Patricia Rice (11 page)

Before she could disentangle herself, she heard Rupert
chuckle drunkenly, and she cringed.

“Damned young puppy, that is my wife you’re holding. I ought
to call you out for this.”

“You ought to be shot for what you’ve done to her!” Thomas
replied belligerently, even as Cassandra reached to cover his mouth with her
hand.

Realizing that she was acquainted with the young
knight-errant, Rupert smiled smugly. “I’ve pistols back at the house. Shall we
try them out?”

“Thomas, no!” Cassandra screamed, breaking from his grip. “He’s
drunk! He’ll kill you. This isn’t your argument.”

“Ahhh, my lovely wife, you’ve gained your voice. Come along
now and you can watch the fun. I rather fancy I’ll have to defend your honor
more than once in the months to come. You might as well become accustomed to
the sight.”

Rupert caught Cassandra’s arm and tried to drag her along
with him, but she swung wildly with her fist, connecting with his shoulder. He
raised his hand to slap her again, but Thomas lunged at him.

“Run, Cass! Get out of here!”

She did as told. Perhaps without her there, Thomas could
knock Rupert out and escape. It seemed the only sensible thing to do. Even she
knew of her husband’s deadly reputation as a duelist. She had thought the worst
of the talk to be rumors, but tonight had proved her wrong. Rupert enjoyed
violence.

Jarred by Thomas’s plight, she suddenly had a goal. Wyatt
had protected the younger Scheffing in the gaming hell. He would certainly
protect him from this worse danger. If she could only just remember which of
these elegant streets contained the imposing London town house of the Earl of
Merrick.

Sheer luck steered her down a familiar crossroad. Gas lamps
paved the way, but the tall facades of stone and draped windows towered dark
and unfriendly on either side of the street. No light beckoned from any but
one. That was the one she remembered.

Gasping with relief, Cassandra staggered down the street,
drawn by the single light in a lower window. Wyatt had to be there. Surely the
proper Earl of Merrick could not be out carousing at this hour. Please.

Feeling her strength waning, Cassandra nearly crawled up the
steps between the stone lions and dropped the knocker. Once. Twice.

It took an interminable time for anyone to answer. Perhaps
Merrick had sent all his servants to bed. She didn’t know the hour, but it must
be late. Leaning against the wooden panel, she pounded the knocker again and
again.

Finally she heard the echo of boots against the parquet
floor. She remembered seeing that floor once when she was a little girl. She
didn’t remember the occasion. She just remembered how it shone like polished
glass. None of the floors in her home looked like that.

She almost fell as the door jerked open. A startled
masculine gasp and a hard arm greeted her, and she was lifted bodily into the
entry. Safe, at last.

“Cassandra!”

Merrick’s gut lurched as a bedraggled waif collapsed against
him. Her silken sunset curls fell in wilted tangles about a delicate jaw
misshapen by an ugly, swollen bruise. He fought a silent scream of rage as her dull
blue eyes lifted, then closed, and her slender form fell limp in his arms.

He caught her up and carried her toward the warmth of the
fire in the study. Sobered by the sight of bruises marring the pale breast
spilling from her torn gown, Wyatt reined in his rage with icy calm.

Scheffing staggered upright at the unexpected sight of the
lost bride who had set off their drinking spree.

Cassandra’s eyes abruptly opened, and when she saw Bertie, they
widened in horror. When Wyatt attempted to set her down, she shoved his arms
aside.

“Thomas! He will kill Thomas! Help him, please.”

Her words blasted the lingering fumes of brandy from their
brains. Merrick reached out and steadied Cassandra, while Scheffing brought her
a small tumbler of drink.

“Here, take this. Catch your breath, then talk.”

Cassandra attempted to push it away, but Scheffing forced
the glass to her lips while Merrick held her. She choked on the burning liquid,
but took the second sip more readily.

“Gently, now. It won’t help to get her drunk. Cassandra,
what happened? Where is Thomas?”

Merrick swallowed his terror. He could feel fear shivering
through her. The fiery woman who had swept through a hall of gamblers with a
radiant smile shouldn’t know such fear. There was an awareness in her eyes now
that hadn’t been there before, and Merrick flinched guiltily as if she had
accused him.

This was her wedding night, or rather, the morning after.
The tattered state of her dress left only one inevitable conclusion. He had not
thought even Rupert so low as to stoop to rape, but the evidence was damning.
The only question remaining was how Thomas had become involved in this.

Wyatt held her tight. “You don’t have to explain, Cass. Just
tell us where Thomas is. We’ll find him.”

“Down the street. Rupert challenged him. Hurry, please,
Wyatt. Don’t let him hurt Thomas.” Straightening her sagging shoulders,
Cassandra pushed from his arms. “I’ll go with you.”

Merrick held her back, studying the black smudges beneath
her eyes and the painful swelling of her jaw. “Let me call a maid to take care
of you. We’ll find Thomas.”

“No, it won’t do. You can’t stop Rupert. It’s me he wants.
Give me your coat.” Cassandra wearily held out her hand.

When Merrick hesitated, she pinned her gown with her fingers
and started for the doorway. “I can’t stay here. You will have to come with me.”

That made about as much sense as anything else that had
happened this night, Merrick decided drunkenly. Peeling off his coat, he
wrapped it over Cassandra’s slender shoulders as they started down the hall. He
ought to be calling for maids and a physician, but he sensed Thomas’ danger was
immediate.

They hurried into the frosty night, letting the cold air
sweep away the last of the brandy fumes. Between them, Scheffing and Merrick
half-carried Cassandra down the street.

By the time they reached the wall where she remembered
leaving Thomas and her husband, there was no one in sight. Cassandra moaned in
frustration and wilted against the earl’s arm. She didn’t have much strength
left. The pain in her jaw throbbed, and the blisters on her feet made each step
one of torture.

Merrick held her up. “We’ll have to send for a carriage,
Bertie. We’ll need to go to Rupert’s and your family, see if they’re there. And
Lady Cassandra needs to be taken home.”

Cassandra shivered at the thought of facing Duncan, but she
didn’t object. Duels required seconds. Rupert would go to her brother for
support in this. She nodded agreement.

But when they finally arrived at the Howard town house, it
was to discover Lord Eddings had just been called out on an urgent matter.

“We have to stop them, Wyatt. It’s all my fault. You can’t
leave me here. Perhaps we can stop Rupert.” She clutched his coat around her
shoulders and met his worried dark eyes.

Wyatt had donned a cloak earlier, but she could see the
gleam of his shirt sleeves and waistcoat beneath the dark material. That seemed
to make him look even broader and taller than before.

“I cannot drag you out again. You need medical attention.
Stay here, and we will come back to you as soon as we have word.”

“No!” Beyond reasoning, Cassandra grabbed his sleeve. She
only knew she could not be parted from Merrick. He was the only one who could
save her. “You can’t leave me here. Duncan will just send me back to Rupert and
all will be for naught. I must go with you. I have to make them understand.”

She knew she was nearly hysterical, but there was no one in
Howard House to aid them. Resigned, Merrick followed her out to the carriage.

Scheffing had taken one of Merrick’s horses and ridden home
to try to stop his brother there.

Merrick raised his whip and raced across the park toward Rupert’s
home.

As the curricle pulled up to the doorstep, the townhouse
door swung open and Lotta raced down the step to meet them.

“My lady! He’s gone. He’s furious, Jacob—that’s his lordship’s
valet—says. I thought he’d gone for you. Oh, thank goodness you’re safe.”

She would have swept into the curricle after Merrick stepped
down, but Cassandra lifted the reins and whip and froze both Wyatt and her maid
with her look. “Where did they go, Lotta? They cannot be far ahead of us.”

The maid glanced nervously at the impassive earl, who
reached in and snatched away his whip, but she answered quickly. “To St. James.
Not far. Sir Rupert said he hadn’t time for leaving town to do it proper. Jacob
says there’s a corner there that’s kind of protected—”

“I know it.” Wyatt swung back into his seat and removed the
reins from Cassandra’s hands.

She clung to the sides of the carriage as it flew through
darkened streets. The night sky was beginning to brighten in the distance,
signaling the onset of dawn, but it was still the blackest night of her life.
Never had she imagined this would come to pass of her decision to lead her own
life.

She cried out in fright as the curricle tilted on the turn,
but Wyatt righted it with expertise. She grabbed the side and held on as he
guided the rig recklessly through the empty streets.

The early-morning twitter of birds in the park silenced at
the intrusion of the horse and carriage. Cassandra swallowed as the gray light
revealed a reckless rider careening down a crossroad. A moment later, she
recognized Bertie’s stolid figure.

Merrick recognized him too, and cursed vividly. Either
Thomas had not returned home or no one had been able to stop him.

Reaching a small copse of trees in an out-of-the-way corner
of the park, Merrick steadied his horse, threw the reins to Cass, and jumped to
the ground before the wheels stopped rolling. Bertie galloped his horse in the
same direction.

Cass tied the reins to a tree and on shaking legs, set out
after them. Her pride wasn’t worth another man’s life. Perhaps the drink had
worn off by now. Please, just let poor, harmless Thomas be all right. She had
been foolish to think she could pit Rupert against Duncan and come out
unscathed.

She could see Bertie leaping from his horse at the edge of
the copse and Merrick disappearing into the dark shadows of the trees. The shot
sounded before she could reach the path they took.

No second shot followed. Gasping with horror, Cassandra
raced through the forest terrain until she stumbled upon the glade at the
center.

Rupert stood at the far side of the clearing, a pistol
smoking in his hand as Bertie cried out and knelt beside the fallen figure of
his youngest brother. Merrick approached Rupert and Duncan with fists balled in
anger, but Cassandra did not linger to see the outcome. Rupert still lived and
Thomas was dead. There was naught for her to do now. She fled back in the
direction of the curricle.

As Merrick neared the notorious duelist with murder in mind,
Duncan grabbed his brother-in-law’s arm and began to whisper hastily in his
ear. Rupert nodded once, twice, then spun on his heels and strode off through
the trees before the earl could reach him.

Ice in his eyes, Merrick regarded Duncan with venom. “I
never believed a gentleman could lower himself to the height of a worm, but you
have succeeded this night, Eddings. Did you send him safely home to rape your
sister again?”

Duncan paled but held his ground. “Rupert has no need to
rape anyone, and Cass takes care of herself. They will be in Calais by evening
and on their way to Paris before the next dawn. This unfortunate incident will
prevent him from returning to England anytime soon. I tried to stop him, but
the young man was rather belligerent. I had not realized Cass had acquired so
many followers.”

“If he dies, I’ll personally see that you do not walk among
polite society again, Howard.” Merrick did not reveal the fact that Cassandra
was safely in his curricle only a few hundred yards away. Let Rupert fly to
Paris alone.

Swinging on his heel, he retreated to where Bertie lifted
his young brother in his arms. He ought to kill Rupert for this, but now was
not the time to do it. Thomas needed a physician and Cassandra needed safety
before he could contemplate the pleasure of removing the vermin of society.

~*~

Cassandra wasn’t waiting for the warrior heroes to return.
Tears streaming down her cheeks but no longer hysterical, she calmly rent the
skirt of her wedding gown and mounted Bertie’s horse. They would need Merrick’s
curricle to transport Thomas.

It was her fault that all this had come about. And because
of her, Thomas lay dead or dying on the cold ground. Had she not meant to have
her revenge on Duncan, had she not used Rupert as an instrument of that
revenge, had she not been so damned stupid and arrogant...

She was too tired to continue the litany of self-
flagellation. It was obvious Rupert would never agree to an annulment or go
along with her plan to beggar Duncan in retaliation for foisting off an
unwilling wife on him. How very naive she was to believe Rupert might care
whether she was willing or not.

She slid off Bertie’s horse in the mews behind Rupert’s town
house. With luck, she would escape before he came back. Without luck, she would
kill him. Or he would kill her. It scarcely mattered.

Lotta screamed as Cassandra raced into the bedchamber. A
tall, lanky figure rose from the couch—Rupert’s valet. Cassandra gave Lotta and
her cadaverous lover a cynical look. These two did not waste much time mourning
her imminent demise.

“Pack whatever you can, quickly. We’re leaving.” She had
neither the patience nor the strength to reprimand her maid’s scandalous
behavior. She strode to the wardrobe to find a gown suitable for traveling.