Candace Camp

by A Dangerous Man

As she stepped out into the hall, she heard her name called. “Eleanor.”

  It was Anthony’s voice. He had arrived at the worst possible moment. He could not see di Graffeo or his gun, because the count was still behind her in the room. But the count had heard his voice and would know that Anthony was there. He would be prepared, whereas Anthony, unaware, would be walking straight into danger.

  She had hoped that Anthony would arrive in time to help her, but her only thought now was to warn him away. She whirled, crying, “Anthony, no!”

  Before she could say anything else, however, the count stepped out into the hall, grabbing her arm to hold her where she was and bringing the pistol up to her head.

  “Stop right there, Lord Neale,” di Graffeo commanded.

  Anthony came to a halt, staring at the scene in front of him. “What the devil is going on here?” he exclaimed, his voice reverberating with fury. “Unhand her, di Graffeo, or I promise you, you will regret it.”

  “You will regret it much more, sir, if you try to stop me.”

  “I see only one pistol,” Anthony retorted. “You cannot shoot both of us.”

  “No. But I can promise you that Lady Scarbrough will be dead before you ever reach me. Is it worth it?”

  “You know it is not,” Anthony replied.

  “Very well, then. Now, walk toward us…slowly.”

  Anthony did so, his eyes intent upon the count and the pistol he held to Eleanor’s head. “I don’t know how the devil you think you are going to get away with this,” he told the count. “You will have the list, but I think you will have a hard time getting out of the country before I catch up with you.”

  “Ah. Well, then, you give me a very good reason to incapacitate you,” di Graffeo replied, his voice amused. “Now, walk past Lady Scarbrough. My lady, step back a little, please.”

  The count wrapped his arm around Eleanor, effectively pinning her arms to her sides, and pulled her back against him, taking a step back into the room so that she would be out of Anthony’s reach as he walked by. Anthony strode past them and paused. Count di Graffeo released his hold on Eleanor’s waist and once again grasped her arm, guiding her into the hallway in front of him.

  They started down the hallway toward the butler’s room, Anthony walking with a slow, measured pace. Eleanor waited, alert, for whatever opportunity might arise. It had occurred to her that Anthony had spoken rather loudly, and she wondered if he had known of the presence of a servant outside their range of vision, if he had perhaps been informing a footman or someone of what was going on. With luck, the footman might have enough sense to arm himself. She wished, quite fervently, that Bartwell was there. But she knew that whatever happened with the footman or anyone else, Anthony was biding his time, waiting for the best chance to attack di Graffeo. Eleanor needed to be ready to jump aside so she would no longer be leverage for the count to hold over Anthony.

  “Conte!” a man’s voice called from behind them.

  Di Graffeo turned his head. “Paradella!”

  Eleanor felt, more than saw, the count’s gun hand relax, moving a little from her head as di Graffeo turned toward the new threat. She dropped to the floor just as Anthony let out a roar and threw himself at the count.

  Di Graffeo turned back, bringing up the gun, but Anthony wrapped both hands around the count’s arm, jerking it upward as he crashed into the man, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Eleanor scrambled to her feet and looked down at the two men thrashing and wrestling across the floor. She glanced up. Dario stood a few feet away from them, a pistol in his hand and leveled at the men on the floor. He watched, his face stamped with frustration, clearly unable to get off a clear shot.

  Eleanor ran to the table against one wall of the hallway and grabbed a vase, intending to smash it down on di Graffeo’s gun hand and separate him from his weapon. Once that was done, she was certain, the two men could restrain the count. But even as she turned, vase in hand, di Graffeo managed to land a blow on Anthony’s chin with his free hand, stunning him enough to allow the count to roll out from under Anthony and start to rise.

  In that instant Dario fired. The ball hit the count in the chest, and he went sprawling, blood welling from the wound.

  Anthony pulled the gun from the count’s hand and stood up. Eleanor dropped the vase back on the table and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. Anthony hugged her tightly to him, and they both turned to look down at their enemy.

  The count was sprawled on his back, blood staining his shirtfront. He looked faintly surprised. “Paradella,” he said, contempt in his voice. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Traditore!”

  “No, di Graffeo,” Dario replied, his face as hard as his tone. “I am not a traitor. Just a man who loves freedom.”

  The light faded from di Graffeo’s face, and he settled into the stillness of death.

  Eleanor shuddered and turned her face into Anthony’s shoulder. He rubbed his hand down her back soothingly. “Perhaps you should go lie down. I’ll send for a magistrate.”

  “No. I am all right.” She straightened. “I intend to get this over with right now.” She looked at Anthony. “I think we should give it to Dario.”

  He nodded. “Agreed.” He cast a half smile at the other man. “It is little enough thanks for saving our lives.”

  Dario shrugged. “I am just happy that I was far enough behind you that di Graffeo did not see me, too. I apologize for taking so long. I had to return to my coat to get the pistol.”

  “Do you always carry a pistol with you?” Eleanor asked in astonishment.

  “Only since I found out that he was in town.” He jerked his head toward the body at their feet. “Even though he could not prove it, the count was certain that I was among L’unione. I could not help but wonder if he would decide to get rid of me here, where there would be no one to retaliate.” He turned toward Eleanor. “But what do you mean? What are you giving—”

  They were interrupted by a loud scream from above, followed by running footsteps and a man’s voice shouting, “No, my lady, no, you don’t understand!”

  “Eleanor! Anthony! The footman has a gun!” Honoria came flying down the staircase and into the hall at a faster pace than Eleanor would have thought possible. Right on her heels came one of the footmen, carrying a dueling pistol.

  Honoria came to a sudden halt when she saw the group gathered beside the body on the floor and stared, for once rendered speechless. The footman, unable to stop, slid into her back, sending her tumbling to the floor.

  Honoria began to shriek, over and over, while the footman babbled apologies and asides to Eleanor to the effect that he meant no harm, but had only run to fetch Eleanor’s pistol when he heard Lord Neale’s words.

  At the commotion, everyone in the household came running, including Samantha and all the servants. Eleanor groaned and looked at Anthony. The babble rose all around them until, finally, Anthony put his fingers to his lips and gave a loud, piercing whistle.

  Silence fell immediately.

  “Thank you,” Eleanor said, then turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Jasper, in Bartwell’s absence, I expect you to take charge of the servants. Keep them in the kitchen until such time as the magistrate decides whether he needs to talk to them. Everson, fetch the magistrate. Harmon, stand guard over the body. And Janet…” She turned to address her maid. “If you will take Samantha and Lady Honoria upstairs…”

  “Of course, miss.” Janet, efficient as ever and now used to dealing with Edmund’s mother, took the older woman’s arm and gently led her upstairs, murmuring sympathies at the fright she had endured. Samantha, wide-eyed, followed her.

  Last, Eleanor turned to the maid who had walked in on her and Anthony the night before, fixing her with a gimlet gaze. “I will deal with you later,” Eleanor promised.

  The girl paled visibly. “I’m sorry, my lady,” the maid began to wail. “I didn’t know he was a wicked man. I only—”

  “You only betrayed me, and I
will not stand for that,” Eleanor told her crisply.

  “Yes, my lady,” the girl answered in a subdued voice as the other servants turned to stare at her in shock.

  Eleanor, Anthony and Dario turned and went into the small sitting room on the other side of the hall from where the count’s body lay. It was a less formal room than the front drawing room and was used primarily as the anteroom to the dining room.

  “I need a drink,” Anthony said flatly, crossing to the liquor cabinet against the far wall. “Paradella? Eleanor?”

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Please,” Dario said in a strained voice.

  Anthony poured their drinks and handed them to Eleanor and Dario, then downed his own quickly. “Now…what the devil happened here?”

  “You know most of it. Di Graffeo found out about the list. It seems he had paid one of the maids to spy on me for him.”

  “Ah…” Anthony’s brow cleared. “That explains the maid whom you laid low with that look.”

  “You found the list?” Dario asked, astonished. “But how—where—”

  Eleanor told him, though she was careful to leave out where and when she had thought of Edmund using his music as a code.

  Dario’s face brightened. “Of course! That sounds exactly like something Edmund would have done. How clever of him.”

  Eleanor nodded. “Yes. Anthony and I worked out the code and translated it. But one of the maids was at the door. I don’t know how long she had been listening, but she heard enough to bring the count here. First he offered to buy it, and when I would not sell it, he tried to blackmail me.”

  “Blackmail you,” Paradella repeated. “But how could he—with what?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “It does not matter.” She cast a quick glance at Anthony. “I would not have given him the list, in any case. That was when he pulled out the gun and demanded that I give it to him. But then, thank heavens, you arrived.”

  “I am simply grateful Paradella came to the door right after me,” Anthony interjected. “Without his help, I am not sure what I would have done.”

  “We are all very fortunate,” Dario said, smiling. He looked at Eleanor. “Dare I hope that the list is why you wished to speak with me this afternoon?”

  Eleanor nodded. “You had said that L’unione needed it.”

  “Yes, it would be of great help to us,” Dario told her.

  “Then I will give it to you. I think that is what Edmund would have wanted.”

  “Thank you.” Dario’s dark eyes shone. “You have done a great service for my country.”

  At that moment the magistrate arrived, and they had to spend some time explaining to him what had happened. After he finished interviewing them, Anthony went with him to talk to the servants and arrange for the body to be taken away.

  Eleanor retrieved the list and its musical code from the safe. She handed it to Dario, who read it over eagerly.

  “I can scarce believe it,” he told her, grinning. “I had all but given up hope of finding this. Our mission has been thwarted greatly by the secrecy in which we have had to dwell. It will go much more easily now. And now we know that the list will not be found by di Graffeo and his men.”

  “It puzzles me that the count did not make an attempt to find the list of names earlier. I was there for months, yet there was only that one time, right before I left, that the house was searched.”

  “Perhaps he did not know of its existence until recently. Even I was unaware that Edmund had been given the responsibility of keeping the list. As I told you, we must operate in great secrecy. But one of our number was captured by di Graffeo’s men. He was the only one who knew about Edmund, you see, and about the list, besides the leader of our group. Though he did not know exactly how Edmund had hidden the list, he was aware that Edmund had entrusted it to you. When our leader realized what he might have revealed, I was dispatched here to keep you safe.”

  “And to get the list.”

  Dario gave her a roguish smile. “And to get the list.” He bowed, brushing his lips over the back of her hand. “I am eternally grateful to you, my dear Eleanor. I promise you that I will safeguard it with my life.”

  “Then you will be returning to Italy?”

  “Yes. Straightaway. I will pack and leave as soon as I can. Hopefully tomorrow.” He paused, then added, “I still hope that you will return to Italy, as well.”

  Eleanor smiled and shook her head. “No. My place is here.”

  “With him?” He cast a glance toward the door through which Anthony had gone.

  Eleanor followed his gaze, unaware of the wistful look that had stolen over her face. “I do not know.” She straightened and forced a smile. “Well, then, this is goodbye. Godspeed, Dario.”

  “Goodbye, Eleanor.” He bowed again and left.

  Eleanor walked back to the kitchen, where she found that the magistrate had finished with the servants and left the house, after arranging to have the count’s body removed. Anthony, she was informed, had gone with the magistrate.

  Eleanor went up the back stairs to her bedroom, not eager to have to walk past the spot where the body had lain in order to get to the front stairs. She had always loved this house, but now she was not certain that she could bear to continue to live here.

  She heard no word from Anthony, a fact that made her feel increasingly unhappy. Moreover, the fact that she felt unhappy because she might not see him that evening made her feel all the more displeased. Had she reached such a point that she could not be content if a man was not there? It was absurd, she told herself.

  She occupied herself for a while by writing to Zachary to tell him that he and Bartwell could return with Kerani and the children. But then she was once again at a loss.

  Supper was a lonely affair, just herself and Samantha at the long table, clumped together at one end, as Honoria had declined to come down to dinner, claiming that her nerves were far too shattered for company. Even Samantha was uncharacteristically quiet. It was no wonder, Eleanor knew, since the girl had just seen a dead body. She wished that she could somehow take away Samantha’s distress. She tried a time or two to talk about it, but Samantha seemed unwilling, so she gave up the effort. When the girl was ready, she would come to her, Eleanor hoped.

  After dinner, Eleanor passed most of the evening up in her bedchamber again. She felt all at sixes and sevens. It was due, she told herself, to the events of the afternoon. But she knew, deep down, that Anthony’s absence nagged at her.

  Shortly before midnight, after she had already undressed and gotten into her nightrobe, there was a rattle at her window. She flew to the window and peered outside. There stood Anthony in the street, looking up at her window. Smiling, she waved to him, then turned and hurried quickly down the stairs. She unlocked the door and opened it, stepping aside to let him in.

  He enfolded her in his embrace. “I am sorry. I thought I would get away sooner, or I would have sent you a note.”

  There was the sound of footsteps hurrying, and they turned their heads as a footman rushed into the room. He came to a dead stop upon seeing them. Eleanor and Anthony parted quickly. Eleanor blushed, very aware of the fact that she was wearing only her nightshift and dressing gown.

  “It is all right, Everson,” she told him with as much dignity as she could muster. “I saw Lord Neale arrive, so I opened the door myself.”

  “Yes, my lady, of course,” he said quickly, backing up. “I was just…I heard the door close, and with all that’s been going on, I was afraid…”

  “Yes. Thank you. You were quite right to check on it. You may go to bed now, however.”

  “Yes, my lady.” He bowed again and was gone.

  Eleanor turned a little self-consciously back to Anthony. “Have you been all this while with the magistrate?”

  He shook his head. “No. I have been back and forth from our government to the consul’s house and back again. The count’s ties to the king of Naples made it a somewhat delicate issue. They called in Pa
radella, too, even though the magistrate took my word for his shooting the count to save my life.”

  “Is it over now?”

  He nodded. “I believe so. The consul seemed somewhat suspicious, I thought, but he could not bring himself to call me a liar.”

  “I am sorry for the trouble.”

  He shrugged. “’Tis little enough.” He looked at her, reaching out to take her hands. “When I think what might have happened to you…”

  “It did not.”

  “No, thank God.” He pulled her into his arms. She felt his lips press against her hair. Eleanor wrapped her arms around him and held on tightly.

  “I must leave soon,” he told her. “I do not want to cause gossip among the servants.”

  “Of course.” She wanted to tell him that she did not care about the servants or what they said. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to have his arms around her, to go to sleep with him by her side. But she would not let herself say the words. It mattered to Anthony if the servants gossiped. This was his world, and their gossip would blacken him.

  “I just wanted to see you again before I went home,” Anthony said.

  “I am glad you came.”

  He bent his head and kissed her, and Eleanor melted against him. When at last he raised his head, she was breathless and shaky, and it was all she could do not to cling to him and ask him not to leave.

  “Tomorrow…” he said in a low voice. “I will come to call on you tomorrow, if that is all right.”

  “Yes. Of course.” She smiled, stepping back from him and adding lightly, “We have promised Samantha that we will take her to the balloon ascension.”

  He grimaced. “I had forgotten about that. Do you still want to go?”

  “Yes, I do,” she replied firmly. “I don’t want to disappoint her. It was bad enough that she had to see the count’s body. Perhaps the festivities will help her to forget it.”

  He sighed. “No doubt you are right.” He kissed her again, hard and quick, then stepped back, his face set. “I must go now, or I shan’t leave at all.”

  She closed the door behind him and hurried up the stairs to her room. Pulling aside the curtain, she watched him until he was out of sight in the darkness.