Clandestine (26 page)

Marc had his hands full weaving through the quacking animals crossing the road.

The birds all had black feet, which seemed odd until he realized the animals’ feet had actually been dipped in tar.

The horse slowed even more, threading its way through the birds.

“Why are their feet all tarred?” Marc jerked a chin toward the animals.

“A latent sense of fashion awareness?”

“I’ll buy that.”

“Or it could just be the easiest way to shoe a duck.”

“That makes more sense. How’s Linwood faring?” Marc asked.

“Eh. I think the ducks are taking their anger out on his carriage. They’re trying to climb inside and the thugs keep shoving them out. But Linwood is pushing his horse through more successfully.”

She turned back around. “So wait. Where were we? My brother is blackmailing you?”

“Yes, indeed he is. You didn’t know?”

“Good grief! Of course not, Marc. What kind of a person do you think I am?”

“Well, I thought you were a nineteenth century lady up until about ten minutes ago, but I was apparently waaaaay off base there, so—”

“Don’t be lame. What is Daniel doing?”

“He’s threatening to tell the world about the time portal unless we pay up.”

“We?”

“Me and James.”

“James?”

“James Knight . . . Arthur’s older brother.”

“Right.” Kit blinked and cocked her head. “So correct me if I am wrong, but is this the same James Knight who was killed in a carriage accident with your sister, Emme, and then buried in the parish churchyard? That James Knight?”

“The very same. Though reports of their demise
might
have been somewhat exaggerated.”

Kit rolled her hand.
Pray continue.

Marc edged around the last of the ducks and clucked the horse back into a trot.

“James and Emme are very much alive, married and living in Duir Cottage, among other places, in the twenty-first century.”

“Really? That is truly fascinating. I want
that
whole story, but for now . . . Daniel has been threatening them?”

“No, just me, actually. Which makes no sense at all—”

Kit screamed, causing Marc to pull up on the reins, which was just as well. It saved their horse from plowing into Linwood, who had maneuvered his horse around the gig and now stood broad-ways, blocking the road.

The gig rolled to a stop, Marc panting.

Linwood leveled a pistol at Marc’s head.

“I do not want to shoot you, Lord Vader, but I will if you give me no other option.”

Kit choked and then made a loud asthmatic breathing sound. It was a remarkably accurate Darth Vader impression.

Both Marc and Linwood turned to stare at her.

Kit stifled a giggle and then waved her hand at them.

“Sorry, sorry. Just been wanting to do that for quite a while now.”

Marc shook his head. “Are you trying to get me shot?”

Linwood’s carriage pulled alongside, the four burley men piling out onto the road. Now that Marc got a better look at them, he realized Linwood had brought a selection of his largest footmen and grooms. Though armed, they didn’t look to be well-trained fighters.

Linwood dismounted, gesturing for Marc and Kit to do the same. As Marc helped Kit down from the gig, he surreptitiously slid the taser into her hand.

“That’s not going to be much protection against five armed men,” she muttered.

“No. But I figure if you take down Linwood, I can probably take out the other four.”

She raised very skeptical eyebrows. “Don’t get cocky, kid.”

Marc grinned and then kissed her hand. “Keep the quotes coming—”

“Enough,” Linwood’s haughty voice cut in. “This is hardly a morning social call.”

Marc half-rolled his eyes at Kit and turned to Linwood.

The viscount stood in the middle of the road, pistol held at his waist, still aimed at Marc. Linwood looked nearly rumpled with his windblown hair and greatcoat askew. Somewhere he had lost his hat.

That said, his cravat remained immaculately tied, and his boots shone with a mirror-like brilliance. What would it take to truly dishevel Linwood?

The four henchmen angled themselves around Linwood. Two had rifles at the ready.

Marc spread his hands in a placating gesture, drawing back into his British accent. “We are unarmed and bear you no ill will.”

The servants shifted restlessly, glancing at one another, unsure.

Linwood grunted. “Indeed.”

The viscount raised a cool eyebrow, every taut line of his body indicating his unbelief. The quacking ducks sounded in the distance. A breeze tugged at Marc’s overcoat, swirling it around his ankles.

Marc calculated his odds. If he took three steps to the left, the four servants would rush him. But he would be between them and their own carriage horses, so they would be loath to fire their weapons. And if they knew him to be weaponless, their guard would be down, having no idea what awaited them.

It was a good plan. Now, he just had to prepare himself.

“Allow me to prove it,” Marc said.

With deliberate motions, he slid his arms out of his greatcoat, tossing it back onto the seat of the gig. Ostensibly to show that he was indeed unarmed.

But mostly to free his body. There was no way he could fight wearing that long, bulky thing.

Just to be sure, he pulled off his wool tailcoat too, leaving him just in a waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

One of the footman breathed a sigh of relief to see no sign of a weapon on Marc’s person.

Clearly, none of them had any idea what was about to happen.

“Linwood, Miss Ashton and I are trying to help, believe it or not.” Marc loosened his cravat as if he were nervous.

“Of course,” Linwood drawled, voice oozing sarcasm. “Which is why you stole a gig—”

“We did not steal it,” Kit cut in. “It has just been borrowed.”

Linwood stared at her for a moment, clearly appalled that she dared speak.

“It’s true. The gig is Arthur’s and—”

“Enough. You left under a cloud of silence and stealth only hours after the theft at Kinningsley. Given your past history, Vader, how can your actions not be construed as suspicious?”

“My past history? Linwood, you truly know nothing about my past history—”

“Bah! Give up this charade, Vader. We both know that isn’t your name. I should like to know the exact nature of your relationship with Princess Pepsi of Toyota Camry.”

Kit choked and then erupted into gales of laughter at Marc’s side.

“I fail to see the humor in this situation, Miss Ashton.” Linwood turned his icy eyes on Kit.

“Oh. My. Word,” she gasped, clutching Marc’s arm. “You didn’t tell me . . . that is so funny.”

“It wasn’t me—”

Linwood turned his attention back to Marc. “So Miss Ashton is involved with your scheme as well. Is she an agent for Princess Pepsi?”

Kit laughed even harder, resting her head against Marc’s shoulder, slapping his back with her hand.

Marc allowed himself a grin. Kit had a decidedly infectious laugh.

However, judging by how still Linwood went, he found their mirth decidedly
un
-amusing.

“I fear you are quite addled in the head, Miss Ashton. Without any further proof and given your recent actions, I must suspect you both of being in league with French counter-agents. Though if you could tell me the precise nature of your interactions with his Grace, Calvin Klein, the Duke of Kleenex—”

“Ohohohoh. Make. Him. Stop.” Kit gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks. She shook Marc’s arm. “You seriously had nothing to do with this?”

“No. It was all Emme.”

“I love your sister so much!”

“I know. I don’t know if I want to strangle or kiss her right now.”

Linwood’s head reared back at that admission. Marc didn’t see the point in hiding his identity anymore. Linwood already suspected the worst.

“Hah! I knew Miss Emry was your sister!” Linwood bristled. “Now was she truly a spy acting on behalf of Princess Pepsi—”

“Give it up, Linwood. There is no Princess Pepsi or Duke Calvin Klein. I have never been involved in espionage work of any sort. Emme fabricated the entire story.”

Linwood narrowed his eyes. “A convenient excuse. Then who, pray tell, is behind the recent activity in this area?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah, of course not. And who robbed my estate last evening?”

“I am not sure.”

“You should become a better liar. That button meant something to you.”

Marc sighed. “Fine. I think I know who the button belongs to. Miss Ashton and I are trying to catch up with the person to confirm this. And then, if possible, recover what was stolen—”

“Again, I do not believe you. If this were indeed the case, why not come to me immediately with the truth?”

“Uh, well . . . because I was afraid you would round up a group of thugs and go after the criminal all harebrained-like.” Marc gestured to the men surrounding Linwood.

Linwood’s eyes narrowed at the insult.

Silence stretched.

Kit was wiping her eyes on Marc’s shirtsleeves, controlling her laughter. Though she still shook her head every other second or so.

Linwood regarded them for a moment, unmoving.

“I find this entire scene tedious.” Linwood’s grip on his pistol remained unwavering. “You will tell me where you were going and whom you seek. As this involves me and my property, I will take the search from here.”

Kit stiffened at Marc’s side. They both had the same thought.

Linwood wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Daniel, if needs be. He couldn’t be allowed to chase after Kit’s brother.

“
What
was stolen, Linwood?” Marc asked.

“I fail to see how any part of this affair pertains to you. Why do you care, Lord Vader? Though we both know that isn’t your real name. Is it. . . Mr. Wilde?”

Kit gasped. Loudly.

“Wait. Your name is Marc
Wilde
?” She clutched Marc’s wrist.

Marc bowed. “At your service, ma’am.”

Linwood gestured with his pistol. “You have not even had the common decency to share your actual name with the lady. For shame.”

But Kit ignored Linwood’s taunts. Her brown eyes going incredibly wide again.

Marc saw the exact moment when she recognized him. When he forever became that-guy-from-
Croc-nami
in her head.

“No!” she whispered, her hand flying again to her mouth.

Marc barely managed not to groan in frustration. That
stupid
viral post—

“Oh no. Nonononono.” Kit looked away and clutched her stomach, placing her hand over her face.

The strength of her negative reaction stung. So he had made a few lame movies. So what? That wasn’t the sum total of his existence.

“Ouch. C’mon, Kit. It’s not that bad.”

Kit just shook her head, turning back to stare at him with horrified eyes.

“I am heartily sick of this,” Linwood said. “As touching as I find this baffling scene to be, I must ask you to politely submit to being bound and to go with two of my grooms to Kinningsley where you will await my return.”

Kit jerked her head back to Linwood, standing in the road with his men.

She shook her head and then laughed. Mirthless.

“Wow. You are a fool, Lord Linwood. Marc Wilde will destroy you.”

“You forget your station, Miss Ashton—”

But Linwood never finished his sentence. Marc had heard enough.

Marc launched himself at the nearest groom who never saw the roundhouse kick to the head coming. The man dropped like a stone.

Kit’s appalled response to his career smarted.

Who did she think she was? A judge and jury?

Wait. Why be content with just thinking that?

“How dare you judge me, Kit! Just because you don’t fancy my chosen profession—”

As the first groom fell, Marc kicked the rifle out of his hand.

“Me?!” she squeaked, moving behind him, keeping Marc between herself and Linwood. “No, that’s not it at all, Marc—”

Spinning the gun around, Marc clubbed another footman with it, knocking the man to the ground.

“Right. That’s why you doubled over in horror—”

Despite a few unfortunate movie choices, he was a respected athlete and actor with a long resume—

“You misunderstood.” Kit gasped behind him.

The two remaining thugs rushed him. Marc shoved the rifle into Kit’s hands. And then he delivered a sharp punch to the jaw of the man to the right, sending him sprawling, while simultaneously kicking the man on the left in the groin, followed by a twirling flying kick to the head with his other foot.

Collapsing him.

Marc whirled on Linwood as the viscount raised his pistol to Marc’s head, finally having a clear shot.

Linwood’s eyes were wide, wide, wide. He had obviously never seen hand-to-hand combat quite like this.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Linwood hissed through clenched teeth. Despite being completely rattled, the pistol held steady in his hand.

Marc swallowed. A bullet through the head was really not in his plans. Though, honestly, it could hardly make the situation much worse.

Why had Kit been so upset about realizing he was Marc Wilde?

He could feel her behind him still.

“As the lady said, I am Marc Wilde. Nothing more. I am not a spy. You have the wrong man.”

“Why do I doubt you?”

“Because, as I’ve repeatedly said, you’re an ass.”

“How dare you—”

And then Linwood glanced at Kit with a sharp intake of breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marc saw Kit level the rifle at Linwood.

That was his spunky girl.

At least she still felt loyal enough to help defend him.

“I would carefully consider your choices, Linwood.” Her voice unnervingly calm. “You have one bullet in that pistol. You can kill me or Marc, but you can’t kill us
both
before one of us does you in.”

Linwood darted a glance between them.

“Drop the pistol, Linwood. I have no weapons other than my hands. What kind of coward shoots an unarmed man? Or a woman for that matter? Face me like a man.” Marc laced the words with disdain. All of his anger coalesced on the viscount. “Give me the pleasure of pummeling you senseless. It’s the least you can do after the way you treated my sister.”