A Secret Consequence for the Viscount

by Sophia James

  ‘Where did he go?’ Eleanor asked the question, a growing alarm building.

  ‘He just said out. When I questioned him he told me to go to sleep and he would be back by dawn. He wasn’t.’

  ‘My God, if this has anything at all to do with Nicholas...’

  ‘I would say it has everything to do with him, Ellie. The note. Your sadness. Jacob’s friendship with a man who has betrayed you. He was gone most of the afternoon yesterday, too.’

  ‘I will visit Nicholas Bartlett.’

  ‘Do you think that wise?’

  ‘I don’t know any more but to just sit here...?’

  ‘Take Lucy for a walk in the park first to get rid of some of your energy. After that either Jacob will be home and be able to tell you the news himself or you can go to Bartlett, but in a better frame of mind.’

  The plan sounded like a good one and Ellie went upstairs to find her warm cloak hat and gloves before calling for her daughter to do exactly the same.

  * * *

  Half an hour later she did feel better. The rain had held off and the wind had lessened and although she was cold she was also less wound up.

  ‘Will we go home soon, Mama? Back to Millbrook House?’

  ‘I am not certain, sweetheart. There are a few things here in London still left for me to do.’

  ‘Is Papa one of those things?’

  She stopped and looked at her daughter. ‘Why do you ask that, Lucy?’

  ‘Because you have seemed sad and lonely and you said I would see Papa soon. I wish I could.’ Lucy was holding her hand as they walked to head back to their carriage when another conveyance drew up closely beside them.

  ‘Get in,’ the man inside said as the door opened and her heart hit the bottom of her stomach in a horrible jolt of surprise. She pushed Lucy behind her, fearing that the gun Nash Bowles held in his hand was about to go off.

  ‘I will shoot twice if you do not get in, Lady Eleanor, for I have absolutely nothing left to lose. I will allow you only the one warning.’

  * * *

  The new address of Nash Bowles proved more elusive to find than they hoped it would be.

  ‘I know he left town for a while a few months back for he got in trouble with a gambling debt and went into hiding somewhere in the English countryside. But when he returned, I thought we had some sort of an address for him.’ Frederick was now crouched at a cupboard full of paper and rifling through it.

  ‘Keep looking. It must be here somewhere.’ Jacob emptied another drawer on the desk and was sorting through the sheets of information carefully when a messenger arrived.

  Frederick took it from the man it had been sent with and handed it over.

  ‘It’s for you, Nick.’

  The missive was sealed by dark scented wax and tied with two strands of equally dark ribbon. Not recognising the handwriting, Nicholas tore it open and read the message inside.

  If you want to see your lover and her daughter again, meet me on the north-west corner of Hampstead Heath before the hour is up. Come alone.

  Fury consumed him, the red-hot waves of hatred that ran through him making his whole body shake.

  ‘He has Eleanor and Lucy. He’s taken her to Hampstead Heath.’

  ‘Who has her?’ Oliver asked this.

  ‘Bowles. The note’s from him.’ Nick handed it across to Jacob, who swore roundly, and he could barely breathe as he strode to the door, leaving the note there in the unbelieving hands of his friends.

  ‘Wait, Nick, we will come, too.’

  But the violence and savagery had taken over completely now and he was a man who only wanted his guns in hand and a horse beneath him, the red-hot waves of intensity fuelling the savage need for vengeance.

  He hailed a passing cabriole and made for the Heath, leaving the others there in his wake to do as they wished.

  He would kill Nash Bowles if the man had even touched one hair on either Eleanor’s or Lucy’s head. If he had done more, it would be a slow death and no clemency in it. He did not have a moment to waste.

  If Bowles used his little knife on an inch of her skin... He pushed that thought aside and concentrated instead on calming himself for what he needed to do to deal with one such as Bowles.

  * * *

  She knew Nicholas would come as soon as she sat in the carriage that was now parked on the edge of Hampstead Heath. Bowles had exited the conveyance a few moments ago, striding into the undergrowth behind them and telling her to stay absolutely still and quiet.

  Lucy was finally speaking again and for that one small normality Eleanor was eternally grateful. Her daughter had spent the entire trip from Hyde Park to Hampstead Heath cowering behind her skirts and crying, her shaking body the one moving point in an otherwise still carriage.

  Nash Bowles was demented, she was sure of it, his eyes unfocused and wide. He hadn’t spoken much, but he had written a note and given it to a messenger as they had pulled over at the side of the road in the city. A ransom demand, perhaps? When Nicholas received it he would be furious and he would come for them.

  ‘Your papa will be here soon, my darling, to take us home.’

  That information made her daughter stop sniffling as nothing else would.

  ‘My papa is coming...?’ Light shone from eyes that looked exactly the colour of Nicholas’s.

  ‘He is, sweetheart. He will be collecting his things and coming to get us.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘His present for you.’ She felt in the pocket of her skirt for the small outline of the box from Rundells. She had not wanted to give Lucy the necklace after what had happened, but now she used it as a carrot on the end of a long and difficult stick.

  ‘Wait until you see it, for I know you will love it, darling. Let us think of all the lovely things it could possibly be.’

  ‘A pony?’ her daughter guessed. ‘A princess. A new baby doll for the others I have. I need a mummy doll with twins next time.’

  Outside Eleanor could see Bowles now standing beside a tree about twenty yards away. He had warned her not to pull the curtain in the carriage and not to move away from his sight in any way. If she tricked him, he had threatened to begin shooting and she would not risk a stray bullet with her daughter so close.

  Make things normal, her mind shouted. Make things relatable to the everyday in Lucy’s life. Avoid conflict and anger and excess. Smile. She lifted her lips into a dreadful parody of humour, feeling the stretch of her cheeks even as she wanted to scream.

  Her calm manner seemed to finally be pacifying Lucy for she even yawned in tiredness and asked when they might be able to go home.

  A good half an hour had passed since Bowles had sent Nicholas his note.

  ‘He has an hour,’ Bowles had said in a voice that hinted of darker things that might happen if the Viscount did not materialise.

  She had thought to deny knowing Nicholas that well, but the day she had met Bowles in the park when buying chestnuts had probably done away with that lie. Instead she stayed very quiet, trying not to annoy him in any shape or form and watching for a chance to escape.

  Nicholas suddenly appeared across the grass to one side of the conveyance and Eleanor moved in front of her daughter so that she would not notice the proceedings outside.

  He looked furious and dangerous, but it was the menacing stillness of him that she noticed the most. Here was a man who had cheated death a number of times and instead of panicking he looked calm and certain. She searched his hands for weapons, but could not see any.

  Nash Bowles met him as he came out of the shadows, a pistol in hand and a sneer across his face.

  ‘Put the gun down.’ Nicholas’s voice came across the wind. ‘Put the gun down and we will talk.’

  Eleanor could see his glance coming over to
the carriage and he swallowed as he saw her face in the window.

  ‘There is nothing at all to be gained here by violence, Bowles.’

  The other laughed. ‘In that you are wrong, Bartlett, for there is everything to be won in my case and everything to be lost in yours.’

  ‘Let the woman and child go and deal with me. They have nothing at all to do with what is between us.’

  The answer back was given with venom. ‘With the Duke’s sister here you will do exactly as I ask and if you don’t...’ He turned then and pointed the pistol straight at the carriage and all Eleanor could do was to wrap her body around her daughter in an effort to protect her.

  * * *

  ‘No.’ Nick felt the tightness in his throat as he said the word, but he did not shout it. The man was crazy enough in his threats without adding any pressure to it. ‘Shoot me, Bowles. I am the one you want. I am the one you had followed to the Americas, although I could never quite work out why you should do that.’

  Bowles had turned back to him now, his lips tight in a sneer of fury.

  ‘Throw down your weapon, Bromley. I know you’ll have one there somewhere. Take your jacket off and your belt, too. Do it.’

  Nick complied, glad at least that Bowles’s attention no longer dwelt on the carriage, though he made a point to come closer. The gun he’d kept in his belt was gone, but he had a knife strapped to his ankle. Soon he would be well in range to use it.

  ‘Let me help you, Bowles. Put down the gun and there will be all the help that you need. I promise.’

  ‘Liar.’ The gun went off and Nick felt the bullet sear along the skin of the thigh that was already scarred. He dropped to his knees and breathed hard, willing the pain at bay as he stood again. If he lost consciousness he would be no help at all to Eleanor and Lucy.

  He could hear Eleanor crying now in the carriage and prayed that she might stop. Attracting any sort of attention with a madman around was dangerous.

  Bowles had another pistol in his hands now, primed and ready, the first one thrown down upon the grass, the smoke from the shot curling up into the air before him.

  Nicholas cursed. He could not run at Bowles with his leg burning up in pain and he was still too far away to throw his knife with any accuracy. For the moment he thought it was better to keep him speaking.

  ‘If you talk about what you want changed, I may be able to help.’

  ‘Talk? Why? You never liked me, none of you did with your fancy names and your tight-knit friendship. All those years of trying to be a part of your group, of currying favour at Vitium et Virtus while you laughed behind my back. Did you think I would not know? I watched you that night you disappeared from the alley behind the club. I saw the henchman beat you over the head with the wooden baton as you fell to the ground. I followed you to the river where they threw you in and I hoped that the current would take you under, so that all breath was gone. But it didn’t. When the hackney cab left you crawled out again and I saw fear there on your face where before had lain only arrogance and I laughed at the way you ran like a stray dog for the docks, the grip of hell itself wrapped around your very neck.’

  ‘But you could not leave it there? You needed to make sure I was gone. In Boston and Philadelphia and Richmond?’ Keep him talking, Nick thought, for in the distance he could see the outline of Frederick behind the trees and he knew Jacob and Oliver would be close behind.

  ‘You had seen me, seen me with her, the foolish maid from your club, and do not pretend you fail to remember that. How was I to know she had some sort of a disease that meant the bleeding would not stop? How was that my fault? She died with your name on her lips, cursing me with all her life was worth, and I knew right then that you were a danger to me and I needed to see that you never returned to England.’

  He had begun to shout louder now as he advanced upon him, the gun still in his hand but shaking, more perilous than it had been even a few seconds before.

  ‘It’s over, Bowles. Give it up. Take your punishment like a man.’

  ‘You had everything, don’t you see? You had every single thing that I never did. The friends. The women. The money. The looks. But now I will take it from you because I can.’

  ‘Get out.’ Nash Bowles shouted this to the carriage behind and when the door opened Eleanor stepped down with her hands held up, Lucy at her side. Nicholas made a point of not looking at them, all the worry and guilt wrapped about his heart.

  ‘Very well—’ Bowles’s voice had become more flat now ‘—I will grant you one thing, Viscount Bromley. You alone can choose who I save and who I kill.’

  The choice of the devil. Nicholas stood stock still and raised his hands high.

  ‘Kill me. I am the one you want. No one knows anything about the maid from the club. Your secret dies with me.’

  The agonising scream from Eleanor distracted them both and it was in this moment that Nick pounced, simply leaping at the man without any fear for himself, the gun Bowles held going off and the bullet whistling within inches from his head to slam into the wide hard bulk of the trunk of an oak.

  His leg ached like hell, but he had Nash Bowles, twisting his arm up behind his back. Part of him wanted to finish the job, but he shook his head and reclaimed logic even as Frederick rushed in, grabbing the other arm as Oliver got his feet.

  Jacob was with Eleanor and Lucy, his voice coming through the space between them in a soft quiet whisper. They were safe. They were safe. The words beat against Nicholas’s breath in a litany, but then the tunnel of light that he’d fought off began to close around him.

  Blood loss, he supposed, for he had felt this before. The rush of sound in his ears, the dizziness, the feeling that his mind was somehow disconnecting from his body and going some place entirely on its own.

  Eleanor ran forward, grabbing at his hands from where he lay on the wet cold grass, the rain falling in his face.

  ‘I...am...sorry.’

  He mouthed the words rather than said them. The shaking was getting worse and he was cold, far colder than he had ever been in his life. Colder even than in the Caribou Valley in the north of Maine. It was his fault that Eleanor was here having to deal with this danger and fright, his demons clawing at the ordered and gentle world that she was a part of.

  Her tears of fright washed across him, hot against all that was freezing, and he tried to lift his arm, but he could not. Then all he knew was darkness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  He woke to pain. He woke to memory and dreams and a half-world he could not quite decipher.

  He knew he was thirsty, but he was finding it hard to speak for the shivers ran through him in a constant stream of movement. A wet warm flannel came across his brow and he closed his eyes against the feel of it.

  ‘You are in the ducal town house, Nicholas, and you have been very sick. It is a week since the accident and we thought...’ Eleanor’s voice faltered and stopped.

  ‘That... I...would...die.’ Every word was difficult to get his tongue around. He felt as if he had a mouth full of cotton and so he swallowed and tried again.

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Is in her bed fast asleep and dreaming of the bravery of a father who came to save her.’

  Save her? The words stuck dry in his throat. Save her from the danger he had placed them in in the first place? If he had not returned, none of this would have ever happened. He wanted to ask of Bowles, but didn’t, the effort too much to muster.

  ‘My...leg?’

  ‘The bullet punctured an artery and you were lucky to escape with your life. Frederick had seen the same thing on the battlefields of Europe and tied his neckcloth around the top of your leg.’

  ‘Useful...knowing a...soldier.’

  She laughed at that and the sound warmed him as nothing else could have done.

  �
��You nearly lost your life for us, Nicholas.’

  ‘Worth...it.’

  Then he closed his eyes and slept.

  * * *

  Next time he awoke he felt much better, more level headed, less dizzy.

  Eleanor was still there by his bed, but dressed in other clothes now and the afternoon sun was coming in through the windows. How could that be? A few moments ago it had been night time. He lay perfectly still and watched her. Her eyes were closed and the pins in her hair loosened. One curl had slipped from its mooring and settled across the line of her breasts.

  She was so beautiful she simply broke his heart.

  As if she felt his gaze her eyes opened. Would he ever get used to the startling shade of blueness? he wondered, only to decide that it was very unlikely.

  ‘Hello.’ Her voice was soft with sleep. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  He nodded and she brought a glass of lemonade to his lips, her hand behind his neck to help him as he leaned forward.

  ‘That is good.’ The liquid was like ambrosia to his dried mouth though she did not let him have too much.

  ‘The physician said that we were to offer this to you, but that I had to be careful about what you took.’

  ‘Physician...?’

  ‘He is retained by the Westmoors and has been earning his year’s stipend over the past week.’

  Nicholas wiggled his toes just to make sure that the leg was still there, that he had not had the thing amputated or cut into whilst he had been asleep, but everything seemed in order save the sharp ache the movement brought forth.

  ‘You lost a lot of blood and there had been another injury in the same place which complicated things. But he says you should be able to start getting up after the next few days for the fever at least has gone.’

  ‘Fever?’

  ‘You burned with it for three days and nights.’