Lady Beware

by Jo Beverley

  If Marcus’s damned spirit truly did linger here, by midnight, when the last guests departed, his hair would be on end, too.

  After all that, Darien wasn’t entirely surprised to return from his ride the next morning to find the Prussocks gone. With, of course, some other bits and pieces of value. He returned to the stables to talk to Nid.

  “Don’t go to the house in the morning, sir. Take me breakfast here with some of the other grooms. Well I never, but I’m not surprised. A peculiar lot.” He scratched his nose for a moment. “Don’t like to cast suspicion, sir, but I did get a glimpse of Prussock two nights since. Thought he had a woman, I did, which surprised me and that’s no lie. But now I’m wondering if it was a pig, see?”

  “A pig? It was Prussock…? But why? I’ve been more tolerant than they deserve.”

  “Ah, but they were none too happy having you there at all, see? Had a nice little spot, all to themselves, and with the place’s reputation and all, they thought to have it for a nice long time. So I think they’ve been trying to scare you away. I suppose I should have said something, but I never dreamed it’d come to this.”

  “Nor I. They’ve been stealing from the house, too. Living like lords when they had the chance, I’ve no doubt. It’ll have to be the Runners, but they’re probably crafty enough to be far away by now.”

  “You’ll be right there, sir. Do you want me to help out? Cook or something?”

  Darien remembered Nid’s attempts at cooking in the army. “No, but here’s some money to get yourself food from a chophouse. I’ll see about hiring new people, though the pig’s put the house’s reputation back a bit.”

  He returned to the house and checked for losses. Any remaining silver had gone, plus some smaller vases and even a pair of brocade curtains from the drawing room. Then he found the safe had been broken open.

  He cursed his own stupidity. He’d suspected the Prussocks, so why hadn’t he been on guard? Yesterday, one of them must have followed him as he checked the house. Most safes got their security from being unknown. A short time and brute strength and they were vulnerable. He sent Nid for a Bow Street Runner but didn’t think much of his chances of getting his property back.

  He stood in the hall, testing the feel of the truly empty house. Not even a ghost, yet it still felt foul. What was he to do with it?

  He was tempted to move in with Van, and lack of servants would provide an excuse, but he’d stick it out for a day or two, until the latest furor calmed.

  But he wasn’t going to attempt to make this his home.

  Chapter 37

  “A message for you, milady.”

  Thea looked up from breakfast, which she’d only picked at. Her spirits weren’t low, not after the way Darien had taken farewell of her yesterday. But she was completely focused on overcoming all obstacles.

  All the trouble at Cave House was now explained as mischief by Darien’s servants, and that was being spread around Town by all possible means. She’d suggested that he be invited to move in here and had an hour’s delicious anticipation until his reply had been received—a polite refusal.

  She’d even found herself fretting about his care and housekeeping, but he could invite himself to eat at any one of a dozen houses, and an army man could live simply if he must.

  So all in all, things weren’t so bad. She simply needed a private, unhurried moment in which to convince him that she loved him and must marry him.

  A glance had shown her that the letter was from Maddy, tempting her not to read it at all, but she snapped the seal. Inside, the writing was cramped and Maddy’s pen must have been atrocious, for the ink went rapidly from dark to pale and there were ink-blots all over the page. She struggled to read the letter, frowning.

  Thea, dearest Thea, I know I was horrid to you, but I was so hurt by Fox’s betrayal. Now I’ve done something really stupid. I sneaked out to Darien’s house to ask him not to kill Fox. I know that’s foolish, but I can’t stop loving him.

  Was that a teardrop? Maddy!

  But Darien was so horrible to me. I can’t tell you. He hates me because I threatened you, and he hurt me until I promised never to speak of the feathers, and now he’s left to kill Fox anyway. I have to get out of here before he returns, but I have no clothes.

  No clothes! Thea gasped, trying to comprehend.

  Yes, she knew Darien had been angry with Maddy, but she also knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

  Yet, she had seen him when that punishing rage consumed him. He’d not behave like that with a woman, she was sure of that, but he might do something to frighten Maddy so she wouldn’t reveal what had happened at the Harroving masquerade. Nothing truly terrible—no clothes?—but enough to cast his reputation on the dung heap if discovered.

  She rubbed a hand over her face, glad Harriet had returned to the servants’ area.

  One thing was sure. She must get Maddy out of his house before she was discovered there, half naked and in a wild state. She read through the rest of the letter, struggling at times with the scrawl.

  Please, Thea, you must help me. There’s no one here. No servants or anyone. He must have sent them away so he could do this to me. I’ve unlocked the front door, so you can just come in. Please don’t betray me to anyone! Just bring some clothes and get me away from here. I have to warn Fox!

  Thea sat there, her mind in a fog. Was that the truth of the missing servants? But—she reread to check—Maddy said she’d gone there of her own accord, so how could Darien have planned this? Typical of Maddy. Muddle and exaggeration. Darien would have done no more than scare her….

  She’d achieve nothing sitting here like a ninny. She ran into her dressing room, wondering what of hers would fit Maddy. None of her shifts or corsets. She hunted through drawers and the armoire until she found a loosely cut dress with a drawstring waist. She added a full-length cloak and a pair of slippers. That would have to do.

  She bundled it all up, then paused. Should she tell her mother? It would be wiser, but the fewer people who knew, the better.

  What if he had lost his temper and gone too far…?

  No, she wouldn’t believe that.

  She brushed away tears and put on a simple cloak herself. She was about to test Darien’s suggestion of a way to leave her house secretly. She went downstairs, praying she not meet anyone who felt able to question her. She slipped into the Garden Room and through the doors into the gardens.

  The mystery was the entrance from the stables, but when she walked through the winding paths and clever hedges designed to create the impression of a much larger space, she found the high wall that was part of the stables. In the wall was a door. She tried the handle, and the door opened. So simple. Cobwebs, indeed, but there could be a roomful of people beyond.

  She was Lady Theodosia Debenham, she reminded herself. If she wanted to wander to the stables this way, who could object?

  The room beyond the door was empty of people, though full of a bewildering amount of wood and leather, all doubtless to do with the carriages. She heard voices, but none nearby. A window showed her where she wanted to go, and when she peered into the corridor, she saw an open door to the lane.

  In moments, she was walking away from her house, alone in London for the first time.

  Before emerging onto the street, she pulled up her hood and then hurried in search of a hackney stand. She felt sure the driver knew she was a young lady who shouldn’t be out alone, but he took her shilling without comment and soon deposited her by the side of St. George’s church.

  She walked from there, entering the square cautiously. She saw no sign that anything was amiss. In fact, Hanover Square looked too ordinary and orderly. A cloaked woman carrying a bundle might attract attention. She had no choice, however, so she walked at a steady pace up to Darien’s house. When she mounted the steps, the nasty black dog seemed to be snarling directly at her.

  Her feet froze in place. Until this moment, it hadn’t crossed her mind that Darien could harm her.
<
br />   And he couldn’t. If she didn’t believe that, her world lay in ruins. In fact, Maddy would have exaggerated the whole thing. She continued to the door, turned the knob, and, as promised, it opened.

  She went into the house, eyes and ears on full alert. She didn’t think she’d ever entered an empty house before. There were always servants, even if the family was away. Of course Maddy was here somewhere, but the hair was rising on the back of her neck, as if evil spirits were around.

  “Maddy?” she whispered, closing the door behind her, feeling worse when daylight was blocked.

  Only silence. For the first time she wondered if this was a trick. Maddy wouldn’t.

  Would she? If it was a trick, Thea couldn’t imagine how to do anything to her cousin that was sufficiently painful.

  “Maddy,” she called more loudly.

  “In here.” It was a terrified squeak from the parlor to her left. Thea’s heart immediately raced, and mentally apologizing, she ran in.

  A hand covered her mouth and a strong arm encircled her.

  A man. A big man.

  Not Darien.

  In the mirror across the room, she caught a flash of blue and silver, but then a hood was dropped over her head, blinding her.

  A hussar uniform. Foxstall!

  New terror beat. But Maddy. Surely Maddy wouldn’t have…

  Instantly, Thea realized Maddy hadn’t. Her cousin hadn’t written that letter. She wasn’t even here. She’d been lured here by Foxstall alone. By Foxstall seeking his revenge.

  She struggled wildly, but the big hand came around her throat and squeezed. She clawed at it but couldn’t find breath. As darkness closed in on her, she knew this was to be Foxstall’s revenge on Darien as well as on her.

  Another murdered lady, and this time actually in Cave House.

  Chapter 38

  Darien entered his house from the back, passing through the empty servants’ area and into the hall, wondering what the hell was going on. For days he’d been wary of some malice from Foxstall, and now he had it. But it was pointless.

  On returning from his ride, Nid had given him a letter that had come to the stables. It was an incoherent plea from Pup to meet him at an inn across the river in Putney. He’d gone straight there, of course, but found Pup enjoying an enormous breakfast and believing Darien had arranged the meeting.

  The message to Pup had been delivered by Foxstall, who’d also offered to return the key to Cave House. Pup had passed it over. So casually, a weapon given to an enemy. But to be used for what?

  Darien had explained it away and sent Pup back home; then he’d returned to Cave House as quickly as possible. Now, he stripped off his gloves and tossed them, his cane, and hat on the hall table, looking for trouble.

  He found it.

  Blood on the floor of the hall.

  Bloody footprints by the look of it, just like the ones outside yesterday. He knelt and touched fingers to the dark liquid, raising them afterward, but he knew. He was familiar with blood and this was recent. It might be wisest to leave and find help, perhaps Evesham, the magistrate, but if Foxstall had left a body in the house, he’d have done his best to make Darien look guilty of the killing.

  He looked up the stairs, seeing smears of red on the handrail. His heart began to pound. The body of a person, this time, rather than a pig?

  He picked up his cane and went upstairs slowly, sensing for danger at every step. Whatever else awaited, he hoped Foxstall was here. More than ever, he needed to kill him.

  The smears grew scantier, but they led toward the back of the house.

  To his room?

  He approached his door listening, but heard nothing.

  Not even the ticking of the hall clock.

  He realized that no one would have wound it since the Prussocks fled.

  But something was in the room. Every instinct he possessed said that. He grasped the doorknob, turned it quietly, and eased open the door.

  His bedroom looked completely normal, even to the chess game he’d laid out to study. But the hangings around the bed were drawn. He never drew them in warmer weather. He moved forward as quietly as boots allowed, but froze at a noise. A rustling from behind the curtains.

  Not a corpse then. A snake, a rabid dog? That might appeal to Foxstall’s warped mind.

  Keeping an eye on the curtains, Darien opened his chest, dug down, and pulled out his saber. Forgot this, didn’t you, Foxstall? Whatever vengeful mischief you’ve created here will come to a rapid, bloody end, and you’re next. He slid the blade out and put down the scabbard, then approached the bed, trying to analyze the slight sounds.

  Cautiously, he parted the curtains with the blade tip.

  He eased the curtain back. Some cloth on the bed. Another pig in a dress?

  No noise at all, now. No hissing or snarling. No movement.

  With the blade, he swept the curtain to the right, rings rattling, letting daylight in.

  Then he tossed the weapon aside.

  “Thea? My God, Thea? What’s happened to you?”

  She was pale as the pillow—where it wasn’t stained with blood. Her blood. Her eyes were huge and blind with terror. She was bound.

  He grabbed the saber again to cut the strip of cloth around her arms.

  She screamed. By instinct, he clamped a hand over her mouth. “Hush, love. It’s me. Darien. I’ll have you free in a moment.”

  Foxstall, Foxstall, death’s too good for you. I’ll flay you, inch by inch.

  She was threshing her head and trying to claw, but he couldn’t let her scream. If anyone came, she’d suffer even more. Her clothes were torn half off her….

  He cut her hands free, and then her legs, then tossed the blade aside again and gathered her into his arms. She began choking in gasping sobs and he couldn’t tell if it was still terror or relief. He clambered up on the bed and held her tightly, rocking her and saying whatever came into his head.

  Then he saw fresh blood on his hand. “Thea, stop. You’re bleeding again. Let me take care of you.”

  She pushed away from him, fixated on his bloody hand. “Let me go, let me go!”

  He did and she tumbled to the floor on the far side of the bed, her hair wildly straggling, and staring at him as if he were a wild beast.

  “Thea,” he breathed, his heart breaking. He spoke as calmly as he could manage. “I didn’t hurt you. Let me take care of you.” He stretched a hand out, saw the blood on it, and wiped it off on his breeches. When she stilled, he joined her on the floor, taking out his handkerchief and pressing it to the wound on her throat. Thank God it wasn’t deep, nor was the livid scrape across one cheek, but she was bruised. He’d tried to strangle her?

  And her unseen hurts could be worse.

  She was still now, but not in a good way. He took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders, then went to pour some brandy. He put it to her lips. “Drink, love. It’ll help.”

  Dark eyes on him, she parted her lips and he tipped some in. Most dribbled away, but she swallowed a bit. She coughed and fell into weeping again, but blessedly in his arms now.

  “Oh, love, oh love, I’ll make it all right.” Thank God he’d remembered not to mention killing, even though it consumed his mind.

  He rocked and soothed, unable to ask for details. When he thought she was able, he raised her to her feet, brushing tangled, blood-matted hair off her face. “Come, we must get you home….”

  But then a crash downstairs was followed by voices—a wild howling of them coming up the stairs. His mind clicked into the cool clarity that had brought him alive through battle.

  The rest of Foxstall’s plan.

  Catch them here.

  He grabbed his saber in his right hand and half carried her out of the room and through the door to the serving stairs. He hated to abandon her, but the alternatives were worse.

  “Stay there while I deal with this.” No time for more. He shut the door and stepped back into the corridor, saber out just as the inv
aders poured up the stairs.

  “What the devil’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Devil’s right!” snarled the red-faced man at the front of the pack. “Who’ve you murdered now, you Satan’s spawn?”

  It was Sir George Wilmott.

  Darien was gathering a soothing comment when someone called, “His bed’s all over blood!”

  He’d forgotten the state of the room.

  The press of fury pushed toward him, but halted when he flicked the saber. He wasn’t willing to kill anyone here, but he was even less willing to be strung up by a mob convinced he was another Mad Marcus.

  Above all, above all, Thea mustn’t be found here, her reputation as shredded as her gown. He fought the need to go to her. He could serve her best here. He faced Wilmott’s raging eyes. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Send for the magistrate. I’ll come down in an orderly manner and we can sort this out.”

  “Sort it out!” Sir George howled with laughter. “We’ll sort it out all right, and this time it’ll be the noose. That’ll put an end to Caves forever.”

  “Then you’ll have to do me in, too.”

  The new voice was used to calling out orders in a storm.

  People turned. Not all of them. Some had wit enough to keep a close eye on Darien. But most swiveled to look behind to where Frank stood at the head of the stairs in his blue naval uniform, not smiling, but still managing to convey clean, honest goodwill and fellowship.

  No one asked who he was. Dark hair and eyes and the cut of the jaw declared him a Cave, but as always, the magic of his charm worked.

  Chapter 39

  Bafflement softened the mob’s purpose. Sir George muttered something about devil’s spawn, but his heart wasn’t in it. That didn’t mean he glared less at Darien, however. Hardly surprising, given the state of the bedroom.