Pistols at Dawn (24 page)

Being useful, she reminded herself.

That thought seemed to mock her every move of late. At least she had, for a fleeting interlude, shoved her ledgers and her everyday troubles aside and allowed herself a taste of passion. She would take the earl's kiss to the grave and beyond, savoring the warmth of its intimacies, the sweetness of sharing a connection of body and spirit.

Nothing could take that from her. Not the bruising grip on her arm or the muttered threats that harangued her to move faster over the steep stones.

"Clumsy cow." Hastings jerked her upright and with another crude oath shoved her forward.

Eliza controlled the urge to fight back. She was not after a moral victory, but a far more pragmatic one. There was no doubt he could knock her senseless. The only reason he had not done so was to save himself the trouble of hauling the deadweight of her unconscious body along the narrow path. So she would march along meekly and watch for the one slip that might give a chance to break free.

"Not much farther," he taunted. "Let me think, I believe I shall leave your shawl artfully arranged on a snag of rock, in case your body is never fished out from the pounding surf."

She smiled, hoping a show of calm would goad him into a temper. Anger often clouded judgment.

"An excellent idea. I trust the hangman will be equally artful in arranging a knot of hemp around your neck once the earl has seen you charged with the crimes of assault, arson and murder. I may be feeding the crabs, but you will be carrion for the crows. They tend to leave a murderer's carcass dangling from the gibbet until it's pecked clean."

The sting of the slap was worth seeing his face contort in rage. "You think the earl is going to care about the disappearance of his doxie? I don't see him rushing to your rescue. I wager he is already has another wench warming his sheets. But not for long. He'll pay for his pride."

She stopped his gloating with a quick retort. "If you have been truly clever, you would have used your head instead of your fists when it came to Killingworth's nephew. You call him a stupid boy, but he is the earl's heir, you know. I, for one, would have realized the opportunity for a profitable partnership and made friends with him, rather than be so short-sighted as to frame him for a crime."

It was almost amusing to see the man's face fall as the import of her words sunk in. His lips moved—counting, no doubt, all the guineas he let slip through his fingers by not having thought of the idea himself.

"So that was your game?" Hastings finally snarled. "Bedding the nephew and not the earl?"

Eliza didn't deign to answer the despicable question.

"Well, either way, you chose a losing proposition when you thought you could usurp my place at the Manor," he said. "Did you really think I was going to give up such bounty so easily?"

"I didn't realize it was yours to give," she replied.

Cursing, he pushed her again. With her hands bound, Eliza fell awkwardly against the rocks, banging her knees and shoulder. But she managed to cup a shard of granite between her palms before he wrenched her upright. As a weapon it was hardly a match for his knife. And yet, she reminded herself, David had slain Goliath with naught but a pebble.

The path was winding closer and closer to the precipice. She knew she would have to strike soon.

* * *

The two shapes stood out in sharp silhouette, dark as slate against the purpling sky. Marcus watched for a moment, heart beating like a hammer against his ribs, as their pace along the path slowed because of the treacherous footing.

He climbed a little higher, angling off the path for a clearer view of Eliza and her captor. "Let her go, Hastings." Waves crashed against the rocks, nearly drowning out his shout.

His former steward whipped around, the wind carrying his first words out to sea. The next, however, sailed loud and clear. "Never!"

"You have won. Name whatever price you like—money, a boat to France. It's all yours if you release Miss Kirtland."

"You think I am a bloody fool?"

"You have my word of honor that you will go free."

Hastings replied with a jeering curse. "You want your bit of muslin? Come get her."

Marcus measured the distance. No way could he reach them before his former steward made it to the edge of the cliff. "You are right—you are no fool. So think on it, Miss Kirtland is your only bargaining chip." He flashed his pair of pistols. "If she comes to any harm, you're a dead man in the next instant."

He saw Hastings hesitate and consider the situation.

"Perhaps you are right." The former steward yanked Eliza around to serve as a shield and held a knife perilously close to her neck. "I assume you have come on horseback."

"Yes," answered the earl, his finger hovering in frustration above the trigger of his weapon. He was a crack shot, and Hastings's head was exposed just enough...

But no.
He had bought some time and would wait for a better chance. He would rather tear the man limb from limb with his bare hands.

"Throw down your weapons," ordered Hastings, pointing to a deep crevasse in the splintered rocks. "In there. Then we will come down. Once I'm well away from the village I'll let her go." A pause. "You have my word of honor."

Which was, thought Marcus, worth less than spit.

Nonetheless, he did as he was told. "You'll get no trouble from me." He looked around to order his nephew to do the same, but Lucien was nowhere in sight.

Meredith had started to climb up to join him, and the look in her eyes caused the question he was about to ask to die on his lips.

"I'm unarmed as well," she called to Hastings. "Our two horses are yours for the taking."

Fisting a hand in Eliza's cloak, the former steward pushed her forward. "Step back off the path," he ordered, "and put your hands atop your head so I can see that you're not up to no good."

As Marcus watched their slow progress down through the loose stones, he tried to force his thoughts away from the sharpened steel at Eliza's throat and concentrate on how he was going to free her from the madman's clutches. He would only have a split second to act.

And no second chance.

* * *

"Hastings."

At first Eliza thought it was merely the whisper of the wind playing tricks with her ears. But when it came again, her captor yanked her to a halt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucien crouched behind an outcropping of granite.

"Back off." Hastings pushed the blade right up against her throat. "Put down that bloody rifle or I swear, I'll hurt her."

"As if I give a fig what you do to her," said Lucien in a nasty drawl. "She and my bloody uncle are making my life hell—so I've got a proposition for you."

Hastings darted a look at the earl, who was standing still as a statue, and then wet his lips. "I'm listening."

"You're a diabolical bastard—but a very clever diabolical bastard. I need someone with brains and daring. So I'm willing to forget about all the trouble you caused me because between you and my uncle, you're the lesser of two evils."

"Go on."

"I say we make a deal and become partners. We get rid of my uncle with a quick bullet and lo, I'm the earl's heir and with him out of the way, Killingworth Manor is mine. I'll rehire you to run it—we'll have a binding bond, for neither us can betray the other without putting a noose around our own neck."

"You are cleverer than I thought, Mr. Harkness."

Yes, he is
, thought Eliza.

"I could learn much from you."

Hasting tightened his grip on her arm. "What Miss Kirtland and her sister?"

"Toss them over the cliff, along with my uncle's carcass, once we put a bullet in his brain." Still hidden by the rocks, Lucien held out the rifle by its barrel. "Here, you had better take it," he muttered, nearly dropping the heavy weapon. "I'm still too weak to aim the damn thing. And I'm a poor shot."

The rifle butt was out of his reach. Hastings gauged the distance, then Eliza felt the blade leave her throat as he darted sideways to grab it.

It all seemed to happen in a blur—in the same instant Lucien sprang up and swung the weapon in a tight arc.

The heavy wood stock smacked against the former steward's skull with a resounding
crack.

Hastings dropped to the ground like a sack of stones.

"
That
," said Lucien forcefully, "was for Miss Meredith."

As Hastings twitched and tried to raise his head, a swift kick caught him flush on the jaw, knocking him unconscious.

"And
that
was for Miss Kirtland." Lucien dropped the weapon and reached out to untie Eliza's wrists, but stumbled and dropped to his knees, the last of his strength ebbing away. "Sorry," he said with a wry gasp. "A fine hero I make, falling into a half faint, but—"

"Oh, Mr. Harkness..." Eliza sunk down beside him and steadied his shoulder with her bound hands. "You are quite the most wonderful hero in the world."

"I am?" He sounded a little dazed.

"Indeed, you are." Marcus skidded to a halt and crouched down to enfold both of them in a hard hug. "Thank God," he whispered, giving one last squeeze before releasing them and reaching for the fallen knife to cut away the rope around Eliza's wrists.

"No doubt you have a few far less flattering names to fling at me, sir," she murmured as he carefully sawed at the knots. "Which I sorely deserve. I'm so sorry—"

"Let us save recriminations for later," he interrupted. "Right now, all that matters is to get both of you back to the Manor, where you can be tended to properly."

"I'm not injured in the least—save for my pride," responded Eliza haltingly. She was still feeling a little dizzy from the spin of last few moments. "I—I thought I was being so clever, and yet what I did was put all of you at terrible risk."

"As I said, we'll discuss that later." Marcus put his arms around her and gently drew her to her feet. "Come, let me take you down to where the horses are waiting." Shooting a glance at Hastings, who lay unmoving among the sharp stones, he began unknotting his cravat. "Just as soon as I bind this cur hand and foot so that Whitney and Robbie may haul his miserable carcass to the magistrate."

"You should be assisting Mr. Harkness," protested Eliza.

"Mr. Harkness," he murmured, "has no need of me for assistance." His mouth quirked into a faint smile as he watched Meredith minister to his nephew. "I think he is in good hands."

With much cooing and clucking, her sister helped Lucien to his feet. Sliding her arm around his waist, she looked around to Eliza. "Thank God you are safe! I shall envelop you in hugs, just as soon as I get Luc—Mr. Harkness down from here. I fear his overexertions may bring on a relapse of fever."

"I'm fine," grumbled Lucien as he swayed against Meredith's shoulder. "Just need a moment to catch my breath."

"You two go right ahead," replied Marcus. "I shall see that your sister makes it down from these cliffs without further mishap."

"I'm sorry," repeated Eliza as he finished trussed up Hastings. She wished she could see his eyes—his voice was coolly calm, giving no hint of what emotions he might be feeling.

Other than relief that her disobeying of his orders hadn't resulted in utter disaster.

A shiver coursed down her spine as she thought again of how her impetuous actions had put all of them at risk.

"I'm sorry, too." Marcus rose and dusted his hands. They were, she saw, badly scraped. "Sorry that I didn't figure things out sooner. Sorry that I didn't act faster to protect you from such a terrible ordeal."

He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the tiny lines of worry etched on his windblown face. "Sorry that I—"

A touch of her fingertips to his lips silenced him. "As you said, sir, time enough for recriminations later—and God knows, I shall have plenty of them. But for the moment, let us simply give thanks that we are all safe and unharmed."

"Agreed." He stared off into the distance for a brief moment, as if searching the churning seas beyond the cliffs for something further to add. But then, with a wordless exhale, he merely offered his arm, and they started slowly down the path.

For an interlude, there was naught but the sounds of the wind gusting through the rocks and the scuffling crunch of stones beneath their feet. Eliza kept her gaze locked straight ahead, though she would have liked to steal a peek at the earl's profile.

But then again, she decided, his expression would likely be no more revealing of inner emotion than the surrounding slabs of granite. He hid his feelings well—which might be for the best, given her recent impetuous actions. No doubt he was bitterly regretting the twist of fate that had brought her intrusion into his life.

She felt her shoulders slump. His world had been turned on its ear—

"You must be exhausted, Miss Kirtland." Marcus slipped a steadying arm around her waist. "Allow me to be of more support."

"I don't wish to impose on you further, sir," Eliza mumbled. "I've been enough of an onerous burden."
Crunch, crunch.
As if echoing her unsettled mood, the shards of stone shifted beneath her half boots. "Not to speak of all the ill I've brought down on you and your household."