armpits. Her fingers barely brushed the fabric of his sleeves.
"Let go!" Kicking out behind her, Letty's flailing foot hit wood instead of flesh, with a force that sent pain reverberating all down her leg.
Her captor took advantage of her distraction to haul her up another half foot, her backside scraping against a decidedly splintery surface. Letty's jacket snagged on a rough edge, and her captor gave an irritated grunt.
It wasn't much, but that tone of irritation was unmistakable. Letty made a concerted effort to look behind her that resulted only in a wrenching pain in her right arm.
"Captain Pinchingdale?" she exclaimed.
"Would you be still?" Jasper demanded in aggrieved tones, as though it were perfectly unremarkable for him to be grabbing her from behind and attempting to haul her into a vehicle that seemed to be completely composed of sharp fragments of wood, all aimed at Letty's backside. "You're making this much harder."
"I'm making this harder?" retorted Letty incredulously. "No one asked you to grab me! Put me down at once."
"I'll put you down"—Jasper gave another mighty heave, bringing Letty's back into uncomfortable contact with the edge of the wagon—"once you're inside."
"You might have just asked me," Letty gritted out.
Jasper snorted. It was, Letty had to admit, a fairly accurate representation of the likelihood of her having agreed to go anywhere with him. With a final heave, Letty's back scraped painfully across the edge of the wagon and she toppled over sideways, into a scratchy substance that scraped her cheek and got up her nose. The hay smelled heavily of horse and other substances that Letty, even with her country upbringing, would really rather not have encountered quite so intimately.
Why was it that people suddenly seemed to feel an ineluctable desire to pick her up and toss her into their vehicles? Some women attracted sonnets; others collected small animals. Letty got tossed into carriages. It was a trend that had to stop.
Blowing hay out of her mouth, Letty heard the slap of reins as Jasper urged the horse into motion.
"I hadn't realized you had taken up agricultural pursuits," commented Letty, struggling to her knees as the ill-sprung wagon rocked back and forth. She had never realized before quite how slippery hay could be. Every time she managed to get a bit of purchase, the cart swayed, and her hand slipped out from under her.
Jasper's nostrils flared, in an expression uncommonly similar to that of the animal he was driving. The horse clearly didn't care for Jasper any more than Jasper cared for him. "I couldn't afford anything better. Thanks to our munificent Geoffrey."
Letty clawed her way up onto the bench, wincing at the ache beneath her arms. "If this is another attempt to get me to murder my husband, the answer remains no."
"Do you really think I'm that foolish?"
"Given the circumstances?" Letty didn't have to think about it. "Yes. Now that we've gotten that cleared up, I would be much obliged if you would put me back down. Right now."
"As much as it pains me to disoblige a lady, I'm afraid that won't be possible." Jasper didn't look the least bit pained. "You see, I have plans for you."
Letty had plans for herself, too. She doubted
they coincided.
"Well, that's just too bad." Letty reached for the reins. "Some plans aren't meant to be."
Jasper forestalled her by the simple act of pulling a pistol from his waistband and jamming it into the region of her waist. It was much larger than the pistol Geoff had given her, sixteen inches at the least from stock to muzzle. Jasper handled it with a one-handed ease that bespoke long familiarity with the weapon.
"Sit," he commanded.
Letty sat.
"Is it loaded?" she asked hopefully.
Jasper sent her a look loaded with enough derision to stagger the Dowager Duchess of Dovedale. "What do you think?"
"I think you ought to put it down. You might hurt yourself."
"Your concern touches me deeply."
The thought of touching Jasper in any way revolted her. It did not, however, seem politic to say so while he had a gun jammed up against her spleen.
"I'm flattered that you were so determined to have our drive together, but you can let me down now." Letty favored him with a sparkling social smile that was only slightly marred by the smudges on her cheeks and the hay in her hair. "This has been simply charming, but I should be getting back before I'm missed."
"Has anyone ever told you that it's unwise to mock a man with a gun?"
"The situation has never arisen," said Letty honestly. "I would prefer to keep it that way."
It probably wasn't the wisest course to taunt a man with a gun shoved into her ribs, but Letty didn't believe Jasper would actually pull the trigger. At least, not deliberately. Jasper was a boaster and a bully, not a cold-blooded killer.
She hoped.
No, she wasn't going to let herself go down that road. If Jasper had the mettle for murder, he would have just killed Geoff outright, rather than trying to bamboozle her into doing it. Letty didn't doubt that Jasper was greedy enough and conscienceless enough to attempt to arrange the death of anyone who came between him and his tailor, but he just didn't have the backbone to do it himself, a fact for which Letty was profoundly grateful.
Letty scrounged for other explanations. The only one she could come up with was ransom money. The thought cheered Letty immensely. If he was planning to hold her for ransom, she would be far more use to Jasper alive than dead. No one paid full price for a corpse.
Perhaps if she started him talking, Jasper's grip on the weapon would relax. Once the gun was knocked out of his reach…well, she would deal with that bit when she got to it.
"What do you intend to do with me?"
"I thought you would never ask. Get along." Jasper impatiently slapped at the horse, which was ambling along at its own peaceful pace. With a quick look at Letty, he added, "Not you."
"Of course not." Letty folded her hands demurely in her lap and tried not to look as though she were seeking the first opportunity to whack him in the arm, steal his gun, and leap out of the wagon.
"Such a shock it will be to everyone," expatiated Jasper, waving the hand holding the gun, "when the young Viscountess Pinchingdale is found dead. On her honeymoon."
Not kidnapping, then. Jasper did seem to be taking her rejection of his advances a little too seriously. Letty wondered if she ought to have refrained from that comment about his sideburns.
"Not only dead," Jasper continued, warming to his theme, "but murdered. And by whom?"
"Preferably no one."
Jasper ignored her. "By her own husband."
"I hate to point out the flaw in your cunning plan," said Letty, squirming toward the far end of the seat, "but Geoff isn't here."
Jasper brought her to an abrupt halt by the simple expedient of thrusting the gun against her chest. "He doesn't have to be. That's the brilliance of it. It isn't necessary that our dear Geoffrey kill you—"
"How lovely."
"—simply that he be thought to kill you."
"And how do you plan to manage that? Geoff isn't exactly known for his murderous rages. No one is going to believe it."
"Oh, won't they?" Jasper looked altogether too sure of himself for Letty's liking. Even his sideburns exuded smugness. "Everyone knows our blameless Geoffrey was in love with your sister."
"Along with half the ton," snapped Letty. "It is not exactly an uncommon emotion where Mary is concerned."
"It is common knowledge that our Geoffrey was forced against his will to take you instead."
The way Jasper kept repeating "our Geoffrey" set her teeth on edge. Or maybe it was just the gun, poking insistently at the binding around her waist. She could feel the muzzle boring into her side, even through all the layers of fabric. For the first time, Letty wished Jane had wrapped on more binding. And perhaps a few layers of armor.
"I could have the entire ton up on the stand," continued Jasper confidently, "all vouching to the fact that Geoffrey never wanted to marry you."
Letty had no doubt that Mrs. Ponsonby would be the first to testify. "That might be true, but it's no motive for murder. Otherwise you would have three-quarters of the ton in the dock."
"Yours was an exceptional case."
"Wouldn't you rather just kidnap me and hold me for ransom?" Letty suggested. "That way, you get an immediate influx of funds with no pesky little murder charges. You know what they say about a bird in the hand."
"That isn't a bird; it's a gull. Do you really expect me to believe that our Geoffrey would pay to have you back? He wouldn't even travel with you as man and wife." Jasper smirked. "And everyone in Dublin has seen him making up to Miss Fairley. Now there's a fine piece of flesh."
Letty wondered just what Jane would have to say about that description.
"Besides, why would I settle for a measly portion when I could have the whole? Not only the money, but the houses, the title, everything that was due me at birth."
"Due?"
"Due. It should have been mine. What right did Geoffrey have? What did he have that I didn't?"
Letty could have told him the answer to that quite easily—he had the good fortune to be born in the proper order to the proper father—but she suspected the question was intended to be rhetorical.
If Jasper wanted unfair, he should try being born a woman. That would teach him.
"Perhaps," suggested Letty, treading very carefully, "you might try discussing this with your cousin."
Jasper might be venal, but he was, unfortunately, not entirely stupid.
"Do you think I'm entirely stupid? No, the only way is to take my destiny into my own hands. And you, my dear Lady Pinchingdale, are going to help me. Once your body is found"—Jasper gloated over the reins—"I won't even have to kill him. The law will do it for me."
"I'll grant you," said Letty, "that ours has not exactly been a picture of married bliss. But that isn't enough to prove a charge of murder."
"It will be," said Jasper complacently, "when they find our Geoffrey's snuffbox beside your body. It has the letters GP quite clearly worked into the design." Jasper paused for dramatic effect before adding the piиce de rйsistance. "And a portrait of your sister painted on the lid."
There was very little Letty could think of to say in response to that. What was there to say? In conjunction with the rumors percolating about their marriage, the discovery of the snuffbox would be just as damning as Jasper intended it to be. With the picture of Mary simpering sweetly from the underside of the lid, it provided both evidence and motive in one convenient package.
As a peer, Geoff would be tried before the House of Lords. How many members of the peerage had seen Geoff dancing attendance on Mary? How many of them had attended their disastrous wedding? True, those of them who knew Geoff would know that he wasn't the sort to murder his wife—but what was the sort to murder one's wife? They would waggle their double chins and speak wisely of young men being driven to madness by love. Tristan and Iseult would be mentioned, and that earl, two Seasons ago, whose wits had been so weakened by amour that he had gone so far as to marry his mistress. Someone would undoubtedly quote from Romeo and Juliet.
Jasper wielded his whip with a self-satisfied slap.
"Bring out the black cap," he said cheerfully.
Since there didn't seem to be much point in trying to curry favor, Letty spoke as she felt. "You really are revolting."
Jasper glanced over at Letty, his handsome features arranged in a parody of sympathy. "Come, come, my dear girl, you must get some little pleasure at being the downfall of the man who ruined your reputation."
There was something fundamentally flawed with Jasper's logic, and Letty didn't have a hard time identifying just what it was. "I'd rather be ruined and live."
Jasper shook his head. "Just like a woman to reject the chance of a glorious death."
"Fine. You take death. I'll take dishonor."
"Don't worry, my dear," said Jasper, baring all his teeth. "I'll have a charming picture of you placed in the gallery of Sibley Court. I'll even tell the artist to paint out those freckles."
That did it. "If you are so keen on killing me, why haven't you just shot me already?"
"It might stain my clothes. Do you know how much this waistcoat cost?"
Letty was relieved to know that he had some scruples, even if they didn't necessarily stretch to the sanctity of human life—hers, for a start.
"Most forms of murder are messy," said Letty very seriously. "And no matter how hard you try to scrub at a bloodstain, you never really get the marks out of the fabric."
"Exactly," said Jasper. "That is why I am going to drown you in the Liffey instead."
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Letty scarcely knew what she was saying. She was too busy casting about for escape plans. She had no hope of anyone riding to the rescue. Even if Geoff, on a very rare chance, had seen Jasper carrying her off, he had the demolition of the rebel stronghold to take care of. The life of a wife—even if he was glad he knew her—ranked fairly low next to the safety of England. "Water stains silk."