Lord Devere's Ward (23 page)

Quinn guessed she was worried about St. Wills.

“Don’t worry, sweet Kate. I’ll take care of this small matter of Bad Herbert Badham in the morning before Bettina’s even brought in your chocolate. Then we’ll be free to see about Bryan St. Wills, hmmm?” Her eyes were soft and sparkling. “I have wonderful friends, but I have the best husband!” He shot her a suspicious glance. “Yes, as long as I am dancing to your tune, what?”

“I don’t know what you could mean, my dear.” She opened her eyes very wide.

“Hmph. As if you don’t know how to get what you want.”

“You don’t seem terribly unhappy about the way matters have unfolded.”

“I’m not. But you may cease managing me this instant.”

“Hmph.” She said it right back at him, the saucy baggage, and laughed at the silly look he knew adorned his face. “I’m your wife. Does that not mean I’m yours to command?”

He frowned. He was determined not to be out-maneuvered by this determined female. “Let’s see what we can find for your room,” he said as the barouche stopped at the draper’s.

* * *

They retired early, directly after dinner, with Kate surmising that Quinn wanted a good sleep after exhausting them both in bed.

He made love to her with more than his usual fervor, she believed. The thought did not sit easily with her. Did he imagine he’d meet his Maker on the morrow?

Despite the vigorous swive, she couldn’t sleep. As he snored—sleeping loudly, as he’d put it, that insulting wretch—she got out of bed and went to her own room, now hung with white Battenberg lace. She wondered what life would hold for her the next day.

Her mind ran round and round like a mouse in the wainscoting. If Herbert lost—well, who would care?

Certainly not her! Another rat killed, and one more to go.

If Herbert won… Kate’s mind shied away from the consequences. Having been wed to Devere, she didn’t have a care for her own fate. She knew that, as a wealthy widow, she’d be able to gather the shreds of her life and weave them into something meaningful.

But Quinn had been her lodestone for months, her rock and her stability. She’d come to depend upon him for everything. Yes, as the Countess of Devere, she’d be financially secure and in control of her own fate. But everything she truly valued: love, husband and family, would be gone…again.

To lose him was unthinkable. She pressed one hand to her stomach. He was right. She could be carrying his child. To bear his heir and raise the child to adulthood without a father might be beyond her capabilities.

She closed her eyes and silently beseeched whatever God was in the heavens to protect the life of her husband.

Quinn arose early. The day augured to be unseasonably gray and cold. Without Kate in his bed, he was chilled as he swung his legs out onto the floor.

Sleeping separately was both a blessing and a curse, but today he wasn’t displeased to find himself alone.

She’d gotten a maggot in her head about the duel, so he was just as happy that she slept in her room.

Avoiding the fifth board from the wall—the one that creaked—he tiptoed to the door connecting their rooms and listened, just to make sure.

Silence.

Good. He stole to the hallway door and opened it.

He gestured to the footman stationed outside, putting his finger to his lips before the fellow started to speak.

“Bring Malcolm,” he whispered. “Quietly. Don’t disturb Lady Devere, or there’ll be the devil to pay for all of us.”

Nodding, the man slipped away. Scant minutes later, Malcolm appeared, along with two other servants. One carried hot water for Quinn’s wash. The other had the tea tray.

Malcolm shaved Quinn before they selected clothing for the engagement. Quinn didn’t know if Badham would select pistols or rapiers, but he’d take no chances. If they shot at each other from twenty paces, he wanted to blend with the foggy dawn. If not, well then, he’d be pleased to run Badham through in any clothing.

A gray coat with brushed silver buttons. Trousers the color of mist. A gray, curly-brimmed hat to cover Quinn’s reddish locks.

Suitably attired, he exited his room, Hobys in hand. He dared not clatter down the hall lest he rouse his wife.

* * *

As Quinn had predicted, the dawn was misty and gray. Light came reluctantly to Parliament Hill despite its elevation. The horses stamped and fretted in their traces as they waited.

Almost everyone was there who should have been there: Quinn and his seconds, Pen and Hawkes.

Hawkes had brought the required sets of weapons.

Pen had even engaged a sawbones if things went wrong, and Badham was only injured, not killed.

“Where the devil is he?” Quinn tried not to whine. It was not enough that the blackguard had abducted his wife and had gotten him up out of his nice warm bed before dawn, but the rotter had to be late on top of it all! Quinn felt most unjustly put upon.

“Don’t fret, Devere, this must be him.” Hawkes laid a calming hand on Quinn’s sleeve. “Now you’ll have at him.”

Pen squinted through the mist. “I say, Quinn, that barouche looks mighty familiar.”

Quinn strode to the crown of the hill. He frowned. “Damn and blast!”

The barouche was indeed familiar. Bloody hell, that was his crest on the door, and the woman getting out of it was his wife. “Katherine!” He pelted down the hill to her side.

Kate released the hand of the coachman who’d assisted her as she alighted. She greeted Quinn with her most brilliant smile.

“Good morrow, my lord.” She surveyed him from top to toe, nodding with approval. “You appear to be quite untouched. Is Herbert dead, then?” she inquired, a hopeful note in her voice.

He shook his head. “Blighter hasn’t shown up.” Her face fell. “But there’s still time, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know. He was supposed to be here at dawn.” He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. He crammed the hat back on, dismayed.
Mustn’t go about with messy hair. What am I
thinking? Malcolm would be appalled!

His wife continued to regard him, looking pleased. “You do look smashing in that hat. Gray does become you, you know.”

He was not diverted in the least. “Why, thank you, Katherine. Now would you care to explain what you are doing here?”

She smiled up at him, attired in a blue walking dress with a paler blue spencer. The short, tight garment drew attention to her generous bustline.
And
well she knows it, too!
Quinn groused silently. He wondered what kind of monster he’d created as Kate fluttered her long, dark lashes over her sparkling blue eyes.

He was enchanted, as always, and could refuse her nothing. Though he’d try. He was not going to be managed by her for the remainder of their lives.

“Come.” Taking her arm, he escorted her up the hill. “Greet Pen and Hawkes, and have a coffee.” Kate raised her brows. “Coffee?”

A servant stepped out of Hawkes’ carriage with a hamper. He opened it to reveal a silver coffee service.

“Had we known of your attendance, my dear, we would have arranged for chocolate,” Quinn said sardonically. “As it is, you will simply have to make do. Napkin?” He handed her an embroidered linen square.

The servant poured and they waited. They spoke desultorily about the weather and the time.

A half hour passed.

And another.

Finally Kate spoke. “I say, Quinn, wasn’t the engagement at dawn?”

Quinn nodded.

“At Parliament Hill?”

He nodded again.

“Hampstead Heath?”

“Umm.”

She looked around, twitching with agitation.

“Did we all mistake the day? P’raps it’s tomorrow.” Pen spoke. “It’s today, to be sure. The bounder’s cried off.”

Kate gasped. “You mean he’s not coming?”

“Apparently not.” Quinn spoke calmly, but his blood boiled. “Hawkes, who were the seconds?”

“His son, of course, and some sharp calling himself Captain Grayned.”

“Hmph. Captain. Not bloody likely. I’ll stand you a guinea, Hawkes, the blackguard’s made a run for it.”

Hawkes laughed. “I’ll stand any wager for a guinea, Devere.”

“Yes, well, I’m a married man now. Can’t fling around the Yellow Boys the way I used to. I say, shan’t we go over to Limmer’s? I am really quite anxious to conclude my business with Badham and his spawn.”

“As am I,” said Kate.

Quinn looked around. “Dash it, Kate,” he complained. “We’ve too many carriages here now.”

“Well, I told you I was coming,” she said. “You chose not to believe me. Did you think I would sprout wings and fly up to Parliament Hill, my lord? Of course I took a carriage.”

“I asked you to stay home,” he said.

“No, you told me to stay home. There is a rather large difference.”

Coughing, Hawkes nudged Sir Pen. “I say, we are rather de trop here, old boy. We’ll meet you at Limmer’s,” he called to Quinn and Kate before climbing into one of the four carriages parked at the bottom of the hill.

The doctor cleared his throat. “May I assume, my lord, you will have no need of my services?”

“Not this morning,” Quinn replied gloomily.

“I’ll send the bill.” On that note, the sawbones departed.

Two carriages were left. Sir Pen said, “I’ll take your landau and meet you at Limmer’s.”

“Hi-ho,” said Quinn to Kate. “Looks like it’s just you and me, old girl. Let’s go see if we can roust Badham and his brat from their midden.”

* * *

Bettina sat in the carriage, glowering at Quinn as he climbed in. He asked, “Bettina, what are you doing here?”

Kate raised her brows. “Surely, my lord, you didn’t expect me to go out alone?”

“I didn’t expect you to go out at all. This is your doing, isn’t it?” he asked Bettina.

“The countess planned to disguise herself as a postilion or a groom, my lord, and to attach herself to your equipage.” Frost edged each of Bettina’s syllables. “I persuaded her that dressing as befits her station and taking a carriage was more appropriate.” He was mollified. “Very good, Bettina. Remind me to increase your salary.”

Kate interrupted. “Bettina is my servant, not yours, my lord. It is not your place to berate or reward her.” She turned to Bettina. “Remind me, if you please, to raise your salary.”

“I beg your pardon?” He looked down his nose at his pert young wife. He glanced at Bettina.

“Katherine, we will continue this discussion of your illusions elsewhere.”

“Illusions, my lord?” Kate looked miffed.

He put his finger to his lips, then turned to Bettina again. “I have noticed that the countess tends to be abominably blue-devilled in the mornings, Bettina.”

“With all respect, I must disagree, my lord. My lady has generally been cheerful at all times—until four days ago.” The maid’s voice was heavy with reproach.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He leaned back against the squabs, weary resignation weighing down every bone. “The both of you are blue-devilled in the mornings.”

* * *

Snores filled the carriage. “Bettina, you are my witness that Lord Devere snores.” Removing her bonnet, Kate handed it to her maid, then settled herself back against the curve of Devere’s arm for a short nap.

* * *

“I say, Bettina,” he whispered. “Don’t mention it to her, but you will please note that the countess snores.”

“Very good, sir.”

The coach pulled up outside Limmer’s Hotel with a jerk. Quinn thrust out an arm to keep Kate from falling off the seat. Clinging to him, she blinked drowsily. “Are we there yet?”

“We are. This is Limmer’s Hotel,” he said.

She peered out of the window. “What a grubby, gloomy spot.”

“It is. Very bad ton, caters primarily to country squires, racetrack touts, and people who don’t particularly care what they eat. Stay here,” he ordered and, for once, it seemed that his Kate had no particular desire to argue with him. Opening the door from the inside, he jumped down to the ground without the aid of the retractable steps or the coachman.

Entering the dim lobby, he encountered Hawkes and Pen. Pen looked angry, but Hawkes seemed quite amused. “Bad luck, Devere, the bird’s flown.”

“What?” Quinn stared at his friend.

Hawkes gestured at the clerk behind the polished wooden desk. “This chappie tells me that our friend Badham and his puppy paid their shot two days ago and haven’t been seen since.”

Pen glanced at Quinn. “I thought you had the Bow Street Runners on their tail.”

“I did. But after I called him out, there didn’t seem to be any more need.” Quinn turned to the clerk, who shuffled his papers. “Is there any rumor or clue as to Badham’s destination?”

“There is, sir.”

“My lord,” corrected Hawkes.

“Don’t worry about that,” Quinn said. “Out with it, man!”

“When Badham signed the final bill, he used the name Scoville and indicated he had a forwarding address of Boston, in the Americas. See?” The clerk waved a scrap of paper.

Quinn took the paper and squinted at it. He could sense Pen and Hawkes hovering over his shoulder.

“That certainly seems to be the case. Boston, in the Americas, not Boston in Lincolnshire.” Frustration built in his chest. He felt like a cat waiting at a mouse hole, unaware that the prey had scampered out of a different crack in the floor. “Damn and blast!” He slammed his fist into a nearby wall, smashing through the cheap wainscoting.

“Here, here! There’ll be none of that!” The clerk rushed out from behind his desk. “Lord or no lord, you’ll pay for the damage, sir!”

“Of course.” Quinn massaged his hand after he pulled it out of the wall.

Pen removed a wallet from his coat. “If it wasn’t you, it would have been me, brother,” he remarked to Quinn as he passed a few banknotes to the clerk.

* * *

“What next?” Kate asked, as the footman deposited another slice of carved beef onto her plate.

Light shafted down into the dining room of Quinn’s Berkeley Square house, where the party had repaired for a bit of sustenance and to discuss their next move.