"Them?" Melanie asked, her ears catching the unmistakable sound of a horse's neigh in the distance. It could be nothing, but then again it could be Sir. She wondered if Barrymore was aware of Drew's superior, and prayed that he was not. Her only hope for now was to keep her captor distracted long enough for Sir or whoever was following them to get into position.
"Them, Lady Melanie." Barrymore gave no indication he had heard the noise. "Those lovely people in your world who throw around such terms as whore and bastard with very little regard for the people whom they are addressing. But I have taught them; my esteemed father has paid dearly for what he did to my mother, and by the time I am finished, my beloved half brother will have paid an even greater price. Why do you think I have been playing such a long and tedious game with your father?"
"I would hardly call treason a game, Mr. Barrymore," she said coldly, wondering if she should make a grab for the pistol he was holding in a casual grip. "And even if it were, I would say it was one you played rather poorly, considering how easily you were caught."
Rather than taking offense at her words, he merely smiled. "Ah, but that was also part of the game, dear Lady Melanie. I knew that once I was suspected, it wouldn't be long until the trail led back to my father and his incompetent son. Why do you think I took that particular dispatch? It was the only document I could find that was sensitive enough and that could be eventually traced back to them."
"Then why did you use my father to cover your deeds if getting caught was your objective? You must have known he would be suspected," Melanie demanded crossly. Had the driver slowed down? It seemed to her the carriage wasn't bouncing about nearly as much as it had been.
"Actually, getting caught was never my objective, but as it was a distinct possibility, I decided I would use it to my best advantage," he answered, shifting restlessly on his padded bench. "As to your father being suspected, that was merely a delightful happenstance. It had never occurred to me an earl would be accused over a mere clerk, but I had underestimated my father's determination to protect Parkinson. He knew if I were caught I'd be damned sure to implicate them as well."
"Then all of this has been a sham? You never intended selling those secrets to the French?" They were definitely slowing down, she realized, tensing in readiness. When the coach stopped she was determined to make a leap for safety, regardless of the danger. Drew had given his life to stop Barrymore, and she refused to allow herself to be used to secure his freedom.
"But of course I did." Again that evil smile flashed. "And they paid for them in good English gold. I told you, no man is averse to lining his pockets whenever the opportunity presents itself. Take those lovely jewels you are wearing"—he indicated them with the muzzle of the pistol—"they will keep me in style for a great many years to come. How thoughtful of you to bring them along."
She sniffed loudly, not deigning to answer the boastful words. Her mind was already spinning with plans of what she would do to Barrymore once she had escaped. He would pay, she vowed silently, blinking back tears of anguish. He would pay for killing the man she loved.
Suddenly the carriage lurched to a halt, and a stentorian voice called out from ahead of them. "You there in the coach, surrender in the name of the king!"
This was her chance, Melanie thought, and then leapt toward the door. She was quick, but not quite quick enough, and even as her fingers were closing around the door's handle, Mr. Barrymore was grabbing her.
"Oh, no, you don't," he said, controlling her struggles with brutal force. "You're my passage out of here, and if I die, then so do you!"
Melanie kept fighting. She had nothing to live for, she told herself, trying to maneuver into a position where she could kick Barrymore in a place that would do the most good. He saw the blow coming and backhanded her, the blow temporarily stunning her.
"That was your last warning," he rasped out, striking her a second time for good measure. "Defy me again and you die." He pushed open the carriage door with his shoulder, dragging a limp Melanie out with him.
"Stand back!" he called out to the contingent of soldiers who stood blocking the road. "If you come any closer, I will kill her!"
The soldiers hesitated, shooting the hard-faced captain who was their commanding officer uncertain looks. The young officer was equally confused. His orders were to stop the carriage at any price, but no one had told him that price could be the life of the young lady who was standing with a gun pressed to her temple. "What guarantee do I have that you will release her if I let you pass?" he asked, playing for time as he tried to decide what he should do.
"Why, my word as a gentleman, of course," Barrymore mocked, cocking the pistol and pressing the muzzle even harder against Melanie's head. "You have exactly one minute to decide and then I will shoot her."
"Don't listen to him," Melanie said, fighting against the swirling blackness that threatened to engulf her. "He has already killed two men, and he'll kill me once we are away from here. You must open fire."
Such bravery in so tiny a female made the captain even more uneasy. How could he order his men to shoot when doing so would result in her death? As he was wrestling with this dilemma, a second group of soldiers came thundering up behind them, two men dressed in jackets and breeches leaping to the ground and running up to join them.
Melanie almost swooned when she recognized Drew. He was alive, she thought exultantly, and in that moment she was determined to live. Barrymore was distracted by their arrival, and she knew she would never have another chance. Sending a small prayer winging heavenward, she lashed out with her foot and threw herself sideways at the same time. There was a roaring sound that filled her ears and then a flash of pain, and then her entire world went black.
"Merrick, it is time we were going. The doctor says that Lady Melanie will likely sleep for the rest of the evening, and you can do her no good here."
Melanie could hear a voice that sounded vaguely familiar, but as she had a dreadful headache, she decided to ignore it in the hope the speaker would grow bored and leave. She simply wasn't up to company at the moment.
"She would have died out there." A second voice was speaking. "You heard what Captain Edwards said; she told them to open fire."
"An act of exceptional bravery," the first voice agreed soothingly. "But we really must leave now, the prince is awaiting our report. Come, Drew, our job is done now."
Drew! Melanie's eyelashes fluttered frantically as she struggled to throw off the heavy blanket of sleep that covered her. He was leaving, and it was vital that she speak to him. It took a great effort, but she finally managed to open her eyes.
"Drew?" she whispered hoarsely, scarce recognizing the man who was bending over her. His light brown hair was disheveled, and his hazel eyes were glittering out of a face that was alarmingly pale. "You're alive?" she asked, all the terror she had gone through that evening washing over her as she reached up a trembling hand to touch his lips. "He told me he had killed you."
"And I thought he had killed you," Drew said, blinking back scalding tears. The vision of her lying on the ground with blood seeping from her head was an image he knew he would take to the grave. "Are you all right? The physician said the bullet barely grazed you, but that the concussion knocked you unconscious. You should be fine in a day or so."
"Barrymore?" she asked, her soft voice slurring as the blackness began descending again. "You didn't let him escape, did you?"
"He is in custody," Drew assured her, his mouth thinning in an angry line as he remembered the effort it had cost him not to throttle the life from the other man. Had it not been for Sir and the soldiers, he knew he would have killed Barrymore with his bare hands.
It was getting harder and harder to stay awake, and just as she was surrendering to the darkness Melanie spoke the words she had been longing to say.
"Davies?"
"Yes, Lady Melanie?" Drew reached out to brush back a strand of black hair that had fallen across the bandage covering her head.
Melanie spent the next two days abed recovering her strength and fighting off her grandmother's attempts to cure her. She had already spoken with Sir, and once she had his permission, she told her father all that she knew of Barrymore. He was deeply saddened at the calculating way the other man had betrayed him, and vowed to vet his assistants with better care in the future.
Melanie was slowly recovering her strength, but there was one thing that troubled her deeply, and that was that she had neither seen nor heard from Drew. With Barrymore's capture he had vanished completely, and the Marchfields' butler, Mr. Halvey, was now back in his old position. He was a regular martinet, according to Lady Charlotte, who kept Melanie filled in on all that was going on in the household, and far more believable as a butler than was Davies.
"I still haven't forgiven you for spinning me that Banbury tale about his being a runner," she concluded, shooting Melanie a sulky look. "Did you think I would go running off to the enemy with the information?"
"Of course not, Grandmother," Melanie replied quietly, too exhausted to argue with the strong-willed marchioness. "But you must know that I was sworn to secrecy." She turned her head restlessly on the pillows, blinking at the soft golden light streaming into the room through the open drapes. Even as she enjoyed the warm sunshine caressing her cheeks, she realized she had never felt less springlike in all her life. Where the devil was Drew, she brooded angrily. Why hadn't he made the slightest effort to see her?
"Well, if you say so, but I still do not like it," Lady Charlotte grumbled, oblivious to her granddaughter's dark mood. "The very next time you find yourself involved with spies and traitors, I want you to come to me at once! That Davies had no right dragging you into this hornets' nest, and so I told him. Such things are—"
"You have seen Davies?" Melanie interrupted, pushing herself up against the pillows. "He has been here?"
"Well, of course he has," the marchioness blinked at Melanie in surprise. "He has been all but haunting the parlor, he and that blue-eyed devil who is with him. Sir, what sort of name is that? Sir who, I should very much like to know! Although he does look somewhat familiar now that I think of it," she added with a thoughtful frown.
"Why was I not told?" Melanie pushed her bedclothes aside, fighting off dizziness as she struggled to her feet. Her nightrobe was lying on a chair, and she snatched it up.
"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Lady Abbington gasped in horror, her arms going about Melanie. "Get back into that bed before you collapse!"
Since she was still so weak, Melanie had no choice but to comply, but the moment she was in bed she was issuing instructions. "I want to see him, Grandmother, please ask him to come up here and visit with me."
"What? Entertain a man in your bedchamber? I should say not, young lady!" Her grandmother was clearly horrified. "Your father would never allow such a thing, and even if he did, I would not! We have been lucky enough to scrape through this without a scandal, and I'll not let you risk one now."
"But I want to see him, Grandmother," Melanie insisted, tears pooling in her violet eyes. "Please, can you not arrange it somehow?"
The marchioness studied her for a long moment, and then broke into a wide grin. "Like that, is it?" she asked, sounding oddly satisfied. "Well, never fear, my dear, Edwina and I will take care of everything. No, there's no need to thank me," she said when Melanie gasped in protest, "it is my duty as your grandmother to see you leg-shackled, and although I think you could do better than an itinerate spy, I'll not say a word in protest. Good day, my dear, and be sure to get plenty of rest. Weddings are notoriously taxing on brides." With that she left the room, ignoring Melanie's cries that she come back.
In Sir's rooms Drew sat with his feet up, staring at the contents of his brandy glass. He had just come from a meeting at Carlton House, and the prince's effusive praises were still ringing loudly in his ears.
"You don't look like a man who has just completed a dangerous and difficult assignment," Sir said casually, swinging a booted foot as he studied his friend. "Is there something you neglected to tell His Highness?"
"No, at least nothing that involves Barrymore," Drew replied, taking a deep sip of the fiery brandy. His face screwed up at the brassy taste. "Good God, Sir, I admire your patriotic sentiments, but surely there can be no harm in buying an occasional bottle of French brandy. This bilge water could melt iron!"
"I never, ever buy smuggled brandy," Sir informed him icily, remembering the men he had commanded who had been killed with weapons traded for brandy. "But that isn't the question I asked. Why are you looking so Friday-faced? Has this anything to do with Lady Melanie?"
Drew glared at him. "I told her to stay away from that bastard," he said, stabbing the air with a finger. "I told her he was dangerous. Why the devil couldn't she have obeyed me just this once? She might have been killed!"
"According to what the prince said, it was Barrymore who followed her out onto the balcony rather than the other way around," Sir reminded him coolly, unperturbed by Drew's sullen temper. "You can hardly blame her for what happened."
"Oh, yes, I can," Drew snarled, taking another sip of the potent liquor. "She is a minx and a menace, and I . . ."
"And you love her," Sir finished when Drew could not continue. "Don't you?"
"Yes, for all the good it does me."
"A great deal of good, I should think, considering the lady in question appears to return your affections," Sir replied quietly. "Or are you forgetting she has already confessed as much?"
"I'll never forget it," Drew answered intensely, knowing he would always cherish her soft confession. "But that doesn't change the fact that she is a lady and I am nothing but the younger son of a country squire. She is used to far more than I could ever hope to provide, and besides, what of my work with you? If Melanie and I were to marry and I were to die, what would become of her?"
"Aren't these questions you should be asking of Lady Melanie?" Sir asked with his usual calm. "If she rejects your suit on such trivial concerns, then there is nothing to be done, but I think you owe it to the lady to ask her. Provided, of course, that you really love her."
Drew did not answer, and the silence between them mounted. Just as Drew appeared to reach a conclusion, there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Halvey entered.
"A thousand pardons for intruding upon you, Sir, Captain Merrick" he said, executing one of the deep bows Drew had been at such pains to learn. "But I think it might be advisable for you to come with me. It is Lady Melanie."
"Melanie?" Drew leapt to his feet, the brandy snifter falling from his fingers. "What about her? Is she all right?"
"I fear not, Captain." The butler's grave tones made Drew's stomach clench with horror. "She appears to have suffered a relapse. The marchioness sent me to fetch a doctor, but I thought I should inform you as well."
Drew was already pulling on the jacket he had discarded only half an hour earlier, his thoughts all on Melanie. Sir was right, if he loved Melanie and she him, then he owed it to each of them to tell her of that love. If she rejected him . . . He grew cold at the thought.
Sir accompanied them back to Marchfield House, an odd light visible in his deep blue eyes. He would glance at Drew occasionally, a slight smile touching his lips, but he kept his own counsel. Soon they were pulling up in front of the house, and the wheels had barely stopped before Drew jumped out and went dashing up the front steps.
"Where is Melanie?" he demanded of the footman who let him in.
"Her ladyship be in her room," the footman answered, gaping at his former superior in amazement. "But she be resting now, and—"
Drew didn't wait for any further explanations, taking the stairs two at a time in his eagerness. He reached her door and threw it open, groaning in anguish at the sight of her lying so still and silent on the bed.
Melanie heard the door hitting the wall and felt herself being gathered up in a protective embrace. "Melanie, sweet, be all right, pl
ease be all right," she heard a soft voice pleading as a string of frantic kisses was trailed across her cheek and down her neck.
She kept her eyes shut, threading her fingers through his thick hair and reveling in the sweet sensations. If this was part of the dream she had been having, then she hoped she never awakened. She sighed deeply, using her hold on her dream-lover to bring his lips down to hers. The ardent kiss they exchanged brought all her senses flaming to life, but it wasn't until she felt his warm hand gently cupping her breast that her eyes flew open.
"Drew!"
"I love you, Melanie," he was whispering, his voice husky with passion as he held her against him. "Please say you will marry me!"
Melanie's eyes filled with tears as she gazed up at him. This was real, she realized, happiness chasing out the last of her bleak despair. Drew was here holding her and speaking the words she had been longing to hear. She touched his cheek lovingly, her voice not quite steady as she answered him. "Oh, yes, Drew, my darling," she said softly, "yes, I will marry you!"
"Darling!" Drew held her close, pouring all of his love and his passion into a burning kiss. When he pulled back, they were both breathing heavily, and Melanie's cheeks were tinted a rosy red.
"The doctor will be delighted to see such color in your cheeks, my love," he laughed huskily, brushing a thumb over the full mouth that was still throbbing from his kiss. "Although he will doubtlessly think himself ill used to have been called out for nothing."
"What on earth are you talking about?" Melanie asked, feeling warm and dazed all at the same time. She wasn't sure why Drew had stopped kissing her, but she wished he would get back to the matter at hand.
"Your head," Drew answered, frowning as he touched the bandage that covered her wound. Gazing down at her, he realized she looked rather healthy for a young lady who was supposedly at death's door. "Halvey said you had had a relapse and he has gone to fetch the doctor."
"But I am fine," she answered, as puzzled as he by the odd circumstances. "When the doctor was here this morning he said I should be up and about by the end of the week."
Her Ladyship's Man Page 17