A Most Delicate Pursuit (21 page)

Michael nodded. “I've known that all along.” He held out his hand. “Take care, my friend.”

“You as well. And may your aim be true.”

Michael watched him turn his horse and ride away.

For a moment he remained unmoving. Surveying the landscape. Deciding on the best route of escape if it came to that. He wanted very much to rush in, his pistol blazing, and shoot the man who'd taken his wife, but decided against it. No, he had to wait until Bainbridge was alone and he could face him off once and for all.

To do otherwise would mean risking his life and, despite what Ash might think, the last thing Michael wanted to do was die.

No. He had far too many plans for his wife and his future to do that.

His rash decision might make her hate him to his very soul, but he would not make her a widow.

Alone and suffering a chill both inside and out, Bea sat huddled on the small mat they'd given her for sleep. But after her fight with the fiend, sleep was the very last thing she wanted.

Michael was gone and it was her fault.

“Still awake, I see,” Millie said, cackling like a fat hen when she entered the room. She pulled off her wrap and set her basket on the floor beside Bea.

Bea looked back to the window. “How can I sleep when my husband lies dead and I'm the cause of it? If I'd been an obedient woman and married someone else…I'm such a fool.”

“Of course you are. All young women of substance are. Raised to be pretty little dolls, meant for man's pleasure and to be the target of the sharp-tongued old hens. It's your fate.”

“And yours was different?” Her question had the desired effect, as it appeared to stab at her captor's apprentice.

The woman crossed her arms and stiffened her spine. “My life was never so charmed as yours. Of course, there was a time when the lads all toyed with me, a girl of plain looks and even plainer desires, but they never chased after me once the petals had fallen off my flower, so to speak.”

“Then you were the fool for giving up your petals so easily.”

Bea knew her words had hit their mark when she saw Millie wince. Of course, she immediately realized that she was certainly no one to cast stones on another, seeing as how she'd given away her own innocence.

She decided to let that go. Such silly concerns of her former self were of no matter. She was guilty of far more terrible things now.

“You would judge me, then?”

Bea shook her head and waved the other woman away. “I'm in no position to judge anyone.”

“Indeed.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a roll of bread and a jug of water. There was also meat and cheese. “Himself wanted you fed. The ships are in the cove. He plans to leave as soon as rowboats are on the beach. Once the supplies are loaded, we'll be boarding.”

“Of course.” Though her appetite had fled, Bea knew she had to stay alive long enough to take her measure from Bainbridge. It might very well cost her own life in the process, but Bea would not let her husband's murder go unpunished. If she couldn't escape and lead the authorities to him, then it was up to her to see it done.

“Tell me about Mr. Bainbridge's other wives.”

Millie stopped setting up the meal and looked up at her. “Why would you want to know that?”

“How will I know if I'm to be a good wife to him if I don't know what pleases him or what angers him?” It was a thin lie, but she remembered Michael and Ash talking late one night after a party. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it, but their words struck deeply now.

“Know your enemy, that way you will be able to defend against his strengths and strike deepest in the heart of his weaknesses.”

“They were much like you. Beautiful and frivolous, they were. More worried about their fashions and manners than about living or dying. The first one passed away after bringing him his second child. A terrible messy thing, to die in childbirth. She got the fever and never woke up to see her own son.”

“Tragic,” Bea said, sipping the tepid water. “And the others?”

Millie shrugged. “The second one fell and hit her head on some rocks. The foolish chit thought she could escape Dunlawton.”

She quieted a moment. “And the last one?”

“She hanged herself. A tender, fragile thing she was. Thought that she'd married a champion, you know. While Mr. Bainbridge is a wealthy man, he's not at all generous with his wives or his children.”

“Or his staff,” Bea finished for her.

Before Millie could speak again, bells started ringing.

“That's it, my girl. They're getting ready to board the ship. Time to go.”

Her gut twisting, Bea finished the last drop of water and stuck the remainder of bread and cheese in her pocket.

Though it wasn't a good plan, Bea was going to try to run away when the others were busy loading the ship. She couldn't run fast, but she hoped she would get far enough to beg help from one of the villagers. She would promise them payment when she got back to London. She must tell Ash of this port and also of his friend's death. It was the least she could do.

So when she left the building, walking behind Millie and one of the guardsmen, she waited until there was a clear escape path that led out of town into the wilderness. Luckily, the village was isolated enough that she could lose herself in the forest beyond it. Of course, she'd retained some of Michael's instructions about finding one's way out of the wilderness. She at least knew in what direction to run.

That's when she saw him. Bainbridge was waiting for her beside the dock. The boat tied there was already full of provisions and luggage to be taken to the ship. Her stomach fell when he turned to look in her direction.

“It's about time. Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

“Doing as you ordered, my lord.” The man's head bobbed as he bowed to his employer.

“Well, get about it. There's one more case I need you to fetch. Brendan and Kiles are already in the warehouse.”

Stepping off the dock, he walked to the other man, and it was clear that giving instructions to his man occupied his attention.

“Oh, Millie. I'm sorry. I forgot my jacket. It's in the room. Would you fetch it, please?”

The woman groaned. “I'm not your maid.”

“I know, but I fear I'm getting a chill. If you would be so kind? I mean, it wouldn't set well with his lordship if I took ill before we even set sail, now would it?”

The woman muttered and, though it was clear she wasn't happy about it, she turned and left Bea standing alone in the street.

Now was her chance. If she was going to escape, she had to take advantage of being left alone. Hiking her skirts, she started walking, careful and slow at first, so as not to attract attention. That, and she had to make sure she didn't trip on her skirts. The last thing she needed was a twisted ankle or death by falling and cracking her head on something.

Successfully slipping between two buildings, a boardinghouse and a bakery shop, she managed to run into the alley unseen. Peering around the corner, she saw the path that would lead between houses and out into the dark night and into the forest beyond. She had to be quick and sure-footed.

Ten minutes after her flight, she heard distant shouting and then horses and wagons being boarded. The search for her had begun.

Doing her best to pick her way through the back alleys, past two houses, with only cook lights and servant candles burning, she managed to arrive at the edge of the village.

Just as she thought she'd achieved freedom, a dark figure stepped out in front of her.

“Hello, Beatrice,” Michael said.

Her heart nearly stopped, and for a moment she was struck paralyzed and speechless.

Her husband was alive.

Michael's heart froze. Bea was safe and standing in front of him. It was almost more than he could believe. Every muscle in his body tightened at the sight of her. Memories of their nights together reawakened the fiery desire he felt for her. Without saying a word, he lunged forward and took her into his arms.

“Oh, Michael,” she said, sobbing against him.

“Beatrice,” he said at last, all other words jamming in his throat.

“I thought you were dead. Bainbridge told me that he'd killed you.”

“He lied. I'm here and unharmed.”

She pulled back from him and, quickly surveying the landscape around them, she then looked back at him. “Where are the others? Is Ash out there, the viscount, Mr. Horton?”

Michael shook his head. “Braden has a broken arm and Jeremy needed to set it. Ash came as far as the road at the other end of the town, but I sent him away.”

“You did what?”

Michael let out a breath. “I sent him back to get help. Had we both come rushing in here and managed not to get ourselves shot, by the time Ash returned with help, Bainbridge and his cohorts would have had time to escape and cover their tracks.”

He'd no more than spoken those words than six men ran into the alley.

“Halt, there,” Bainbridge called out.

Michael spun around and pushed Beatrice behind him.

“I've come for my wife and I'm taking her home.” He drew the pistol from his belt and primed it. “I suggest you get out of my way.”

Another man jumped down from his mount and stood behind Bainbridge.

“You don't seriously think I'm going to let you leave with her?”

“She's my wife. You're going to have to kill me to keep me from taking her.”

The other man laughed and waved to his guardsmen. “An easy feat. I don't even have to do the deed myself. For two pieces of silver, any one of my men would slit your throat and be glad about it.”

Michael heard Beatrice whimper behind him.

“Please,” she cried, “save yourself and let me go with him. Go back to London and tell Ash and Caroline that I'm sorry.”

“No. I'm leaving here and you're going with me. Besides, what makes you think he would let me live once he had you back?”

“I thought…”

“That he would act like a gentleman?”

“I suppose not,” she said at last. “But there are a half dozen of them and only one of you. You can't fight them all.”

He grinned at her then. “No, but I don't have to.”

“What do you mean?”

Stepping forward, he held up his pistol. “I hear you're a man who loves to gamble and that you're a fair shot with a dueling pistol.”

Bainbridge grinned. “You mean to challenge me?”

“I do.”

The other man laughed. “I've heard of how well your last bout went.” He scratched his chin and waved his men down. “Very well. I'll face you. But my time here grows short. If we're going to fight, we need to do it now.”

“Fine. Here are my terms. If I best you, then your men will allow Beatrice and me passage back to London.”

“And I if I win, she comes with me.”

Michael paused. “She's still my wife.”

“You misunderstand me, sir. If you lose the duel, your wife will be a widow, therefore free to marry me.”

“Michael, no,” Bea said, slipping from behind him and facing Bainbridge. “I'll not have it. I'll go with you and Michael goes free.” She turned to face him. “I won't let you die for me.”

Michael took her arm and pulled her aside. “I've no intention of dying, although I'm not fool enough to believe that it's not a possibility. I've been in too many contests to think otherwise. But this one is far too important. Trust me.”

Bea clenched her fists and stomped her foot. “Men. I shall never understand you. Here you are, risking your life to save me. As if I couldn't do the job myself.”

“I've no doubt that you'd fight him to your last breath, my love. But I'm rescuing you now, whether you want it or not.”

She clenched her fists. “I was perfectly fine running away on my own.”

Michael's heart softened. She was a brave woman, to be sure. But it was her iron determination that made him love her even more.

“Of course you were. But allow me this one act of chivalry.”

Her stance changed. “Only if you promise me you won't lose.”

“I promise.” He motioned for her to step away.

Michael turned back to face Bainbridge, who stood, pistol at the ready. “Are we in agreement. Your men will let us go back to London?”

The other man shrugged. “I have no problem promising that, seeing as I'm such a good shot.”

“We shall see.” Michael walked to meet him halfway in the clearing.

The sun was beginning to crest over the horizon and with it was ample light to give them both a clear field. But a loud rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and clouds were moving toward them. Michael knew that if they were going to fight, it had to be soon.

“I believe the time is now,” Bainbridge said, as he approached the center of the clearing. “Much longer and our contest will be delayed by the weather.”

“I agree.” Michael stiffened his spine and meant to turn around, but the other man tapped his shoulder with his pistol.

“I'm curious. Why would you agree to a duel when you obviously are at a disadvantage? Some would say I'm taking advantage of your injury. How well does a one-eyed man fare in a duel?”

Michael laughed. “As I hear it, some men might not be so quick to meet you on the field of honor, even with both eyes. But I'm not most men. As it happens, I'm a precision shot. When I've fought in the past, I always closed my right eye.”

With that, Michael turned and started counting off the paces. Behind him, he could hear the sound of his opponent sputtering surprise.

At the end of the count, Michael took a small breath and then whirled around to face his opponent. There wasn't time to think. He simply did as he always had and fired at his target.

Of course, his main advantage was that the man made a large target, but somehow, he sensed that Bainbridge did not have as steady a hand as he'd led others to believe. Even if Michael died on the spot, seeing Bainbridge hesitate was well worth the risk.

Shots rang out and almost instantly, Michael became aware of two things. First, the sting of a bullet hitting his left arm, and second, seeing his opponent fall to the ground. He knew his shot had found its home in Bainbridge's chest.

“Michael, you're hurt!” Beatrice cried out, suddenly beside him.

His head swam, but not from the wound or the blood now staining his sleeve, but rather from the relief that his wife was safe at last.