It was an unalterable fact that they’d spent years in different worlds. And they’d grown into very different men, but Tom couldn’t walk into this with the thought that Charles hated him for leaving him to contend with their father’s cruelties alone. “Charles, I—” Tom gestured for Charles to move with him out of earshot of the others. Still holding Tom’s dueling pistol, Charles followed.
When they were a safe distance away, Tom cleared his throat. “I wish to apologize. For yesterday; for the other evening. For it all, really.”
Charles frowned.
“You didn’t deserve to be left with Father. You were right. I should have . . . done something.”
Charles’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Why didn’t you?”
“I had no means of doing so. God knows I would have taken your place with Father if you could have been safe elsewhere.”
Something in Charles’s face shifted.
“I don’t know what you endured with him, but you damn well didn’t deserve it. None of us did.”
“Lord Halworth, we are ready,” Silby interrupted loudly from where he stood by the doctor.
Tom nodded once at the other men, then extended his hand to Charles.
His brother stared at it for a few moments. Then he grasped Tom’s hand and shook it once. Tom exhaled.
Charles handed Tom the pistol he’d loaded. Tom gripped it in his right hand, feeling the weight. Ornate etched swirling patterns covered the silver-plated barrel, and the smooth wood of the handle felt cool to the touch. Since Carmichael was the challenger, Charles had brought their father’s dueling pistols.
Tom swallowed. “If Carmichael’s as good a shot as you say, Halworth might be yours after all,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.
Charles didn’t even crack a smile.
“Gentlemen, take your places,” Silby called out.
Charles walked to Silby.
“I will count ten paces, give the signal, and then you shall both turn and fire,” Silby pronounced.
Tom and Carmichael moved to the center of the lawn. Tom glanced at Carmichael’s face, but the man wouldn’t meet his gaze. Carmichael’s eyes were hooded, his jaw still working visibly. He turned to face away, and Tom did the same. They stood back-to-back, pistols aimed at the sky.
Tom had expected something more than silence from Carmichael, but apparently, he’d decided not to indulge in any last-moment taunts or gloating. Perhaps the gravity of the occasion was affecting him. Regardless, the sooner this was over the better.
Silby began to count.
“One.”
Tom gritted his teeth and took a step forward. He would make his own luck. The frost on the grass crunched under his boots.
“Two.”
Tom stepped forward again, feeling somewhat unsteady. He took a deep breath and the strength began to return to his limbs. He thought of Vicky and the letter he’d given Susie to deliver in the event of his death. He wondered if Vicky would even mourn him.
“Four.”
Of course she would mourn him. They’d been friends.
“Five,” Silby called.
The blood drained from Tom’s face. If he died, there’d be no one to stop Charles from challenging Carmichael to another duel. And if he were dead at Carmichael’s hand, Charles would certainly want revenge. Tom gripped the pistol handle tighter. The chill in his torso stretched into his extremities. Maybe it wasn’t too late to stop this insanity. Even if he or Carmichael didn’t deliver a fatal shot, a wound could fester, causing either of them to be ill for months before dying a painful death. He assumed Carmichael didn’t care to die any more than he did.
“Seven.”
Carmichael and Charles had goaded him into this, and he’d foolishly believed agreeing to fight would put an end to the matter. He’d thought this duel could keep Carmichael away from Victoria. He knew now he’d been deceiving himself.
Vicky would decide for herself. All Tom could do was support her decision. That was the only claim he could make on her . . . the only claim he ever should have tried to make.
This was absurd. He could stop this. Apologize again. Swear not to interfere. That was something his father never would have done.
“Nine.” Silby’s voice seemed distant.
“Wait!” Tom yelled. He turned to address Carmichael, throwing his empty hand out to the side while still pointing his pistol straight in the air. Carmichael looked over his shoulder before turning to face Tom.
“Ten. Fire!”
Carmichael leveled his gun at Tom. Not moving his gun hand, Tom looked Carmichael straight in the eyes and put his other hand up in an allaying gesture.
“Fire!” Silby shouted again.
Carmichael’s brows furrowed, but he waited. Tom exhaled.
Tom opened his mouth to speak. “Mr. Carmichael, I—”
A shot rang out.
Tom’s eyes closed instinctively. His body tensed in anticipation of the bullet piercing his flesh. Seconds passed.
He felt nothing.
Slowly, he opened his eyes. Carmichael lay on the ground. Movement in the corner of Tom’s eye turned his attention to Silby, who was wreathed in smoke. Silby struck the doctor’s shocked face with the butt of a pistol.
Tom flinched at the thud it made against the man’s skull. Tom’s pulse jumped in his neck, but he pivoted and raised his pistol to bear on Silby, just as Charles reached for something under his coat.
Another pistol. Though he was within arm’s length of Silby, Charles turned and leveled it at Tom’s chest.
Time slowed to a crawl. Tom gaped at his brother and the gun in his hand. His gaze dropped to the pistol, then flew up to meet Charles’s eyes. His brother stared back with a cold, unyielding glare.
“Shoot him!” Silby yelled at Charles.
Tom took a slow breath, though his pulse thrummed out of control and heat clawed its way out of his stomach into his chest.
Charles stood stock-still, his finger on the trigger. Then the corner of his mouth slanted upward. Tom blinked. Silby moved to grab the gun.
Charles turned, held Silby off with his left arm, and clubbed him in the head with the butt of the pistol. As the gun made contact, the pistol fired up into the air. Silby dropped to the ground with a thump.
Throwing his pistol aside, Charles turned back to face Tom.
Tom lowered his gun. He let go of the breath he’d been holding. “God’s blood,” he whispered. He released the gun’s hammer and ran his left hand over the back of his neck. He took a tentative step toward his brother. “Charles, what—why . . .”
Charles produced a length of thin braided leather from his coat pocket, rolled Silby onto his stomach, and set about binding his limbs. “After you rebuffed Dain at the club that day, he decided to apprise me of what he termed ‘a very lucrative proposition.’ He recognized you and I were at odds, and he wanted the pieces of Halworth that adjoin Oakbridge. I decided to humor him and discover his intentions. See to Carmichael and the doctor.”
Both men lay on the grass, seemingly out cold. Still eyeing Charles, Tom crossed the field and knelt by Carmichael. Blood seeped from his arm into the blades of grass. “Carmichael’s shot in the arm. See if the doctor has something we can use to staunch the blood.”
Charles finished binding Silby’s ankles and inspected the doctor’s head. “I think he’ll be all right once he awakens.” He brought the doctor’s bag to Tom and pulled out a handful of rolled bandages. Charles knelt and started rolling one around Carmichael’s wound. “After I’d met Dain a few times, he hinted that if I were to dispatch you, I would have control of Halworth and power beyond my wildest dreams—if I allied myself with him.”
Tom shook his head as the angry heat in his chest flared back to life. “Dain wanted me dead?” He’d known Dain had no honor, but he hadn’t thought him capable of this. Thank God Charles had thought to see what he’d wanted. “And Silby?”
Charles continued wrapping Carmichael’s arm. The blood
slowly soaked through the cloth. “Dain paid him well, I take it. As for Carmichael, I gleaned that Dain wanted him eliminated because of a land deal they were partners in. As you know, I couldn’t be less interested than I already am in matters of business, but it seemed to me that if Carmichael were to perish, Dain would reap all the monetary gains from their partnership. Dain had Silby pour poison into Carmichael’s ear about you, primarily that our accounts were so far in arrears that you needed Victoria’s dowry to survive. Knowing Carmichael, Dain believed this would lead to a confrontation. Silby and I were to ensure a duel occurred, and that neither you nor Carmichael left the field alive.” He secured the last bandage with a double knot.
Tom swallowed to keep from gawking. That explained why Charles had forced his hand yesterday. “It is reassuring to hear you never planned to shoot me.”
Charles smirked. “When I learned Dain wanted you dead, I played along until I was in a position to stop it.” He paused and frowned down at the red splotch on Carmichael’s bandage. “That’s not to say I didn’t consider doing it”—he looked up and caught Tom’s eye—“but only for a moment.” He shrugged. “You are my brother, after all.”
Tom frowned, not quite sure what that meant. He decided he didn’t need immediate clarification.
Carmichael groaned. He opened his eyes and they narrowed. Whether from the pain or from the sight of Tom, Tom couldn’t guess.
Carmichael’s gaze appeared unfocused. “What the blazes just happened?”
“Silby shot you,” Tom said.
Carmichael raised his neck. “Silby?” He looked at his arm and laid his head back upon the grass. “Why in hell would Silby shoot me?”
“He was acting under Dain’s orders,” Tom said. “Dain meant for us to kill each other. Charles and Silby were supposed to ensure we didn’t botch the job.” Which meant Carmichael had never been behind any of the incidents involving Vicky’s family. Tom ran his hand through his hair.
Carmichael blinked. “Dain? I thought he might be holding a grudge when we fell out after the musicale, but . . .” He trailed off as though loath to imagine Dain’s state of mind. He lifted his head again and tried to sit upright. “Where’s Silby now?”
Charles took Carmichael’s good arm and supported his weight so he could sit. “I have taken the pleasure of incapacitating him,” Charles replied.
Carmichael tilted his head at Charles. “I take it you had a change of heart?”
Charles nodded. “Something to that effect.”
“I owe you an apology, Carmichael,” Tom said.
Carmichael winced as he crossed his good arm across his body to cradle his wounded one. “You’ve tried that twice already, Halworth.”
But he meant to finish it this time. “I thought you capable of everything Dain has orchestrated. My”—feelings for Vicky—“my lack of control brought us to this.”
Carmichael shifted. “I’ll concede I thought none too kindly of you. Though I now understand your animosity. Now, where’s the bloody doctor?”
Tom supposed that was the best he’d ever get by way of apology from Carmichael. He looked over his shoulder to where the doctor still lay unconscious. “Silby knocked him out.” Trying to think where he could find another doctor at this hour, Tom rose to his feet. They’d deal with Dain later.
“Tom!”
Tom twisted toward the voice. Susie ran through the park toward them. When she reached them, she doubled over with exertion. He took her arm to steady her as she caught her breath.
“Thank goodness you’re unhurt,” she gasped. “Lady Victoria’s been taken.”
All Tom’s breath seized in his throat.
“What do you mean?” Carmichael demanded from the ground, echoing his own thoughts.
Susan glanced down at Carmichael and then met Tom’s gaze. “We were coming here to stop the duel. She was in front of me.” She paused to take a breath, and Tom heard rather than felt his pulse begin that familiar tattoo. “As we neared the park entrance, a man with light brown hair jumped from a coach and grabbed her. When I tried to stop him, he knocked me to the ground. He threw Victoria into the carriage, and I pretended to be unconscious. They drove off.”
All feeling drained from Tom’s limbs just as wrath sparked back to life in his torso. He looked past Susie across the park, replaying the scenario in his mind’s eye.
“Dain,” Charles said grimly.
That sick whoreson—
Tom blinked to clear his head. They had no time to waste. The devil knew what Dain planned, but judging by what had happened to Vicky over the last few weeks, Tom had no doubt of its malevolence. “Are you all right?” he asked Susan.
She nodded. “You mustn’t worry about me now.”
He looked his sister up and down. She appeared well enough. He could leave her with Charles. “Which way did the carriage go?”
“Toward Green Park. Then it turned toward Piccadilly.”
Tom turned to Charles. “He could be leaving town. Did he tell you of his plans?”
Charles furrowed his brow. He shook his head. “I knew nothing of this.”
Tom swallowed. “Perhaps I can catch up before the carriage disappears.” Frenzied worry swirled through his brain. How could he find them?
“He’s going to his cottage near Richmond,” Carmichael said.
Tom looked down at Carmichael, who tried to push himself up from the grass.
“How do you know?” Tom asked.
Charles supported Carmichael’s good arm and managed to heft the man’s bulk into a standing position.
“He mentioned the cottage to me once. He spoke of the women he had occasion to take there. I shall not elaborate in deference to this young lady’s tender ears.”
Tom looked at Susie. “Carmichael, this is Susan Naseby. Our sister.”
Carmichael looked to Tom. “Take my horse.” He briefly described the way to the cottage.
Tom nodded. “Thank you.”
Carmichael’s jaw worked. “Just bring Victoria back safely.”
Tom set his own jaw. He’d bring Vicky back. But not for Carmichael’s sake. Tom no longer held his fury at bay. It spread through him like wildfire, only to pool in his mind and obscure every thought save two. One: Dain would pay for this. Two: Vicky must know how he truly felt.
Chapter the Thirtieth
No man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character, could be capable of it.
—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Her thumping heart echoed in Vicky’s ears as she pulled at the cords around her wrists. Dain had tied her hands with long strips of leather so that her hands were crossed. Her arm still throbbed where Dain had grabbed her and shoved her into the carriage.
Dain sat across from her in the carriage, eyeing her with a perverse grin, a pistol in his right hand.
Vicky wriggled her wrists and sneered at him. “Just what do you hope to achieve by this?”
Dain smirked and looked out the carriage window. “Come, dear sister, I thought you more intelligent than that. Surely you can guess what I’m after.”
Vicky’s stomach plummeted just as her fingers itched to scratch Dain’s eyes out. For all she knew, Tom could be lying dead in St. James’s Park at this very moment. All because Dain wanted to play at being a kidnapper.
“Since I am in the carriage and not your wife, I can only assume you wish to bargain with my father to cease Althea’s separation suit.” Surely the ecclesiastical court had summoned him by now. Why else would he resort to this?
Dain snorted with laughter. “That might make sense had I not a more permanent solution in mind.”
Vicky frowned. What did he mean by that?
“My reputation shall not be sullied.”
“Is that what this is about? Your reputation in society?” She sucked in a breath. “What of my sister’s reputation? What about what you did to her?”
Dain leveled her with a glare. “Your sister’s reputation will not be sull
ied if she returns to her husband.”
“You have kidnapped your own sister-in-law! If anyone should hear of this—”
“I do not intend that anyone shall, dear sister. You are the last obstacle between me and the estate that was promised me.”
Vicky’s breath caught. So Dain had wanted Oakbridge all along. But the only definite way to ensure Vicky didn’t inherit was to get rid of her completely. Her hands started to shake; she grasped them together to keep him from noticing.
Dain couldn’t truly be a murderer. As Tom had said, he was a bully who gained what he wanted by intimidation.
Vicky raised her chin. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. “Oakbridge was never promised to you.”
He smiled then. “Your father certainly didn’t expect you to inherit the estate. With your bookish ways, what man of consequence and title would marry you?”
Vicky’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. But Dain continued, “No, as Althea’s husband, Oakbridge was meant for me. And it shall be mine. I shall have access to the two foremost jewels in the crown of the land in North Hampshire. As soon as you are gone.”
Vicky’s throat went dry. Dain truly thought her the last obstacle in his way.
After being injured, her father hadn’t attended any social functions. Perhaps the condition of his health was still widely unknown. Dain must believe her father close to death. The only explanation for him to possibly think that would be if he’d been behind the attack on their coach. The attackers could have reported to Dain the severity with which they’d beat the earl.
“You said you would have two jewels?” Vicky said, trying to grasp his reasoning.
A smirk tilted his lips. “The current Lord Halworth will no longer be problematic after today, and I happen to be on close terms with his successor.”
“Charles?” Vicky swallowed, disgusted at his casual attitude as he discussed Tom’s demise.
“Putting Halworth into a situation where his life was in danger, however, took a little planning. Charles proved a willing pawn, and as so often happens, a solution presented itself when Carmichael made the mistake of removing me from the Chadwick musicale. Despite our business dealings, Carmichael actually threatened me to stay away from you all,” Dain continued. “And how could I let him, a commoner with delusions of grandeur, tell me to stop seeing my own dear family?” He laughed as though Carmichael were the biggest fool in England. “Your face betrays your disdain, Victoria. I’m gratified to see your mettle has not gone astray. It makes telling you my accomplishments all the more satisfying.”
Dangerous Alliance Page 31