A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  She was just thinking of standing straight for a while, and stretching the ache out of her back, when the door crashed open.

  Everything seemed to happen at once.

  A hand grabbed at her elbow, then slipped away, even as a voice registered on her mind.

  “Do not resist! I have a kni…. Aaagh!”

  A loud crash accompanied the end of that statement as Primrose spun around, partly from the force of the hand which had lost its grip on her, and partly in shocked response. Before her, Señor Cristóbal was scrambling to extract himself from the canvases he had tripped over. He reached his feet and went to lunge for her again, even as she brought the palette knife in front of her.

  “I also have a knife.”

  Her voice shook, but he hesitated, his eyes taking in the small knife in her hand. She pushed the fear away, and stepped towards him. He wavered, and tangled his feet in the canvases again. As he flailed for balance, Primrose kicked him in the knee, then, as he collapsed to the floor, face downwards, frantically throwing his arm out to the side to prevent himself from falling onto his own knife, she flung herself onto him, her full weight landing on the small of his back, and brought the point of the palette knife to rest against his throat. As she did, the force of her landing caused him to lose his grip on his own knife, which slid across the floor to the other side of the room.

  He froze in place, an odd moan issuing from him, almost a sound of despair. She pressed on the knife, just enough that she could be sure he would feel the sharpness of the point. Her mind was in turmoil – it was all very well that she had foiled his attempt to grab her, and that she now had him at a disadvantage, but how long could she maintain that?

  Already, she could feel the muscles in her arm tiring and, whilst he was not a heavyset man, he was still most likely stronger than her. She needed help, and fast. There was only one option.

  She began screaming.

  <<<>>>

  As they stepped in through the front door of the villa, the Magistrate was part way through asking Señor Pérez to immediately locate his son, whilst everyone else waited in the courtyard. That sentence was never finished, for it was cut off by the sound of a scream.

  A scream which was all too familiar in tone to Gabriel, given that he had heard one of the same the previous day. He paused only a moment, as the sound echoed through the courtyard – where was it coming from? Her studio, he thought, although he was not certain. He turned and ran for the stairs – if, as he got closer, he discovered it came from another room, he could correct for that – but it was obvious that speed was of the essence.

  He could hear the others pounding along after him, but it was obvious that he was outdistancing them. He took the stairs two at a time, his breath harsh, his heart thundering with fear – what was happening to her? What if he did not arrive in time?

  The stairs seemed endless, but once he reached the upper level, he could tell that he was right – the screams, now sounding rather hoarse, came from the studio.

  He skidded to a stop, grabbing the doorframe, and turning himself into the room. For a moment, he could not make out what he was seeing. Then his mind made sense of it, and he almost laughed. Primrose, his remarkable, wonderful Primrose, had saved herself, again. She looked up, allowing her screams to die out, and spoke in a soft and rather raw voice.

  “Thank goodness. Would you please restrain him, before my arm falls off?”

  “Gladly, my Lady.” As he stepped forward to do as she had asked, the others reached the doorway. Gabriel turned to them. “Raphael, I believe that we will need some ropes, if you can acquire some?”

  His brother nodded, after raising an eyebrow at the scene, then turned to do as asked. Gabriel carefully edged down beside Primrose, placing a hand on the back of Señor Cristóbal’s neck, and the other on his thigh, then leaning his weight onto his hands. Primrose carefully moved her hand, and he could then, for the first time, see that what she had held to the man’s throat was a palette knife. She eased herself off Señor Cristóbal and shakily rose, even as Gabriel replaced her, sitting on the man’s back.

  From the door, Señor Pérez spoke in a very shaken voice.

  “My son, what have you done? What is this madness that has taken you?”

  The man on the floor simply snarled. Raphael came back into the room, and they quickly bound Señor Cristóbal, and pulled him to his feet. The Magistrate looked at the broken mess of canvases, and turned to Señor Pérez.

  “Is there a parlour we might all repair to?”

  Señor Pérez nodded, and led the way out of the room. Raphael pulled Señor Cristóbal along beside him, and Gabriel turned to Primrose.

  He did not know what to say. He had failed her again. He had not been there when she had needed help. The fact that she had, so very successfully, helped herself, with only a palette knife for a weapon, made him all the more ashamed. A Lady should not have to rescue herself from assault – she should never be in such a position in the first place.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms, yet they needed to follow the others, for the Magistrate would want to hear all of the details from her, both of the previous day’s events, and of this new crime. She met his eyes, and hers were filled with uncertainty. That look was a knife to his heart, and just reinforced the feeling of how badly he had failed her.

  He half reached for her, then let his hand fall back to his side.

  “Are you hurt? Are you able to walk without aid?”

  She gave him a look which was full of pride, and what seemed like anger, drawing herself up to stand very straight.

  “Of course I can. He did not get the chance to hurt me, thanks to him tripping over my canvases. You will find the knife he threatened me with over there, against the trunk. The only part of me that hurts – from this incident at least, rather than yesterday’s adventures – is my right arm – the muscles cramped dreadfully whilst I held that palette knife to his throat. But I was certainly not going to let him escape me.”

  With that, she swept past him, and along the balcony after the others.

  He swallowed. He was a fool. He could not expect her to want to associate with him, when he had failed her so badly. He went and picked up the knife which she had indicated – an elegant piece which bore the initials ‘CP’ – and carried it with him as he walked after her.

  <<<>>>

  When she had heard the pounding of footsteps on the balcony, Primrose nearly collapsed from relief. But she could not do that yet – not until the man she held down was properly restrained. She let the screams die away, her throat raw from the effort, and watched the door. It was Gabriel.

  Her heart wanted to sing – he had come for her, again. He looked shocked, surprised, and almost amused as he took in the situation. Anger flared – there was nothing amusing about it, hence her rather sharp request that he restrain Señor Cristóbal so that she could move. He did, and she stepped back, leaning against the wall, letting the shaking take her, feeling the tingling in her hand and arm as the muscles recovered. Everything was very efficient, as the others came in and dealt with Señor Cristóbal – and no longer needed her. She felt useless, just standing there. Then everyone began to leave the room, and he turned to her.

  She wanted to fling herself into his arms, wanted to be held, kissed, and reassured. It was very weak of her to wish it so, she supposed, but she did. She met his eyes, and all she saw was uncertainty. He half lifted a hand towards her, and hope flared – but then he let it fall, and instead asked if she was hurt.

  He asked it in such a distant manner that he might have been asking anyone. She felt tears prick at her eyes, and pushed that sensation away. She did not know what he was thinking, but she would not let him see how much his distance hurt. Perhaps he was horrified that she had wielded her palette knife in her own defence – it was not, after all, a very ladylike thing to do, to hold a knife to a man’s throat.

  She answered his question sharply, pointed out the knife that Se�
�or Cristóbal had accosted her with, then simply turned and left the room. She did not look back, even though every fibre of her being wanted to. After a moment, he followed her, and, startled, she realised that she even knew his footsteps, as distinct from those of anyone else.

  They went down the stairs, and into the small parlour, where she settled onto the couch the magistrate waved her to. Moments later, Gabriel sat beside her. What terrible, sweet torture. She was surrounded by his scent, so close to his warmth, and yet he seemed miles away. An ache of excruciating loss filled her.

  The magistrate cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. Señor Cristóbal glared, an expression so full of anger that it made Primrose shiver. The Magistrate spoke, looking very serious and official.

  “Señor Cristóbal Pérez, you have been accused of employing ruffians to abduct this young lady, Doña Primrose, and now, when I come to question you about the matter, I find you being held off by the lady as you try to accost her yourself. You disgrace yourself, and your family. What explanation can you give for your actions?”

  For a short while, there was silence. Then Señor Cristóbal gave a strangled snarl – a sound half sob, half growl - and spoke.

  “It is not I who disgraces this family. I was trying to save our honour, our fortunes. My father gives away too much. He would make an agreement with this Englishman which would see us do most of the work, for little return, on a venture which might not begin to pay off for years to come. He would not listen to me. So I sought leverage. I would lower myself to marry this woman, to gain that leverage. But she looked at me with disdain from the moment that she arrived, so I was left with little option but to trap her. Compromised, she would have no choice, and with her ongoing well-being at stake, the Englishman would be forced to deal with us on the terms that I chose, not those that he wanted.”

  Primrose gasped, her throat closing over at the thought of what might have been, had she been a more typical young lady of the ton, had she not been willing to fight for her own safety – and had Gabriel not been close by, each time, to help her save herself, when her strength gave out. The very idea of marriage to Señor Cristóbal made her want to retch.

  The Magistrate studied Señor Cristóbal for a moment.

  “So, you admit to everything that you have been accused of? And to accosting Doña Primrose today, with a knife, with the intent to take liberties with her person, to ruin her?”

  “Of course – how else might I save my family’s honour?”

  At those words, his father shook his head in horror.

  “This is not a way to be honourable, my son, no matter what delusions you labour under. This is quite the opposite. You have disgraced us.”

  The Magistrate looked at Señor Pérez sadly, then at Raphael.

  “This is a difficult situation. If I bring Señor Cristóbal to trial for his actions, then his family name will be dishonoured – and I am loath to do that to a good man like Señor Pérez. Yet I do not see much choice here. Don Porthaven, what would you wish? It is your party who have been so grievously insulted. Would you have Señor Cristóbal brought to trial, or would you seek another resolution?”

  Primrose watched as Raphael considered. It was difficult – for, whilst she would wish to see Señor Cristóbal punished fully, she did not wish dishonour to fall on Señor Pérez – he had been nothing but kind to them, from the moment of their arrival, and, as far as she knew from what Gabriel had said, he had been a good trading partner for many years. After some thought, Raphael looked to Señor Pérez as he spoke.

  “What other possibilities are there? For I agree that judgement in a court of law would expose the family to exactly the sort of disgrace that Señor Cristóbal mistakenly thought he was trying to avoid. Is there some option which would see Señor Cristóbal banished from this place in a manner which would save the family honour, yet still punish him?”

  Señor Pérez sighed, regarding his son with pity and sadness.

  “There is one option which might work, if the Magistrate feels that it would satisfy the matter. We could send Cristóbal to Spain, to his uncle. Rodrigo is a hard task master, and would make sure that Cristóbal earned his keep – with manual labour in the vineyards, if that is what it will take to make him understand the error of his ways. Perhaps, if Don Porthaven agrees, we could send him there for at least five years?”

  Señor Cristóbal regarded his father with an expression of dawning horror.

  “No! Do not banish me, please.”

  Señor Pérez ignored his son, his face hard.

  Raphael turned to Primrose.

  “Lady Primrose, would you accept such a punishment for him, as satisfying your honour?”

  Primrose took a deep breath. It was less than Señor Cristóbal deserved, but it was the right thing to do, for the sake of Señor Pérez.

  “Yes, I would. I do not think that Señor Pérez should suffer for his son’s foolishness.”

  The magistrate nodded, a smile of relief edging onto his face.

  “Then that is what we will do. But know this, Señor Cristóbal – if you set foot on these islands within the five years, then I will bring you before the court, family honour or not.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Within two days, Señor Cristóbal was aboard a ship for Spain, guarded by two of his father’s most loyal men, who had been well paid for their attention to keeping him from escaping his fate. They bore letters to his uncle, as well as other papers which Señor Pérez wished delivered to trading partners in Spain. To ensure that there was no chance of Señor Cristóbal bribing the crew of the ship to put him off somewhere other than his intended destination, he had been left with no funds of his own, and the ship’s Captain paid extra for his care of the man.

  Primrose was glad that a ship had been in port, and able to take him so soon, for, even for that two days, his presence in the villa had left her with an edge of fear in her every moment. She did not hide away, nor would she allow herself to succumb to that fear – but fighting it was exhausting.

  It did not help that Gabriel still seemed distant, treating her with exquisite courtesy and care, but no real attempt at closeness. She did not understand his attitude – but she refused to let her distress about it show.

  She was stubborn – she could not believe that he no longer cared for her, so she would persist – even if, deep inside, she wondered if her actions in defending herself had truly pushed him away, irredeemably. So she immersed herself in painting, and allowed it to soothe her.

  Once Señor Cristóbal had been gone for some days, and the men he had hired were locked away for some time, she began to relax, and to wish to go out and see things again. The broken canvases had been replaced, and she was beyond glad that the ones destroyed had all been blank, rather than work she had completed. But there were a number of paintings part way done, where she needed to see those locations again, to set in her mind the subtleties of the light, the vibrancy of the colours, so that she could complete the canvases properly.

  They had only another week here, before the Morton Heritage was due to return for them, and Raphael, accompanied by Gabriel, was spending most of each day with Señor Pérez finalising their trade agreement for the cochineal project, as well as the ongoing trade in orchil dye, wine, and sugar. Raphael supplied Señor Pérez with fabrics from all over the world in an exchange which brought greater wealth to both men. Primrose watched them as they left the breakfast room, her heart aching – Gabriel had not met her eyes, again.

  She turned to Sera, suddenly determined to do something, anything, but simply lock herself away and paint, feeling miserable.

  “Sera… might we go to the Cathedral again, and walk through the market square too? I would like to go out in the sun again, and refresh my mental picture of the various scenes, now that…”

  “Now that Señor Cristóbal is gone? Of course. The men will likely be shut away most of the day, negotiating – although Raphael says that he hopes to have the ag
reements signed today or tomorrow, so that we can spend the last few days here simply relaxing. It would be most pleasant to simply wander and explore – although we had best take a footman with us, to prevent us getting lost.”

  “Thank you. After the events of the last week, I need to regain my trust in the concept that ruffians will not jump out at me from every shadow. I will go up and dress appropriately now.”

  “Yes, do – you can’t spend your whole life afraid, because of one foolish young man. I will see you in the courtyard in half an hour – I’ll arrange the footman, and let the men know where we are going.”

  Primrose went, and was soon back down in the courtyard, dressed for a walk, and carrying her pencils and a journal. Around her, the scent of the flowers drew the bees, and birds splashed in the fountain. It was peaceful, and yet the echo remained in her mind of the times when she had felt watched here. She gave a little shudder, and pushed those memories away.

  Sera arrived, a footman trailing her, and they set off, out into the bright day, winding through the streets to the main square, where they stopped for Primrose to draw various views of the Cathedral. Soon, the warmth and the ordinariness of life going on around her settled her thoughts, and she relaxed, enjoying herself. Many sketches later, they moved on to the market area, seeking food and drink from one of the stalls, as well as exploring items they might purchase as gifts for those at home.

  The only thing which might have made it better, was if Gabriel had been at her side. But, if he continued to be so distant, that would never happen again. She could not allow that to be the case, simply could not. She wanted him, wanted to marry him, just as much, if not more, now, than she had from the first time that she’d met him. The kisses they’d shared had simply added to that desire.