Authors: Danelle Harmon
And he was looking now as the footmen
cleared away the remains of their meal. Pity that only he and
Lucien had been there to dine on the roast pheasant stuffed with
currants and apricots and finished in red wine. It had been
exquisite. Divine. But Gareth was gone, and Andrew and Nerissa, who
weren't speaking to His Grace, had taken their meals in their
rooms.
Nothing out of the ordinary at Blackheath
Castle.
"I say, Lucien, this whole situation is
most
complicated," Fox mused, selecting a wedge of Stilton
from the cheese plate the footman offered and studying it absently
before popping it into his mouth. "You allowed the girl to stay
just long enough to ensure that Gareth would become enchanted with
her — then, when he annoyed you, as he inevitably would, you sent
her away. How very cruel, my friend! To use the poor girl to punish
your brother! But no. That is not like you to be so heartless.
Thus, I can only conclude that you are up to something, though what
it could be, I have yet to fathom." He shot Lucien a sideways
glance. "Are you certain she's the one Charles was so smitten
with?"
Lucien was sitting back, smiling and idly
watching the musicians. "Dead certain."
"And the child?"
"The spitting image of her father."
"And yet you sent them away." Fox shook his
head. "What
were
you thinking of?"
The duke turned his head, raising his brows
in feigned surprise. "My dear Roger. You know me better than that.
Do you think I would actually banish them?"
"'Tis what your sister told me when I
arrived."
'Ah, but 'tis what I want my sister to
believe
," he countered, smoothly. "
And
my two
brothers — especially, Gareth." He sipped his port, then swirled
the liquid in the glass, studying it reflectively. "Besides, Roger,
if you must know, I did not send the girl away — I merely made her
feel so awkward that she had no desire to remain."
"Is there a difference?"
"But of course. She made the decision to
leave, which means she maintains both her pride and a small modicum
of respect, if not liking for me — which I may find useful at a
future date. Gareth thinks I sent her away, which means he is
perfectly furious with me. The result? She leaves, and he chases
after her, which is exactly what I wanted him to do." He chuckled.
"Oh, to be a fly on the wall when he finds her and the two of them
discover my hand in all this..."
"Lucien, your eyes are gleaming with that
cunning amusement that tells me you're up to something especially
Machiavellian."
"Is that so? Then I fear I must work harder
at concealing the obvious."
Fox gave him a shrewd look. "This is most
confusing, as I'm sure you intend it to be. You know the child is
Charles's and yet you will not acknowledge her ... and this after
Charles expressly asked you to make her your ward?"
"Really, Roger. There is no need to make the
child my ward when Gareth, in all likelihood, will adopt her as his
daughter."
The barrister narrowed his eyes. "You have
some superior, ulterior motive that evades us mere mortals."
"But of course," Lucien murmured yet again,
lifting his glass and idly sipping its dark liquid.
"And perhaps you can explain it to
this
mere mortal?"
"My dear Fox. It is quite simple, really.
Drastic problems call for drastic solutions. By sending the girl
away, I have set in motion my plan for Gareth's salvation. If
things go as I expect, he will stay so furious with me that he will
not only charge headlong to her rescue — but headlong into marriage
with her."
"Bloody hell! Lucien, the girl's completely
ill-suited for him!"
"On the contrary. I have observed them
together, Fox. They compliment each other perfectly. As for the
girl, what she lacks in wealth and social standing she more than
makes up for in courage, resolve, common sense, and maturity.
Gareth, whether he knows it or not, needs someone just like her. It
is my hope that she will — shall I say — reform him."
Fox shook his head and bit into a fine piece
of Cheshire. "You're taking a risk in assuming Gareth will even
find her."
"Oh, he'll find her. I have no doubt about
that." Lucien gestured for a footman, who promptly stepped forward
and refilled his glass. "He's already half in love with her as it
is. Gareth is nothing if not persistent."
"Yes, and he is also given to rashness, poor
judgment, and an unhealthy appetite for dissolute living."
"Indeed. And that, my dear Fox, is exactly
what I believe the girl will cure him of." The duke sipped his port
and smiled, completely in control of the situation. "You see, I
knew perfectly well that Gareth, having got a taste of heroics with
the highwaymen, would be keen to play the gallant rescuer once
again. By provoking both the girl — and him — I have created the
perfect opportunity for him to do so. The fact that he is furious
with me will ensure that he does not come crawling back to me when
things begin to grow difficult for him." The duke leaned back,
swirled his port again, and let a pensive little smile move over
his face as he gazed into the depths of the glass. "And grow
difficult, they shall."
"Oh?" Fox raised an inquiring brow.
"Gareth charged out of here with nothing but
the clothes on his back. He has nothing with which to support
himself and Miss Paige except for what he's wearing — and,
regrettably, riding. He has some money, yes, and there is that
which I gave the girl, but I can assure you he'll be through
that
before the week is out. But he will not come crawling
back to me. Not this time."
Fox lifted a brow.
"It is time my brother learns to grow up,"
Blackheath mused, still gazing thoughtfully into his port. "A
damsel in distress, a baby to look after, and limited funds with
which to support his new family. Ah, yes. I daresay, nothing will
mature him faster than a bit of responsibility, eh, Roger?"
"What about the girl? The child? What if
Gareth gets in over his head and someone's life becomes imperiled?
For God's sake, that baby's only six months old!"
"My dear Roger. Do you think I would allow
anything of the sort to happen? Tsk, tsk. Thanks to my trusty
informer, I am well aware of my brother's destination and what he
will soon get up to. Nothing will happen to his little family. I
am, as you know, completely in control of the situation."
"As always."
Lucien inclined his head, smiling. "As
always."
"I've got to hand it to you." Fox grinned,
then saluted his wily friend with his glass. "You, Lucien, are a
master manipulator. And too damned clever by half."
"And you, my dear Fox, have bread crumbs in
your cravat. Whatever will the world think?"
Chapter 11
"Shhhhhh!"
Bang!
"Damn it, Chilcot, I said toss the pebble,
not break the damned window! Here, I'll do it."
They had found her after checking every
coaching inn on the London road in a desperate race to catch her
before she reached the capital and was lost to them forever. The
proprietor of this inn just outside Hounslow had confirmed their
frantic queries. Yes, a pretty young woman with dark hair had taken
a room for the night. Yes, she spoke with a strange accent. And
yes, she had a baby with her.
"Put her upstairs, Oi did," the garrulous
landlord had said. "She wants an early start, so I gave 'er the
east bedroom. Catches the mornin' sun, it does."
But Gareth had no intention of waiting until
morning to see Juliet. Now, standing in the muddy road beside the
inn, he unearthed a piece of flint with his toe, picked it up, and
flung it at the black square of the east-facing upstairs
window.
Nothing.
"Throw it harder," urged Perry, standing a
few feet away with his arms folded and the reins of both Crusader
and his own mare in his hands.
"Any harder and I'll break the damned
thing."
"Maybe you don't have the right window."
"Maybe you ought to just do it the easy way
and ask the bloody innkeeper to rouse her."
"Yes, that would save time and trouble,
Gareth. Why don't you do that?"
Gareth leveled a hard stare at them all. His
temper was short tonight. "Right. And just what do you think that's
going to do to her reputation if I go knocking on the door at
three-o'-bloody-clock in the morning asking after her, eh?"
Chilcot shrugged. "As for her reputation,
she's already ruined it herself, getting a bastard babe off your
brother and all —"
Without warning, Gareth's fist slammed into
Chilcot's cheekbone and sent him sprawling in the mud. "'Sdeath,
Gareth, you didn't have to take it so personally!" Chilcot cried,
scowling and rubbing the side of his face.
"She's family. Any slur upon her name and I
will
take it personally. Understand?"
"Sorry," Chilcot muttered, sulking as he
gingerly touched his cheek. "But you didn't have to thump me so
damned hard."
"Another remark like the last one and I'll
thump you even harder. Now, stop whining before you wake everyone
in town and word gets back to my damned brother."
With his toe, Gareth dug up another piece of
flint. He picked it up and threw it at the window.
Nothing.
At least the rain had stopped. Above, the
wind made the trees rustle and hiss.
"Now what?" Perry asked, tapping his chin
with his riding crop. "I daresay your damsel in distress is a heavy
sleeper, Gareth."
Gareth stood back, hands on his hips,
thinking. And then, as he stared up at the chestnut tree overhead —
and its proximity to the window — he suddenly grinned.
"I've got an idea," he declared. "The
tree."
"Surely you don't mean to climb it?"
"Well what else would I do with it?" Gareth
shrugged out of his surtout, then removed his sword, gloves and
tricorn. He handed them all to Cokeham. "Hold these. I'm going
up."
"Don't fall and break your fool neck," Perry
warned, lazily.
Gareth merely answered him with a cavalier
smile. He rubbed his hands together, reached for a heavy,
low-hanging bough, and effortlessly pulled himself up, hooking one
leg over the thick branch until he straddled it. Pain flared along
his side, but he ignored it. Moments later he was inching his way
out along the thick, wet branch toward the black panes of
glass.
"
Damnation!
"
"What's the matter?"
"The branch. It won't hold my weight."
Indeed, the branch was slowly beginning to
droop toward the ground, carrying Gareth with it. He clung like a
monkey, cursing as it dipped lower and lower.
Below, the Den members started
sniggering.
And then, an arm's length from the window,
the branch stopped its descent.
Gareth looked down at his friends. "Hand me
my riding crop so I can tap on the pane."
Sir Hugh moved forward and, stretching,
offered the short whip to his friend.
"No good. I can't reach it. Cokeham, you're
the smallest of the lot. Climb up on Audlett's shoulders and hand
me the damn thing, would you?"
"How the devil am I supposed to do
that?"
"I don't know, you figure it out."
"Crusader's a good seventeen hands; why
don't I just stand up his back, instead?"
"Because he won't like it, that's why. Get
onto Tom's shoulders, have him hold your feet, and stand up. I need
the crop.
Now.
"
The branch was wet and perilously shaky.
Gareth inched forward, snagging his cravat on an offshoot. Cursing,
he yanked it free. Beneath him, his friends hoisted Jon Cokeham up
onto Tom Audlett's shoulders. Tom, who weighed in at nearly sixteen
stone, never even staggered under Cokeham's slight weight.
Gareth watched impatiently as the others
crowded round Tom. On wobbly legs, Cokeham went from a crouching to
a standing position. His narrow face was very pale in the darkness,
and, anchoring himself with a hand on Tom's head, he reached up to
pass the crop to Gareth.
Gareth's fingers had just closed around it
when Cokeham lost his balance and began waving his arms wildly as
he fought to regain it. "Help!"
"Hold him!"
"
Shit!
"
"
Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!
"
Arms flailing, shrieking loud enough to wake
everyone in Hounslow, Cokeham tumbled backward, only to be caught
by Hugh and Chilcot who both went down, laughing, beneath him.
"Hell and the devil, shut up down there!"
Gareth barked, losing patience with all of them.
"Can't — Hugh's got his knee in my
balls!"
Just then the window opened with a
protesting squeal of water-swollen wood.
"Lord
Gareth
?"
He froze.
It was she, staring out at him with an
expression of astounded disbelief on her lovely face. Gareth was
caught totally unprepared. He knew he must look like an arse
because he certainly felt like one. But the comic ridiculousness of
the situation suddenly hit him, and his lips began twitching
uncontrollably. He gazed up at her with perfect innocence. "Hello,
Juliet."
A chorus of out-of-tune voices came up from
below. "Romeo, O Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?"
Gareth flung his crop down at their heads.
Cokeham let out a yelp, then fell to laughing.
The girl's smooth, high brow pleated in a
frown as she took in the scene. Perry down there with the horses.
The other Den of Debauchery members all gathered below, beaming
stupidly up at her. And Gareth, grinning, sprawled full-length
along a tree branch just outside her window.
"Just what on earth are you doing, Lord
Gareth?"
The way she said it made his cheeks warm
with embarrassment. So he was a pillock. Who cared? Instead, he
gave her his most devastating grin and said with cheerful
earnestness, "Why, I have come to rescue you, of course."