Lady in Blue (13 page)

In a quick motion, Bryn stabbed the knobbed cane into Landry’s paunchy belly. He doubled over, groaning.

“I trust that got your attention.” The cane pressed under the baron’s chin, lifting his head and forcing his mouth shut. “You are going on an extended holiday, worm. This carriage will take you to your house, where you’ll have ten minutes to pack. Then to Dover, and I don’t give a damn where you go from there so long as it’s across the channel.”

When Landry tried to speak, the cane pushed harder.

“Naturally, you are wondering what’s in this for you. First of all, let me make it clear the alternative is a glove across the face, followed quickly by your unmourned demise. I understand Italy is pleasant this time of year. For that matter, a brief exile under the Mediterranean sun rather appeals to me, especially when coupled with the pleasure of putting a bullet through your head. But if you’d rather not face me, I shall remain in foggy London while you enjoy a warmer clime at my expense.”

Landry’s eyes widened.

“Ah, yes, there is good news. I am actually willing to pay an allowance to get you out of my sight. Not a great deal, mind you. Some thrift will be required to keep you the three months I expect you to be gone. Should you never come back, you’ll not be missed. But if you set foot in England before the end of July, I will cut you down like a weed. Nod if you understand.”

Unable to move his head, Landry blinked rapidly.

“Excellent. In the meantime, your daughter will enjoy her season free of your company.” With reluctance, Bryn lowered the cane.

Rubbing his chin, Landry kept his eyes on the silver knob poised inches from his torso. “You can’t prove anything,” he blustered. “Elizabeth will back up whatever I say.”

Bryn began to think the man was demented. “You misunderstand, lout. You are no longer in a position to terrorize her or beat her into lying for you. Things have changed. Now it is I who will terrorize
you,
and I won’t stop at a beating.”

The baron shook his head. “This is all hot air. I knew your father back when he rutted with every gullible female in London. How many husbands did he cuckold? And when they called him out, how many did he dispatch? Five? Ten? You think society will tolerate another Caradoc running wild? I’m giving you the chance to marry Elizabeth without a scandal, but if you refuse I’ll spread the word you compromised her. You have a taste for virgins and everybody knows it. For all I know, you’ve already bedded the chit.”

Bryn folded his arms across his chest, the cane dangling loosely from his fingers. “Apparently I’ve wasted my time, Landry. Consider my previous offer withdrawn. Better we continue to a quiet place along the river and dump your corpse in the Thames. I doubt there will be so much as a cursory investigation.”

If
Landry could have seen his eyes, Bryn thought in the silence that followed, he’d have given up long ago. As it was, the rattle of the coach wheels was the only sound, that and the clicking of his own fingernails against the cane.

“How much?” Landry muttered. “Maybe I’ll take a few months to think things through. But I’ve nothing to live on.”

“Certainly not your wits. You can stretch what I give you to support three months of frugal existence or gamble it away in one night. It’s all the same to me, so long as you remain abroad through July.”

“And what about Elizabeth? What’s to become of her without me?”

“I strongly advise that you do not mention her again. At the moment I want nothing more in this world than to give you a taste of what you’ve given her.” Feeling himself slipping out of control, Bryn rapped on the panel and the coach pulled over. After instructing the footman to locate a hackney, he seized Landry’s neckcloth in a wrenching grip. “I’ll leave you now in the care of three very strong men who have been informed that I don’t like you. Give them trouble, and even I will never know what became of your body.”

At the end, Bryn couldn’t help himself. The Caradoc temper was legendary, although he’d learned to control it the same way he mastered the vices that destroyed his father. But it coiled inside him, always, and broke loose with one vicious swipe of his cane across Landry’s jaw.

Jumping from the carriage, he looked back at the lump curled on the bench, moaning in pain.
“Bon voyage.”
he said, tossing him a pouch filled with sovereigns. “And take heed, Landry. The next time I’ll not be so indulgent.”

It was well past midnight when the hack delivered Bryn to Ernestine’s house, where he found Lacey and Isabella pacing the salon.

“Where the hell have you been?” Lacey demanded.

“Is he dead?” Isabella inquired at the same time, sounding hopeful.

“In a minute, both of you. I need a drink.” Bryn’s gaze swept the room, looking for Clare. She wasn’t there, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask about her. While Isabella poured him some cognac, he sank onto a sofa and closed his eyes. “How is Elizabeth?”

Lacey pulled up a chair and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. “Asleep, we hope. Clare is with her.”

“Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear.” Gratefully, Bryn swallowed a long draught, feeling the warmth course down his throat. For the first time in years he wanted to get stinking drunk. “Landry is on his way to Dover, and from there to a less-than-grand tour from which he will not return for several months. I hit him once, hard. He’s damned lucky to be alive.”

“I’d have clawed his eyes out,” Isabella said flatly.

“I should have threatened to hand him over to you. Might have shut him up. When he gave me the story about Elizabeth tripping on the carpet I was sure I’d kill him. Took me all night to find the cockroach. He was playing dice at White’s like nothing ever happened.”

“That sort thinks nothing of beating a woman,” Lacey said with a scowl. “And the law backs him up, at least in practice. Whoever said England was a civilized country?”

“Right.” Bryn drained the snifter and gave it to Izzy for a refill. One more, and he’d ask about Clare. The odd thing was, in all this mess, it was Clare he worried about. His selfishness, and the determination not to let anything interfere with his plans for her, was not something he liked about himself. But it made no difference. One way or another, Clare was first. Robert and Isabella could deal with Elizabeth, while he concentrated on what mattered most to him.

Before Landry came back three months from now, he would decide whether or not to marry the Landry girl. By then, Clare would either be established as his mistress or gone. Even the thought of the latter made him wince. He studied the amber brandy, warming it between the palms of his hands.

Isabella perched herself on the arm of his chair, the lavender satin of her skirt spilling across his thigh. “Beth will come home with me, I expect. Unless you have other plans for her?”

“Not at the moment. She needs a chance to recover from all this. God, what she must have been through without anybody knowing. Show her a good time, Izzy. Take her to all the best places and introduce her to every decent man with enough money to buy her father off.” Bryn’s shoulders hunched. “Maybe we can have everything sewed up before he comes back. At the very least, you can give her a season to remember.”

“Meaning,” Isabella said slowly, “you are ruling yourself out? Who could I find for her that would do better than you?”

“Someone nearer her age, for one,” he said wearily. “I can’t cope with this right now, Dizzy. If I have to marry her myself, I will. Maybe, in a few months, I’ll want to. One way or another, I’ll make sure she doesn’t wind up under Landry’s fist again. But if she ends up marrying me, I’d rather she did so freely and not because she had no other choice.” His gaze lifted. “Should she fall in love with a man who can’t provide a settlement, I’ll provide it. Don’t tell her that, but keep your eyes open. The last thing I need is a wife eating her heart out for someone else.”

Lacey roused himself from a brown study. “You aren’t too old for her.”

Glancing up in surprise, Bryn wondered what brought that on. “I had the distinct feeling, the one time we met, that Elizabeth regarded me as something of a kindly uncle. We are almost two decades apart, Lace.”

“Thirty-five ain’t old,” the viscount protested from the position of a man only one year younger. “And you won’t find a virgin bride much beyond seventeen or eighteen unless she’s an antidote.”

“I know you already have me leg-shackled to Beth Landry,” Bryn said in a voice raspy with fatigue. “Just don’t plant the idea in her head, because I’ve no intention of considering a wife, any wife, until things are settled with Clare. Do you have the slightest idea how awkward this situation is for me?”

Isabella grinned. “
I
do. And you deserve it. Everybody dances to your fiddle, and you are more spoiled than last week’s mutton. It’s past time you were set on your ear, Bryndle. But you needn’t worry about Clare, because tonight she has taken charge of everything. Lace and I were driving Beth mad with questions because we were so furious about what happened to her. But Clare took her up to bed, fed her soup and a bit of wine, and finally threw the both of us out of the room. In any case, you can leave Beth in my hands. Tomorrow, if she’s up to it, we’ll move her to my house.”

He smiled. “Try not to be too outrageous for a while, Dizzy. With Landry for a father, Elizabeth can’t afford any more scandal.”

“Behold a pattern card of virtue,” she said with a laugh. “That
will
set the
ton
on its ear.”

Lacey, ominously quiet for several minutes, roused himself. “I’ll sleep here tonight, in case I’m needed.”

Swiping his fingers through his hair, Bryn leaned back against the chair. “I’d rather you go home, Robert. Landry is halfway to Dover by now, and I want to see Clare alone.”

Brother and sister shot each other a knowing glance, mutually agreeing to do as he said. After thirty years of friendship, they recognized when Bryn’s mood had gone dangerous.

WITH ISABELLA AND Lacey out of his hair, Bryn finished his drink and made his way upstairs.

One of the doors along the hall was ajar. He moved into the room and saw Clare seated on a hard-backed chair, a spill of white over her lap. She rose at his entrance, her embroidery dangling from one hand.

A single candle illuminated the bed where Elizabeth Landry was sleeping. Easing to her side, he watched the flickering light play across her bruised, swollen cheek. Dark splotches the shape of fingers stood out against the pale skin of her throat. She looked fragile as gauze. When she turned slightly, moaning in her sleep, his head went back in a gesture of raw fury. Had he seen her first, like this, Landry would be dead.

As he reached to brush Elizabeth’s tangled hair from her eyes, a hand settled on his shoulder.

“Let her sleep,” Clare whispered. She led him into the hall, closing the door soundlessly. “We finally had to give her a bit of laudanum because she was so restless. But she ought not be left alone, in case she wakes up or has bad dreams.”

Bryn leaned his shoulders against the wall. “Can you find someone else to stay with her for a while? I want to talk to you.”

“Amy is in the kitchen.” She began to fold the square of linen. “I’ll fetch her.”

Bryn recognized a man’s handkerchief and snatched it from her hand, looking for an embroidered initial. “May I hope you are sewing this for me?” Her gaze lowered, and he knew she was not. Suddenly his temper, barely leashed for hours, focused on that swatch of linen. He wanted to rip it to shreds.

“Watch for the needle,” she said as he balled the cloth in his fist.

Her warning came too late. With an oath, he sucked at the pad of his thumb. “This has been,” he muttered, “a very bad day.”

“Indeed, my lord. I’ll send Amy to sit with Elizabeth and join you downstairs.” With a slight curtsy, she headed for the back stairs.

Feeling dismissed, Bryn removed the needle and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. Damned if she’d hem linens for another man. This one, and all the others, would be his.

A FEW MINUTES later, Clare came into the salon carrying a tray with two mugs of strong hot tea. Bryn accepted one and added what was left of the glass of brandy he’d been nursing. “I didn’t mean to jump on you about the handkerchief,” he said, gesturing to the spot next to him on the settee. “Please, sit here with me.”

Carefully placing her tea on the low black-lacquered table where his legs were crossed at the ankles, she settled next to him at an angle. He saw she was again wearing the gloves she’d taken off for sewing. Lifting one of her hands, he stroked the palm with his thumb. Even through the soft leather, the scars were unmistakable.

“Is that what happened to you, Clare? Were you beaten for no reason, like Elizabeth?”

She shook her head. “You have asked me this before. I was punished for disobedience and impertinence, and for a temper it took me years to control. I told you the truth.”

“All of it?” He stared moodily at their clenched hands, her glove starkly white against the sprinkling of dark hair on his wrist. “Elizabeth lied to protect her father. I cannot help but wonder—”

“Don’t.” Pulling her hand free, she reached for her mug of tea. “What purpose can there be in speaking ill of the dead? Events that took place years ago cannot concern you, my lord.”

Everything about her concerned him. Someday, he wanted Clare to begin with the first thing she could remember from childhood and describe every detail of her life. He could sit for hours listening to her soft voice, edged with sharp intelligence and sparked by glints of wry humor. At this moment, he could imagine nothing he wanted more, not even making love to her. Only her voice, calm and soothing, talking of normal things like her favorite pet or what kind of music she liked.

He leaned back, resting his neck on the sofa. “Call me Bryn. When you start
my lording
me, I suspect you are annoyed.” He smiled wearily at the ceiling. “Are you?”

She sipped at her tea, letting his question hang in the air.

He shot her a sideways glance. “Are you?” he repeated. “I’ve already apologized for the outburst upstairs. Did I leave anything out?”

“We are both on edge,” she said after a moment. “Will you tell me what you have been about? Robert said you intended to speak with Elizabeth’s father.”

“So I did.” He swallowed his reaction at hearing her call Lacey by his first name. “The baron has decided to enjoy an extended holiday on the continent. We won’t see him again before the end of July.”

“Did you hit him?”

“Only once, if you don’t count a hard jab at his stomach with my cane. I expect he’d have fared worse in a closed carriage with you.”

“Pieces of him,” she said in a chilling voice, “would be scattered from here to Greenwich. I told you I’m cursed with a temper.”

“It cannot be worse than my own. When everything around me is frantic, I remain cool, which served me well in the army. But sometimes, out of nowhere, something hits me wrong and I explode. Usually with sarcasm,” he hurried to explain, “not a fist. But for a man determined to avoid making scenes, I am generally on the brink of trouble.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He massaged his temples. “You have seen the worst of me, that is certain. And shown me little of yourself.” When her brow lifted, he groaned. “Ah, Clare, will you never let me forget that pernicious day?”

Have
you?
”
she inquired archly.

“I . . . no,” he said, after a moment. “I could never forget the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But will my offense always lie between us? You
could
forgive me, you know.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Witch,” he said without rancor. “I admire your discipline and poise, my dear, but sometimes you are positively sheeted with ice.”

“Will you feel better if we have ourselves a good row? I’ve had the feeling you want to stomp hard on something—figuratively speaking, of course—ever since you arrived. You can have at me, if you wish.”

He grinned. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m too tired to put up a good fight. Women always seize the advantage and pick a quarrel when a man’s down and senseless.”