His eyes bulged. “I don’t know any Hettie! I tell you, you are mistaken!”
“Now, now, Lord Shrewsbury,” said Anthea, with a smile every bit as self-satisfied as one of Lord Wetherton’s. “There’s no need for us to lie to each other. Hettie has told us everything. Please don’t insult our intelligence by denying it.”
Shrewsbury’s mouth opened and closed helplessly.
“Fish catching flies,” Aunt Ursula muttered, glaring at him over the top of her cane.
“Now, my lord, sadly there is nothing that will prevent us telling your mother about what you have done,” Anthea continued. “What we might do, however, is refrain from reporting you to the authorities.”
Shrewsbury fumbled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it over his sweating face. “What do you want from me?” he asked faintly. Anthea leaned closer.
“Lord Wetherton and Lord Streatham are going to fight a duel. You are going to tell me where and when it is taking place.”
“Can’t do that!” Shrewsbury squeaked. “Can’t do it!”
Anthea sighed. “Then I am afraid I have no choice. Petty theft is not a crime that troubles the gentry, but when you are stealing from the relative of a duke –”
“Very well! Very well!” Shrewsbury waved for her to stop so violently that his sweat-soaked handkerchief fell to the floor. “I will tell you! Better yet, I will take you there! They meet tomorrow at dawn, on a patch of parkland near Wetherton’s home. If you insist on interfering, I will stop at your house tomorrow morning at six. Does that satisfy you?”
“Thank you, Shrewsbury.” Anthea sat back, not sure whether she ought to feel pleased with herself. It seemed Lord Wetherton was not the only one who could manipulate people to his will. “Now, you may go and fetch your mother. Tell her we have urgent news.” She winked at Aunt Ursula. “Lady Shrewsbury does so adore fresh gossip.”
16
George did not often play the coward. As Wetherton’s carriage came to a halt on the patch of scrubby grass they had chosen for the duel, he had to force himself not to stand tall and stare down his foe.
It was a lonely, foreboding place. Tall fir trees obscured what little light there was from the slowly rising sun. A brisk breeze was blowing, carrying scents of the farmland that lay beyond the outskirts of the city. George watched Julian preparing his pistols, knowing that his friend’s anxiety could only be heightened by the gloom of their surroundings.
“An auspicious day to catch a criminal,” he said, swinging his arms to ward off the cold. Julian glanced up at the swaying treetops and grunted.
“Of all the traps we’ve laid for targets in the past…” He trailed off as though unwilling to voice the danger of George’s scheme, and set the pistols down on the ground. “Ready.”
Across the way, Wetherton was making quiet conversation with a man in a black coat who must have been the doctor. The sounds of another carriage set both men glancing about sharply, every muscle tense to conceal all evidence of the duel, but when it came down the narrow dirt path it bore Shrewsbury’s livery.
“Here’s our man,” said George, winking at Julian. He was extremely surprised when the person who emerged from the carriage was distinctly feminine.
“George!”
The last thing George saw before Anthea barrelled into him was Julian’s smug grin, as if he were saying, Now you’re really in trouble. Then a pair of arms clasped themselves around him, desperate fingers – presumably inkstained – clutched at his hair, and Anthea’s head was on his shoulder.
“Now, now,” he said, letting his face sink into the floral sweetness of her golden curls for a moment. “There’s no need to fret.”
“Fret?” She raised her head, and he saw to his alarm that her face was not tear-streaked and pale with terror but alight with anger. “I am not here to fret. I am here to put a stop to this idiocy.”
“This is not idiocy. It is unpleasant, but necessary. And you should not be here.”
Anthea pushed a pointing finger into his chest. “Neither should you. Duelling is illegal.”
“Even to protect the good name of a beautiful woman?”
“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you think that my reputation is worth putting your life in danger –”
“Something wrong, Streatham?” called Lord Wetherton. Anthea glanced over her shoulder and gave a shiver.
“That man! If you really want to do something for me, George, you will drop this silly charade and find a way to lift the embargo Wetherton has placed on my column. The extent of his bribery is far worse than we imagined!” She hugged her arms around herself as though that could ward away Wetherton’s ill wishes, looking at George with wide eyes. He would have rather liked to kiss her, if that would not have been wholly inappropriate given the place, the timing, and her incandescent rage. “Would you believe that a government official ordered Mr Harding not to publish Lady X ever again?”
There was no help for it. Apparently, he had two battles to brave that morning. “I would certainly believe it. I was the man who ordered it.”
Anthea’s mouth dropped partway open. To his horror, her eyes brightened with the threat of tears. “Why would you do this to me?” she asked. “I don’t know how you discovered the column to begin with, but this – George, why?”
“To prevent you from making dangerous enemies – and ruining yourself along with any chance we have of bringing Wetherton to justice via the proper channels.” He gestured to Julian, who reluctantly picked up a pistol and handed it to him. George turned away from Anthea and weighed the gun in his hand, holding it up and sighting along it. “You lied to me, Anthea. You promised me you would leave Wetherton alone.”
He had her there. Anthea’s cheeks flushed red. “I did not think you would know it was me.”
He was about to make some sharp retort when the hypocrisy of the situation struck him like a slap to the forehead.
She had lied in order to do what she believed was best to bring Wetherton to justice.
He had lied, by omission, for precisely the same reason.
“I will forgive you,” he said. She sagged with relief, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. George pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her. He did not do what he really wanted, which was to hold her in his arms and wipe away the tears himself. He did not imagine Anthea would relish his bringing attention to the fact that she had cried. “On one condition.”
She grimaced. “You must not ask me to give up my journalism, George. I like you. I like you very much indeed. But I cannot do that for any man.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. He might as well, while he had the chance. He might never be able to do it again. “You must also forgive me.”
She blinked up at him, eyes now perfectly dry. “For the duel?”
“Among other things. I could not stop this duel now even if I wanted to. There are more important things at stake than your honour or mine.” On impulse, he lifted her chin and bent to kiss her lips. “I have lied to you, too. I only hope you will find the reason worthy.”
Lord Shrewsbury was puffing his way towards them. George released Anthea reluctantly.
“Wetherton says there is to be no more stalling,” said Shrewsbury. “He wants the whole business done before the sun is fully up.”
“Very well.” George removed his jacket, relishing the way the breeze sent shivers across his arms, and handed it to Julian. He turned back and gave Anthea one final wink. “You are not to worry. Trust me, if you can. We will speak when this is over.”
* * *
How very like George to ask something of Anthea that she could never give him. Worry was not even the worst of the emotions that roiled within her as she watched him meet Wetherton in the centre of the field, gun poised and ready.
His friend hovered at her side, his face as grey as hers. “Sir Julian Stuart,” he said, making a brisk bow. “I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances, my lady.”
&n
bsp; “Any friend of George’s is a friend of mine,” said Anthea, unable to stop her voice from quavering. Sir Julian pressed her hand.
“Be calm, my lady,” he said, forcing out the words through clenched teeth. “All will be well. Streatham would not throw away his life lightly.”
A small sob of horror escaped Anthea’s lips. She slammed a hand over her mouth.
She would do as George asked, outwardly at least. She would not distract him with weeping.
“This is the worst sort of madness,” she whispered to Julian. As the men turned from each other to begin their ten paces apart, she felt a terrible urge to run and fling herself between them. She clasped Julian’s arm, meeting his eyes and seeing her own tense horror reflected in them. “You may have to restrain me. Particularly after the shots have been fired. If Wetherton does not kill him, I just might.”
“I will try to find the strength,” said Julian, his lip twitching in a mirthless attempt at a smile.
George had advanced five paces. Six. Seven.
Anthea’s breath stilled in her throat.
Eight.
She closed her eyes and opened them again almost at once, the darkness even more painful than the tragedy unfolding before her.
Nine.
She loved him. What was she doing? Why had she not put a stop to this? He might die without ever hearing her say the words…
Ten.
In one smooth motion, George turned and flung his gun to the ground, opening his arms wide with a daredevil grin.
Wetherton, unmoved, his black caped coat flapping in the wind, raised his pistol, took careful aim, and fired.
Anthea screamed. Only Julian’s strength stopped her from falling.
A dozen uniformed constables burst from the surrounding bushes and trees.
And George stuck his hands into his pockets and began to whistle as the constables swarmed him and Wetherton and dragged them off in opposite directions.
Anthea struggled to free herself from Julian, who was speaking to her in a low, urgent tone that her whirling mind could not understand.
Her last glimpse of Wetherton was of the ragged hole of his open mouth as he shouted his outrage to the arresting constables.
“Don’t you know who I am? I’ll have you all thrown into the poorhouse! I am the Earl of Wetherton! The Earl of –”
“We know, my lord,” grunted one of the constables, as they wrestled him up the dirt path. “You are exactly who we came to apprehend.”
Anthea managed to tear her hand from Julian’s grasp and spring away in time to smack directly into the solid bulk of Lord Shrewsbury.
“There, there,” said Shrewsbury, taking her by the shoulders to steady her. Anthea blinked at him in astonishment.
“Why didn’t they take you?”
He seemed miffed by the question. “I’m a very important man, Lady Anthea.” He let her go and snapped his fingers at Julian. “Sir Julian, if you would? I have a pressing engagement elsewhere this morning.”
Julian’s contempt was clearly visible through his forced smile. He hefted a fat purse and tossed it at Shrewsbury, who, in a fit of athleticism Anthea would never have suspected he possessed, managed to catch it.
“Your thirty pieces of silver,” said Julian, with a cold nod. Shrewsbury’s brow furrowed.
“Silver? But our agreement was –”
“It’s all there as agreed,” said Julian, with a heavy sigh. “I meant – oh, never mind.”
Shrewsbury bowed to Anthea. “I realise now that I was mistaken in thinking you a fallen woman,” he said. “I am sorry I ever told the gentlemen at my club about you.”
“You thought what?”
Shrewsbury jingled his purse merrily. “I trust one of these gentlemen will escort you home, my lady. I have a ship to catch. I bid you farewell!”
His waddling step had a little bounce to it as he returned to his carriage. Anthea took a step after him, but she decided on balance that she would rather walk back to Mayfair than endure another moment of Lord Shrewsbury’s company.
“Will you please tell me what is going on?” she demanded, turning back to Julian.
“I think it might be best if he left it to me.”
Anthea whirled around to find George standing there with his hands still jauntily tucked into his pockets, a grin on his face so self-satisfied that she could not decide whether to kiss it or smack it off, and two constables flanking him. He was unshackled. Unharmed. Unrepentant.
She folded her arms. “I suppose you want me to burst into tears and fall into your arms.”
“That wouldn’t go amiss. But we have some important matters to attend to first.” He nodded to the constables. “That will be all, gentlemen. Thank you.”
“My lord.” They bowed in unison and walked off in the direction their colleagues had taken Wetherton.
Anthea was beginning to wonder whether she had received a blow to the head. Or perhaps she simply had not truly woken up that morning, and she was still lost in a dream. Only the cold breeze slicing through her pelisse suggested that any of this was really happening. She rubbed her arms and shivered, still glaring at George.
She had never met anyone to whom she could be longing to declare her love at one moment, and to shake some sense into the next.
“I think I deserve an explanation,” she said. George nodded, the grin leaving his face. He extended his hand to her and, still feeling half in a dream, Anthea took it.
“I was never in any danger,” he said. “Shrewsbury took the bullets out of his pistol before the duel began.”
“You trusted your life to Lord Shrewsbury?”
“To his greed, yes. Never underestimate what a greedy man will do for money. It was necessary to go through with the duel so that Wetherton believes it is the reason he was arrested. If he does not know the truth, he will not be able to reveal it to his cronies. Once he is in prison, he will find that evidence of his crimes quickly stacks up against him. That is evidence that Julian and I have spent some time collecting, and which you revealed to the entire world in your column, nearly scuppering our plans.”
“Streatham,” said Julian warningly. He made a quick cut-throat gesture and shook his head. George ignored him.
“Anthea, before I inherited the earldom, and before Julian was knighted, we were two agents of the Crown working against our country’s enemies in Europe. The new title put an end to my days of diplomatic intrigue, but I never left the service. Wetherton was only the most recent of many targets.”
Now Anthea was certain she was dreaming. “You cannot be serious.”
He gave a sheepish smile and shrugged, her hand still clasped in his. “I’m afraid it’s the truth. At long last, the truth.”
“Streatham, what have you done?” Julian was beside himself, barely able to splutter out the words. Two hot pink spots had appeared on his cheeks.
“It is a little irregular, I know,” said George, but he broke off as Julian’s wagging finger threatened to poke out his eye.
“Irregular? It is absolutely forbidden! You have compromised my status as well as your own – you have ignored direct orders – you have disregarded the most fundamental rule –”
“I have thought it through, believe it or not,” said George calmly. He glanced at Anthea and swallowed heavily. “I believe it is tradition that an exception is always made for an agent’s wife.”
“I am not your wife,” Anthea began, but before she could finish, George had sunk down on one knee.
Julian switched from consternation to elation so quickly he nearly choked. “Streatham! This is wonderful! This is –”
“Do shut up, Julian,” said George, never taking his eyes from Anthea. “I am rather busy.”
“Noted.” Julian stuffed a fist into his mouth, removing it again just long enough to add, “You won’t hear a peep from me.”
“Anthea,” George continued, his eyes burning into hers so steadily that she entirely forgot there was anyone else in the
world, “the truth has not been spoken between us often enough. So let me be clear now that what I say is absolute fact. You are the single most astonishing, infuriating, smart-mouthed and open-hearted woman I have ever had the honour of deserting in a crowded ballroom. You may think I do not deserve you. You are almost certainly right. But I will spend every day trying to remedy that for the rest of my life, if you will only stay by my side.” He pressed her hand to his lips, his eyes closing for a moment. “Marry me,” he said, looking up at her again.
Anthea paused just long enough to make him worry. “I suppose you’ll have to kill me if I refuse?”
The corner of George’s mouth lifted. “Is that a yes?”
“Not quite.” She removed her hand from his. “What about my column, George? You have killed off Lady X for good. Not only that, but word is already spreading that you were behind it all along.”
“Nobody with half a wit could seriously believe that I produced such a work of art,” said George, rising to his feet. “But Lady X must remain dead, I am afraid. Wetherton has many powerful friends. I cannot have you putting yourself at risk of retribution.”
A low, terrible ache began in Anthea’s heart. “It is my career, George. I am not going to be anyone’s wife if it means giving that up.”
“Lady X is no more,” he repeated steadily. Anthea turned away, but his hand touched her chin and turned it back so that she was forced to look at him. “But Lady Streatham – there is a woman who may write whatever she chooses.” He smiled, that old smile that sent flutters all the way through Anthea’s stomach. “Why hide behind a false name? I want the world to know how clever my wife is.”
“Lady Streatham,” Anthea repeated. It sounded strange and alien, as though it were a name that ought to belong to someone else. “I never wanted to be a countess. I always thought I’d end up an old maid with inkstained fingers, passing sweetmeats to my nieces and nephews while my sisters weren’t looking.”
“I hope the disappointment isn’t too great,” he said, lowering his head so that his mouth drew tantalisingly close to hers.
The Last Earl Standing Page 12