Pistols at Dawn (20 page)

His hooded eyes, now nearly dark as midnight, turned to fix on Whitney. "Perhaps you wish to reconsider your employment, as the terms of the contract appear to have changed. I would understand it if you choose to return to Exeter, at least until this is over."

The young man did not twitch a hair under the intense scrutiny. "We have already put a great deal of work into Killingworth Manor, milord. If you don't mind, I would prefer to stay and fight to make sure it has not been all for naught."

A glimmer of approval lightened the earl's brooding countenance. He gave a curt nod. "Thank you, Whitney. No doubt we will have our work cut out for us. But the sooner we put an end to this nasty business, the better for everyone."

Eliza was not surprised by the young man's decision. She had, over the past fortnight, been favorably impressed with his demeanor. Quick-witted and tough-minded, he would prove a valuable ally in hunting down their adversary.

"To begin with," continued Marcus. "I shall have you removed without delay to London, Lucien, where you should be safe from further attack. And the Kirtlands will leave immediately for—"

There was a bark of outrage from his nephew. "My limp has done nothing to slow my wits, Uncle Marcus. I'll not be packed off like a helpless fema—" He bit off the last word and glanced in embarrassment at two sisters. "Er, that is, like a helpless fool. I'm not going anywhere and that's flat."

"Count me in as well, sir," said Meredith, her resolve evident despite the softness of her voice. "I may not be able to throw a punch or fire a pistol, but I know there must be some way I can help."

"Miss Kirtland!" The bellow was somewhere between an accusation and an appeal. "Can't you drum some sense into these young people?"

"They seem perfectly sensible to me, sir," replied Eliza calmly.

His jaw dropped. "Surely you don't mean to suggest—"

"Suggest that they are right in demanding to be part of the action?" Her pen moved over the page of her notebook as if jotting down some relevant point. In truth, she was doodling a sketch. Of a very large and very angry cat, ears flattened, claws bared.

After a quick glance up, she added a set of fangs.

"Yes, of course I am. You don't actually think that I am going anywhere either, do you? We have a contract, Lord Killingworth, and I mean to hold you to it."

He frowned slightly. "If it is a matter of salary, Miss Kirtland, be assured you will receive what I—"

"It's not about money, sir. It's about principle." Forestalling the reply she saw forming on his lips, she quickly added, "I dislike being threatened or bullied. And I have as strong a grudge against this dastard as you do."

The earl's fingers drummed upon the mantel. "Will no one in this room show any common sense?"

Silence answered the appeal.

"Hmmph."

Eliza sensed that the slowing beat signaled surrender.

"Oh very well," he muttered. "Seeing as we are to join forces, I think it is high time for us to go on the offensive against our enemy, rather than sit back and let him make another attack."

"Right you are, sir. As a first move, why don't Robbie and I make a few inquiries around the village," suggested Whitney. "The efforts and funds that you have ploughed into the Manor of late have yielded a change of heart in most of the local people. From what I gather, they would be sorry to see you pack up and leave. So let us see what information or leads we might uncover with a discreet question or two."

"Very discreet," cautioned Lucien. "Let us not tip our hand that we suspect a connection between all the various attacks. If we go about our usual routine, we have a better chance of luring him into making another move. And when he does, we shall be ready to spring a trap."

"That is a very sound strategy," allowed the earl.

"From an ancient Chinese philosopher whose work I read at Oxford, sir," murmured his nephew. "
The Art of War
."

Eliza observed the exchange of smiles between the two men with a curve of her own lips. She had a feeling that one of the alliances forged tonight would last far after the battle was over. For some reason, that pleased her.

"Do be careful, Mr. Whitney," added Meredith. "Whoever is responsible is extremely dangerous."

"Aye, miss." The steward smiled grimly as he turned to take his leave. "But if I were him, I'd be quaking in my boots at the prospect of having to face off against this little army."

They began to file out after him, the earl having dismissed them with a distracted nod. However, as Eliza gathered her papers and brought up the rear, he stopped her with a low murmur.

"Might I have a word, Miss Kirtland?"

"Yes. Of course." She wasn't quite sure what to expect. Up until recently, a stinging set-down for contradicting his wishes would have followed. Or simply an imperious order, issued with infuriating sarcasm. Yet of late, his moods had been far less predictable.

He took his time in speaking, giving Eliza an extra moment to study his profile. At first glance, the chiseled features were so harshly handsome that they appeared impervious to any self-doubt. But as he turned, she admitted that first impressions could be deceiving. Softened in morning sunlight, his face was far more nuanced than she had thought on first acquaintance. Tiny lines etched the corners of his eyes, the blades of his cheekbones were blunted by a shadow of regret, and the pinch of his mouth was anything but arrogant.

"You think it wise to involve the young people?" he asked slowly.

The weight of his words was a further surprise. Eliza realized how just how much he felt that the burden of their safety was resting on his shoulders.

"You are asking for
my
advice?"

"Don't sound as if you are in need of smelling salts." The quip of sardonic humor was not quite as sharp as usual. "I defer to your superior wisdom on a great many subjects these days."

"Yes, but this is a far cry from deciding whether mangel wurtzels would yield more profits than alfalfa."

"And a good deal more costly if I err."

"You are worried—" began Eliza, only to have him cut her off.

"It may come as a shock to you, but I
do
have feelings." Marcus raked a hand through his hair, unmindful of the curling tangle that fell over his collar.

"Other than lust, greed and vanity," he added.

"I did not mean to disparage your feelings, sir."

"Just my character." He looked down at the carpet rather than at her. "You have reason to do so. I am not proud of my past."

The frank admission drew a rueful sigh from Eliza. "If we are to be brutally honest with each other, I am not feeling very good about my own actions of late. The truth is, we all make mistakes."

"I doubt yours have had as grievous consequences as mine."

"Had I not judged you, or your nephew, so harshly, Lucien would not have suffered such horrible injuries," she replied. "I was so certain I was right that I mentioned my misgivings to my neighbor and, well... I have learned a lesson or two about my own overweening pride."

A spark seemed to light his gaze, yet it died so quickly she wondered if she had only imagined its fire.

"Ah, well, now that we have both admitted to being human, perhaps we ought to return to the question of our two young relatives." Said Marcus gruffly. "I cannot like having them exposed to further risks."

"Nor can I," she replied. "But in this, I feel they have the right to make their own decision."

"You have a good deal of influence, though. They admire both your wisdom and your courage. If you were to counsel that discretion would be the better part of valor..."

Had she just heard a compliment, however oblique? Flustered, she caught only the last little bit of what he was saying. "What?"

"My aunt." He looked at her quizzically. "I do have a family—I did not emerge fully grown from Minerva's forehead, you know. I was saying that I am sure I could convince her to invite the betrothed couple for a visit to London. It would all be very proper. Not to speak of very safe."

Before she could react, he added, "I would of course, wish for you to accompany them. Your well-being is of no less importance to me."

Eliza managed to swallow the odd little lump in her throat. "I thank you for your concern, milord. It would, no doubt, be the prudent course of action. But I cannot in good conscience leave you here to deal the matter, just because things have taken a dangerous turn."

She lifted her chin. "A partnership is a partnership. I have not forgotten that against all common sense, you showed faith in me. So, until we have caught the dastard, I'm afraid you are stuck with me."

"I can think of worse fates," he murmured.

"And I am sure I speak for Meredith and Lucien as well."

The earl tilted his head in what may—or may not—have been a nod. In any case he voiced no further objection.

Feeling slightly off balance, Eliza cleared her throat with a brusque cough. "Excellent. Then, assuming we understand each other, I believe I shall try to grab a bit of rest." Surveying his bandaged hands and scraped cheek, she added, "As should you, milord. Under the circumstances, I think we may postpone our daily review until the morrow."

Marcus lowered his lashes, making it impossible to see his eyes. A tiny spark seemed to glimmer through the dark fringe, though she couldn't tell whether it meant he was annoyed or amused.

"Yes, Miss Kirtland, I think we have an understanding."

Chapter 13

"The barn," said Eliza as she scanned down her list at the following morning's meeting with the earl. Ever practical, she had not forgotten the responsibilities of the Manor. "We will have to budget in funds for its repair."

"Hmmm," was his noncommittal reply.

"It may mean we have to defer one of the other projects. I would suggest..." Seeing that Marcus appeared distracted, she stopped. "Perhaps we ought to discuss this another time."

"Hmmm."

The thump of the ledger falling shut finally got his attention.

"Sorry. Do go on."

"You may add another lesson to your copybook, sir," said Eliza. "Sometimes it is better to set work aside than go through the motions when your mind refuses to attend to the business at hand. That is how mistakes are made."

"Ah. I shall make a note of it. Try like the devil to avoid errors of judgment." Marcus spoke with his usual dry detachment, but Eliza caught the bleakness of his expression as he slowly spun a pen upon the blotter. "Well, I have certainly been a dismal failure on that score."

Shocked by his tone, she laid her hand on his sleeve. "Lord Killingworth, you cannot blame yourself for another man's perfidy."

"No?" He rose abruptly and went to stand by the windows. "Your sister may have a forgiving heart, but from you I expect to hear naught but the harsh realities of the matter. You need not humor me."

Eliza refused to be brushed off so easily. Scraping back her chair, she went to join him. "When have you ever known me to humor you, sir?"

That softened his cynicism, but only for a moment. The glint of amusement quickly died away, leaving a dullness to his gaze.

Without thinking, she reached out to touch his cheek. His skin was still slightly scraped but surprisingly warm. As her fingertips traced the line of his jaw, she was aware of the faint stubbling of whiskers.

He stiffened.

"I have none of Meredith's natural grace with people." She was close enough to breathe in the subtle scent of bay rum, with hints of an intriguing masculine spice she could not put a name to. "I am outspoken—most of the time to a fault. So you may trust that I mean what I say. Your actions have, in truth, been honorable and generous from the start."

"The tigress sheathing her claws? I would have thought you ready to tear me to shreds."

He sounded wounded, weary. It hurt her to hear his pain. "I do not mean to appear your enemy, sir. It has been some time since I wished to rip into your character." Her sigh stirred the raven locks curling at his collar. "I know I am all sharp edges and razored teeth. I—I can't seem to help it."