The Madcap Marriage (23 page)

“What happened?”  Shock drove recriminations from her mind.

“Broken leg, cuts.” He stroked his cheek. “By then, I’d realized that marriage would endanger you as long as the war continued – the French might have attacked you to punish me. They have no honor. I knew Sir Arthur would keep you safe in the meantime.”

“Alex—”  She picked up the salve and slathered another cut on his arm. “Father never said a word about any offer. He was as furious as I that you’d left without notice. And as hurt. You must have known that your disappearance would raise doubts about my virtue. I’ve been a social pariah ever since.”

He blanched.

“Furthermore, you said nothing about duties that might take you away at a moment’s notice. Even with us you continued your pretense. And however honorable your disappearance, nothing excuses your silence. We did not hear a word from you.”

“I wrote!”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what fantasy you’ve woven to cover your perfidy, but you cannot have made your intentions clear. A formal offer would have saved me untold grief. I don’t know what you think you said, but there was nothing that made Papa believe your intentions were honorable.”

“Don’t fall into hysteria, Helen,” he said soothingly. “Parents rarely share business decisions with daughters.”

“Balderdash!”  She didn’t care if she sounded childish. He was treating her like an infant. “Not that it matters. I am wed, which makes this entire discussion moot.”

“But you shouldn’t be,” he insisted. “And to Thomas, of all people. He’s the wildest rake in London and can never make you happy. How long have you known him?”

“Five days.”

“Five days!”  He straightened. “How could you wed a stranger?”

She stepped back. “That’s my business, Alex. You lost any say in my life when you walked out on me. And don’t tell me again that you had no choice. There is always a choice. You didn’t even send condolences when Father died.”

He had the grace to look abashed. “I’m so sorry, Helen. I didn’t know.”

“That was nine months ago.”

“I was away from town. Except for an occasional week, I’ve been gone for a year. But I was too busy when at home to catch up on the news.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down beside him. “I’m sorry, Helen. What happened?”

“You knew he was ill.”

He nodded.

“It was terminal.” Dust swirled past, giving her an excuse to blink away tears.

“My condolences, Helen. It must have been awful for you.” His finger brushed her cheek. “How is your mother holding up?”

“She died last month.”

“Dear Lord!  I swear I didn’t know.”

His concern cracked her last layer of composure. Sobbing, she let him pull her against his shoulder, accepting the comfort she’d needed for so long.

“Ahem.” Rafe’s cough cut through her grief.

Alex kissed the top of her head, then released her and smiled at Rafe – nastily. “Congratulations, Thomas.” His tone could have cut glass. “You’re a lucky man. Helen is the most caring woman I’ve ever known. A veritable angel.”

* * * *

Rafe glared. Why did the victim have to be Portland?  The man had hated him for ten years, gleefully grasping every opportunity to annoy him. He’d long suspected Portland of starting the most vicious rumors.

Now the man would have a new complaint. Rafe hadn’t missed the intimacy between him and Helen. Nor had he missed Portland’s fury that Rafe again had what Portland wanted. Would he retaliate for Lydia by seducing Helen?  She seemed willing. He wished he’d been close enough to hear their conversation.

“How badly are you hurt?” he asked brusquely, pulling Helen against his side in a show of possession that tightened Portland’s mouth.

“I’ll live.” Portland struggled to his feet, using the tree to keep from being blown over.

“I’m not so sure of that.” Rafe tightened his hold so Helen couldn’t lend a hand.

Portland grimaced. “The worst is a wrenched shoulder and bruised ribs, but both will heal.” He slowly rolled the shoulder. “Thank you for stopping. They caught me by surprise.”

“In broad daylight?” asked Rafe.

“I was lost in thought and not paying attention.” He glared at Helen.

“That’s not what I meant. Highwaymen prefer darkness to reduce the chance of being caught by passersby.”

“Oh.” Portland frowned. “But these are assassins, not highwaymen.”

“So I was right.” Helen struggled against Rafe’s arm. “What did you do this time, Alex?”

“Nothing!  You can’t think—”

“What happened?” demanded Rafe, shifting Helen to his other side.

Portland pointed toward Hillcrest. “They broke from that spinney as I rounded the gatehouse – it probably looked like I came from the estate. They thought I was you.”

“My God!”  Helen quit struggling and met Rafe’s eyes. “Steven.”

“So it would seem, sweetheart.” He returned his attention to Portland, who was leaning weakly against the tree. “Did they say why they were after me?”

“No, but their orders were to make your death long and painful.”

“We can’t let him get away with this,” snarled Helen. “It’s bad enough he’s after you, but to hire a pair of cutthroats stupid enough to attack anyone who looks like you…”

“We don’t look alike,” protested Rafe, so shocked he let her pull free.

“Of course, you do.” Hands on her hips, she glared at each in turn. “I noticed it from the first – same height, same build, same coloring. Alex has even acquired a scar since we last met. Your features are different, of course, but not in a way Steven could easily describe. His men would be at Hillcrest seeking a tall, dark man with a scar.”

Rafe’s head was spinning so fast he nearly keeled over. Helen had looked at him that day and seen Portland. No wonder she’d traced his scar, the most noticeable difference she knew. But if she loved Portland…

He’d been furious when she’d locked him out last night, but he’d thought it was distrust raised by Hillcrest’s diatribe. Now he knew better. She had finally admitted that fear and injury had driven her to wed the wrong man. Again that memory tickled his mind – Dear Helen’s canceled Season, followed by hints that she’d found a beau in the country. Portland was often away from town. So why hadn’t they wed?

“Who wants to kill Thomas?” Portland asked Helen.

“Besides you?”  Rafe grimaced.

“My uncle, Sir Steven,” said Helen, glaring at Rafe before moving back to Portland’s side. “Or possibly his son Dudley –
long and painful
sounds like him. They want my inheritance, but Rafe stands in the way.”

“You’ve had a worse time than I thought,” he said sadly, raising her hand to his lips. “We need to hide you somewhere safe until the danger is over.”

“I’ll take care of her.” Rafe scanned the sky as thunder rumbled in the distance. “The first step is to find out who hired this pair. Helen, hold the team while the coachman collects the other horses.” They had finally calmed, so she could handle them. “I don’t want cutthroats inside the carriage, so they’ll have to ride.”

Helen started to protest, but thought better of it. Rafe was being as autocratic as Hillcrest – and as unwilling to listen. The air was thick with tension that had nothing to do with the storm.

She understood his fury. He and Alex obviously hated each other – which must make his bruises more painful; he’d risked his life to rescue a man he despised.

But he was right to insist on action rather than talk. Aside from the worsening weather, Alex needed a doctor. The sooner they finished with the highwaymen, the sooner he would see one. Rafe, too. That fight had inflicted more than bruises. He was favoring his left leg.

Your fault.

She stumbled as dizziness swept over her. Her conscience was right. This attack was her fault. By dragging Rafe into her family squabble, she’d not only endangered his life, but Alex’s and Lady Alquist’s as well. Steven was eliminating anyone who opposed him.

Which meant that Rafe’s instinct had been correct. Alquist’s death
was
murder. Hiring that runner had signed his death warrant. Steven had known that nothing would stop him. She was family, not just a legal obligation. Even ending his guardianship would not have halted his investigation. So Steven faced ruin. A baronetcy would not protect him from transportation if his defalcations came to light.

* * * *

Rafe waited until Helen was gone, then glared at Portland. “Keep your hands off my wife,” he hissed. He might have doubts about his marriage, but he would never disclose them to his worst enemy.

“Why are
you
angry?” snapped Portland, ramming one fist into Rafe’s chest and the other into his stomach. “She’s my betrothed. The wedding is supposed to be next week.”

“Liar!”  He wouldn’t believe it. Helen had sworn she knew no one in London.

But Portland hadn’t been in London. And she’d started some sort of confession just before Steven burst in during breakfast.

“I can’t believe you found another way to ruin my life.” Portland again swung, missing as Rafe sidestepped. “Weren’t you satisfied with fleecing me and—”

“I never fleeced you!”  Rafe landed a punch of his own. “You are the one who drank yourself into oblivion and insisted on one more game.”

Portland wasn’t listening. “Now you’ve stolen my wife. Damn you to hell!”

“She is
not
your wife!”

“Why the devil did she turn to you, anyway?” growled Portland. “If Sir Steven was causing trouble, she should have gone to Alquist. Sir Arthur swore Alquist would be her guardian if anything happened to him.”

“Alquist is dead.” He advanced, glaring. “I’m her new guardian.”

“But—”  Portland flinched as he backed into the tree. “When?”

“Three weeks ago.” His voice cracked, increasing his fury.

“Damn!  If only I’d been in town.”

“Enough of this, Portland. Helen is my wife. Period. You can help me question your attackers, or you can sit down and catch your breath. But stay away from Helen.”

Portland released a long sigh that drained the last vestige of belligerence. “I’ll help. I take it personally when people try to kill me. And I’ve dealt with men like these before.”

* * * *

Ten minutes later, Rafe’s patience was nearly gone. “Who hired you?” he demanded for the hundredth time.

“I told ye, nobody!”  Arnold had finally revealed his name – if it was his name – but he refused to divulge anything else. “We was riding along, peaceful-like, when this bruiser jumps out wit’ a barker.
Yer money or yer life
, ’e says, all menacinglike. I don’t got much to give, so when I seed a chance, I tackled ’im – protecting meself, I was.”

“Where’s his barker now?” asked Rafe.

“Dropped it, ’e did. Aside the road. It’s there somewheres. Find it. You’ll sees how it were.”

Rafe snorted. Leaving Arnold to his lies, he pulled Portland aside. “He swears you pulled a pistol, so he had to defend himself.”

“I did pull a pistol – after Barney tried to smash my head with a club.” He nodded toward the blond. “Too bad I missed. I could have subdued one opponent.”

“Probably.” He hated to admit it, but Portland was in better shape than he was. Portland’s injuries would have laid him out cold. His own lesser ones made staying on his feet difficult. But he couldn’t waver. He would not give Portland the satisfaction of seeing him collapse – or the opportunity to make off with Helen. “Any luck with Barney?”

“Some. They were hired three days ago, though he doesn’t know by whom. A broker handled the deal.”

“Broker?”

“Brokers fill temporary jobs – some honest, some not. Barney won’t name the fellow, but I can find him. There are only half a dozen brokers who frequent the area where they met.”

“How do you know—”

Portland lowered his voice. “You’re out of your depth, Thomas. I work for the Home Office recovering stolen information. Many French couriers frequent the stews.”

“You track spies?”  Hillcrest’s charges taunted him.
Worthless … useless … wastrel … a gentleman’s primary duty is to get an heir.
He’d always consoled himself with the nobility of defending his mother, but next to Portland’s record, he felt a fool.

“I used to, which is why we couldn’t marry sooner. Now that the war is over, I’m retiring.” He glared. “Anyway, once I identify the broker, I’ll find out who hired him.” He nodded toward the attackers. “Barney swears they were supposed to rob you and teach you to mind your own business, but I don’t believe it. You’re heir to a title. Every runner in England would be after them once you spoke your piece. But Barney won’t confess to attempted murder. He’d hang. What he’s too stupid to realize is that whoever hired him can’t let him live.”

“So tell him. Maybe that will shake some information loose.”

“Like what?”

“Who else was hired?  Steven can’t seriously expect to find me at Hillcrest. Everyone knows I avoid the place. Posting Barney and Arnold here was a contingency plan. The smart assassins will be waiting near Audley.”

“Or in town.”

“Another possibility – we left four days ago.”

“You spent four days with Hillcrest?”  His voice rose in astonishment.

“Of course not!  We needed to speak with Lady Alquist. I believe Alquist was murdered.” He might hate Portland, but a Home Office investigator was the ideal ear for his suspicions.

“Why?”

Rafe explained, adding, “This attack adds credence to my theory.”

Portland swore. “I can’t believe Helen didn’t tell me about Steven.”

“Forget Helen.” He glanced up as the first drops of rain hit his face. “Where should I take this pair?  Squire Hawkins is the nearest magistrate. Or should we go to London?”

“The squire. He’s a good man.” He paused. “Were you headed for town?”

“No. For Audley. But this attack—”

“Changes nothing. Helen will be safer in the country. I’ll take care of these two, then investigate Steven and Dudley. Don’t argue,” he added, when Rafe tried to protest. “I am used to following such trails. And I know London’s shadier neighborhoods better than you ever will. You won’t learn anything useful in brothels, Thomas.”

Rafe clenched his fists, but it was true that he knew nothing of London’s underworld. And Helen had been right, damn her hide. Returning to town might kill him. Yet he didn’t want Portland poking about in his business. Nor did he want to lead Helen into the danger he feared awaited them at Audley.