Pistols at Dawn (13 page)

Marcus looked up, a harried expression on his lean features. The gold-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose blurred the sharpness of his gaze, making him look far less forbidding than usual.

"My words were not directed at you Miss Kirtland," he muttered. "Is something amiss?"

"No, no. I was not yet sleepy, so I, er, I thought I might borrow a book. To read." To her annoyance, Eliza found herself stuttering like a schoolgirl. "That is," she added stiffly, "If you have no objection."

He gave a curt wave at the shelves. "Take whatever you please." Without so much as another glance in her direction, his eyes dropped back to his blotter.

Much as she wished to slink away, she didn't wish to give him the satisfaction of thinking her intimidated by his presence. Drawing in a deep breath, she marched on, but on passing his desk, she couldn't help but glance at what was causing his brows to furrow in such an odd manner.

"You are doing sums?" she murmured on seeing the open ledger. "I wouldn't have thought such a task would have a gentleman like you burning the candles until dawn."

"Actually," snapped the earl, his voice edged with sarcasm. "I am writing a manual on the seduction and deflowering of innocent maidens."

She felt an uncomfortable heat spread over her cheeks. "So much for the notion of civility between us. I'll leave—"

"No, wait." He rubbed at his forehead. "Forgive me. I did not mean to be rude." His mouth crooked in a rueful grimace. "It's just that these columns of numbers are proving to be a more formidable opponent than Napoleon's Imperial Guards."

Did the man actually have a sense of humor?

Her interest piqued, Eliza leaned in to have a closer look. "You have made a mistake," she murmured after a moment.

His brows shot up. "Where?"

"Here." She pointed it out. "Oh—and here." After studying the page a bit longer, she made a face. "Good Lord, you've really made a mull of it. Here, let me have a closer look." Without thinking, she reached for the ledger.

Marcus leaned back without protest and allowed her to take it.

Rather surprised at his willingness to relinquish the accounts to a female, she carried the heavy volume to a nearby chair and began thumbing through the most recent entries. It was quite some time before she finally looked up and called him over.

A series of rapidfire questions followed, none of which the earl could answer with any certainty.

"Hmmph." Eliza frowned she snapped the covers shut. "It doesn't make any sense. Your estate should be highly profitable. Have you considered switching to wheat in the south fields?"

"Ahhh..."

"And the price you are getting for wool," she went on. "Either your steward is a hopeless incompetent or..." The sentence trailed off, but there was no doubt as to where it was leading.

Marcus's lips thinned. "I was beginning to wonder as much, despite my total lack of knowledge in these matters."

Once again Eliza found herself amazed at his reaction. Most males of her acquaintance would rather swallow nails than admit to any weakness, especially in the face of a female. She cleared her throat. "Unlike you, sir, I have a good deal of experience with the business of farming. If you like, I could have a look at all the past records and see what other irregularities may turn up. I am accorded to have a very good knack with figures."

The earl hesitated, and her faint smile hardened to a brittle scowl. No doubt his next words would be a snide comment concerning females and figures.

"I would be quite grateful," he began, but on taking in her change of expression, words cut off in a harsh laugh. "Ah. It appears you didn't expect me to take you up on the offer. No doubt with all the other duties you have been forced to assume these past few days—"

"It's not that. I—I was simply surprised that you don't mind asking for help from a female."

"I'll take any help I can get. It is clear that males have no innate skill at this." The lopsided smile that tugged at his lips caused Eliza's fingers to go rather slack on the leather binding. "At least not this male."

Hell's bells!
Did he practice that boyish expression of vulnerability in front of the looking glass each morning, knowing what a devastating effect it would have on any female close by?

Even an aging country spinster.

Ignore the dratted man, she warned herself, forcing her gaze away from sensuous curves of his mouth and the twinkle of humor that softened the glitter of his eyes. He may be unskilled in practical subjects like mathematics, but the Earl of Killingworth obviously knew how to slather on the charm.

Finally mastering her momentary confusion, Eliza muttered a tart reply. "Well, I suppose I shall have to credit you with some shred of natural intelligence. Precious few gentlemen are smart enough to realize they are not infallible, much less admit it aloud."

This time, his low laugh held real amusement. "I am well aware of my faults, Miss Kirtland. And if I had, perchance, forgotten even a one, your cataloguing of them over the past few days would certainly have jogged my memory."

Eliza flushed on recollecting all the accusations she had hurled in his face. She ducked her head, pretending to take one last look at the ruled pages. "If you leave these accounts out in the morning room, I shall give them a careful study after breakfast."

With what she hoped was an expression of cool composure, she rose slowly and turned for the door, determined to make a dignified exit.

"Did you forget something?"

Her toe caught on the carpet, ruining the effect. With a silent oath, she looked around in consternation.

"A book—I believe you wished to borrow a book." Marcus gestured at the expanse of shelves. "There are, as you can see, a great many to choose from."

Was the earl really engaging in a bit of banter?

Angry with herself for allowing his rich baritone drawl to send a flutter through her insides, she snapped a waspish retort. "Any suggestions? Or are you as unfamiliar with them as you are with your ledgers?"

Ignoring the obvious sarcasm, Marcus steepled his fingers and appeared to be giving the barb serious consideration. "That would, of course, depend on your tastes, Miss Kirtland. If you favor the classics, there is a wide selection of Homer and the ancient philosophers in both Greek and English—though I'd not recommend the translation of
The Iliad
. It's rather dry in comparison with the original."

There was a fraction of a pause. "Or perhaps the Bard is more to your liking. There is a lovely set of the complete tragedies and comedies." His mouth betrayed a twitch of amusement. "Including
The Taming of the Shrew
."

"Hmmph." She turned on her heel, hoping her cheeks were not quite as burning as they felt. "On second thought, I find I have had enough entertainment for the evening. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Miss Kirtland."

As she drew the door closed, Eliza could have sworn she heard a very unlordly chuckle.

* * *

Meredith's brow furrowed as she sponged her patient's face. The fever had returned, bringing a sheen of sweat to Lucien's sunken cheeks and causing his sleep to become more and more fitful. Laying aside the damp flannel, she coaxed a swallow of willowbark tea down his throat, then sought to reorder the tangled bedding. Turning back the sheets, she smoothed out the rumples, but as she began to plump the pillows she noted that his thrashings had brought him perilously close to the edge of the bed.

She hesitated, wondering whether she should summon someone to help lift the young man to a more comfortable position. To manage it herself, she would have to wrap her arms around him in a rather awkward—and intimate—embrace...

A faint groan made her feel ashamed of such qualms.

She slid her hands under Lucien's arms. Despite his slender build, he was a heavier burden than she imagined and it took a good deal of maneuvering to get his limbs straightened and his body shifted to a more settled position. In the process, however, his nightshirt was pulled off his shoulder, baring a good deal of chest.

Meredith quickly reached out to tug it back in place. Well aware of the impropriety of the situation, she kept her eyes averted as much as possible. Still, she could not help but catch a glimpse of the tattoo emblazoned on his breast.

A gasp caught in her throat. For an instant she could only stare in stunned silence at the distinctive design. Then, recovering from her initial shock, she quickly pulled the fabric up to cover his flesh.

"Dear Lord." The words came out as a ragged whisper. Bowing her head, she pressed her palms to her brow.

"Merry!" Eliza's voice was shrill with alarm as she hurried through the door. "What is it? What is wrong?"

She turned, her face leached of all color.

"Good Heavens! You look as if you have seen a ghost."

"No, nothing like that—though the sight of it may haunt me for some time to come," she said rather shakily. "What I have seen is... the truth."

Eliza quickly placed a hand upon sister's brow.

"You needn't fear that I have turned feverish or am suffering from hallucinations. What I meant was, I've just discovered why Mr. Harkness does not remember anything about the night I was assaulted..."

* * *

Marcus listened in grim silence while Meredith repeated her explanation.

"Are you absolutely positive about this?" he demanded. Asking her to relive the incident yet again was not something he wished to do, but one mistake, however honest, had already led to grievous consequences. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid making another, with all of its own unforeseen ramifications.

"Given the circumstances," he added, "it would be quite understandable if some of the details had become confused in your mind."

Meredith did not flinch under his piercing scrutiny. "I am not confused, sir. Not about this. My attacker had a tattoo on his
left
breast, not his right. So Mr. Harkness could not have been that man. He is innocent."

The earl's fingers stilled their drumming. "A pity this conclusion was not reached a trifle earlier," he muttered, unable to keep the edge off his words. On seeing her face twist in remorse, he immediately regretted his sharpness. The rebuke was meant more for her older sister—and, if truth be told, for himself. If both of them had acted with reason rather than anger, then perhaps...

Eliza had so far refrained from comment, but on hearing the implied reproach, she was quick to speak up in her sister's defense. "It is hardly fair to blame Meredith for what has happened. If you recall, sir, it was you who presented your nephew to us as the culprit."

As if he needed to be reminded.

"Although you seem to have difficulty in adding two and two," added Eliza. "I would have thought you could tell left from right."

Damnation.
Did the emerald-eyed tigress never sheath her claws? Despite the provocation, he reacted with only a touch of sarcasm. "Had I realized your sister's description was meant to be taken literally, Miss Kirtland, I would have subjected Lucien to a more thorough physical examination. I was aware that he bore a tattoo that matched the one she described, and the chances of two men in this vicinity having the same one seemed astronomically high."

Taking up a pen, he said, "You see, I may not be able to add two and two, but I do have a great deal of experience in figuring out the odds. I would have been willing to bet my entire fortune that such a thing was impossible." His tone became even more mocking. "Apparently I would have lost my shirt. That is, assuming the cards were not fuzzed."

The earl was gratified to see the pugnacious expression on Eliza's face turn to one of consternation.

"Figuratively speaking, of course," he went on. "As what we are discussing is hardly a game."

"Just what are you implying, sir?" she demanded.

"You claim to have a great skill in mathematics. If you take a moment to calculate the probability of two men in this shire having identical tattoos—which is, by the by, the mark of a very exclusive gentlemen's club in London—I imagine you will figure it out."

"Are you saying that someone deliberately set out to frame Mr. Harkness?" exclaimed Meredith. "How... how very monstrous."

"Indeed." Marcus leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "But then, we already know we are dealing with a monster."

"Someone must have a great deal of enmity for your nephew to go to such extremes to see him discredited," said Eliza.

"Oh, come, Miss Kirtland. While you may think me a witless worm, I give you credit for a possessing a more than average intelligence. Lucien is hardly more than a boy, and one who has led a rather quiet life up until now. I think we both know it is not he who is the real target of these scurrilous rumors and innuendo."

She didn't answer right away, but the earl noted that the color of her eyes had darkened to a near emerald hue.
Emeralds. Tigers.
What was there about the damn chit that kept bringing to mind thoughts of the exotic?

"W—what do you mean, sir?" stammered Meredith.

Marcus turned and gave her a chilly smile. "It would seem that your sister is not the only one dead set against the idea of me taking up residence in Sussex."