Читать книгу The Viscount - Lyn Stone - Страница 9

L ily wondered if he had been right about her clothing affecting her behavior. Whether it was freedom from the constraint of female apparel or pure desperation that prompted her aggression, Lily saw that she had shocked not only him, but also herself.

Here she had just proposed to the infamous Devil Duquesne, the man people whispered about, feared even, because he was reputed to be dangerous. He did private enquiries and settled disputes in ways that were often permanent, so they said. The government employed him to ferret out spies. Perhaps he was one himself.

Jonathan had loved gossip and had delighted her with all sorts of tidbits out of London whenever he had gone up on business. Well, she was testing this piece of his tittle-tattle, surely.

Duquesne’s eyes had narrowed, assessing her yet again, as if from a different angle. He smiled, a near smirk, but it did absolutely nothing to detract from his appeal. Slowly he nodded, his smile growing, as if he couldn’t contain it within that cloak of cynicism. Was he going to say yes? Would he really marry her?

Lily almost panicked, very nearly withdrew her bold idea for a solution. If she did marry Duquesne, she might create another whole set of problems.

“Doubts now, Lily?” he asked, crossing his arms and regarding her intently. He looked amused.

“No. None.” She would stand firm by her decision. If he would have her, if he would commit to the cause of her protection and that of her son, she’d be willing to wed the devil himself. If that was trading her body and her fortune, so be it.

“If I say yes, you should know that I would expect something from you other than money,” he told her.

She was well aware of what that would be, of course, but she had already offered that on a silver platter. “I know.”

“Besides that,” he said, his expression now rather serious. “If I should…in the future, fall victim to my father’s malady, I should expect you to keep me…at home. My home, of course, not yours. That is, if you could possibly arrange it.”

Lily softened inside, her heart going out to him on the instant. “Oh, most assuredly, Guy. I would never, never consign you to…” She cast about for a nice word for the terrifying place she had just escaped.

He shifted as if highly uncomfortable in speaking of this. His gaze rested on the floor between them. “I considered placing my father at Plympton. It is close to home, privately run and not as bad as one might expect, but I simply could not bring myself to do it, to uproot him from his familiar surroundings. You see, though he’s not the man he once was, he has moments, even days, when he functions quite normally.”

“Plympton? They mentioned that, Guy! Tonight I heard that name. They were planning to move me there. Where is it?”

He unfolded his arms and braced them on the edge of the desk as he looked up at her. “Roughly twenty miles or so from Edgefield to the north. The old mansion Lord Younger sold off some years ago.”

She knew of it, but had not known it was now used as an asylum. “I see. That puts proof to the fact that Clive must be behind this scheme against me, then. It is also near Sylvana Hall, as you know. Once I was certified insane, he could keep watch and perhaps continue drugging me if I were at Plympton.”

He nodded. “So, could you agree to this condition? You would, of course, hire a man who would see to my needs and ensure I would be no danger to anyone should the worst happen. You could live wherever you chose.”

Unable to help herself, Lily approached him and touched his face, much as she would Beau if he were this troubled. “Oh, Guy, you speak as if this is a definite thing for you to dread.”

He covered her hand with his, a light contact recognizing her gesture. “It is a possibility we must address, Lily. As yet, I’ve suffered no symptoms akin to my father’s and I hope I never shall, but I want you aware of what might happen in future. It is wise to plan for all contingencies, don’t you think?”

Lily closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, unable to imagine this man incapacitated in any way, especially with regard to his mind. She nodded. “I agree. If you will look after me and my son, I give you my word I shall move heaven and earth to follow your wishes in this.” She looked up at him so that he could see she was sincere. “Guy, I will do it anyway. Whether you want me as a wife or not. I shall do it as your friend.”

Never had she seen such an expression of relief. And something approaching awe. He cradled her face with both his hands and lowered his lips to her forehead. His mouth felt warm against her skin and very gentle.

Then he pulled back and searched her eyes with his. “This is a terrible risk you’re taking, Lily. You don’t really know me. You cannot know all I have done or am capable of doing.”

She sighed and rested her palms on his chest, feeling the warmth, the beat of his heart, through the rich, worn fabric. “I know that you are compassionate with regard to your father. I know that you listen to me and truly hear what I say. And while you do have a reputation for ruthlessness—” she smiled at his surprise “—a ruthless man is precisely what I need.”

His small laugh was self-deprecating as he shook his head. “What gods do you suppose have thrown us together tonight? Ours will likely be a match made in hell.”

She straightened, grasping the lapels of his robe. “Then you will do it?”

He dropped a kiss on her lips, just a brief, perfunctory touch borne of camaraderie, it seemed. His voice was light and full of mischief. “Of course I will do it. I’d be a complete fool to refuse such a deal.”

Lily felt unaccountably lighthearted, considering the weighty matter at hand. “Excellent!” She backed away from him, a bit self-consciously, breaking his contact with her face and hers with his chest. It was devilishly hard to think when they were touching.

He pushed forward from the desk where he’d been leaning and began to shuck off his robe. “Then we had best get to it. We’ll need a special license, back-dated, of course.” He spoke as if to himself now. “Justice Jelf will get that, for a hefty fee.” All the while, he was donning a jacket that had hung over the back of a straight chair by the door.

Lily watched as he bent behind the desk and then sat to pull on his stockings and boots. It seemed too intimate an act to watch, so she turned away, still listening to his running commentary to himself. “Horses. Hammersley’s, I think. We’ll ride to Sylvana Hall after, by way of Edgefield, to change your clothing.”

“I thought you were sending for Beau and Mrs. Prine,” she said, interrupting him.

He looked up from his task. “Not now. I think we should make our stand on home ground. I had thought at first to hide you and your son until I could straighten out this tangle of yours with the authorities. However, if we are married and appear to have been so before Bradshaw made his move, he’ll play hell explaining why he kidnapped my wife. We’ll level charges against him if necessary.”

“But…but we were not married then,” Lily argued.

He grinned and stood up, stamping to settle his feet into the scuffed Hessians. “Ah, but we will have been. Once Tommy Roundhead does his magic on the locks at the records office. Happy first month’s anniversary, darling. May we have many, many more.”

Lily shook her head in wonder. “I have a distinct feeling ours is going to prove a unique wedding.”

“My lady, you cannot even imagine how unusual it’s going to be.” He opened a drawer of his desk, retrieved a wicked-looking pistol, checked the cylinder of it and added the ammunition. Then he tucked it into the waistband of his trousers where it seemed right at home.

Lily swallowed hard and shivered, suddenly aware of just how dangerous this man might become if crossed.

She watched as he stretched out his hand, inviting her to take it. Or perhaps daring her to do so. “Are you up for a sprint across the back alleys of Mayfair and a night ride into Whitechapel?”

Lily locked her palm to his and intertwined their fingers. A promise. A binding betrothal, however brief. A daring leap into the unknown with a man who might be teetering on the edge of sanity even as they said their vows. Assuming they survived the trip into the bowels of London and lived to take any vows. “Sounds like a dashing evening, my lord. I’m game!”

His grin was pure deviltry and she returned it in kind.

Good as his word, Guy led her out the back of the house and through the tangle of vines at the back gate. The moon cast its weak glow on the path they took, one she knew was traversed by tradesmen and those who were obliged to enter the great homes from the rear entrance. And perhaps by thieves and denizens of the night with no business being here.

She was nearly breathless with exertion and apprehension when he came to a halt and looked up at the high stone wall they had been following and the imposing iron gate in front of them. “It’s locked at night. We’ll have to climb it.” He crouched down. “Put your foot in my hands and I’ll boost you. Grab the top and pull yourself up.”

Lily took a deep breath and did as he said. Images of their being hauled off by the local watch and trying to explain this distracted her, but she made it. Lying along the top of the foot-thick stone wall, she watched him shin up the bars of the iron gate and join her.

“Now take my hands and I’ll lower you down,” he said calmly, as if he did this sort of thing every night. Perhaps he did. She complied, coming to rest on solid ground with a thump of her overlarge boots. He followed, taking a moment to brush his ungloved palms on his trousers. “There!”

“Where are we?” she demanded. “And what are we doing here?”

“Earl Hammersley’s. He’s a friend of mine. We’re going to steal two of his horses.”

“No!” She grabbed his arm as he started for what looked to be the stables. “You cannot do this! If he’s a friend, why not simply ask to borrow them?”

“He’s out of town this week. They’re visiting Julia’s family. His man would never loan his mounts without his approval. Don’t worry. I will explain it to him later.”

Still, Lily dragged her feet, hoping to dissuade him. “Guy! This is a hanging offense!”

“Don’t be absurd, sweetheart. They don’t hang nobles.” She heard laughter in his voice. The man was crazy.

“Well, imprison us then! Guy, this is madness!” she rasped in a loud whisper, hating to use that word, but there was none other fitting this deed so well as that.

He kept walking, dragging her along with him. “Oh, stop quibbling, darling. This will be child’s play.”

Lily groaned.

They reached the stables and he walked right in as if he owned the place. “Jemmy? Are you asleep, man?” he called.

A moment later a young fellow appeared out of what looked to be the tack room, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. He did not seem alarmed. In fact, quite the opposite. “Lord Duquesne? What are you doing here this time of night?”

“Came to borrow two nags. Lady Julia’s Pepper and Lord Michael’s gelding. What’s his name?”

“Cinnamon, sir. But you know very well I can’t loan them without his lordship’s permission. He’s told me—”

“I know, I know,” Guy said with a sigh. “Turn around.”

“Beg pardon?” Jemmy asked.

“Turn around.”

The boy, obviously used to following the commands of his betters, did as he was told. Guy pushed him to his knees and slipped a small thin rope around his wrists, expertly tied it off and then secured his ankles, trussing the boy up like a Christmas goose.

“You can get loose with a little effort, but not before we’re long away. Tell Lord Michael I’ll return his horses in prime condition. He won’t be angry with you since you couldn’t prevent this.”

“But, my lord, you know how he treasures his horseflesh! And I am responsible!”

“Of course you are, lad, but this gets you off the hook. Tell his lordship I’ve done this to save my wife.”

“Your wife!” Jemmy exclaimed, his wide-eyed gaze flew to Lily.

“Lady Lillian,” Guy said by way of introduction. “Tell Hammersley.”

“Yessir,” Jemmy agreed, now resigned and not even struggling to free himself. “Congratulations, my lord.”

“Thank you, Jemmy.” With that, Guy proceeded to lead the horses from their stalls and assemble the tack. Lily lent a hand, saddling the beautiful black mare herself.

Within minutes they were leading the horses out the back gate, unlocked with the keys Guy seemed to know were ensconced within a hollow in the stone wall. Lily supposed he had been here many times before to know the place so well.

“The earl will understand, won’t he?”

“Certainly,” Guy assured her as he gave her a leg up into the saddle. “Michael might value his mounts above most of his possessions, but he treasures his wife more than life itself. He’ll figure I’d do the same.”

What would it be like to be loved that much? Lily wondered. She supposed she would never know, but even Guy’s pretense of it felt comforting. He had stolen horses for her. Wrong as that was, she experienced a thrill over it. She could never imagine the very proper Jonathan having done such a thing.

His courting of her had been romantic to a degree. They had met quite by accident when a wheel had broken on his trap along the road to Maidstone. Her father had stopped to offer assistance or a ride. She had felt that noble gaze assessing her as she sat beside the vicar, and knew she was the reason Jonathan had accepted the ride. After that, he became a constant visitor, soon a suitor, then her husband. Her father had heartily encouraged her early marriage. Even she admitted she could hardly have expected to do better than a baron, or the man himself. Theirs had been a quiet, steady bond that had strengthened with each passing year and the birth of their son. Perhaps Jonathan’s heart had not been strong enough, even then, for the intense sort of love Guy spoke of his friends having. Nevertheless, she felt blessed to have had a good and faithful husband.

She adjusted her reins and prepared to ride, settling comfortably into the man’s saddle. She had never ridden astride before and thought she might quite like it.

“On to Whitechapel,” Guy announced, obviously eager for the adventure.

Lily nudged the mare closer to the gelding, seeking reassurance in Guy’s nearness. She also hoped his sudden enthusiasm for the remainder of their escapade would somehow communicate itself to her. Her reservations were growing by the minute as the moon waned and the darkness of the alleyways swallowed them up.

Guy remained alert, his gaze continuously sweeping the narrowing streets leading them into the infamous hell that was Whitechapel.

Conditions deteriorated the farther they rode, bound for the heart of Rupert Street with its rickety tenaments and stench of poverty. Rats skittered off refuse left to rot. Gutters ran with offal and worse.

He glanced at Lily who was barely visible beneath the one flickering oil lamp that remained unbroken past the turn onto Rupert Street. Weapon at the ready, he swiveled quickly at the sound of scuffling feet.

“Stand away,” he ordered the figures who appeared out of the cavern between the buildings.

“Aha, ’tis himself!” one of the footpads said with a snarking laugh. “Who’d ye be after then, Duquesne?”

“Tommy Roundhead,” Guy growled.

“Cost ye, guv,” the fool declared, still sniggering.

“Cost you if you don’t fetch him,” Guy replied, cocking the pistol. It was the expected ritual.

Not two moments later Roundhead stepped out of the alley, immediately recognizable by his overlarge pate. “Duquesne? It’s only Thursday.”

“Not here for the scuttle tonight, Tom. I’ve need of you,” Guy told him. Without waiting for an answer, he shifted the pistol to his left hand and reached down with his right.

Tommy grasped it and swung up behind Guy on the gelding. “Watch Nell,” Tom snapped at the underlings who protected his lair. Nell Gentry, a former street girl, was Tommy’s common-law wife and was prone to wander unless he kept a constant eye on her.

“Turn slowly,” Guy muttered to Lily. “Ride ahead of me at a walk, the same way we came in.”

She nodded and did precisely that. Guy could see around her, but just barely since the streets were so narrow here. He held his breath, weapon cocked and ready lest they be attacked. Tommy would be a deterrent to that since this block was his territory, but he might not be recognized soon enough for his power to be that effective.

They rode out without incident, Lily keeping her mare to a walk when Guy knew she must itch to gallop hell-bent for safety. Tommy hung on to the back of the saddle, unused to riding, nervous as a cat without whiskers. Once on the ground, he would be fearless again. And invaluable.

Once they crossed the Thames, Guy took High Street, turned off on Pramble Close and drew up in front of the house of Justice Jelf.

“Gor, Duquesne!” Tommy exclaimed. “What truck have ye got wi’ Jelf? I’d as soon not come in wif ye, if it’s all th’ same.”

Guy agreed. “Stay with the mounts. Anything happens to these horses, Tommy, I’ll rip the ears right off your head. Understood?”

“Righto, guv. Lend me that gun then.”

“Not on a dare,” Guy replied, helping Lily dismount. “You’re well armed. Never known you not to be.”

Tommy laughed softly, took the reins of both mounts and wrapped them around his left hand. “You be long?”

“Long enough to wed. Ten minutes at most.”

“Ha! Ripe lie if I ever heered one.”

Guy ignored the aside, took Lily’s arm, ushered her to the door and rapped smartly on the panel.

It was midnight by now, but Jelf would be awake, most likely with a card game in progress. Still it took a good five minutes and sore knuckles to get him to the door.

“Eh?” the man snapped as he opened the door a crack. Sure enough, he was dressed, though his shirt hung open to mid-chest and his dark hair was rumpled as if he’d run his hands through it half the night.

Justice Lord Jelf looked much as he had on his worst of nights during their last year at Eton. How he’d managed to secure his current position, Guy could only guess, but it certainly came in handy at times.

“What do you want at this hour, Duquesne? A game?” He cast a lazy glance at Lily.

Guy pushed the door wider and moved past the justice. “I want to get married. You sober, Galen?”

“Sober as a judge,” Jelf cracked, laughing at his own poor joke. “Married, you say? When and to whom, if I might inquire?”

“This very minute, to her.” He inclined his head toward Lily. “Get your book and the paperwork. We’re in something of a rush.”

“Where’s your license?”

“In your desk, I expect. Go and get it.” If there was a form in London Galen Jelf didn’t have copies of, it had not yet been printed up in quantity. A profitable sideline, as it were.

Jelf raked Lily with a sly look of interest. “Sure you’ve got the bride here, Guy, and not the best man? Though it’s pretty enough, whatever you’ve chosen.”

“We can do without the comments, Jelf. We married last month, understand? I want no question of that should anyone inquire or check the records.”

Jelf smiled, a knowing expression. No doubt thinking Lily was in an interesting condition and Guy was doing the right thing.

“You owe me, Jelf,” Guy reminded him.

“And now you shall owe me, my friend. Fifty pounds is the price. Are you solvent?”

“As salt in water. I’m good for it. She’s rich,” Guy said.

Lily nodded and stuck out her hand to shake. “Lily Bradshaw. Nice to meet you, Justice Jelf.”

“Aha, it speaks! Felicitations then,” Jelf said smoothly. “Come with me, children. It’s a nasty deed you commit, but I’ll stand for it. Do we want fictional witnesses or do you have someone in mind? How about Kendale and Hammersley? Will they vouch?”

“Absolutely. Good thinking. I’ll post them my thanks tomorrow.”

They repaired to Jelf’s study where he lit a lamp and produced a handful of papers from a drawer. Pushing the pen and inkstand toward Guy, he watched as the blanks were filled in. He signed, too, with a flourish and then opened his book to commence the civil ceremony.

“You understand this will not be recognized by the Church? I’m not ordained and this is no House of God.”

Guy nodded. “So long as it’s legal.”

“It serves for Jews and Catholics,” Galen muttered, and turned the page to begin.

Guy regretted the need for this, knowing any woman on earth would prefer her wedding to be otherwise. Hell, any man would, too, come to think of it.

Jelf’s curt statements and questions bore none of the sentimentality or religious overtones of the Church of England service. Cut-and-dried, it was over in a trice. A done thing.

“By the power vested in me by the Crown, I pronounce you man and wife. She’s yours to kiss, Duquesne. Have at it.”

He immediately headed for the doorway. “Douse the lamp and close the doors behind you, if you won’t mind. I’m holding three eights and they’re just foxed enough to count me out if I’m away more than five minutes.” He threw up a hand in farewell. “Luck to you both. Barring that, may you have an interesting life.” His voice trailed off down the hallway toward the back of the house.

Reluctant to face her before, Guy now shot Lily a look of apology. Then he quickly bent and pressed his lips against hers, hardly taking time to feel the softness of her lips. Later, he promised himself.

“I’m…amazed,” she said.

“Then my kissing’s improved by leaps,” he replied.

She leaned over to extinguish the lamp. “Let’s ride,” she ordered.

Guy snatched up their copies of the marriage license and certificate on the way out. By first light, the duplicates of the papers would be snug in the files, awaiting anyone who might question the marriage of Viscount Duquesne and Lady Lillian Upchurch Bradshaw. Roundhead would see to that.

In the meantime, there were thirty miles of hard road between here and Sylvana Hall. Not much of a night, as wedding nights went. And God only knew what they would face in the morning.

Guy handed Roundhead the papers and told him specifically where to put them. “Tommy, it’s essential you get these in place before daybreak. Then go to Smarky. Tell him to go and have Bodkins pack for me. He’s then to deliver my things to Edgefield along with whatever information he can gather about a bloke called Brinks. Suggest that he begin that enquiry at St. Mary’s of Bethlem.”

“Bedlam?” Roundhead queried with a laugh. “Aye, guv. Whatever you say.” His grimy hand shot out and Guy filled it with a small wad of bills.

“Also, I’d like an accounting of a Mr. Clive Bradshaw. Have Smarky collect that or farm out the task as he sees fit, but I need it soon.”

“Aye, I’ll tell ’im. Safe journey, guv,” the man muttered, and vanished into the darkness between the justice’s home and the house adjacent to it.

Guy lifted Lily to the mare’s saddle and mounted the gelding to ride beside her. They crossed the Thames once again by way of Westminster Bridge, wound down York Row, silent in the early morning hours save for the clop of hooves.

The horses advanced at a brisk walk along Lower Minette Street, a narrow byway hardly worthy of a name, in order to reach the main road more quickly. They were still not in what Guy considered a safe area of the city, but at least he could breathe a bit more easily than he had done with Lily accompanying him through the crime-fouled streets of Hades.

From the corner of her eye Lily watched two shadows detach themselves from doorways she and Guy had just passed. They were being followed.

“Easy,” Guy whispered. “Ride just ahead of me. Don’t look back.” She had hardly heard his words. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her muscles had tensed, alerting the mare who began to dance sidewise, her head jerking the reins to the left.

Suddenly as that, two men dashed out of the darkness. One grabbed her mare’s bit with one hand, attempting to drag Lily from the saddle by her leg with the other. She screamed and the mare reared, breaking the brigand’s hold. Lily grasped the mare’s mane and held on.

The fellow struggled up from the cobblestones where he’d fallen, cursing foully as he flew at her. A huge shadow enveloped him from behind and Lily heard a distinct snap.

With a cry of terror, she dug her heels into the mare’s flanks, but with reins tangled, only succeeded in guiding her into a tight circle.

“Hold fast!” Guy ordered. “And ride!”

She loosened her grip and let the frightened mare have her way.

Lily glanced over her shoulder. Like a circus trick rider, Guy bounced once and swung onto the gelding that was already nearing a gallop. Behind them, two dark heaps lay unmoving on the cobbles, barely discernible in the blue-gray glow of the moon.

“Face ahead and turn right,” Guy shouted as he caught up to her.

They cut sharply down another side street that led into a small park with overhanging trees. There Guy drew up and she did the same.

“Are you hurt?” he asked politely.

“Who were those men?” she gasped, trying hard to steady her jerky breathing as she ran one hand through hair dampened with the sweat of fear.

“Old acquaintances out to settle a score, I expect. Not to worry.”

“Not to worry?” she snapped, piercing him with a look of anger. “They meant to…accost us!”

“And so they did,” he replied, reaching forward with one large hand to gentle the gelding with a pat, his voice as matter-of-fact as if he commented upon the fair weather. “But that’s the end of that.”

“You…you killed them?”

He sighed audibly and sat straighter, looking back the way they had come. “Yes, well, it’s time we rode on if you are not too shaken.”

Shaken? Two men lay dead in the street! She knew without asking he had broken her attacker’s neck with his bare hands. Had likely done that to the other man, as well. He had not even drawn that pistol he wore in his belt or warned them off.

Lily shivered, unable to speak of it. Instead she meekly followed as Guy took the lead and guided them to what appeared to be a main thoroughfare.

“This is Lambeth Street,” he informed her idly, as if they were merely out seeing the sights of London. He set a calm pace, seeming in no rush to get where they were going or to avoid anyone coming after them as a result of the dead robbers.

Whom had she married? Lily wondered.

She had to admit she might not have lived to wonder about it at all if he had not reacted to the attack so forcefully. Even now those two might be following, still bent upon mayhem if he had let them go with a warning. Another violent shiver racked her.

“Cold?” he asked, obviously having noticed.

Lily shook her head.

“Everything will sort itself out,” he told her gently. “You’ll see.”

Everything might have a bit too much help in the sorting, Lily thought with a mirthless laugh that sounded like a groan. For now, all she could do was hope she never need see this frightening side of the Devil Duquesne again.

Only now did she realize that his reputation was based in reality. The rumors were true.

For all his wit and good humor, the man apparently could kill without compunction, without any remorse whatsoever. Had he already gone as mad as his father, the earl?

And to think her marriage to Duquesne was a fact now, only to be undone by the death of one of the parties involved. Chills ran up her spine as she glanced at him.

The devil wore a smile.