How to Wed a Baron (17 page)

Captain Richard Matterly was now an instructor at the Royal Military College at Sandhurst, the relatively new invention that would turn the next generation of rosy-cheeked English sons into hardened soldiers.

Justin had penned two letters before leaving Ashurst Hall. One to the
Inhaber,
putting forth his offer and directing him to reply via a missive delivered to Captain Matterly, and another to Richard, warning him that he would be watched and that Justin would contact him to relieve him of the
Inhaber
's reply.

Two more days. One more night. And then the rest of his life. Alone.

“May I stand with you, my lord?” Wigglesworth whispered, coming up to him so quietly that Justin realized he was making a very poor guard at the moment.

“You don't add to my consequence in that rig out, but I will allow it, yes. Is there a problem?”

“Yes. There is a man, and he keeps looking at me. I…I think he wishes to purchase…my favors.”

“Oh, I hardly think—” Justin's amusement at this bit of ridiculousness evaporated as his every muscle tensed. “Where is he? Show me this admirer of yours. Discreetly, Wigglesworth, if you please. Don't look his way or point him out. Just talk to me.”

“Yes, my lord. There are many people here, but if you look past the lady with the rather formidable girth, the one with the berries on her hat, then it is that man in the poorly cut blue frock coat, standing just outside the major's domicile. He was attempting to speak with my lady's dresser, when I went
to the stream to launder your smallclothes, but she was having none of him. Then he saw me, and all thoughts of dallying with her fled his mind. He has been watching me ever since, even if he tries not to look as if he is. I think it is the new way I've tried with the wig, my lord. I should have thought earlier to add these bows.”

“And now you've led him to me,” Justin said quietly. “Very good, Wigglesworth.”

“Papin, my lord.”

“Oh, I fear that with the introduction of your gentleman admirer we've passed beyond that, Wigglesworth. Go search out Brutus, discreetly please, if you will be so kind. Tell him Lady Alina is not to leave his sight until I return, nor should anyone be allowed to approach her.”

“Immediately, my lord. But where are you going?”

“Hunting,” Justin said shortly, as the nondescript man in the bad frock coat seemed to have noticed that he was no longer unnoticed and had begun sidling toward the gap between two of the caravans. Anxious to escape…or anxious to have Justin follow him? “Now, go.”

Justin was on the other side of the grassy clearing and did not cut straight across it in some hurried pursuit sure to capture Alina's attention. Instead, he faded into the growing shadows between two caravans and then beyond them, into the trees.

Swiftly working his way parallel to the caravans, he circled around until he was deep in the trees behind Luka's caravan, just in time to intercept the man in the frock coat. The man had been walking backward, stepping carefully, a pistol in his hand, certain pursuit, if it came, would come from the camp. Which may have accounted for his sharp intake of breath when he felt the tip of Justin's knife pressing just beside his spine.

“Leaving so soon?” Justin asked conversationally—in German. “But everyone is so happy. I understand there will be food later, and dancing. Oh, yes, and you will oblige me by dropping that evil-looking pistol. Now.”

The man raised his arms, pistol still in hand, as if to show that he was harmless, but still keeping his back to Justin. “I don't know what you're saying, you crazy Gypsy! Just go on and rob me. Nice fat purse for you in my waistcoat. Go on, take it!”

Justin was surprised. He'd been expecting one of the
Inhaber's
men. “You're English? Oh, and as you didn't understand me, you will now greatly relieve my mind by dropping that evil-looking pistol. There's a good fellow. Now turn around so I can get a good look at you.”

The man did as he was told. Justin always appreciated cooperation, it made things so much easier.

The man's dark eyes widened with relief and no small shock. “Lord Wilde? Is that you? Oh, thank
God. I only saw you the once, on the dock at Portsmouth. But it is you, isn't it? Please, I can explain.”

Justin lightly turned the knife in his hand, so that they were both aware of its continued presence. “Really?” he drawled. “And I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to that explanation. But first, you seem to have the advantage of me. Who are you?”

“Your pardon, my lord. My name is Phineas Battle,” the man supplied helpfully, lowering his arms to his sides. “Late of His Majesty's army and for the moment employed by a person or persons who wish to remain—”

“Don't bother to finish with that drivel,” Justin said, holding up his hand. “I think I'd rather guess in any case. You're not really sure who hired you, but you do have a fairly good suspicion it was someone important.”

“I really couldn't say, sir. I have considered that possibility, but felt it prudent to keep my questions to myself. I was told that you are a very clever man. Yes, yes, exceedingly clever. And in disguise, no less. That was a man back there, wasn't it, all dressed up that way? I confess, I couldn't stop staring. But I am quite harmless, my lord, with orders to watch over the lady and yourself, without being detected, of course. You haven't made my mission at all easy for me. I'm not accustomed to such deviousness.”

“Clearly. A thousand pardons, I'm sure,” Justin
said, still trying to sort things out in his head. Battle had to be the Prince Regent's man. “You were sent to watch over us, you say? To what end?”

Battle, a man with the look of an underpaid clerk, frowned. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

“To what purpose, Phineas,” Justin repeated, as the question had seemed to take the man off guard, as might happen to someone forced to deviate from a prepared script. But that didn't make sense, not if the man was sent to observe without being detected. Did Justin have Wigglesworth's unusual attire to thank for discovering yet another twist in what was already a complicated plot? Or was he being led into some sort of trap?

“I was to report to…my employer. Your location and destination, my lord. That is all.”

That did smack of something the Prince Regent would have ordered. Would Justin really dare to defy him, not come to London as ordered? Yes, Justin could understand Prinny's desire to know that information.

Or had he been supposed to discover Battle, so that the man could feed
him
information, perhaps deliver a threat? Also possible.

But wait.

Why this man? Why this sad excuse, this little clerk who was so obviously incompetent in the role of spy? And why wasn't he sweating, swallowing over and over again to ease his dry mouth? Justin
was holding a knife on the little clerk, and the little clerk wasn't sweating….

“Something niggles at the edges of my brain, Phineas. Why you? Why were you chosen for this mission? Exactly what did you
do
in His Majesty's army?”

“
Do,
sir?”

Justin maintained a casually interested expression. “It isn't a difficult question. Unless, of course, the answer proves troublesome.”

“Not troublesome at all, my lord. I was merely a soldier. And perhaps not a very good one.” Battle raised his arms slightly, and shrugged.

Justin cursed himself for a gullible idiot even as he dropped to the ground, rolling to his left and coming up with both Battle's pistol and the Spanish knife. He didn't bother aiming the pistol, as he was fairly certain it wasn't loaded, or else Battle would never have been so eager to put it in Justin's possession. Still, just to be safe, he flung the pistol into the trees.

His movements had been swift, fluid and took only two heartbeats before he was on his feet once more, but already Phineas Battle held a short, wicked-looking two-sided knife in each palm, probably lowered by some mechanism beneath the ill-fitting frock coat, activated when he shrugged his shoulders.

Battle was also in a crouch, moving his arms side
to side, the blades gleaming. “What was it, my lord, if I may ask? I was being so very helpful, letting you discover me, telling you just what you wanted to hear. What do I do wrong?”

As they began to circle each other, Justin kept his eyes on Battle's waist, the center of the man's body. No matter which way a man moved, the first indication was always at the waist; nobody moves feet or arms first, nothing is done without that telltale giveaway.

“You were too meek, Phineas, too eager to give up, give everything away. You volunteered too much, and overplayed your hand. It's always the little things. Now, as you're about to kill me anyway, don't you first want to regale me with how clever you really are?”

“Not particularly, no, as I've already ordered my dinner at the inn for seven o'clock, and I wouldn't wish to be late. My instructions were to follow you until you'd exterminated a certain foreign minister by the name of Novak.”

“One wonders why you simply weren't hired for the job.”

Battle smiled, even as the two men continued to circle each other, feel each other out. Neither had yet to attempt a single move with the knives, a mutual show of respect for the other's abilities. “I don't think the lady would have fancied me as her affianced husband, do you?”

“You know more than I would have suspected. How?”

“My employer's minion likes his gin and his ladies. Provide both, and a determined man can learn much that is necessary to keep himself alive. But we digress and, as you told me, I've already talked too much. Still, as you are a fellow assassin, I will make allowances. Indeed, I've often wished we could have met during the war, broken open a few bottles and talked. I thought there were perhaps some things I could learn from you, as I was told you were the master of our craft.”

“You're about to learn if you were told correctly,” Justin pointed out to him, adjusting his stance slightly, as Battle was a good five inches shorter than he. Whether his own height would prove an advantage or a disadvantage, he had still to find out.

“Ah, very droll, sir,” Phineas said as Justin feinted with the knife and then quickly drew back once more. “In honor of your reputation, I will tell you this, because I know you want to hear it. I was here today only to keep you on point, as it were, remind you that you have a job of work still to do. My real assignment is, of course, to silence you after you'd dispatched your man to his greater reward.”

“Of course. I should have seen that for myself.” Justin began altering the configuration of their invisible circle, counting his sideways steps and his distance from a network of large, barely concealed
tree roots hiding amid the long grass and fallen leaves. Carefully, he moved back a few inches after every dozen steps, so that Battle stepped slightly forward to keep their distance unchanged; each new maneuver bringing the track of the circle into closer proximity with the tree roots.

“Yes, yes, so now you understand. But we've finished talking, my lord. I thought you could teach me, but it seems that your skills have suffered since the war. Still, as we appear to be at an impasse and it is getting on toward dinnertime, and much as it will undoubtedly pain my employer, you really do have to die now.”

“It would appear that one of us does,” Justin said, having decided that although Battle had been carrying the pistol in his right hand, he was in reality, left-handed. Clever, clever boy, although if he routinely employed those little toys he was brandishing now, he was probably proficient with both hands. A fair fight could prove injurious, if not deadly. With Alina to protect, much as he no longer valued his own life, he could not die now.

Careful to only keep up the count in his head, and not betray himself by looking at the ground, Justin suddenly lunged forward clumsily with the knife, demonstrating a sad lack of expertise. The now overconfident Battle's instinctive reaction was to laugh and dance backward. His left foot landed
awkwardly amid the web of tree roots. He lost his balance, and fell.

He looked up at Justin in real surprise, and perhaps even a little professional admiration, and then down at his chest, and the hilt of Justin's blade that protruded from it. And then he died.

Phineas Battle was laid to rest deep in the trees once it was fully dark, rolled into the grave dug by Brutus and then covered with dirt and leaves, until there was no indication that the ground had been disturbed.

“Poor Phineas,” Justin told Brutus. “Some lessons can only be learned once, but by then it's too late.”

A
LINA REMAINED WITH THE
children and the women until the townspeople had drifted back to Farnham and the last cooking pot washed, the last Romany child tucked up in bed.

She had looked in on Luka earlier, but he was still asleep after his visit to the surgeon, and Wigglesworth was tending to him in any case. She'd asked where Justin could be, as she hadn't seen him in several hours. She'd been told that he and Brutus had taken the job of guarding the camp while the men played the instruments as their women danced for the townspeople, who expected this sort of entertainment.

She'd enjoyed her day, most especially her time spent with the children, and then the mothers. All of the Romany were by legend at least loosely related by blood, the sister of one of those Alina spoke to was married to the brother of her sister's husband, and three generations of this particular family traveled together in England as they did each year, before retiring to Wales for the winter. They had
none of them been to the Continent in more than a generation, but they each held dear their memories of summers wandering France, winters camping on land surprisingly no more than twenty miles from Alina's childhood home.

Some of these exotic nomadic people had seen Rome, others had walked the streets of Toulouse…and many of their family had died in the wars against Bonaparte.

“Brutus, there you are,” she called to the man as she took one last circuit around the camp on what was proving a fruitless search. “Have you perhaps seen my sketchbook? I thought I left it on one of the tables, but now I—
Oh, no!
”

She hiked up her skirts and took off in a panicked run as she saw Justin carrying her sketchbook toward her caravan, idly leafing through the pages as he walked along. She'd told herself she wouldn't speak to him until he came to her, but now she had no choice.

“Justin, wait! Stop! That's mine, don't look at it.”

He turned to her, smiling, and held up the page he'd been looking at. “A
fish,
Alina? You shoved a fish in my mouth? Ah, and it's dated, as well, how wonderful. The day we met, isn't it? Clearly your first impression of me wasn't overwhelming positive.”

“What a dreadful, wretched man you are!” She
reached for the sketchbook but he held it up over his head, and she wasn't about to be so undignified as to jump up and attempt to snag it from his fingers. Besides, it was far easier to ball up her fingers into a fist, and punch him in the stomach.

Laughing, pretending to be mortally wounded, he handed over her property. All except for one page, she noticed, one he had previously ripped from the sketchbook.

“What did you take? Justin? What did you take? I did not give you permission to take anything.”

“Then, kitten, we're even, aren't we? I did not give you permission to sketch me.”

Not only dreadful and wretched, but also much too pleased with himself. She turned over page after page, until she'd figured out what sketch he'd taken. She looked at him quizzically. “But…but that was a sketch of me, dressed in these clothes. It was only so that I'll always remember. What could you possibly want with that?”

He put his crooked finger beneath her chin and looked down into her face in the near darkness broken only by the nearby campfires and the full moon. “The same thing as you, albeit for different reasons. So that I'll always remember,” he told her quietly. “It's getting late, and it has been a full day for everyone, one way or another. Let me walk you back to your caravan.”

That was the last thing she wanted.

“I…I'm not in the least sleepy. Can't we take a walk? I barely saw you today, and you'll be gone in another few days. Besides, I wanted to tell you something important one of the women told me earlier. About
Inhaber
Novak.”

“Ah, that dreary man again. The woman knows him?”

Alina began walking in the direction of the stream, as the Romany knew all of the streams and ponds, always camping near a supply of clean water. Justin had no choice but to follow if he wanted to hear what she had to tell him.

They had to proceed single file along the narrow path cut through the underbrush, so it was only after she'd dropped to her knees on the soft grass that he could either sit with her or stand there like some great looby, pretending he didn't want to sit beside her, which he would not like at all.

“This had better be good, kitten, because otherwise I'd have to think you have lured me out here for some nefarious purpose.” But he smiled as he said the words, and she was of a mood to forgive him most any of his silliness, if she could only be alone with him.

“It's very tragic, Justin, and explains much of why the Romany don't want the
Inhaber
to have this land that is disputed, and even why they are so willing to help us.”

“Luka paid them. It was all arranged.”

“And the Romany never refuse an open hand holding gold or silver,” Alina told him, arranging her skirts about her. She really did love this skirt, and wished her own clothing could be as adaptable to running, to twirling about as she'd done during the dancing (even though she wasn't very adept at it), and to sitting on a stream bank with a man she hoped with all her heart would soon be kissing her. “They are only romantic to us, Justin. In truth, they are an exceedingly practical people. You have to be, I suppose, when you are continuously outlawed and looked upon as little more than animals.”

“Your own Romany blood is boiling?”

“I suppose so, yes. If the land that belonged to my father's family through his mother is really mine to give where I will, then I will give it to these people.”

“Don't, kitten,” Justin warned her, taking her hand. “From what I've managed to learn from Luka, the land covers only a few square miles, and most of it is uninhabitable in any case. You don't want your new friends dying over it. Because,
Inhaber
or no, you alive or dead, Francis is not going to allow the Romany even an inch-wide foothold in what he sees as his country, his kingdom. He'll find some excuse to brand anyone who tries to live there as thieves and traitors, and the land will be forfeit.”

“I know you've told me that,” she said, prepared to argue. “But what else can I do?”

“Kings don't like to lose, kitten, and they never do so gracefully, so it will be up to you to be graceful for him. Once the
Inhaber
has been dispatched, you will write a letter to Francis, gifting him with the land you were told is yours, in thanks for having shown you such kindness in the past. Or some such drivel. That's the only way I can know you're safe here in England.”

“But these people! I would be betraying them.”

Justin reached out and stroked her cheek. “You aren't listening. If any of them try to go back there, they'll die. I just made the same argument with Luka and Loiza, and they agree. In fact, Loiza had already come to that conclusion on his own. They want Novak dead for quite another reason. That's why they're helping us.”

“Oh,” Alina was crestfallen, on more than one count. She was not going to be able to see herself as some bountiful mistress, bestowing great gifts on her subjects. And the most important thing she was going to tell Justin was something he already knew. ‘Then I suppose I have nothing else to tell you.”

“If you were going to tell me that the
Inhaber
raised himself a small army of Romany in order to look loyal to the king, and then sent them off to fight in France—women and children naturally following after their men—and then left them there alone and without provisions, to be slaughtered by the French?
Then no, you have nothing new to tell me. But I do have something to tell you.”

“You're not leaving? You found a way to stay? No, don't say anything. I see your answer in your eyes.” She turned her head away and folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me what you want to tell me.”

“I know why Francis wants
Inhaber
Novak dead.”

She turned her head quickly, to look at him. “It's not because of the land?”

“No. That was convenient. Loiza is a very intelligent man. He knew when he first heard the story of the disputed land that it was something that was not new to anyone. Francis could take the land at anytime. Your king wants Novak dead because he is powerful, and because he knows things about the king that would not endear him to his allies. Allies such as my own government.”

Alina listened as Justin explained what had gone on at the Congress of Vienna, which he had attended in part himself. The allies had carved up what remained of the Holy Roman Empire, dubbed the new collection the German Confederation, and Francis, who most coveted his title of Holy Roman Emperor was now, to his chagrin, no more than Francis of Austria.

“Quite a comedown from Emperor, you'll agree,” Justin said as Alina listened intently. “So, kings being kings, your Francis smiled and agreed and feted the
tsar and Prussia's Frederick and all the others, all the while negotiating a secret treaty with King Louis of France. There could be another war, kitten, or at least a coup that topples Francis, if anyone were to know about this.”

“But…but what does the
Inhaber
have to do with anything?”

“Novak was Francis's secret emissary to King Louis. That was when Francis trusted him. He trusts him no longer, obviously, and envisions a world with out the man in it. But not by his hand, and not inside his country. Let England grovel and apologize for the actions of the rogue Baron Wilde, that terrible murderer, while Francis declares a month of national mourning for the great
Inhaber
Novak. I would give most anything to be able to stand face-to-face with Prinny and explain all of this to him, spell it out so that even that imbecile could understand, but that isn't going to happen.”

“But when you kill the
Inhaber,
you'll have made terrible trouble for England, yes?”

“I'm not going to kill the man. I've killed enough men. Let Francis deal with Francis's problems, and let the Prince Regent have to explain away why he failed and yet should still be allowed to retain any gold your king undoubtedly paid him.”

“But—but if you don't kill him, he will kill me.”

“Not once he knows what I know. He'll forget about you and the disputed land entirely.”

Alina made a face. “Well, that's very nice, but you're saying I'm not important. Not at all?”

“Rather lowering, isn't it? To be nothing but a tool in the hands of someone else, someone who sees a way to use you to his own ends. But you're not safe yet, Alina. Not until I can meet with Novak and get him to listen to reason. None of which is a foregone conclusion.”

“You will be careful, won't you?”

“I always try to be, yes.”

“Your Prince Regent is going to have even more reason to hate you if you spare the
Inhaber,
isn't he?”

“He should never have attempted political intrigue, or any other kind, for that matter. He isn't very good at it. The buffoon can't even manage his own wife. But he may assuage his injured sensibilities by remembering the fifty thousand pounds he coerced from me.”

Alina put her hand on his forearm. “And allow you to stay in England?”

“At the rate I've been burning bridges these past days? No, that isn't possible.”

“Let me go with you, Justin. There is less for me here in England than there is even for you. Why can't I go with you? You kiss me as if you are not repulsed by me, and you know that I…care.”

“It's because
I
care…” His voice trailed off, and he turned to look out across the stream and the path of moonlight that led to the other shore. “While you were sketching the children this afternoon, Alina, I killed a man.”

She couldn't hold back the gasp of surprise and shock. But how? How could he still look the same as he'd done earlier? How did you kill a man, and then continue on as if nothing had happened? “That's not true. You're lying to me, trying to frighten me.”

His voice sounded dull, without emotion, as he answered her. “I dispatched him as if he were an annoying fly, or a cockroach under my foot. He was alive, now he's dead. Do I feel remorse? No, I don't. Nor do I feel joy or shame, or justified in any way. I lost some essential part of what we need inside us to be truly human, and I lost it a long time ago. There's no bringing it back, and I won't subject you to what's left of me. You have your whole life ahead of you, Alina. Mine is behind me, as what happened today proved to me yet again.”

Alina had so many questions, but none of them were important. If Justin had killed a man, he'd had a good reason. If this was blind faith in a man she barely knew, then so be it. She could only do what her heart told her was right, as her mother had done before her, giving up her family, her home, her country, for the man she loved. Surely she could sacrifice a little pride.

She blinked back tears and felt a new determination overtaking her. She went up on her knees and moved slightly behind Justin to wrap her arms around him, rest her cheek against his shoulder. He said he felt nothing, but she didn't believe him. No matter why he'd killed, he had to be feeling something. He was vulnerable tonight, or else he wouldn't have told her anything at all.

He needed her. She was sure of it.

“If not a lifetime, then just this one night? Please. Tonight we don't have to be who we are, or even who we think we are…or aren't. I can simply be your Magdaléna, and you my Markos. Two simple people, living a simple life, one with no complications. Can't we pretend, just for tonight?”

He put up his hands, touching hers. “Alina, don't do this….”

She would say it, all of it, now. While he was still here.