by Corwin, Amy
He felt like the devil himself, but not bad enough to let the game go to Miss Helen. She was too much like Violet for him to feel much sympathy for her.
As the game grew more serious, his fingers slipped into his cravat. He tugged viciously at the knot, pulling the starched fabric away from his neck so he could breathe. Then he studied his cards, made his discard, and glanced up to find Miss Archer’s eyes fixed on him.
They locked glances for a moment. His pulse raced. He squirmed in his chair and hooked his finger again in the linen strangling him. At last, it loosened, and he took a deep breath. He studied Miss Archer’s flushed face, wishing he could take back his words.
She bit her plump lower lip. Her gaze lingered on his neck for a moment before dropping demurely to her cards.
God in heaven, he longed to be alone with her.
“Ow!” He jerked in his chair when a sharp pain shot up from his ankle.
“Sorry, son. Just shifting my feet. Didn’t mean to kick you,” Archer apologized. The amused glint in his eyes made Chilton suspect the sincerity of the apology. Archer had obviously noticed the direction of his gaze and didn’t approve.
Miss Helen won the round.
Chilton got down to business, grimly tipping the scales in Miss Archer’s favor. It wasn’t easy for she appeared equally determined to send the chips to Miss Helen. Archer was strangely uneven, although he never failed to win at least one hand per round.
When Miss Archer threw down her cards shortly after midnight, his shoulders were stiff, and he could barely get to his feet. He had one chip in front of him. But he was proud to see he had managed to keep Miss Archer’s stack even with her sister’s. Predictably, Archer had doubled the number in front of him.
“Excellent!” Archer said, standing and counting his chips. “Now since we each started with ten pounds, I calculate that Mr. Dacy owes me nine. Naturally, I don’t expect my nieces to pay the five pounds they each owe to me. My gifts to you both, Oriana and Helen.”
Miss Archer rolled her eyes and shook her head. Miss Helen held her hand up to her mouth in a futile attempt to cover her giggles.
“Uncle, really!” Miss Helen said.
“Shall I accompany you to your room, Mr. Dacy? I’ve always considered prompt payment of one’s debts to be a gentleman’s prime virtue,” Archer said.
“By all means,” Chilton replied heavily, wondering when they had put ten pounds apiece into the pot. He certainly couldn’t remember doing so.
If events continued on their current course, Chilton would be lucky to escape The Orchards with the clothes on his back.
Chapter Eight
Short Showdown
Everyone retired after the game. The two girls climbed the stairs together, arms around each other. Chilton watched them go, wishing they didn’t make him feel like a beast.
“A pretty pair, aren’t they?” Archer asked as he came to stand beside Chilton at the bottom of the staircase.
“Well enough,” he replied gruffly.
“I believe I shall step outside for a breath of air.” He held a cheroot in his hand. “Would you care to join me?”
“Not tonight.”
“Leg bothering you?”
“No. Not particularly.” In actual fact, he found it difficult to stand upright.
A fire gnawed away at his upper thigh and had spread into his lower back. He eyed the steep stairway with loathing and remembered Miss Archer’s firm grip on his arm when he arrived. If he had been able to hold his temper, she might be at his side now, instead of holding hands with Miss Helen and heading down the opposite hallway to her own room.
“Good, good,” Archer said. “I took the liberty earlier of sending up a bottle of sherry to your room. I find it helpful when trying to sleep in a strange bed.”
The unexpected gesture made his chest tighten. He glanced sharply at Archer’s bland face, but he just stared unconcernedly in the direction of the door to the courtyard.
“Thank you. I’ll say goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, Dacy. And I believe Miss Archer has made arrangements for your dog. No need to worry. Have a good evening.” Archer gave him a sharp nod and strolled down the hallway, rolling his cheroot between his thumb and forefinger.
Chilton watched him go before laboriously making his way up the stairs. He paused opposite Archer’s door and then thought better of it. He was too tired to search for Violet’s note tonight. There would be other opportunities.
Shortly after he climbed into bed, he awoke to the sound of a dog’s whimpering.
“Hush, Josephine.” He turned over and tried to settle again. His leg pained him, though, keeping him awake. He massaged the thigh, but couldn't seem to ease the stiffness.
Josephine’s cold nose touched his neck. When he jerked upright, she made a woofing noise in his ear.
“What is it, girl? Do you have to go out?”
She whimpered again and limped over to the window. He saw her silhouetted against the stars as she pressed her nose to the glass, sniffing wetly.
Throwing back the covers, he grabbed the cane and took a few, tentative steps. When Josephine saw him, she moved to the doorway. In the stillness of the night, he heard her nails rake over the wood of the closed door.
“Stop that, you idiot,” he swore softly, worried about scratching the door and bringing Miss Archer’s wrath down upon him. She was already vexed with him. And he was ashamed to admit he probably deserved a good tongue lashing. “I’m coming.”
When he got the door open, the dog dashed out. He followed her down the stairs and was heading along the hallway to the courtyard door when he nearly trampled the animal. Pressing a hand against the wall to catch himself, he glanced around. The dog stood still in the darkness, staring at the door.
He paused. In the shadowy silence, he heard voices. Moving stealthily, he edged toward the door, wondering who else was up at that hour.
When the dog tried to intercept him protectively, he placed his hand on her neck and pushed her back. Her body quivered, her fur soft and warm beneath his touch, but she stayed put.
Through the window cut into the door, he could make out the shapes of two men silhouetted against the night sky. The slighter one was unmistakably John Archer. Standing near him was a massive gentleman who seemed to cling to the shadows. Chilton eased open the door until he could hear their voices.
“Now Mr. Archer, I’m asking you nice-like for the last time. Just hand over the money you owe Mr. Lyndel. And the vowel from the lady. Then you and me can have a nice pint o’ ale at the Pig’s Toes and be right chummy like the old days.”
“Red—may I call you Red?” Archer asked.
The giant’s melon-like head nodded. The motion momentarily allowed a moonbeam to pass over his shoulder, previously hidden in the shadow of his large hat.
The pale light revealed a stout cudgel clutched by his right side.
Chilton’s grip on the door knob tightened. The brass felt slick and unpleasantly cold against his palm. He leaned forward, wondering if he dared interfere. If the vowel discussed was Violet’s, and Archer gave it to this man called Red, Chilton would have to start over again trying to recover it.
If he could.
“You’ve known me for many years, Red. You know I would never betray a lady’s trust.”
“Maybe so, but you owe Mr. Lyndel—”
“I am well aware of what I owe and will honor the obligation. You may tell him that.”
“Mr. Lyndel warned me you might argle-bargle. I’ve got me orders. I’m very sorry-like, Mr. Archer. Are you sure you won’t reconsider? It’s just a note, and the lady won’t mind. She gambled it away, after all.”
“I’m very sure; nonetheless I have my honor to consider.”
“Then I will have to break your legs, Mr. Archer. Them’s my orders if you won’t part with it tonight.”
“Are you sure he said ‘legs,’ Red? Perhaps an arm would do?”
The giant scratched his hea
d. “Maybe. Maybe your arm and a black eye.”
“Oh, no. Surely not a black eye. And I’m quite sure if you’d just tell him that I’ll pay him shortly, he’ll be content.”
“Nay, terrible sorry Mr. Archer. But I’ve got me orders. ‘Though I ‘spect he’ll settle for an arm and a black eye instead of yer legs. I never liked doing the legs, meself. Terrible thing to leave a man unable to stand on his own two pins.”
“But I won’t settle for it,” Archer said before he threw the first punch.
It was dark and his line of sight wasn’t perfect, but it appeared as if Archer connected directly with Red’s chin. His fist bounced off. Archer danced and swore, shaking his fist.
“Now why did you go and do that, Mr. Archer?” Red asked, his tone plaintive. He rubbed his chin and worked his jaw for a minute.
“I’ve broken my fist, you dolt!”
“Just stand still, Mr. Archer. It won’t hurt much.”
“The devil I will!” Archer said before he struck another blow, this time to Red’s massive stomach.
Red just stood there with no discernable reaction. Then he shook his head and placed his hat with great care on the fence post behind him.
This action revealed his face clearly for the first time. Ancient battles had left a web of scars over his projecting brows, cheekbones and massive chin. His nose had been broken so many times it was a mere twisted blob of flesh.
Fearing the worst, he pulled the door open. He wasn't sure if he could stop Red when Archer’s blows were so ineffectual, but he couldn't let Archer suffer a beating while he stood by and did nothing. As he stumbled down the steps, he saw Red raise a meaty hand and aim for Archer’s jaw.
Archer ducked agilely but hit the side of the stables with his shoulder. The giant had him trapped against the wall.
A cracking blow hit Archer in the face. Then, before he could recover and dance away, Red brought up the cudgel. He slammed it down on Archer’s outstretched arm.
Even from several yards away, Chilton heard the sharp snap of bone. He flinched at the sound. His mind rushed back to his agonizing days on the battlefield, watching the men around him—his men—cut down by cannon fire.
Pushing the memory of distant screams away, he yelled, hoping to distract the giant. “Hey! What are you doing?”
Josephine, hearing his voice, hurtled past him. She threw herself at the stranger. She clamped her teeth onto the hem of his jacket. Her paws scrabbled at the backs of his legs, searching for purchase.
Dangling in mid-air, she growled through her clenched jaws.
“Hey!” Red exclaimed, twisting to try to see what was hanging off his back. “Hey! Now, let go, little doggie. There’s a good boy!”
Red soon lost interest in the dog, however, and turned toward Archer.
Stumbling forward, Chilton arrived just as Red lifted Archer up by the waistcoat. He slammed a meaty fist into the Archer’s eye.
“Stop!” Chilton yelled. “Let him go!” He waved his cane, feeling like a helpless fool.
“Now don’t get upset, sir,” Red said in his slow voice. “I’m just going, if you would be so kind as to take your little doggie off me back.”
“Josephine!”
The dog’s eyes glinted in the moonlight as they rolled in his direction. He could have sworn she gazed at him with deep sadness, her teeth caught firmly in the rough material. Her paws scrambled over Red’s back.
Twitching and trying to reach behind him, the giant started to laugh as she pawed him.
“Here, now, get her off, she’s killing me!” A low rumbling laughter punctuated his breathless request.
“Josephine!” Chilton called.
She squirmed, but her teeth were too deeply enmeshed in Red’s jacket. Chilton limped closer. He grabbed the dog around her middle and yanked her back. The material of the jacket gave abruptly, and they both fell next to Archer.
“That’s better. I’d best be getting on, sir.” The giant tipped his hat to him. “But you tell Mr. Archer to pay what he owes next time. I’ve got to do what I’m told. Understand?”
“Get out of here, and go to the devil!”
The giant paused. Chilton could feel the Red’s eyes taking in the cane and his difficulty in standing upright.
The familiar burn of frustration and anger smoldered in his gut. The same fire that made him rush a Frenchman whose upraised sword had been about to slash the neck of Chilton’s unconscious Sergeant.
Desperate and out of ammunition, Chilton had given in to his rage and charged. He took the sword across his face for his troubles. But despite the wound, the Frenchman had died.
Chilton had not.
“I’m a peaceful man, sir, but I do what I’m told. I’ve no fight with you.”
“Then leave,” Chilton said, his voice hard.
“Aye. For now.” Red ambled off, swinging the cudgel in his right hand and tapping it on his thick thigh with each stride.
Moving awkwardly, Chilton leaned over Archer. He rested his fingers against the older man’s neck, fearing the worst. The pulse was strong, but his hand came away sticky and dark with blood. Josephine whimpered and licked Archer’s face before Chilton shooed her away.
A moment later, Archer moaned and raised a trembling hand to his forehead.
“Can you stand?” he asked, furious with his weakened leg. He could barely stay upright and saw no way to help Archer into the house.
Josephine pushed her nose into Archer’s face and then yipped softly at Chilton. That one spark of communication between the dog and himself brought forth such a burst of affection that he felt stunned. He rubbed the soft fur behind her ears and gave in to the crazy idea that the dog’s whimper meant she understood him.
“Go get Miss Archer, Josephine. Go on—get the nice lady.” The request was foolish. However, he smiled with deep fondness when she yipped again at him and wagged her tail.
After another bark, she disappeared through the open door as if she knew precisely what he said.
“Excellent choice, my boy,” Archer said, his voice wavering. He tried to pull himself up by grabbing the fence rail with his left hand, but he failed. He fell with a thud to the ground, clutching the side of his head. “Do you believe you could assist me?”
He hooked an arm over the top railing for support and grasped Archer’s good left arm. He heaved Archer to his feet.
Archer wavered and clutched his shoulder briefly, before letting go to wipe his face with his sleeve. His right arm dangled uselessly. In the moonlight, Archer’s face looked gray and scored with deep lines of pain.
“Well, that went rather better than I expected,” Archer said with an effort.
“I beg your pardon?”
Archer’s attempt at a laugh fell severely short to his ears. “I’m not dead, am I? Merely a few bruises.”
“And a broken arm.”
“Yes, well, a minor matter,” Archer agreed.
He snorted with disgust. “Why didn’t you just give him what you owed him? How much is it, anyway?”
“A trifling amount. I shall pay him when I am ready.”
“How much?”
Archer hesitated and drew forth a handkerchief which he held under his nose. It darkened quickly with blood. “A small matter of five thousand pounds, I believe.”
“And some lady’s vowel? What was that about?”
“So you heard, did you?”
“Yes. And do not think you can pull the wool over my eyes.”
“It is a private matter, Dacy. The lady in question merely gave me a temporary note while she seeks to obtain the required sum from her husband. I cannot betray her trust by passing her vowel to another, despite what the rascal thinks I owe him. It would be the height of poor manners.” His chivalrous statement was somewhat marred by the way his bloodstained handkerchief muffled his words.
“If that man comes back, I don’t think you’ll have much of a choice but to give up the note. Perhaps I could keep it safe for you?” C
hilton offered.
What arrangements had Violet made with Archer? Obviously, something she regretted later if she confessed she had lost the vowel and asked for help from Lord Chichester. He could only hope she wasn’t playing all of them for fools.
“No, my boy. It is perfectly secure, I assure you.”
“Uncle John?” Miss Archer’s hesitant voice echoed from the shadows of the doorway. There was the clattering noise as Josephine pranced beside her. “Get down, Josephine! What are you doing out here, Uncle John? All the dogs are barking in the stables.”
Stepping forward, he hesitated, unsure what to say.
Archer cut him off. “I slipped, my dear. I’m afraid I broke my arm.”
“Broke your arm! How could you slip?”
“I was smoking and stepped in, well, something slick by the stables. Took me quite by surprise.”
As Miss Archer stepped closer, she stopped abruptly when she noticed him. “Mr. Dacy! Are you still awake?”
“Apparently.”
“His dog needed an airing,” Archer said. He moved toward the house.
When the moonlight fell on Archer, Chilton heard Miss Archer’s sharp intake of breath. Her head swiveled in Chilton's direction. He could feel the weight of her gaze studying him.
When he looked down, he saw his shirt and hands were stained with blood.
“I shall send Joshua for the doctor.” She took her uncle’s good arm and escorted him into the house.
Her silent snubbing left him standing in the cold courtyard.
Once again, he was one of the damned.
Chapter Nine
Check - A Bet of Nothing
Trying to remain calm, Oriana paused by the stairway to call for Joshua and his father, Mr. Brown, the butler. Something terrible had happened, and a curious numbness had settled around her, making it difficult to think. She didn't want to fly to some unwarranted conclusion, but she couldn't avoid certain facts.
Her uncle had been outside alone with Mr. Dacy when he was injured.