A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (75 page)

“
Surely you jest,” Sir
Jonas said with a somber tone. “He would prefer to be aligned with
Barrow than the
Duke of
Somerton
?”

Derek said nothing, but looked at Alex
as though he could see inside his head.

Neil joined them before Alex could
respond to his friends. “Pardon me, gentlemen. Alex, I—take a look
who has just joined the ball.” He gestured toward the entrance of
the ballroom to a pair of older men deep in
conversation.

Chatham and Barrow! The
bastards.

Alex started to storm across the room
to confront the two men, but Derek and Neil held him back. Derek’s
grip was, admittedly, the more insistent of the two. Neil would
probably enjoy the scene, particularly if blood were
involved.

“
Wait, Alex,” Sir Jonas
said. “Calm yourself first. You’ll accomplish nothing if you go in
without thinking things through first.”

He had a point. Alex focused on his
breathing to slow his heart from pounding a hole through his
chest.

“
I take it there is more to
the story,” Sir Jonas said, “than you saw fit to tell us at first.
What can we do to help?”

“
I don’t know. There may be
no help.” Alex tried to hide his agony, but surely did a poor job
of it. His friends and brother looked on him with
sympathy.

“
You love her.” Derek’s
statement was quiet, simple. True. It shot straight to the belly of
the problem.

Words failed Alex, but he managed a
nod of his head. Tears stung his eyes before he fought them down.
He could deal with that later. He needed to be focused now. Calm. A
deadly peace settled over him. Grace was what mattered. And fiend
take it, somehow, he had fallen headlong in love with the
chit.

“
Well, what are we waiting
here for?” Derek walked across the room, taking smooth, purposeful
strides. The others followed him—Sir Jonas with calm gait that
belied his intensity; Neil taking punchy, determined steps that
showed his eagerness to join in a fracas; and Alex taking up the
rear, steeling his body forward while his eyes narrowed in on
Chatham and Barrow ahead, almost hunting his prey.

The two blackguards removed themselves
from the main ballroom, but Alex followed them with his eyes. The
foursome pursued them through a long corridor lined with candle
fixtures and mirrors. Peter stepped into the hall ahead of them
with two men Alex did not recognize, bringing both parties to an
almost instantaneous halt. “Barrow, Chatham. Would you care to join
us in the library?” Peter’s tone was deceptively mild. Never a good
sign.

Chatham stumbled even though he was no
longer moving. Surprise flickered across his face. “Somerton, good
to see you.” He glanced around and his face registered recognition
of the vast contingent of men who had trailed them from the
ballroom. “Ah, all of you.”

Barrow’s eyes turned wild, flashing
from man to man.

Peter held the door to the library
open and gestured for everyone to enter before him. Alex sent him a
question with his eyes as he passed through the doorway, but his
brother only answered with a brief shake of his head.

He ached to put his fist through one
of them, if not both, or at least to wrap his hands about their
necks until they snapped. Instead, he did as his eldest brother
expected of him. For now, at least.

Once everyone was settled, Peter
began. “It seems, gentlemen, we have some business to
discuss.”

He moved to a table at the side of the
room and poured himself a glass of port, biding his time. The
silence thickened in the library.

“
Might I introduce Mr.
Dennison and Mr. Frost,” he said after a long pause, gesturing to
his two companions in turn. “Lord Barrow, you, in particular, might
be interested in making their acquaintance. Though I daresay Lord
Chatham will be interested, also, based on certain claims and
accusations he has recently made to my brother.”

Peter paused, took a sip of his port,
and the tension in the room increased. “They work for Bow
Street.”

Barrow bolted from his seat and made
for the door, with Dennison and Frost hot on his heels. Chaos
erupted in his wake.

Sir Jonas shot up to assist the Bow
Street Runners in returning Barrow to the room. All color drained
from Chatham’s face, and he slunk into the shadows of the room.
Alex burst forward to attack anyone he could, desperate to plant a
fist against Chatham’s nose or one of Barrow’s wild eyes, while
Derek and Neil forcibly held him back.

Only Peter remained calm.

Chapter
Nineteen

“
What is the meaning of
this, Your Grace?” Chatham asked in an obvious attempt to feign
innocence. His chin quivered, sending the extra chin hanging above
his neck into convulsions.

In the brief moments since Peter had
introduced his companions to the group, Barrow had been bodily
returned to the room after a desperate attempt to flee. Alex fumed
from his seat, where Derek and Neil stood at his side, a staying
hand from each pressed none-too-gently into his shoulders, though
he was sure Neil would allow him to break free if he felt the need
to. Derek was an altogether different story.

Alex’s anger at these two men
threatened to explode, to overwhelm his enforced calm, to outweigh
his judgment. There was Chatham’s callous treatment of his
daughter, his false accusation against her aunt and uncle, and his
denial of Alex’s pursuit. There was Barrow’s treatment of Grace,
which, whether he forced himself on her or not, he left her alone
to deal with the shame of his actions and a pregnancy to boot. Alex
couldn’t even think of how the man had mistreated Priscilla. The
bastard deserved no less than the hangman’s noose.

But in the eyes of the law,
he had done nothing wrong, at least nothing that Alex could see.
Why would Barrow be more interested in the presence of the Bow
Street Runners than Chatham? The marquess was the one who had made
false accusations. Alex looked to Peter and waited for an
explanation, biting down hard on his tongue to keep himself still.
Peter may not explain things as briskly as he would like, but he
always—
always
—had
every aspect of a situation well thought out and handled before
anyone else understood the complete scenario.

Peter turned to Chatham before
responding. “Lord Chatham, I believe Mr. Frost can explain things
to your satisfaction. He has some business with your friend, Lord
Barrow.” Peter gave a no-nonsense nod of his head in Frost’s
direction and took a seat before the fire.

Frost cleared his throat and eyed
Barrow. Dennison held Barrow still, with the help of Sir Jonas. “My
lords, it seems His Highness, the Prince Regent, has some questions
for the earl.”

Alex’s eyes felt like they would pop
free from their sockets, but he kept silent. Questions from the
Prince Regent? That could only mean treason. He stared first at
Barrow pulling against his captors, and then at Chatham, whose
nervous eyes shifted about the room.

“
Unhand me,” said Barrow.
“I demand to be released at once. This is preposterous.” Nervous
laughter escaped him, apparently against his will.

“
I’m afraid, my lord, that
is impossible,” said Frost. “You got away from us once, but you
won’t escape again. You won’t be leaving my sight until His
Highness’s questions have been satisfied.”

Dennison tightened his grip on
Barrow’s elbow and shoved him back into place when the man pulled
away, yet again, in another desperate attempt to free himself. Alex
turned his attention to Chatham, whose shifty eyes had started to
twitch. The marquess stood and slunk toward the door. Alex itched
to manhandle him and force him to stay put, but Derek’s hands
against his shoulders pressed him more firmly to his seat. Sir
Jonas left Barrow’s side and slid into a position before the door,
blocking Chatham’s escape.

Sweat covered Barrow’s brow and
dripped from his nose onto the once-crisp linen of his cravat.
“Will not escape again? Ha ha! You can’t be serious.” He searched
the room but found no one sensitive to his plight—not even Chatham
at this point, who seemed more inclined to preserve his own person.
Unsurprising. The man always looked after himself first, as made
imminently evident by his handling Grace’s situation.

Barrow faced Somerton. “Your Grace,
there must be some mistake. Whatever could—could—could these men
believe—I—I’ve done?” His voice rose in pitch, almost with each
word. Then he let out a whinny-like laugh, followed by a
snort.

Peter never faltered. “Mr. Frost, why
don’t you detail His Highness’s complaints and questions for the
earl, while witnesses are present? I believe now is as good a time
as any.”

Alex moved to the edge of his seat. He
didn’t want to miss a word of this.

Frost inclined his head before turning
to face the center of the room. “Your Grace. My lords. His
lordship, the Earl of Barrow has been accused of treason against
the crown.” Just as expected. Though somewhat unexpected as well.
Alex’s luck was beginning to look up, indeed.

Barrow jerked violently against his
captors, only to be forcibly held in his seat.

Chatham moved three steps backward
without a glance and bumped into Sir Jonas, who planted his hands
on the marquess’s shoulders. This action both steadied the man and
hindered any further attempts at escape.

Alex’s pulse quickened, but he
remained seated. He refused to move his gaze from Barrow. Chatham
could be dealt with later. Barrow would pay now.

Frost ignored the commotion around him
and continued. “His Highness, the Prince Regent, has reason to
believe his informant. He’s agreed to allow Lord Barrow a trial
before his peers. However, Lord Barrow may not leave England again,
most certainly not to travel to the continent. His Highness will
not chance Lord Barrow’s continued involvement in illicit
activity.”

Chatham interrupted.
“Treason?” He overplayed his attempt at conveying shock, especially
since treason had already been mentioned a few moments earlier.
Chatham had no hope of convincing Alex that he wasn’t fully
informed of all of Barrow’s dealings. These two had worked in
concert. Now he need only determine how Grace’s
kidnapping
played into this and how
it would serve Chatham.

Frost glared at the marquess before
continuing. “Yes. Treason. Dennison and I’ve been charged by His
Highness with the task of collecting Lord Barrow for his
trial.”

“
I refuse to go with you,”
Barrow said. “These charges are ridiculous—completely unfounded.
Somerton, you cannot believe the man.”

Peter simply raised an eyebrow, only
for a moment. Just long enough to convey his disdain. He said
nothing.

Neil, however, could no longer remain
silent. “Barrow, you bloody dunderhead, you’ve done a poor job of
hiding your tracks.” Contempt for the man burned through his eyes
like daggers. “Half the regulars at White’s have been curious about
your frequent ‘holidays’ to the Continent for some time. And more
than a handful have whispered about your dealings with the French a
bit too loudly in recent times for any guise of
secrecy.”

For a moment, Alex exchanged roles
with his younger brother. He grabbed hold of an arm to forestall
the hotheaded Neil from charging across the room and assaulting
Barrow. If anyone was going to strike the man today, it would be
him, by God.

“
Your so-called ‘business’
with the Marquis de Fontaine put my brother in danger, you bastard.
His regiment was in Leipzig!” Neil pulled so hard against Alex’s
arm that Derek moved in front of the youngest man. His broad frame
blocked any attempt at an attack.

Peter raised a hand to silence Neil.
“Let these men handle Barrow. We don’t know—”

“
We don’t know?” Neil
interrupted. “We most certainly do know the dangers Richard faces
every day.”

“
I was saying, Neil,” Peter
said as a gentle admonishment, “we don’t know enough of Barrow’s
involvement in any dealings with the French to become his judge and
jury. It’s best to allow these men to take him for a visit with the
Regent and a trial. Allow justice to be served.”

Justice, indeed. There wasn’t a doubt
in Alex’s mind he’d be found guilty, even if he was innocent of
treason. But Barrow was guilty of enough else that Alex could feel
no pity for the man. Not that he would want to.

He tried to sort through
everything happening around him. Barrow was a traitor, at least in
Prinny’s eyes. He would never go free. He would never marry Grace.
That meant Alex
could
marry Grace. He would make it happen. He had to.

He was oblivious to the conversation
that continued until Barrow burst free from Dennison’s grasp and
bowled over Chatham to get through the door. Alex came back to
himself when Sir Jonas shouted, “Deuced hell,” before all three men
fell in a pile to the floor.

Dennison and Frost joined the fray and
wrestled Barrow into submission. In the intervening melee, Derek,
Neil, and Alex each let go of their holds on the others. For the
first time since they had entered the library, Alex was free to do
as he pleased.