The Hired Hero (22 page)

 His hand remained where it was.  “Your father mentioned something else.” He cleared his throat. “Have you got...the papers?”

She hesitated for a moment, a frown clouding her face, then her expression lightened. 

“Yes, of course you would know about that. Well, never fear. I have them safe.” As she spoke, she patted at the breast of her jacket.

A gleam of pure malice flashed in his eyes before the lids dropped to mask his emotion. He lowered his voice as well, to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can only imagine what you have endured to reach London—your father naturally confided in me that there exists a traitor in our midst. Why don’t you let me relieve you of the burden? I shall see they are delivered into the right hands, I assure you.”

Caroline shook her head. “How very kind of you, but I have carried them this far, and I shall keep them until I can turn them over to my father.”

 His fingers unconsciously dug into her skin.

 “Mr. Farrington, I think you may release me.”  She tried to keep her tone light to avoid causing him any embarrassment. “I promise that my collapse is not imminent.”

 All at once he was shaking her. “Give them to me!”

 Caroline tried to pull away. “Mr. Farrington!”

 He kept hold of her jacket and nearly wrenched her off her feet. “You damn bitch. You’ve caused me more than enough trouble—but no more. Now give me those documents!”

 “My god. You!” She stared at him, unbelieving. “But why?

 “Why?” he repeated. “Are you daft? Do you think I plan to live the rest of my life accepting my station as a ill-paid younger son, having to bow and scrape in front of dolts like your father, who have had the damn luck of birth rather than brains, like me? I think not! Unfortunately I shall have to leave a tad sooner than I had planned, but my last delivery will set me up quite nicely—I shall live very well on the Continent.”

 She tried to twist out of his grasp as she let out a loud cry for help.

 “Go ahead and yell all you wish,” he sneered. “There is no one to hear you. I’ve sent the rest of the servants to their quarters. And don’t expect that rakehell Davenport this time around. If he’s not lying foxed in some gaming hell, he’s lying with his manhood up some lightskirt, now that he’s finished with you.” His face took on an ugly leer. “Always prancing around in front of me, with your hoydenish ways. I always knew you were no better than you should be. Gave the earl a good ride, did you? Perhaps I’ll see for myself before I leave.”

Her fist caught him smack on the nose.

Farrington let out a scream of rage as blood spurted onto his snowy shirtfront.

“You bitch!” he roared again as he struck her hard across the temple.

 Dazed, Caroline would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t had such a tight hold of her jacket. As she hung limply in his grasp, his free hand pawed the inside of the garment, ripping at its lining. With a grunt of triumph, he came away with the oilskin packet.

It was her turn to feel a wave of fury. The sight of the precious papers, those she had fought so hard to keep safe, now in the possession of the enemy after all gave her new strength to fight back. Rather than struggling to break free, she launched herself right at him, her nails raking down his cheeks. Both of them stumbled backwards, colliding with an ornate mahogany case clock set near the curved staircase. A corner of it caught Caroline’s brow, knocking her farther off balance. It gave Farrington just the time he needed to recover and knock her to the floor with another ringing blow. He stood over her, a harsh laugh escaping from him as he drew a small dagger from the depths of his pocket.

“Step away from the lady, lest you want your guts spilling onto your shirt as well.”

 The click of the pistol being cocked put an exclamation point to Davenport’s words.

 Caroline managed to raise her head a few inches off the Aubusson carpet. “Still having to scrape me out of the mud, I’m afraid,” she croaked before falling into a dead faint.

Davenport took another step into the entrance hall and slowly closed the door.

“Lay the documents on the sidetable, then step away from Lady Caroline.”

 Farrington hesitated as his eyes narrowed, then darted from the floor to all of the possible egresses from the hallway.

 A grim smile came to the earl’s lips. “Go ahead. I should welcome an excuse to pull the trigger, for unfortunately, my honor as a gentleman prevents me from shooting even such a cowardly cur as you down like a savage dog, though it is all you deserve.”

 The other man ground his teeth, then reluctantly tossed the packet onto the polished wood. With a murderous look in his eye, he fell back a few paces from Caroline’s prostrate form.

Davenport then moved deliberately to the sidetable, all the while never taking his eyes from the Duke’s traitorous secretary. He took up the slim oilskin square and tucked it carefully into the bosom of his shirt. With another few strides, he was at Caroline’s side, crouching and gently raising her head and shoulders with one arm. The pistol, however, never wavered in its aim at the other man’s chest.

“A charming pair,” sneered Farrington. “ The ton shall no doubt find the acquaintance a, shall we say, fascinating topic for conversation. But now, let us be done with the touching charade. How much do you want?” His  face relaxed slightly as he began to feel on familiar ground. “I imagine you are here since it suddenly occurred to you that the possibilities for blackmail are rather limitless. How much has she paid you already? I assure you, I am in a position to offer you more—much more.” His hand made a suggestive gesture towards his pocket. “Think on it—you will have plenty of blunt right away, with none of the wait or the tedium of extracting regular payments. Decide quickly, however.” The calculating smile that finished off his words left little doubt as to what he imagined the response would be. His hand was already reaching for the bulging purse in his coat.

A muscle twitched in the earl’s face as he made no effort to hide his contempt.

“On second thought, perhaps you have given me more than ample reason for ridding the world of your scurvy presence.”

 Farrington blinked, uncomprehending. A slight sheen of sweat began to form at his temples. Cunning and guile had seen him through any number of desperate situations—and of course, money. Words and force may fail at times, but the chink of gold upon gold? Never.

 Was he dealing with a madman?

 His brow furrowed and he essayed another tact. “Ah, a canny bargainer, I see. You impress me, sir. Your reputation would not lead one to think you so clever.” There was an exaggerated pause to let the compliment sink in. “I admit it, you hold the upper hand. What else do you want?”

 Davenport merely stared at him.

“Come, man! Name your price!” There was a note of rising panic in the man’s voice, as well as disbelief.

Still no answer, just lips curled in loathing. When finally the earl did speak, it was a low, gentle murmur, too soft for any ears but Caroline’s to comprehend, as he sought to bring her around. Though his words were for her only, his eyes still remained riveted on the man in front of him.

 Farrington had by now worked himself into a veritable rage. To Davenport it seemed that never had a face more resembled an image of the devil incarnate. The other man raised his hands in a menacing gesture and took a convulsive step towards the earl.

A gesture of the pistol caused him to reconsider. But even standing still, he remained quivering with impotent fury.

Davenport found himself wondering whether the man’s  next move would be cause to pull the trigger, and whether he would truly feel as little compunction at ending a human life, however flawed, as he did now. The answer would remain a mystery, as the front door suddenly flung open.

Farrington’s arms, still raised, flew out wider. “Your Grace!” he cried, with little need to feign a tone of fervent relief. “Thank God you have come! We are saved!”

 Indeed, the Duke of Cheviot had entered his house, caped greatcoat flung back from his imposing form to allow full aim for the brace of long barreled pistols clutched in his hands. His thunderous look became even darker at taking in the scene in front of him.

 The Duke’s secretary hesitated not a whit in taking hold of the opportunity the fates had so fortuitously dropped in his grasp. His finger pointed accusingly at the disheveled figure of the earl.

“I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t—he fought me off.” Farrington touched at the ugly red marks scarring his cheeks for emphasis. “He attacked Lady Caroline, the cur, and was just now going to... “ He contrived to falter quite convincingly, as if the thought of what might have happened to the young lady was too much to bear. “He took something from her jacket. It’s hidden inside his shirt.”

The duke stalked over to the earl. His boot lashed out, knocking the pistol from Davenport’s unresisting hand.

“Put my daughter down, very slowly, then get up. If you have harmed...”

 “She has taken a knock to the head, but her pulse is strong and her breathing is normal. I trust she will awaken with naught but a sore brow.” He laid her gently down on the floor and stripped off his jacket to tuck under her head. Then he did as he was told, all the while trying to place the figure before him. The man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t recall the name. The rank, however, was clear. He shook his head slightly. The chit didn’t do things by half, did she, he thought.

 The duke was barely able to contain his rage. “My god. I recognize you,” he exclaimed as his mouth quirked in disgust. “A lord, no less. I know quite well what a worthless reprobate you are, but a traitor to your class and your country as well? I should throttle your worthless neck here and now. “ And he looked quite capable of carrying out the deed, if his hands hadn’t been fully occupied.

Farrington began to sidle towards the door. “I shall fetch an armed guard and notify Whitehall of what is happening.”

 Davenport’s expression remained unreadable. “I suggest you keep your secretary from disappearing, sir. When Lady Caroline recovers consciousness, you shall hear a very different tale from her lips. The traitor here is not I.”

 “Liar,” spat Farrington. His eyes sought out the duke. “Surely you cannot begin to believe such outrageous slander as that, sir, not after my years of loyal service.”

That was enough to bring a faint smile to the earl’s lips. “And years of being privy to all the duke’s confidential matters as well. How curious that you, of all people, should be here when Lady Caroline arrives to an empty house. Pray, why don’t you explain where her uncle and the servants have gone. Oh, and while you are at it, how did you come by those nasty scratches on your face?” He regarded his own roughened hands, then  calmly held them out for inspection. “Afraid my nails are trimmed rather too short to inflict such damage. It is usually a lady’s hand that leaves such  marks.”

The duke frowned ever so slightly.

“I am perfectly content to wait here until you are satisfied with the answers. Surely your secretary should be as well. If he is telling the truth.”

Farrington took another step in the direction of the heavy oak door.

“A moment, Farrington.”

“Your Grace, you cannot countenance the wild ravings of a desperate rogue,” insisted his secretary. “We need to have him under lock and key as soon as possible. He’s a very dangerous man, capable of anything—murder as well as treason. Why, he’s left a trail of dead men in his wake. Let us not risk any more. “

The duke still hesitated.

Farrington paled imperceptibly.

Fatigue had caused Davenport to lean against the tall case clock, arms crossed over his chest. A grim expression appeared on his face at the irony of the other man’s words.

“Trail of dead men,” he repeated. “Well you should know about that. Lady Caroline and I have barely managed to avoid joining your other victims in journeying to the hereafter.” As he shifted his weight, he started, then removed the packet from his shirt. He gave it a long, hard look before tossing it back on the sidetable. “You should be extremely proud of your daughter, sir. I cannot imagine another female—nay anyone—with the courage and wits to endure what she has to bring this safely to your keeping.” His gaze went to her still form.

 Confusion clouded the duke’s face. The need for a reply was forestalled, however, by the clatter of more footsteps on the entrance stairs and the entrance of his nephew, out of breath and nearly as disheveled as the earl.

“Lucien!”

“I know you sent me on to Roxbury Manor, sir. But I met up with Darwin at the first posting inn. He told me Caro had left days ago and what she had in mind. When he received no word of her safe arrival, he set out to search for—” His eyes caught sight of the body on the floor. “Good lord, who is the lad? What has happened here?”

“She has been struck—in the name of heaven, see that she is not seriously injured,” replied the duke.

Understanding dawned on Lucien’s face. He rushed to kneel by his cousin’s side and took her up in his arms. She stirred slightly.

“I think she is coming around.”

An audible sigh of relief came from the duke.

 The viscount looked up, aware for the first time of the others in the room. He nodded a brief acknowledgement at Farrington, then started on seeing the earl.

“Why hello, Julian. What the devil are you doing here?”

 Davenport rubbed wearily at the scar on his cheek. “Bloody hell, I should have guessed,” he muttered. “All those tales of a female cousin who could match any man at any exploit—we all though you made up most of it, to keep us entertained. Well, you didn’t tell the half.”

 Lucien managed a weak grin. “Ah, I take it that you have met Caroline when she was in possession of all her faculties, then?”

 He couldn’t catch exactly what the earl said under his breath, but the duke had no such problems in making himself understood.

“You are a friend of the Earl of Davenport?” he demanded of his nephew. “Lucien, I gave you more credit than to have any sort of association with a man of his character”