Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03] (8 page)

She’d seen Walgrave fence and knew he was good, though not as good as her brothers. He’d apparently been training hard since Cyn beat him, though. He’d almost managed to force her brother Bryght into a duel last year. Presumably he’d love to confront Brand or Rothgar over rapiers, over her.

Elf had no intention of being the cause of more death or maiming, so she’d have to get out of this entanglement by herself.

Taking a deep breath, she forced her heart to calm a little more. Thus far, she was living up to her Malloren name. She’d succeeded in the first stage of her escape.

Clearly no one lurked in this small yard, which by the smell contained only the privy and some slop buckets. She couldn’t hear any nearby sounds of movement, which meant no one was coming to investigate the noises she had made.

So where could she expect to find watchers? One at the front and one at the back? Which direction should she choose?

“Oh, the pox on it!” she muttered, borrowing her twin brother’s language, hoping to get his confidence, too.

She pulled the pistol out of her pocket and cocked it. Then she slipped out into the small garden, trying in weak moonlight to distinguish path from shrubbery. A touch on her ankle almost made her scream, but then she saw the cat’s bright eyes and heard its friendly purr.

“Shoo!” she hissed, but it stared up at her as if devoted, weaving around her ankles.

With a muttered complaint to fate, Elf put the cat out of her mind and headed toward the mews. With her dark cloak, she felt confident of not being seen unless she bumped into someone.

At the cast-iron garden gate, she paused to check the dark lane beyond.

There, she saw her enemy.

The heavily built man in a slouch hat leaned against a wall. He could be asleep, so slumped he seemed, but she doubted he’d miss the opening of the gate.

Elf shrank back into deeper shadow, raising her left hand to her agitated chest.

That man wanted to
kill
her!

After a moment, anger drowned fear. The wretch was willing to murder an innocent young woman just because she might be an inconvenience. If not for the noise it would make, she’d put a ball in him as he stood!

What she had to do, however, was find a way past him. When the persistent cat brushed her ankles again, she picked it up and placed it on top of the six-foot-high wall. It sat there, blinking at her, purring. Hoping against hope, she made shooing gestures at it. It stirred, but only to ready itself to leap down to her again.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and pushed it off the wall.

It squawked a protest as it landed, and the man twitched up straight. Possibly he
had
been asleep, but he wasn’t anymore. Scanning the area, he pulled a pistol from his pocket.

Elf heard the click as he cocked it.

Now what?

The cat brushed up against the gate. Surely the man must realize someone was here! But then, thank heavens, it showed itself to be promiscuous with its friendship and went over to court this new human, purring loudly.

“Be off!” the man snarled, fending the cat off with his foot.

Elf could have told him the kitty was not so easily dissuaded. His attention was focused on the cat, however, and some clouds scudded across the moon. She seized her chance. Pulling her dark hood down over her face, she eased the latch down. In a moment, she was through the gate, and had closed it behind herself.

Then she slid into a deep shadow nearby and stood still.

As if the gods smiled on her, the clouds thickened, plunging the area into almost pitch darkness. Holding her breath, and praying that the cat wouldn’t remember her and chase after, she sidled down the wall.

When she was passing the gate of the next house, she
heard a squawk and feared the man had kicked the cat. Then she heard a curse and hoped the cat had scratched the man. Whatever was happening, she was past the worst.

Being careful where she put her feet, expecting pursuit at any moment, Elf worked her way down the lane until she could turn into a street and finally be out of sight.

With a prayer of thanks, she leaned against some railings in front of a tall house, drawing together her tattered courage for the next trial.

She didn’t even know where she was. How stupid that she’d always been taken around in a carriage or sedan chair and didn’t know her geography. But Walgrave House was on Abingdon Street, which meant this might be Morpeth Street. Perhaps she had some idea how to get to Amanda’s house from here.

The elegant street was deserted, but flambeaux burned in front of many of the houses to provide light for passersby. Elf hurried down it, her heeled shoes too loud on the flagstones, all senses alert for lurking footpads and other villains.

All the same, she couldn’t help but grin with success. She’d done it. She’d achieved the first part of her escape! Now she just had to make her way through London in the middle of the night without being robbed, raped, or murdered.

That sobered her. She’d never been out alone by day, never mind in the dangerous night.

She paused and looked back toward Walgrave House, her experiences there already dreamlike.

What should she do about all this? By rights, she should tell someone in authority about Walgrave’s involvement in treason and let the government deal with it. If the man was foolish enough to meddle in such matters, he must take the consequences.

And yet, and yet . . . it would be a terrible thing to see him hang, to perhaps be drawn and quartered. In France not long ago, a man who had tried to murder the king had been torn apart by four horses.

Elf shuddered, trying to imagine Walgrave’s magnificent body mangled in any of these ways. Surely she could find some way to save him and do her patriotic duty, too.

As she headed for Amanda’s house, she pondered the problem. No brilliant solution occurred to her, but at least she didn’t experience much trouble along the way.

There were people about, but only one bothered her. A one-legged man crept out from some steps where he doubtless slept, whining for coins.

He might have been an innocent beggar, but Elf took no chances. She showed him the pistol and told him to “Cut it,” in a rough accent, hoping he’d think her a tough specimen.

It worked. He scuttled back into his hidey-hole, and she hurried on her way thinking that the night streets were not quite as dangerous as she’d been taught.

Of course, probably few women went abroad well-armed.

Which raised the interesting question of why not? Men always thought women needed protection. Would it not be rational, therefore, to ensure that women could protect themselves?

Against men, she thought with a wry smile. Doubtless, therein lay the catch.

Perhaps women should take their defense into their own hands.

This thought so intrigued her that she arrived in Warwick Street before she knew it. Amanda’s neat, modern terraced house was the only one with lit windows, which meant she was still up. Elf supposed it would be surprising if she’d gone to bed, but at least the house didn’t look to be in a state of alarm.

She hurried up the steps and used the knocker gently, praying Amanda stood ready to open it.

She did.

She opened it cautiously, however, since she wore her night robe, then grabbed Elf and pulled her in. “Thank
heavens! I’ve been pacing the floor for hours. How could you . . . ?”

On a stream of whispered complaints, she swept Elf up to her bedchamber. As Amanda shut the door and leaned against it, she seemed to run out of breath.

Elf hugged her. “I’m sorry! I promise not to go adventuring again.”

Amanda regained breath. “You certainly won’t persuade
me
to it again! I have never been so terrified . . . And when you ran off into the Druid’s Walk with that man behind you . . . So, did the captain catch you?”

“Of course not!” Elf realized she could finally take off her mask, and did so. “Thank heavens for that,” she said, rubbing her face. “I’ve been so hot and uncomfortable.”

But Amanda came forward and seized one of her wrists. “You’re bleeding! What on earth happened?”

Bother. Elf would rather have kept most of the details secret, at least until she’d had time to consider her options. As she snatched up a towel and pressed it to the small open cut she said, “I was tied up and had to escape.”

“Tied!” Amanda stared at her. “But I thought . . . Wasn’t that Walgrave you were with when you left?”

Bother again. “Was it?” Elf asked innocently.

“I was sure of it! In fact,” she said with a stern look, “I
am
sure of it. He was hardly disguised at all! I thought—”

Elf raised her brows. “That I’d decided to live through my fantasy? Nonsense. He just rescued me. He is part of the family, after all.”

“Oh, really!” Amanda took the towel to dampen it in the bowl of washing water. “Having found a safe champion, was it not a little thoughtless to leave me to fend for myself?” She came to dab at Elf’s wrist. “And it still doesn’t explain your captivity or your wounds.”

Elf quickly assembled a story. “Walgrave didn’t know who I was, you see. He was rescuing a stranger, and fancied a seduction.”

“Well, of course he did! Really, Elf—”

“When I objected, he tied me up.”

“The wretch!” Amanda cleaned the dried blood off the other wrist, then looked up, somber. “And?”

“And what?”

“When he’d tied you up, what did he do?”

Elf studied her wrists. The cuts were superficial, but they’d still scab for a few days. How fortunate her sharp-eyed brothers were away. “He went to bed.”

Amanda gripped Elf’s hands. “Dearest, you don’t have to lie to me. If you’ve been unwise, I’ll help you.”

“Unwise? It was certainly unwise to go to Vauxhall.”

“Elf!” Amanda almost shrieked. “What did the man do?”

Elf tugged free. “I don’t think it’s quite proper to demand these details, Amanda. I don’t ask what you and Stephen do.”

“Ah! So he did something.”

“Well, of course he did. He was trying to seduce me. And,” Elf added thoughtfully, “it was surprisingly pleasant. He kisses rather well.”

“
Kisses
well.” Amanda collapsed into a chair. “Are you saying Lord Walgrave tied you up and then did nothing but kiss you?”

“He didn’t kiss me
after
he’d tied me up. That would be rather dastardly, wouldn’t it?”

Amanda sank her head in her hands. “I hesitate to destroy your innocence, but even gentlemen are capable of being dastardly, you know.”

Elf supposed they were. With distance and leisure, she could see that the earl had behaved rather well. Once he had her in his power, he could have assaulted her with all kinds of touches. All he had done, in fact, was to save the life of an anonymous innocent and not press his attentions when she said no.

Elf found it hard to be thinking so kindly of her brother-in-law.

“And he doesn’t even know who you are,” said
Amanda, shaking her head in wonder. “You seem to have escaped scot-free.”

Which reminded Elf of the inconvenient Scots and a small matter of treason. Lord, what a tangle. She needed time to think it through before she said anything to anyone.

“Goodness, I’m worn out,” she said, unhooking her gaudy overdress and shrugging out of it. She turned her back. “Spare me having to ring for Chantal, Amanda, and help me with my laces. I’ll be grateful for my bed.”

Amanda came over, but then said, “Are you going to tell me you usually wear your stays so loose?”

Bother, bother, and more bother! “He loosened them.”

“I thought so.” Amanda tugged at the bow. “Men never retie them tight enough.”

“I don’t like them tight anyway.”

“You have the good fortune of a naturally trim figure.”

Amanda loosened the laces so Elf could step out of the boned, cotton stays. “That’s better. But you have a full figure that men admire.”

“You have a delicacy that men admire, inconstant creatures that they are. So?” Amanda asked, clearly intrigued. “What think you of Lord Walgrave now?”

Elf was happy to be able to laugh about it. “That he can be pleasant, I admit it. But only because he thought me a silly ingenue called Lisette. If he’d any idea of my true identity, he’d have throttled me.” She gently turned her friend toward the door. “Off you go to bed, Amanda. I’m safe now, and you must be exhausted. I’ll tell you the whole story in the morning.”

Once alone, Elf untied the laces that held her two pockets around her waist. She’d been aware of the pistol in the right one, and prayed that Amanda not notice the bulge. She didn’t need any more peculiarities to explain.

Now she knocked the powder out of the priming pan, wishing for a safe way to return the weapon. Walgrave could afford to replace it, of course, but she knew men
treasured such guns. She traced the mother-of-pearl and gold design on the grip. The weapon had doubtless been custom-made to fit his hand exactly with precise balance, and she had, in effect, stolen it.

A fig for such silly scruples. She placed the pistol in the back of a drawer. She’d return it if she could, but the man was a black traitor, and deserved no consideration at all.

But still, she thought, as she unfastened her silk petticoat and let it fall to the floor, he had been kind after a fashion.

And he was very beautiful.

Her brothers were each beautiful in their own way. She’d never been aware of seeking beauty in a husband, but now she thought perhaps it was important to her. It seemed a trivial thing, but she responded to it, indeed she did. The picture of her brother-in-law’s body, so wantonly displayed to her, teased at her mind.

Washing her face and hands, it still teased her, and lingered as she unpinned her curls to brush some of the powder out. Her hair would have to be washed tomorrow to get rid of it all.

Of all the men in the world to be stirred by, why the Earl of Walgrave?

Fort. That’s what his intimates called him. What Chastity called him.

She paused, staring sightlessly at her reflection in the mirror, imagining murmuring that name to him in the dark as she licked his skin. She’d never before thought such a thing about a man.