The Toplofty Lord Thorpe (11 page)

Getting quietly to his feet, Parker quit the drawing room unnoticed. If clues were to be found, perhaps it was time he took a hand in things. It didn't do to appear completely worthless—not at a time like this.

 

L
UCY HAD ARISEN
to find that another bright sunny day had dawned, and made short work out of dressing to go down to breakfast, hopeful that she would have a moment of private conversation with Lord Thorpe. He had been polite, if a bit distant, the night before, but the wink he had tossed her made her believe he was not regretting their kiss of two nights ago.

The breakfast room was deserted by the time she got there, so that she ate in solitude, but following the direction in which Raleigh's head had jerked slightly when she had asked a footman if he had seen his lordship, she had blown the majordomo a kiss and hotfooted it out to the garden. She ran Thorpe to earth in the rose arbor, sitting on a stone bench staring into the middle distance.

“Lucy!” he breathed happily when he saw her approaching. “How did you know I was sitting here wishing you would appear?” Reaching out his hands to grasp hers, he pulled her down beside him on the bench. “Lucy, I—”

“Julian, I—” she said at the same time, and they both halted, sheepish smiles on their faces.

“I want to apologize for taking advantage of you
the other night,” he began, only to trail off as Lucy's little face screwed up into a scowl. “What is it, my dear?” he asked as she tried to withdraw her hands from his grip.

“Julian, you're either a fool or a liar,” she said feelingly, “and I am not quite sure at the moment which is worse.”

Julian looked at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. Didn't she know he was expected to apologize for what he had done? Lord, he had all but ravished her, and might have if not for Dexter's timely intervention. He would relax his strict code to some extent, but that did not mean he was willing to toss all his ideals over the windmill. “I had no right—” he began, trying to explain.

“Pish, tosh,” Lucy said with a toss of her dark curls. “Either you enjoyed it or you didn't, Julian. Rights don't enter into it when a girl clad in only a thin dressing gown throws herself at your feet.”

Thorpe's gray eyes blinked once, twice, and then began to twinkle. “You were a shameless little baggage, weren't you?” he teased, running his fingers down her cheek.

“Haven't I always been, where you're concerned?” she answered, unabashed.

How could one man be so lucky? he questioned silently, giving over the last of his doubts as to the rightness of what he felt toward this beautiful young girl. She was outrageous, outspoken, outgoing, and definitely out of the ordinary. And she was, he told himself as the knot in his chest slowly unfolded, leav
ing him feeling young and free and very much alive, his own true love.

“Marry me,” he said urgently, suddenly unable to form anything near the formal proposal he had recited by rote to Cynthia three weeks earlier. “Marry me or I'll sling you over my shoulder and carry you off anyway.”

She had dreamed of this moment, agonized over it, prayed for it. Now that it had come, she was amazed that she found herself able to joke about it. “What?” she quipped, moving into his arms. “Julian, think of the scandal!”

“Brat!” he groaned, before crushing her in his strong embrace. “Willful, outrageous, adorable brat. How I love you.”

“Take your hands off her!”

Julian and Lucy flew apart from each other as Tristan Rule planted himself firmly in front of them, arms akimbo. Looking up into the man's night-dark eyes, Julian remembered more of what he had heard about this man. He was a hothead, prone to go off on a tangent with single-minded dedication.

“I am here in my uncle's place, sir,” Rule pointed out in heavy accents. “If you have some declaration to make—make it. Otherwise, I suggest you name your seconds.”

“Oh, cut line, you looby,” came the exasperated voice of Rachel Gladwin. “Must you ever be tilting at windmills, Tristan? Lord Thorpe has already asked my permission to wed Lucy.”

Lucy looked around her dazedly. It seemed
Raleigh's head had been pointing out Julian's direction to all and sundry. Soon there would be so many of them a servant would show up to serve tea. But wait—had she heard what she thought she had? Had Julian really approached Aunt Rachel? “Julian?” Lucy questioned, hoping her aunt had not just said it to soothe Tristan.

“It's true, my love,” Thorpe told her, reclaiming her hands. “But we all must agree to keep it silent until the murderer is caught. I dislike the thought of having you as a target.”

Cocking her head to one side, Lucy looked up at him and smiled. “But, my lord, you have not even
really
asked me yet—or heard my answer.”

“Really?” Julian retorted, his voice a soft drawl. “I apologize. I thought you had already given your answer the other night.” At Lucy's delighted giggle, Thorpe rose and extended his hand to accept Tristan's fervent congratulations. “Forgive my slapdash approach, Lord Rule, if you will. It's just that where Lucy is concerned, I scarce know anymore whether I'm on my head or on my heels.”

Tristan looked at his bubbly, clearly-in-love cousin, and nodded his agreement.

Rachel knew that Tristan would have stood there talking, playing the gooseberry in his uncle's stead, until Lucy and Julian began to believe a flight to Gretna to be the only way they would ever get some privacy. Slipping her arm through the baron's, she suggested he accompany her on a tour of the gardens, a suggestion so alien to that young gentleman's in
clinations that the resultant look of astonishment that crossed his handsome features had Julian controlling his amusement with some difficulty.

But just as Tristan was about to open his mouth to protest—and earn himself a heartfelt sigh of resignation from his aunt—Raleigh appeared in their midst, a paper-wrapped rock in his hand. “This…er…came through the parlor window, m'lord.”

Julian looked at the rock with foreboding while Tristan, Rachel couldn't help noticing, bristled all over with excitement. And therein lay the difference in the two men—Tristan was still a boy, hot for adventure, while Julian was a man, longing for a more peaceful, hopefully shared, life.

But, being a man and therefore sensible of his responsibilities, Julian did not hesitate to relieve Raleigh of his burden. Untying the scrap of paper from the rock, he tossed the rock into the bushes and unfolded the creased single page. After quickly scanning its contents, he handed the note to Tristan. “Someone's kidnapped Parker. They demand a ransom to get him back.”

T
WO HOURS HAD PASSED
since Raleigh had brought Julian the ransom note, and in that time they had all learned many things.

Dexter, sent to check out Parker's room, had learned that his cousin's bed had not been slept in, and his questioning of a servant uncovered the fact that the night before, the secretary had left Hillcrest alone while the others were still in the drawing room.

Tristan had learned that although he might not appear to be the forceful sort, Julian had assumed command of the situation, and was not to be swayed from his decision to pay the ransom as soon as possible so that no harm would come to Parker.

Lucy had found out, much to her chagrin, that her beloved had absolutely
no
sense of adventure, and she was still smarting a bit after being told, in quite unromantic tones, to sit down and button her lip before she was sent to her room.

Julian, aware of his position of authority, had nonetheless been forced to acknowledge that, much as he loved his outrageous little Lucy, she did have a tendency to come up with the most harebrained schemes imaginable.

And Rachel, sitting in a corner of the library where they had all closeted themselves to consider their al
ternatives, had relearned a lesson life had taught her long ago. Given the right set of circumstances, it is possible for anyone to make a complete mull of things.

Dexter, with his glib assessment of Parker as a “bungling jackass,” which earned him a blistering lecture from his cousin; Tristan, as usual, immediately going off the deep end and inciting Lucy with his talk of pursuit and punishment; Lucy, whose impulsive “if-ever-I-heard-a-faint-heart!” response to Julian's suggestion that they call in the law; and Julian's exasperated “God give me patience!” had all combined to cause their supposed meeting of the minds to descend rapidly into a near-brawl.

It was, Rachel knew, time she took a hand in the situation, for Julian was just then giving Lucy a very unloving look, which her niece was returning twofold. “If I might interrupt this little comedy with a bit of reality,” she broke in, just as Dexter was agreeing with Lucy that they should be out scouring the countryside for clues. “Dexter, I
do
wish you would refrain from inciting her. Julian, what makes you so confident that paying the ransom will ensure Parker's return?”

Dexter snorted. “Who'd want to keep him?” he chortled derisively. “I still fail to see why anybody wanted him in the first place. Dead bore is our Parker, and it's not like he's worth a groat.”

Julian silenced his young cousin with a look, then bowed to Rachel. “Answering Dexter's remarks first, I would say that Parker was abducted when he went
into the village to talk to the men at the inns. If you recall, we were talking about doing just such a thing ourselves before the baron arrived.”

Dexter shook his head. “Impossible. He doesn't have it in him.”

“Precisely!” Lucy was quick to agree. “Parker is too timid to go out on his own that way. He must have been grabbed as he was taking the night air before retiring. I'm sure he's being held prisoner in order to get you out in the open, Julian. Why else would the kidnapper demand that you be the one to bring the ransom? It's a trap to shoot at you from ambush, just like I've been trying to tell you. Since the scandal has yet to make anyone realize that you could be charged with murder, the man has become desperate enough to do you in by himself. Oh, please, Julian, listen to Tristan and stop being so all-fired stubborn!”

“If you are quite done?” Julian said coldly. “No matter what the reason, I owe it to Parker to follow my directions to the letter. To do anything less puts him in jeopardy.”

Lucy's lips curled and she gritted: “How very noble, my lord. And what of me—am I to be a widow before I am even a wife?”

“You may be spanked before you're put to bed without your supper, if you don't desist from your childish outbursts,” the earl informed her, deciding that, love her as he did, it was time she knew just who was in charge. “I'm not so stupid as to set myself up as either a martyr or some madman's target practice. I know enough to be careful.”

Dexter sidled over to where Rachel was sitting, smiling happily as she decided that Lucy would be in good hands married to Julian Rutherford. “I say, ma'am,” Dexter opined, watching Lucy and Julian as they glared at each other, “I do believe there is a spot of trouble in Paradise.”

A commotion at the door brought all their heads around, and a worse-for-wear Parker staggered into the room to drop to his knees dramatically at Thorpe's feet. “I…I got away!” he rasped, before crumbling to the floor, breathing heavily.

Pandemonium prevailed for some minutes as Parker was half-carried to a chair and some restorative spirits poured down his throat. He looked as if he had been dealt a mighty thrashing, for his nose was red and it was obvious that he would soon be showing off one blackened eye. Even Dexter, who would have sworn he didn't give a fig about the timid secretary, felt an incredible need to find whoever had done this terrible thing and beat him into a pulp.

Parker's story, spoken as it was around a swollen mouth and a few loose teeth, was much as Julian had imagined it. Feeling he had been of little help so far in clearing the earl's name, Parker had decided to go to the village and ask a few questions of his own. After finding nothing new at the local inn, he had reluctantly headed home, only to be attacked from behind and dragged off to some run-down cottage.

“The cottage where Miss Anscom went to meet her lover!” Lucy interrupted, feeling that they were getting somewhere at last. “Then the murderer is still
in the area. We should be out there right now, hunting the blackguard down before he makes good his escape.”

“No,” his lordship told her decisively.

Lucy was beside herself. How could he refuse her help like this? Didn't he understand how impossible it was for her to sit back and do nothing at a time like this? “Oh,” she exploded, with more emotion than good sense, “if you had any gumption at all you'd do it!”

“Lucille,” Julian bit out from between clenched teeth, “I have had all I can stand from you and your maggoty ideas. Please leave us.”

Lucy looked from Julian to Tristan to her aunt and then back again to her infuriating beloved.
“Oooohh!”
she erupted, stamping her foot, and then lifted her skirts defiantly and flounced out of the room.

“That's the ticket, coz,” Dexter applauded approvingly. “Break her to halter now or she'll lead you a merry chase.”

“If I might continue?” Parker whined, looking up from his makeshift bed of pain.

“Sorry, Parker,” Dexter apologized, shaking his head yet again as he took in his cousin's battered appearance. “I have to tell you, though, I never thought you had it in you. Escaped, did you? Now, I would have thought sure you would have bungled it, if I had ever believed you'd try such a thing in the first place. Please go on, I really do want to hear about your adventure.”

The secretary made short work of the rest of his tale, relating how he had been carried unconscious to the cottage but awoke before it was full dawn. He had had one foot already out the cottage window when the kidnapper had realized what he was about, and in the ensuing struggle Parker had sustained the injuries that were so apparent to his audience. “But I broke clear at last and stumbled into the trees behind the cottage. I must have run for miles before exhaustion overtook me and I lay down to rest. I would have been back sooner, else. I hope I haven't caused you too much bother.”

“No, of course not,” Dexter assured him lightly. “Cousin Julian may have lost another fiancée, that's all.”

“Fiancée?” Parker questioned, gingerly examining his puffy lower lip. “Miss Gladwin?”

“Well, it ain't me, you fool,” Dexter retorted, back in his old form. “Sorry,” he added hastily as Julian shot him a warning with his eyes, “it's just that I'm so used to doing it. Parker here has always been such an easy target. Guess I'll have to rethink the thing. Now that he's a hero, you know.”

Rachel reentered the room then, dragging Deirdre in tow. “Raleigh has sent for the doctor, but I thought Deirdre could have a look at him for now.”

Parker shrank back against the cushions. “I'll wait for the doctor,” he said, eyeing the young red-headed woman warily.

“Is that so?” the maid sniffed, insulted. “And didn't you know that a wise woman is better than a
foolish doctor, which is all you'd be getting out here in the middle of nowhere. Give over, sir, and let me have a look at you.”

There being nothing much more to do, and seeing that Deirdre would be unavailable for pestering for some time, Dexter took himself off to the billiard room and some much-needed practice while Julian and Tristan, who had been very quiet throughout the whole interlude, adjourned to the garden for a council of war.

With everyone occupied elsewhere, it was an easy matter for Lucy, now dressed in her blue riding habit, to sneak off toward the stables.

 

I
T WAS SO CONFUSING
. Lucy knew Julian loved her—there wasn't a single doubt left in her mind. And she loved him—had been loving him for what seemed like forever. So why had he yelled at her and looked at her as if he wanted nothing more than to turn her over his knee? And why did she feel like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him senseless? This was love? How could you love someone and still be so angry with him that you shouted at him?

As her horse ate up the miles between Hillcrest and the cottage, Lucy struggled with the confusion in her mind. It wasn't as if Julian had entered into their relationship believing she was some simpering miss—he'd had three long years to learn about her. As for herself, she thought, shrugging, she knew Julian tended to be a mite stuffy. It was a part of his charm.

She believed that their love was strong enough to
surmount these little obstacles. Besides, Julian looked so adorable when he lost his temper. Much as she aimed to please him, she would have to remember to ruffle his feathers once in a while, just to keep things interesting. She smiled and patted the horse's head, wondering if he really would spank her.

The cottage was just ahead, and she dismounted in order to keep her approach as quiet as possible. She was sure the place was unoccupied; no murderer, no matter how mad, would be foolish enough to linger when Parker was bound to have told everyone where he had been hidden. Looking around her carefully, she tiptoed up to a window and peered inside.

The cottage was deserted. Circling around to the front door, which hung by only two of its hinges, she stepped inside and began her inspection. The few sticks of furniture were old and broken, and only a pile of rags in the corner that looked as if someone had been lying on them showed any sign of recent habitation. All in all, it seemed like she had wasted a trip.

So much for solving the puzzle and saving the day, she grimaced, knowing full well the scolding she would receive upon her return to Hillcrest. Between the lecture she was sure to receive from Aunt Rachel and the blistering set-down Julian was bound to serve her, she felt no need to hurry her return, and decided to ride past the pond where Susan Anscom had met her end.

The village lad who agreed to hold her horse for a penny also supplied the information that led her to
the exact spot where Miss Anscom's body had been discovered. It was a deceptively peaceful scene, what with the willow trees trailing down into the water and lush green grass running clear to the edge of the pond.

Breaking off a slender willow branch, Lucy sat down near the gently sloping bank and stared out over the water, trying to imagine what it had been like there the night of the drowning. The lad had said the body hadn't been found until the morning. Strange, she questioned, looking around and realizing how close the surrounding cottages were to the pond.

How had the murderer done his despicable deed without someone either seeing or hearing something? Surely the girl hadn't willingly walked into the pond so that the murderer wouldn't be put to too much bother when it came time to hold her head under the surface.

Perhaps she had been murdered somewhere else and her body dumped in the pond. Lucy would have to go back and read the suicide note more closely to see if the pond had been mentioned. No, she thought, shaking her head; the contents of the letter really didn't mean anything. It was written according to the murderer's direction, not on the girl's whim.

Lucy hung her head, feeling totally defeated. She had so counted on helping Julian, on being the one to save him. Using the broken end of the willow branch, she dug idly in the dirt as she cudgeled her brain for a plausible excuse for her absence all afternoon. She could say she had gone off in a huff and
simply been hacking about aimlessly—heaven only knew Aunt Rachel would believe that.

If only she could come up with something, some little glimmer of hope that would… What was that? The stick she had been stabbing into the soft soil hit on something solid. Probably a stone, she thought, trying to keep down her rising excitement as she scrambled to her knees and began digging in earnest.

With trembling fingers she picked up the large flat bone button—the sort to be found on men's jackets—and held it up in front of her. It was a very distinctive button, with a thin gold design drawn on it, and could only have come from a coat cut in London. She had found their first solid clue, she could feel it in her bones.

Clambering to her feet, she ran back to where the boy waited with her horse and headed back to Hillcrest. Wouldn't Julian be surprised to hear what she had done! She had solved the case! All they had to do was match the button to the coat it belonged to and they would have their man.

It was only when she was more than halfway to Hillcrest that she realized that there was no way to go about London looking for that one particular coat. It was ludicrous—they had no starting point, no clue as to a likely suspect. Tears of frustration clouded her vision as she rode on, which perhaps accounted for the fact that she did not see the dog that came bounding out onto the roadway and anticipated her frightened mount's reaction.