Corey McFadden (28 page)

He thought of Bella’s flirtations, the way his cronies openly angled for her future favors. She knew he would tire of her one day, and like any smart woman of her sort, she was eying the landscape, looking for a new soft nest to land in when the inevitable drifting apart occurred. Radford didn’t give a fig with whom Bella had slept before their liaison, and he would not give a fig when she moved on, but somehow the thought of his gamine Molly, bulging out of her décolletage and casting her eye about for her new protector, made him grip the frail porcelain teacup almost tightly enough to snap it.

No, she was young and vulnerable. She was not Bella’s sort at all. She had even been a virgin until he took her last night, he thought, chagrin gnawing at him. Toying with his eggs, he gazed, unseeing, at the plate.

A townhouse, cozy, warm, and welcoming. His mistress. Perhaps he’d buy the house for her and settle a yearly sum on her so she need never look elsewhere for support. They could have such fun, just the two of them. He would have a secret home to go to and a warm, luscious paramour, and she would have her future assured. No more mucking out stables, no more running up and down the servants’ stairs with heavy pails of water. It was perfect. He would tell her later today, after he settled on a dueling time and place with that murdering bastard, Sommesby. She would be so pleased. She had been so obviously distraught at the thought of being sent away. He smiled to himself, the warmth and magnanimity of his daydream settling his doubts.

Pushing his plate away, he rang for Mrs. Formby. She materialized instantly. Obviously, she had been hovering, waiting for his ring. Bessie appeared to clear off the few dishes.

“Mrs. Formby, I find I have an errand to run this morning that must be taken care of right away. You’ll remember we spoke last night about young Mike being ill.” He paused to make sure she was following the revised scenario. She nodded gamely. “He was not at all well this morning. I suggested he stay in his cot in my dressing room, lest there be some contagion. Perhaps you might give orders that no one is to go into the room. We don’t want any more of that vicious influenza in the household.”

“Of course, my lord. That is most wise.” She had no idea what precisely had transpired, but she knew how to take orders.

“If you please, mum...”

Bessie had her head down and spoke so softly the earl was not sure he had heard anything at all. Mrs. Formby turned a frigid glance on the hapless girl.

“Bessie, if you have anything to say to me you may do so in the kitchen where we will not disturb his lordship.”

“But it’s Mike, mum...” the girl continued, casting a glance up at the earl. Although she knew how fond he was of the boy, she would not dare address his lordship directly, unbidden.

“What about Mike, Bessie?” the earl said quickly, holding up a hand to forestall Mrs. Formby.

“My lord, he’s not in his cot. He’s gone out already this morning.”

“What?” Radford roared, coming to his feet so fast the teacups rattled in their saucers.

“My lord, I’m sorry, I...I...” Bessie stepped back, appalled that she had angered his lordship. She glanced desperately at Mrs. Formby. She had not been here long and did not wish to lose her position.

“When did he go? Where did he go?” Radford thundered.

“I...I’m not sure...” she began in a whisper, trembling and barely able to form the words. The child of an alcoholic, abusive father, she waited for the blows to strike.

“Speak up, girl, I’ll not hurt you, for goodness sake. Just tell me as quickly as you can what you know of Mike’s going out this morning.” He spoke in measured tones, biting back his rage. This girl would faint by the looks of her, if he raised his voice again.

“If you please, your lordship, he went out the kitchen door about a quarter of an hour ago. He didn’t say where he was going. He didn’t say nothing at all, in fact. But he may be feeling better, now, my lord,” she added, hoping to defuse the earl’s obvious fear of contagion. “He didn’t look sick at all....”

He was out of the dining room, through the door that led into the kitchen, before Bessie had finished her last sentence. She looked askance at Mrs. Formby. His lordship sure set store by that young valet of his!

“That’s all right, Bessie. You may finish clearing the table.” Mrs. Formby looked smooth and unruffled, hiding the consternation she felt. “You did right to speak up under the circumstances. Although I am sure you understand that usually you are not to speak directly to his lordship unless spoken to.”

“Yes, mum,” said Bessie. She was much relieved to be still employed. It was a somewhat odd household to be sure, but at least no one got drunk and beat her. She hurried with her tray back to the kitchen. It would be a long time before she dared even look at the master again, much less speak to him!

Mrs. Formby’s stiff shoulders sagged as the girl left the room. She sighed and made her way to her little office to see about the accounts. There would be trouble yet with this boy-girl-now-boy-again charade, just wait and see....

* * * *

“Oooh, Mike there was such a row last night as you wouldn’t believe. ’Is Grace poundin’ on Tom with ’is cane, ’e was. Called ’im a great, incompetent fool. And Tom just standin’ there, takin’ it. Not dressed in ’is uniform neither— that was odd—’ad his jacket off and a black shirt on. Not like ’e usually goes out when ’e attends ’Is Grace. All done up like a peacock, usually.”

Eddie was enjoying this. Maude well knew that servants had little enough fun in their lives and trouble and turmoil were their main source of entertainment.

“Then, this mornin’, when it was scarce light, we was all ordered up to get ’Is Grace’s carriage ready. Seems ’e’s booked passage to France, though why ’e wouldn’t mention it to no one until this mornin’, I’ll never understand.”

“So he’s gone then? You saw him leave yourself?” Maude was hanging on every word, Eddie’s best audience yet.

“Aye. I watched ’im step into the carriage and drive off. The old bastard! It’ll be nicer round ’ere with ’im gone for a while, I can tell you that. And no one seems to know when ’e’s comin’ back. Indefinite stay, that’s wot ’e said.”

They were crouched in one of the stalls in the stable, speaking in whispers. Even with the duke gone, apparently, it would not do to get caught lollygagging around here, Maude surmised.

“And where’s Tom? Did he go with the duke?” She prayed fervently that the two of them were well on their way to France, to perdition, too, for that matter. Anywhere where they could not reach out and hurt the Earl of Radford.

“Nah, more’s the pity. ’E’s still ’ere, nursin’ ’is wounds, I imagine. The butler says they was up late, ’Is Nibs and Tom, closeted in the study, talkin’ quiet-like, after everythin’ calmed down. ’E couldn’t over’ear nothin’.”

As Eddie finished speaking, a hand shot out and seized him by the scruff of his neck.

“Gossipin’ about the ’ouse’old, are we, Eddie? You know ’ow ’Is Grace deals with that, don’t you?”

Maude’s blood ran cold as she recognized the voice that came from behind them. Tom! She looked down, hoping he would not recognize her beneath her cap.

“And wot ’ave we ’ere? One of your little scummy pals from the neighbor’ood?” Tom reached out with his other hand and jerked Maude’s head up. He hissed in recognition as the light struck her face. “So, it’s my little friend from the Earl of Radford’s fine establishment.” His eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. “Yes, we wondered ’ow come ’is lordship knew so much about us. And you’re the card sharp, aren’t you?”

Maude stared at him, unable to speak, her mind working, frantically on escape from this nightmare.

“Aren’t you?” the footman shouted again, clouting her ear with the back of his hand. “Stand up, you little bugger, and answer my questions!”

Tom grabbed Maude by her hair and pulled her up. Eddie, released for the moment, scuttled back, terror in his eyes.

“Maybe you don’t need to answer nothin’ at that. Maybe I already know everythin’ you have to say. Eddie...” Tom turned to the boy, his eyes glittering with a malicious light. “Go into the ’ouse, there’s a good lad. I’ll pack off this trespassin’ scum.”

“Tom, ’e ain’t done nothin’ wrong,” Eddie began, his fear for himself at war with his fear for Mike. “We was just talkin’—” he broke off with a gasp as Tom grabbed his neck and began to shake him.

“Don’t you dare talk back to me, you stupid little bastard! I’ll ’ave your skin off you and ’Is Grace’ll thank me for it! Now you get into the ’ouse like I told you!” A hard, large boot descended with great force into Eddie’s stomach. With a strangled scream, the boy fell forward, retching and gasping from the blow. “Get on, I said! You’re not goin’ fast enough!” Tom aimed more kicks at the boy’s rear as he crawled slowly for the door.

Maude, seeing what was surely to be her only opportunity, scrambled up, intent on making a break for the door. Unfortunately, Tom stood between her and the exit, but she thought if she could just catch him off guard while his attention was turned to Eddie, she could give him a shove as she went by and gain a few seconds on him. But fate was not kind, or Tom’s reflexes were too quick. As soon as she started forward, his hand shot out and caught her arm. Wrenching her around to the side, he threw her hard against the wooden side of the stall, knocking the wind out of her.

“I didn’t say you could go yet, did I?” he hissed. His adder’s eyes glittered with venom as he stared down at her, a nasty grin twisting his face. He turned back to Eddie, who, in a stupor of pain, had stopped crawling and lay gasping in the straw. “What a sorry excuse you are for a man, Eddie!” He picked the boy up by his shoulders. Eddie hung in his hands like a rag doll. “Bah! You waste my time, coward!” Tom spat at him, throwing him down next to Maude. Eddie’s head hit the board of the stall with a sickening thud and the boy slipped, unconscious, to the dirt floor.

“Now my little card sharp, it’s your turn.”

Tom, laughing with a sadistic pleasure, advanced on Maude who lay where he had thrown her. He stopped and stood over her, the light from the high stable window at his back so that all she could see were his eyes gleaming in the dark of his face. “I thought I’d seen the last of you last night. Decent of you to come back this mornin’ and let me finish the job properly.”

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth where the spittle had collected in the corners. “You caused me a lot of grief last night,” he went on, “takin’ the bullet meant for ’is ’igh-and-mighty lordship.”

Through her fear, Maude noticed he was breathing oddly, too fast and ragged, considering he had not yet overexerted himself.

“Now you can pay me back by givin’ me a bit of fun. I think I’ll give it to you like ’Is Grace taught me. Maybe I can teach you to enjoy a little buggerin’.”

Tom was reaching down for her. Oh, no, no! Not that! He was going to....

Like the strike of a snake, he had torn the front of her breeches open. She lay in his shadow; he could see nothing clearly. He reached his large, grimy hand down to paw at her privates, then drew back in shock. He stared down at her, his mouth agape for a second or two, then moved to the side so that the shaft of light from the high window fell on her.

“Cor, it’s a bleedin’ female!” He stared down at the patch of hair between her legs. “Well, ain’t that a bit of luck? I always have fancied a nice, juicy bit of honey pot. Let’s see ’ow ’ot and wet you are for me, girl.”

He knelt down in front of her, pushing her legs apart roughly with his hands. With a jerk, she brought her foot up, intending to plant her boot into his groin. He was too fast for her, however. He caught her foot and held it fast, pushing it up hard at an unnatural angle, and laughing as she cried out in pain.

“Ooh, I’m glad you like it rough, darlin’. That’s ’ow I like it too. Let’s see ’ow many ways I can make you scream before I’m finished with you.”

He drew his arm back and slapped her hard across the face. She cried out and struggled to break free, but it only made him tighten his grip. Whimpering now in sheer terror, Maude pushed ineffectively at his arms as he slapped her face lightly, over and over. Below, his knee jabbed at her crotch in rhythm with every slap.

Suddenly, her tormentor jerked back, a look of shock chasing across his face. Tom hung suspended over her. Without questioning her reprieve, she rolled over and away, curling into a tight ball, sheer instinct taking over for thought.

Then she saw him. Behind Tom, his face contorted with blind rage, stood the Earl of Radford, holding Tom by his neck as if he were a dog. Tom licked his lips and stared at the earl, who spoke not a word, nor looked in Maude’s direction as he drew back his fist and planted it with all his force into Tom’s belly. The man doubled over with a groan, only to receive a staggering blow to the side of his head, knocking him to the dirt.

For a moment Tom crouched, his head lowered, gasping. Radford stood over him, not a muscle moving, waiting. Maude screamed as she saw the glint of the knife in the footman’s hand, but the earl had seen it, too, and jumped back in time to miss the slash aimed up at his groin. Radford’s powerful hand closed on Tom’s wrist, the knife glinting between them as the struggle seemed to hang suspended in the dim light. Slowly, Radford forced Tom’s hand down, until with a sharp twist, he forced the man to drop the deadly blade to the dirt.

With a snarl of pure desperation, Tom lunged at the earl. The footman was smaller but heavier than Radford, and had the strength of terror in him, Maude could hear the sounds of fist on bone. She crouched in the corner, her heart in her throat, not daring to interfere, lest she hinder the earl. At last, Radford landed a powerful blow to Tom’s jaw, sending him flying back. As he fell, his temple hit the corner of a heavy cast-iron shovel leaning against the stall. Blood spurted from the gash. His adder’s eyes dimmed and he lay still.

The only sounds in the stable now were the ragged gasps coming from Maude, who stared at Tom with uncomprehending eyes, waiting for the monster to rise again.

“Who is this?”

The voice barely penetrated her fear. She turned her face toward it and looked up into the earl’s face, a frozen mask of fury.