Busbee, Shirlee

by Lady Vixen

  By seven o'clock that evening both he and Simon were more than just a little worried. They had said nothing to the ladies, not wishing to alarm them, and when Regina had asked after Nicole, Simon had muttered somewhat hastily, "Ah, forgot to tell you—I gave my permission for her to dine at Unton's place tonight. You know how smitten Unton's heir is with her and I saw no harm in it. After all, you were just there last night yourself, so you can't say you disapprove."

  "Well, no, I don't disapprove, it's just that it's unlike Nicole to go off like that. Did she say how late she would be?"

  Simon hesitated and Christopher broke in smoothly, "Rather late, I suspect. There was some talk of a mid- night charade, because of the full moon. I wouldn't worry about her; Unton and his son will see to her."

  Simon shot him a thankful look and the subject was dropped—dropped but not forgotten by either of the gentlemen as they sat alone in Simon's study a few minutes later. Dinner was to be served at eight, and Christopher, after a quick glance at his pocket watch, said, "I'm going to take a ride by the park and then go to Markham's lodgings. Perhaps he is there and can tell us something." He stood up, started toward the door, and then stopped. Revolving slowly to face his grandfather, he added determinedly, "I am also going to find out if Robert is at home—so don't expect me back for dinner."

  "Christopher! Do you think that it is wise—considering how he feels about you?"

  The gold eyes were hard, the firm mouth taut as Christopher retorted exasperatedly, "I am not afraid of Robert! He obviously is the one who knows precisely what Galena said, and probably the only one who can tell us what happened and where Nicole is. It's not more than an hour's ride out to his place, so I should be back before ten o'clock. Don't worry—I have been taking care of myself a long time."

  Higgins, when informed of the plan, disliked it even more. "I'm telling you you're mad! Nick can take care of herself. I'm not saying that if we didn't have that ship to catch I wouldn't be in favor of trying to find out what happened too. But damnit, man, we have to sail on the midnight tide! You shouldn't be gallivanting over the countryside searching for a tough little varmit like her! She is probably perfectly safe."

  His face shuttered, Christopher replied levelly, "Shut up, Higgins, and do as you're told! Do you have everything packed?"

  Knowing there was no swaying him when he was in one of these damn-all moods, the older man answered sourly, "Yes. There wasn't all that much, after all."

  "Very well then. You will come with me. Robert's place is not but a mile or so from the rendezvous point. I'll go ahead and take you . . . and the memorandum there."

  Staring fixedly at the dark features, Higgins asked slowly, "Are you telling me that you're not leaving? That you're staying and I am to return alone?"

  "No!" Christopher bit out angrily. "I will be there, but I may have to cut it fine and if—" he stopped, then continued harshly, "if for some reason I am delayed, you and the memorandum will still reach New Orleans safely."

  There was no moving him, though Higgins tried his best during the time it took them to survey the closed and deserted park, Edward's darkened and empty lodgings, and especially during the long ride out to Robert's house. The impassioned exhortations, the curses and insults that Higgins hurled at him left Higgins exhausted and Christopher completely unmoved.

  At Robert's house Christopher discovered from the servant who answered the door that Master Robert was not at home at present, but was expected for a late dinner. Christopher left no message and merely tossed off some remark to the effect that he had called for no important reason and would see Robert tomorrow. Casually he added that there was no need to tell Robert that he had called. The servant bowed politely, and a moment later Christopher and Higgins were on their way to the little cottage they had stayed in while Christopher had recovered from his wound.

  The parting between the two men was brief. After depositing Higgins at the cottage, Christopher merely said, "I will be back by midnight. If I am not—do not wait for me. See that the memorandum is delivered to Jason Savage the instant you reach New Orleans." At Higgins's gloomy, unhappy expression he said lightly, "Higgins, I'll make it, but if I don't—I'll do as I've already told my grandfather and head for France. I'll be there in time for the battle—that I promise you."

  He made the ride back to Kings Road in good time, his thoughts unwillingly on Nicole. She was probably sitting at home warm by the fire, he decided angrily, as he reached the outskirts of Brighton. And if she is, she had better have a damn good reason for disappearing like this, he thought furiously.

  Simon pounced on him the instant he entered the house, dispelling any notion that Nicole had returned in his absence. "Well, what did you find out?"

  Stripping off his driving gloves and warming his hands before the fire in the study, Christopher admitted, "Nothing. The park was deserted, Markham not at home, but Robert is expected home for a late dinner."

  Taking a deep breath, his jaw tight, Christopher looked over at his grandfather. "I still have to leave tonight, you know. Nicole's disappearance doesn't change anything." Then turning his back away, he snarled, "I could damn well strangle her for this! If I didn't know better I'd swear the little devil had done it on purpose." A harsh laugh broke from him. "What am I saying? Hell, I don't know better!"

  Simon regarded him sharply. "It seems," he said calmly, "that you are taking this much too personally. I see no reason to change your plans—Nicole will be found and there is probably a logical explanation for her absence. Whether you are here or not makes little difference."

  Christopher let out his breath in a rush. "You're right, and if I am to depart, I shall have to do it before the hour grows much later. Are the ladies still up? If they are I had better bid them good evening—it's the least I can do, considering they don't know it is really goodbye."

  Simon nodded and sat alone in his study while Christopher walked to the blue drawing room and said his good nights to his new stepgrandmother and his great-aunt. Neither lady suspected he was bidding them good-bye, although Regina did wonder at the way he gave Letitia a quick hard embrace before leaving the room. But then she dismissed it—Christopher was given to strange fits and flights; any young man, she thought resentfully, who would turn his back on the chance to marry such a charming heiress as Nicole must be a little strange.

  Christopher entered the study slowly, his face serious and a little drawn, knowing that the time for the final good-bye had come at last. Simon, seated behind his desk, also knew that the moment of farewell was upon them, and with an aching, sorrowful heart he watched as his tall grandson crossed the room to stop before the desk.

  Idly Christopher's long fingers skimmed the polished surface, and his face bleak he stared down into the worn features so like his own. "Grandfather," he began haltingly, "I do not like to leave under these circumstances, but I must, and within a very few minutes. Higgins is already waiting for me at Rottingdean and from there we will travel to Dover and then to France." Inwardly Christopher cursed himself for being such a ready liar and wished that at least for this moment he could put the lies and half-truths aside. But it was imperative that Simon believe he was heading for France, and so ruthlessly he quelled his conscience. The lie behind him, he was able to say more easily, "I shall miss you," adding with a quick, endearing grin, "and my new grandmother too!" More seriously he continued, "I feel certain that a peace between England and the United States will be negotiated in Ghent before many months have passed. I may be back by next summer, and so while I am saying goodbye now, remember it may only be for a few months."

  Simon, his emotions temporarily well in hand, snapped, "Bah! Don't molly coddle me! I expect Letty and I shall do very well without you." Not looking at Christopher, but staring ferociously at the top of his desk, he said casually, "I've been thinking about it and this is really best. Letty and I are just married, and it's not good for a man to start marriage cluttered up with a lot of relatives and such. When you return nex
t summer, Letty and I will be well settled, and then we'll have the time to appreciate your company! You'll not understand what I mean, never having been married before, but I doubt Letty and I will miss you too much during the next several months."

  Christopher could hardly choke back the gust of laughter that shook him at Simon's outrageous words. With barely disguised amusement in his voice, he replied, "Ah, yes. That point of view had not occurred to me. Perhaps it is even fortunate that things have fallen as they have."

  Simon glared at him. "Yes. Yes, it is! And now if you're going—get!"

  Hearing the raw pain in Simon's tone, Christopher's amusement fled, and reaching over the desk, he extended his hand, and as Simon grasped it tightly, he said simply, "Good-bye, grandfather. Look for me come summer."

  "I will—and you had damn well better be here!"

  Neither man spoke of the dangers involved in the long sea journey, nor did Christopher allow himself to think of Simon's age. Christopher said softly, "I will be. Depend upon it!" The clasped hands tightened a moment longer and then Christopher was gone.

  The night was growing colder, Christopher thought to himself, when at last he urged his horse in the direction of Rottingdean. If everything went as planned, in less than two hours he and Higgins would be on their way back to New Orleans.

  Nicole's whereabouts vexed him not a little, and even though there was probably a reasonable explanation for her continued absence, he would have liked to know precisely what had happened to keep her from returning home. There were dozens of reasons that occurred to him, but none of them found any favor with him. He was beset with a nagging premonition that Nicole was in some kind of danger, and no matter how often he told himself that she had gone for a ride with Robert and that they had probably lost a wheel or stayed overlong visiting with friends, he was never quite satisfied. And because he was worried, a fact he would not admit to himself, he was also blazingly angry with Nicole for acting in such a reprehensible manner. Baggage! he thought cynically, running about the countryside with two men, just like a common little trollop! He'd not waste another moment on her. Let Edward Markham and Robert fight over her— he was getting the hell out.

  ***

  Having followed Robert's gig to the house, Edward had hovered about outside for several minutes, unable to decide precisely what his next move should be. He had not yet discarded murder, and he was searching for an entrance into the house, when he saw Nicole and Robert through the glass doors of the drawing room. Outside in the darkness he had watched intently the scene being acted—Robert's writing of the note, Nicole's dash across the room, and eventually her departure. A wolfish smile on his lips, he undid the sword cane. Such a little actress his cousin, he was going to enjoy her performance when he at last drove this blade through her black heart. But first there was Robert. Gently testing the glass doors, he discovered to his delight that they were unlocked. Silently he opened them and slipped into the room while Robert was momentarily gone.

  Hearing approaching footsteps, Edward quickly hid behind a pair of russet drapes and watched with satisfaction as Robert returned and seated himself before the fire. His back was to Edward, and taking instant advantage of that fact, Edward crept across the room, until with the blade pointed at Robert's neck, he said softly, "Don't move! If you do, I'll kill you!"

  Robert stiffened, but remained perfectly still. "Is that you, Markham?" he asked at last, having recognized the voice.

  Edward chuckled with malicious satisfaction. "Is that you, Markham?" he mimicked. Keeping the blade on Robert, he walked around in front of him. "Of course it is! Who else did you think it was? Did you really believe that I would let Nicole escape me so easily?" Drunk with success, the blue eyes almost feverish, he taunted, "Not so eager to meet me now, are you? I heard what you said to Nicole out there on the Brighton Road—said I needed to meet a man. Well, I've met a man and what does he do, but sit there!"

  Coolly Robert eyed him, taking in the bloodstained coat and the occasional slight sway that told of a loss of blood. Almost politely he asked, "May I stand? If we are going to talk for any great length I would prefer to be nearer the fire."

  Suspiciously Edward stared at him. Deciding it seemed a harmless request and feeling magnanimous in his power, he graciously assented, watching with an owllike gaze as Robert, a glass of wine in one hand, stood up and walked to the fireplace.

  Civilly Robert asked, "Now tell me, Markham, precisely what it is that you want?"

  Edward giggled, the blood he had lost making him light-headed. "I'll tell you what I want," he said thickly, waving the sword cane about erratically. "I want Nicole. You send for her!"

  Unhurriedly Robert took a sip from his wineglass and then, when Edward took a menacing step forward, flung the glass and its contents into his face. As Edward bawled with fury and surprise. Robert leaped for one of the swords crossed above the mantel, quickly wrenching it free. Then Robert stalked Edward around the room, the sea-colored eyes queerly bright.

  The situation had reversed itself so swiftly that Edward was still reeling with shock as he stumbled away from Robert's steady advance. Haphazardly he parried Robert's murderous attack; his short sword cane was useless against the long, deadly blade the other man wielded so effortlessly. It was like killing a rabbit in a trap, and Robert smiled to himself as he drove the sword into Edward's unprotected throat.

  There was an odd little gurgle from Edward, and then he slid to the floor. Absently, Robert wiped his sword clean and looked broodingly down at the corpse. Now what the devil was he to do with a body? The sound of the sea caught his attention and he smiled again. Of course, the sea.

  But as he reached down and began to pull Edward's body toward the open glass doors, he heard the sound of an approaching horse. Tensely he waited for the animal to pass, but it did not.

  Christopher had not meant to stop at Robert's house again that evening, but he could not put aside the thought of Nicole. Where in God's name had she gone, and why? Simon was right, though, he reminded himself grimly— where Nicole was at the moment made little difference to his plans—she would return home eventually whether he was there or not. That thought should have dispelled her from his mind, but it didn't, and so when his horse approached Robert's house, Christopher couldn't withstand the impulse to satisfy his curiosity.

  Dismounting and tying his horse to the post, he glanced over at the large coach horse standing near the corner of the house and wondered idly what the animal was doing here. The front of a gentleman's residence was certainly an odd place for it to be.

  Everything was odd, he thought impatiently—Nicole's going off like that, Robert's walking out in the middle of an important discussion with Simon, and now a horse with no saddle, parts of its harness still strapped to the body, was calmly cropping the sparse grass that grew near the house. His interest aroused, he walked over to the animal and ran his hands knowledgeably over the broad back, feeling the slight lingering dampness. Been ridden quite a distance, he concluded. He gave the animal one last pat and started to walk up to the front door, when he noticed the glow of light spilling out from the side of the house.

  It was obvious from the intensity and amount of light being shed that a door was open, and after a brief hesitation Christopher went down the same path Edward had followed, and halted just outside the pool of light, staring into the drawing room.

  Strangely enough, when Christopher looked into the room, the first thing he saw was neither Robert, nor Edward's sprawled body, but Nicole's pelisse, still lying carelessly on one of the chairs near the doors. He recognized it instantly, having selected it and paid for it in New Orleans. Little bitch, he thought savagely, little goddamn bitch! He took an angry step forward and then in that second realized that the room was not empty.

  Robert was there and Edward Markham too. A very dead Edward Markham, he discovered without surprise, as Robert bent down once again and began to drag the body toward the open doors.

  For a moment Chr
istopher almost turned his back on the entire scene, revolted by the ugly conclusion that flamed across his brain. Nicole was obviously with her lover, and it appeared her lover had killed the rival for her affections. It was so tawdry and sordid it sickened him, and was just the sort of thing that Nicole's mother, Annabelle, would have reveled in. Nicole, it seemed, was not much better. He took a step away but, remembering Simon's worried, apprehensive face, decided to intervene not for Nicole's sake, but for his grandfather's—or so he told himself. What Robert did with Markham's body he didn't care to waste much thought on, but the apparent relationship between Nicole and Robert ate at him like acid, and fondly he imagined Nicole's slender throat in his hands.

  Christopher must have made some sound, or Robert, his nerves already agitated by the cold-blooded killing of Edward, sensed him standing there just outside the drawing room and glanced up. For a long timeless moment their eyes met and held. Then with a half-pleased, half-mad smile on his face, Robert dropped Edward's arm and stood up.

  "So," he said, "it appears we will meet at last."

  There was no need for explanations between them; each was aware that this night would see the final deadly battle between them. All the old wrongs, the ugly hatred between them would be settled... in blood.

  Christopher nodded at Robert's words and with a long, easy stride walked into the room. He didn't look at Robert as he shrugged out of his greatcoat; instead, his assessing gaze traveled almost idly around the room. Rolling up the sleeves of his white linen shirt, he asked briefly, "What will it be, swords or pistols? Here or on the beach?"