Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book (45 page)

She’d just stabbed a man.

She touched her mouth with frigid fingers, trying to hold back a groan.

Daniel’s eyes flicked toward her, and he shifted to face her, forcing Stansbury to turn his back on her.

Stansbury no longer had the knife, but he’d managed to improvise a club. As he turned his back to her, she saw him take a swing at Daniel.

“I don’t have a letter opener at hand tonight, the way I did that night at Norfolk’s ball,” Daniel said, goading his opponent. “I’ll need to improvise with something else.”

She could see him pull the pin from his cravat. Her wedding gift.

Stansbury chuckled in disdain when Daniel held it in front of him. “A tiepin? My, aren’t you a terrifying sight.”

Daniel clutched the malachite head of the long cravat pin in his fist, with the point poking out from between his fingers a good two inches.

Stansbury raised his makeshift club and Daniel danced back. It appeared that he was retreating from the threat that Stansbury presented, but Catherine knew what he was really doing. He was trying to draw the man farther away from her.

As she watched them try to avoid one another’s blows, she became aware of a loud banging out in the courtyard and the sound of shouting.

Stansbury lunged forward, swinging his club toward Daniel’s head, and simultaneously Catherine heard a splintering crash outside at the gates. She turned to look through the warehouse entrance toward the large double doors of the courtyard. They banged open, pieces of the broken lock clattering to the ground.

Charles led a large crowd of men rushing into the open space. They carried a battering ram they appeared to have made from a large post, and they tossed it to one side now that it had served its purpose.

Catherine darted out the door and into the courtyard. “Charles!” she shouted, waving her arms. “Daniel’s being attacked.”

56 - A Cravat Pin

Stansbury raised his club for a swing, but Daniel ducked to one side and punched him with his fist in a jabbing motion, gouging deep into Stansbury’s forearm with the pin.

Stansbury staggered back and clutched at his arm. Blood streamed down it and onto the back of his hand, turning his white shirt cuff red.

Daniel noted the wary look in Stansbury’s eyes as the man rubbed the dripping blood onto his trousers. He didn’t look quite so confident anymore.

Shuffling his feet, Stansbury positioned himself for another attack. He backed toward the door, and his boot bumped against Attwood’s supine form.

Stansbury glanced down. His mouth gaped when he saw his partner lying on the ground with a knife protruding from his chest.

Attwood was wheezing, but he was still alive.

“What are you doing down there?” Stansbury roared, spittle flying from his lips in his fury. “You let her get away?”

Attwood just wheezed in response.

“Blast!” Stansbury yelled. He lunged toward Attwood and began pulling the knife from the other man’s chest. It stuck firmly, so he braced his foot against Attwood’s ribs for leverage.

For a moment, Daniel was horrified by Stansbury’s callous disregard of the other man’s pain, and he stood frozen in place. But when Stansbury dropped his club to grab the knife with both hands, Daniel broke free of his shock.

Daniel lunged forward and slammed the cravat pin he clutched in his fist into the side of Stansbury’s neck. As his fist connected, he pulled down, using the small skewer to cause more damage inside Stansbury’s neck.

The sensation of tearing flesh vibrated through the thin metal and into the small ball he clasped in the palm of his hand.

Stansbury jerked up, pulling the cravat pin from between Daniel’s fingers. Stansbury held his hand against his neck, his mouth gaping in shock. The decorative little malachite ball on the head of the pin protruded from between his fingers, and blood began to gush. Stansbury yanked at the pin, pulling it from his neck.

Daniel heard another sound and spun on his heel to see Catherine and Charles framed in the warehouse doorway. He took a step toward her, skirting Stansbury’s and Attwood’s forms on the floor.

Charles widened his eyes and abruptly plowed forward, raising the pistol toward Daniel.

Daniel spun around to see Stansbury lurching to his feet with a knife clutched in his hand. A knife with a green malachite handle.

The pistol’s roar exploded inside the empty warehouse, and the bullet ripped into Stansbury’s shoulder. He stumbled back from the impact and then fell to the floor.

Daniel kept his eyes on the man for another moment, but Stansbury didn’t try to stand again.

Dimly, Daniel became aware of the murmuring of voices. Many voices. It was difficult to pinpoint the sound because his ears felt as though they were stuffed with cotton, probably from the reverberation of the gunshot. He turned to search for the source of the murmuring.

A crowd of dockworkers had gathered behind Catherine and Charles. The men craned their necks, jostling each other to get a better view of the macabre scene inside the warehouse.

Daniel needed to get out of there. The smells of gunpowder and blood mingled with another foul stench and filled the space.

It was a stench he associated with death. A smell he had never been able to forget. It was the smell of feces and blood and urine.

As he moved closer to Catherine, he glanced down at the two men lying on the floor. “Find a surgeon!” he shouted to the gathered crowd, although he knew it was too late for at least one of their attackers. A couple of men at the back of the crowd turned and began to trot toward the broken gates of the courtyard.

Attwood was wheezing, but Stansbury was quite still. Unnervingly so. The odor came from him. The trio stepped back out into the courtyard where the air was fresher than the miasma within the warehouse.

All Daniel wanted to do was sweep Catherine into his arms, but he couldn’t. Not with so many people around. He barely trusted himself to look at her.

Two policemen came running into the courtyard a moment later, probably drawn by the sound of the gunshot. The dockworkers stepped back to let them pass, and the policemen seemed surprised to encounter a group of gentlemen at the center of the knot of onlookers.

Huntley quickly explained about the kidnapping and rescue, trying to minimize Catherine’s role as much as possible. When he took responsibility for stabbing Attwood in the chest, he couldn’t look at her, afraid he’d accidentally reveal his lie to the policeman.

Would she understand that he wanted to protect her? If the police thought she’d played a larger role in the fight, they might want to question her more extensively, and she might not be able to maintain her disguise under their scrutiny.

Daniel saw her lips thin, but she didn’t contradict him. When he reached the moment in his narrative at which Charles appeared in the doorway, his brother-in-law took over the story, stepping in between Daniel and the policeman.

A surgeon arrived, carrying a small black bag and pushing his way through the crowd. Daniel watched him as he knelt to examine the two kidnappers. He checked each man briefly, and then turned his back on Stansbury’s still form.

The surgeon focused his attention on Attwood. After a brief examination, he extracted a long tube from his black bag. He wiped the outside of it on his coat and then set one end next to the tip of the knife where it pierced Attwood’s chest. He pulled at the knife, but it didn’t seem to budge, so he pressed his knee against Attwood’s side, pulling firmly on the handle while still holding the thin tube.

The knife suddenly sprang free, and the surgeon dropped it to the ground and focused on slipping the tube into the opening with deft movements. Almost immediately, Attwood’s wheezing became less audible.

“Excuse me, my lord,” the policeman said, pulling Daniel’s attention back to him. “I’ll have to ask you to stay until an inspector arrives. We’ve already sent for one, and he should be arriving shortly.”

Daniel frowned. Catherine still needed to get to the fencing tournament. “What about the boy? Can he leave? He’s supposed to compete in a tournament.”

The policeman glanced at Catherine, his gaze sweeping over her and taking in the fencing attire. “I’m sorry, my lord, but someone is dead. I can’t let anyone leave until the inspector arrives. It will be his decision.”

Catherine blanched. “He’s dead?”

The policeman looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, son. I thought you knew.”

She shook her head. Daniel ached to comfort her.

He glanced around the courtyard, looking for a place where he could talk privately with Catherine, away from other people, and his eyes landed on Stansbury’s carriage. He glanced back at the policeman. “Would it be permissible for us to sit in the carriage?”

“What with that Stansbury fellow being dead and all, I don’t see as he’ll mind. It seems to me that's the least he owes you,” the policeman replied with a shrug, and then he turned back to the task of controlling the gawkers who’d gathered.

“I’ll send some of our people to collect the horses,” Charles said. “Mine’s down the road at one of our warehouses. When Stansbury locked the gates, I knew I’d never be able to get in without help, so I went there to gather some of our workers. They used a post as a battering ram,” he said, gesturing toward the large timber lying in the courtyard. “Once we have things wrapped up, I plan to take them all out for a well-deserved pint.” The men cheered when they heard the promise, which made Charles smile as he turned to face them.

Daniel reached up to pull open the carriage door. He waited to allow Catherine to climb into the carriage first, but she didn’t move.

She gestured toward the carriage. “My lord?”

Of course. She’s not a lady, but a boy.

With his mouth pressed into a thin line, Daniel climbed into the rickety carriage, and Catherine quickly joined him.

57 - Heart to Heart

Catherine gazed out the window, transfixed by the scene before her. It offered her a clear view into Stansbury’s warehouse, and she could see the worn sole of the dead man’s boot.

Daniel slid his hand over hers. His fingers crept inside her clenched fist.

Catherine reached out and snapped the window shade closed, blocking out her view of the macabre scene and keeping any prying eyes from watching them. Plenty of light still streamed in from the window facing the courtyard so that they weren't sitting in the dark.

She shifted on the seat to face Daniel, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she looked down, staring at their intertwined fingers.

She’d almost lost him. She tightened her grip on his hand, noting the contrast of her pale skin against his darker tone. A faint tracing of straight, dark hair trailed up the back of his wrist, and she covered it by clasping his hand with both of hers.

She stroked his thumb absently. If things had gone differently today, it could be one of them lying dead on the floor of that warehouse instead of Stansbury. She shuddered and pressed her eyes closed, accidentally squeezing out a tear, which trailed down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel said.

Her eyes flew open with surprise and she met his gaze. “It’s not your fault. Stansbury is a madman.
Was
a madman.”

“But the tournament... you’re missing it. It started an hour ago. I’m so sorry, Catherine. I feel responsible.”

She looked at him blankly. “Blast the tournament, Daniel. I’m just thankful you’re alive.”

A furrow formed between his brows. “But you’ve been preparing for this for so long. In some ways you’ve been preparing for it for years. It means everything to you.”

“No.
You
mean everything to me.” She glanced away, startled by her own admission and not wanting to meet his gaze.

When had that happened? When had her passion for fencing faded? She looked into herself, trying to understand how she had changed.

No, her passion for fencing was still there, as strong as ever. But there was something that meant more to her. Or rather, some
one
.

Daniel.

She glanced up at him, seeing his jaw clenched as he frowned.

“You hardly know me.”

“I know you better than you think. I see your hard work and dedication. I see your friendship with Wentworth. I see your honorable nature and your quick mind. You are a wonderful, kind man, faithful to friends and self-sacrificing.”

He shrugged. “So what? You make me sound like a saint, and I’m not. I failed to recognize the danger Stansbury represented and fell into his trap. I let Attwood hold a knife to your neck. And I just helped kill another man.” He turned his face away from her, staring out the far window into the empty courtyard beyond. She could read the tension in his body.

“Another?” The silence stretched between them, and Catherine wondered if he’d reply.

“I killed a man when I was twelve.” Daniel’s face looked rigid, as though he expected to be attacked. He glanced at her and then focused on their clasped hands. “I’ve only told one other person, and he’s been dead many years now. I’ve kept this secret for a long, long time.”