The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake (7 page)

“Well, well,” said Adair mockingly. “Come to play executioner, have you? I wonder you found me in this blizzard.”

“Your tracks were easy enough to follow.”

“They'll be gone when you turn back. I wish you joy of finding your way home after you've murdered me.”

“I don't have to murder you now, Adair. A ball through one of your knees and the storm will do the rest.”

He stared at her. “Lord, but you're a cold-blooded chit!”

“I've no doubt you are an expert on cold-bloodedness, whereas Alice Prior is the most gentle, kind-hearted, truly good person I have ever known. She was—” Her voice shredded slightly and Adair stepped back a pace as she waved the pistol to emphasize her remarks. “She was my dearest friend from our childhood days. The one person I could always turn to when—” The sentence went unfinished, then she said harshly, “And you—
you,
a man trained to kill, and with a reputation as—as, what do they call creatures like you? a Bond Street Beau?”

“The devil! That's not so! I'm seldom in England and—”

“You dared—you
dared
to lure away and—and violate that pure angel, and—”

“Again—untrue! I never even met the girl until that night!”

“Liar!” she hissed. “Did you think she would confide in no one? She told me she was deep in love with you!”

Adair gasped, “She
named
me?”

“She loved and trusted you. And you destroyed her—just as I shall now avenge her!”

Watching her narrowly, he asked, “Am I your first victim?”

“My last, I pray.” She aimed the pistol carefully. “I might grant you a quicker death if you tell me what you have done with Alice.”

“If I am to die, madam, I've a right to be told the truth first. No need for you to persist in this rubbishing stuff about Miss Prior being lost. At least allow me to know what this is all about, and why you are preparing to kill a man who you must be aware is innocent of any wrongdoing.”

There came the sound of the hammer being drawn back. Adair tensed. This crazy woman really meant to shoot him!

“I will count to three,” she said, her voice steady and merciless. “One … Where is Alice?”

“Do you really think I would come here seeking her if I knew?”

“Two … She's dead, isn't she? You evil,
evil
man—you killed her so that she could not speak against you!”

“But of course. And then I came here, risking your righteous indignation—”

“Indignation!”

“—to enquire after the poor lady I had already buried.”

“Three … God forgive me, but—”

Adair flung himself to the side but there was no pistol shot. Instead the girl stood there, fumbling with the trigger and half-weeping with frustration.

He sprang to seize the pistol. “Couldn't bring yourself to shoot an unarmed man, eh? Give it here!”

“How may I give it to you,” she demanded furiously, “when the wretched thing is caught on my glove?”

He peered at the trigger. “So it is,” he said, standing well clear of the wavering muzzle. “Now if you will just keep still, my foiled assassin—”

Instead, she jerked free, then jumped back.

“For heaven's sake, have a care!” exclaimed Adair. “That Manton likely has a hair-trigger, and—”

“I should have known it would fail me,” she cried bitterly. “I hate guns!”

“Yet were prepared to fire one.”

She gave him a contemptuous glance. “Oh, I would not have, of course. Even for my dearest friend. You counted on that weakness, didn't you?”

“I'd count on it with less apprehension if you would stop waving the pistol about.”

For a moment she stood watching him, irresolute, then she said, “I suppose I had as well. My dear little Alice—I have failed you abominably!” She flung the weapon away from her with loathing.

“Hey!” shouted Adair, ducking.

The pistol vanished into the swirling snow, but through that white curtain came a flash and a sharp retort.

“Of all the shatter-brained things to do,” said Adair angrily. “Did no one ever tell you—” He stopped abruptly. Miss Cecily Somebody looked odd. In fact, she looked very odd indeed. She appeared to be shrinking even as she stared at him, her eyes huge in a suddenly dead-white face.

He leapt forward and caught her as she crumpled.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered, and fainted.

*   *   *

“If you dare lay one finger on me,” panted Miss Cecily, her right hand holding the collar of her blouse tightly closed, “I pr-promise you will … regret it!”

Adair set down the pan of melted snow he had managed to heat on the fire. When he'd attempted to carry the girl into the bedchamber of this isolated two-room cottage she had set up a screech that would have wakened the dead and had insisted on being laid on the sofa.

“You will be more like to regret it if I do not,” he answered coolly.

“That is the—the thanks I get for g-guiding you to this cottage.”

“Which will protect us from freezing, I hope. But I've done no more than wind my handkerchief about your arm. The wound must be cleansed and properly bandaged.” He stepped purposefully towards the shabby sofa.

“Stay back!” She shrank away, her eyes—a blue-grey which he thought quite beautiful when they were not hurling hatred—were very wide and betraying fear as well as pain. “Much you care for my needs! You left me to bleed to death for—for hours, and now pretend to—”

“It was a few minutes only. I had to get the horses into the lean-to. Thank the Lord there is one! I value my grey.”

“Whereas my life counts for nought! Charming! And it did not take that long to tend the horses!”

“No, but we needed firewood. Whoever lives here has not kept up the woodpile.”

“It was a gardener's cottage. But—but my cousin stays here some—often.”

“Does he. Well, I am here at your disposal now, if you will stop wasting more time with this nonsense.”

She muttered something fretfully, and he felt a pang of sympathy. It must have been a strain for her to decide to murder him, and now she had been painfully injured. He took off his cloak and flung it over a straight-backed chair. “Be sensible, Miss Cecily, or whatever your name is, and let me—”

“I am Miss Hall. And—and I have brothers. Five. And all—very fine sh-shots.”

“I wonder they did not teach you more about duelling pistols and hair-triggers.” He smiled and said gently, “Yes, I understand that I am a monster and naturally you do not want a monster to tend you. To say truth, this monster would be very glad to let someone else do the business. But there is no one else at hand, and we must count our blessings, Miss Hall. Another half-hour out in that blizzard, and neither of us would have seen tomorrow. Providentially, here we are, with a roof over our heads and a fire on the hearth. And your cousin was so good as to leave these few sticks of furniture, which are better than nought, eh?” While talking easily, he had put aside her pelisse and started to unbutton her blouse. “You have managed to take a pistol ball across your arm, and unless you wish to bleed to death I must—”

“Let be,” she half-sobbed. “Just—just cut the sleeve off. Please.”

“I wish I might. But I need the blouse for bandages, since I fancy you do not wear petticoats under that very fine riding habit.”

“Of course I don't!” she said impatiently, “How on earth could—Oh, I collect you are trying to reassure me, but—Now what are you doing? Ow!”

He had bent closer to slide an arm under her. “You see? You're hurting yourself.” She was warm and fragrant against him as he raised her, and fumbling at her back, his cheek came into contact with soft, satiny skin. He muttered, “Now—if I can just—”

“Oh, heavens above! Close your eyes! Don't
look!
”

Furiously embarrassed, he snapped, “For heaven's sake, don't be so missish! I have no designs upon your virtue, I promise you!”

She said faintly, “You likely said the same to … to poor Alice!”

Despite the brave words there were tears on her long lashes. She was certainly in pain, and she really was a courageous chit. He reached for his cloak and handed it to her, closing his eyes obediently. “Here. Cover yourself, Lady Modesty, but I must be free to come at your arm.” He waited while she strove and muttered to herself, then asked, “Are you respectable at last?”

“As far as—as possible.”

Those great scared eyes were fixed on him. He said, “Be easy, ma'am,” but he could imagine her state of mind, if she really believed he had done away with her cousin. He slid the blouse down over the handkerchief he had wrapped around her upper left arm, tore the blouse into strips and fashioned a pad, but when he began to ease his clumsy bandage away, he found that his hands were trembling. He had seen hideous wounds on the battlefield, and several times had acted as a makeshift surgeon to aid a stricken comrade. This was only a flesh wound, but to see a woman's white flesh so cruelly torn horrified him. Miss Hall flinched and drew in her breath. “I wish I had some brandy,” he muttered.

“For—for you, sir? Or—for me?”

He glanced at her, and saw a faint twinkle in her eyes.

“Both,” he said with a grin.

After he had sweated his way through some long minutes of bathing the wound, she asked, “Have you ever done—this sort of thing—before?”

“Are you questioning my credentials? I wish I could say I had not, but war being what it—”

She gave a little whimper, and he recoiled. “Oh, God! I am so sorry to have to hurt you. But—at least it is a shallow wound. You've no bones broken.”

She said threadily, “You look worse than … than I feel.”

“You are very brave,” he said, wishing he had some basilicum powder or anything that would serve as an antiseptic. The wound was clean now, at least, and the bleeding much lessened. He told her he would bind it up tightly, and that at first light she would be taken to a doctor.

She did not answer. Her eyes were closed. He thought she had swooned again, and he put the pad in place, then proceeded to bandage the injury as tightly as he dared.

Miss Hall opened her eyes abruptly. She appeared to be momentarily confused, and uttered incoherent cries as she struggled to sit up. Adair's cloak slid to the floor, revealing the dainty and very well-filled bodice of a camisole.

“Ooh!” shrilled Miss Hall, lifting her right hand concealingly. “You're
looking!
”

Adair wrenched his fascinated gaze away. Reddening, he protested, “For heaven's sake, woman! I've seen more revealed in—or out of—an evening gown! Do try not to—”

The outer door crashed open.

An enraged masculine voice roared, “Be damned if he ain't at it again!”

Springing up, Adair turned quickly, but he had not the slightest chance to avoid Rufus Prior's flying fist.

*   *   *

“I may have been mistook, this time,” growled Prior, “but he warrants a deal more than a bloody nose.”

“If this is your cottage,” said Adair stuffily, “dare one hope you've some blankets?”

“For goodness' sake, take him out and put some snow down his back,” said Lady Abigail Prior, turning from a soft-voiced exchange with her granddaughter to cast a shuddering glance at Adair.

“I've blankets for the ladies, not you,” said Prior, opening a cupboard that appeared to be stocked with bottles, a large bowl of apples, some candles and several untidily folded blankets.

Adair held Prior's handkerchief to his streaming nose and observed that the ladies were indoors with a fire to warm them. “My horse is not. I'll take one of those, if you please.”

Prior did not please, and when Adair ignored his belligerence and commandeered a blanket, he grabbed for his coat pocket, only to pause and look chagrined.

“Miss Hall took your pistol, alas,” said Adair mockingly.

“And we want no more bloodshed tonight,” said Lady Abigail. “Do as the Colonel says, Rufus. We're properly marooned and the beasts have little protection out there. Oh, and you'll find a fruitcake in my coach. I've been meaning to take it down to Mrs. Flynn in the village.”

“For how long?” Prior tossed three more blankets at Adair and unearthed a lantern.

Her ladyship frowned thoughtfully. “Long enough for it to be nicely aged, but if you don't care for it, there will be that much more for the rest of us.”

Swinging the door open and admitting an icy blast, Prior said softly, “You're my prisoner, Adair. Keep it in mind.”

“At least I have a mind.” Adair slammed the door shut, and bowing to the teeth of the wind shouted, “You've evidently lost yours! Why bring the old lady out on such a night?”

“You don't know my grandmama! You may thank your stars you were flat on your back when she saw Cecily and thought you'd shot her! She was ready to claw your eyes out!”

This, Adair did not doubt, and he said nothing while they unsaddled Toreador and Miss Hall's mount and led Prior's pair from between the shafts of his light travelling-coach. Fortunately, there was a bin of oats in the lean-to, and Adair was less anxious when Toreador had been rubbed down and was munching contentedly, with a blanket tied over him.

Prior's remark turned his thoughts back to Lady Abigail's arrival. He had been somewhat confused at that moment, but he'd heard her screech of fury, followed—mercifully—by Miss Hall's admission that she had “accidentally dropped” the pistol and that he had brought her to the cottage. Prior had been disgusted by his cousin's blunder, but the old lady had expressed her gratitude for Adair's efforts and pointed out that he could very well have ridden off and left Cecily in the snow. Shocked, he'd protested, “As if I would have done such a thing!” Prior had laughed scornfully, but both ladies had watched Adair in such a considering way that he'd begun to hope—