An Unconventional Miss (24 page)

 

Slamming his vehicle to a screeching halt outside the front door of Hazlett's mansion in Half Moon Street, the earl leapt out of the driving seat and, dashing up the steps, was all too ready to kick down the door had it not, all of a sudden, occurred to him that, dressed as he was, in all his finery, he did not even have a weapon at his disposal!

Hurrying back down to his waiting groom, he instructed him to go directly to Sir Simon Holt's chambers at Albany, inform the baronet that Miss Beresford had been abducted and that both his and Mr Fitzallan's immediate assistance was urgently required at this address.

In the meantime, Wyvern decided to make his way round to the mews at the back of the property, hoping to find an unopened window or some other means of access into the house but, to his utter frustration, all such entrances appeared to be securely barred and bolted.

Returning to the front street, he peered down into the basement area, wondering whether the viscount's servants—as had often been the case in his own household, until the recent attempts at a break-in—might not always take the precaution of locking the kitchen door behind them. He sidled down the stone steps and was just about to test the door's latch when, to his astonishment, the door was flung open and the unmistakable figure of the elderly lady of the teashop incident appeared before him. Clad in her outdoor garments and carrying a large and cumbersome wicker hamper, it was clear that something had occurred to put her in a considerable fret.

‘Why, Mrs—er—!' exclaimed the earl, who could not, for the life of him, recall the woman's name. ‘What in God's name are you doing here?'

‘Oh, sir!' she gabbled breathlessly, having recognised him on the instant. ‘You have come at last, thank the Lord! I promise you that I did my best for your poor little lady, but the master must have caught hold of her again on his way back home—he has locked her in the library and is hollerin' at those two bully boys of his something dreadful. I thought it best to pack up and leave before he finds out that it was me what helped her get away before!'

Relieved to hear that Jessica was still, for the moment at least, relatively unharmed, Wyvern reached into his pocket, withdrew a sovereign and, handing it to the bemused housekeeper, instructed her to find a hack and make her way to Ashcroft House where, if she explained that Lord Wyvern had sent her, she would be made comfortable until his return.

‘You may leave your heavy valise,' he advised her, crossing his fingers as he did so. ‘I shall have it sent over as soon as my business with Lord Hazlett is completed.'

No sooner was he inside the kitchen than he did a quick search for some sort of weapon with which he might arm himself but, short of the usual array of saucepans and rolling pins and the like, the only item that seemed likely to be of any use to him in any sort of confrontation—apart from the poker, which he dismissed as ineffectual—looked to be one of a collection of evil-looking knives. Not his favourite weapon of choice, he thought distastefully, as visions of his frequent night-time sorties into the enemy's camp during his years in the Peninsula sprang into his mind. Nonetheless, and praying that he would have no need to resort to such blood-curdling tactics, he picked up what appeared to be the sharpest of the set and, wrapping the tip carefully in his handkerchief, slid the weapon up inside his coat sleeve.

B
ack in the library once more, the much-subdued Jessica soon realised that, now that Lord Hazlett had returned, any further attempts at escape would serve no useful purpose. From the man's patent disregard of her protestations that his servants had committed a grievous error, she had, reluctantly and rather fearfully, been obliged to admit to herself that it would seem that they had not. Clearly, she
was
Hazlett's intended victim and she was no longer so green and so foolish as to fail to recognise what his intentions were likely to be! An icy dread washed over her as her mind replayed the terrifying gamut of events that encompassed the whole sorry escapade of the previous year. Surely she was not destined to relive the nightmare! With a shiver of apprehension, she realised that on this occasion, there was no possible chance of her half-brother racing to her rescue and, since Wyvern had not turned up at the Gardens, he would not even know that she had gone missing.

She drew a deep breath and, whilst recognising that any action she took was likely to prove to be a mere delaying tactic, she vowed that she would, just as on that previous occasion, make every effort to fight her abductor tooth and nail and, should she lose her life in the process, then it would, at the very least, be a merciful release from a far worse fate!

Endeavouring to consolidate her thoughts to that end, she looked around the room to find some object with which to arm herself. Books aplenty, of course, but those that might do any damage to a person were far too heavy for her to lift, let alone throw at her attacker. Her eyes flew to a large oak desk in an alcove between the library's two rear windows but, on investigation, she discovered that its drawers were locked and that the only objects on its green leather surface were a blotting pad, a small wooden tray holding several freshly trimmed quill pens and a glass inkstand, with two of its three pear-shaped inkpots filled with ink. And, whilst she was heavily conscious of the fact that any plan to make use of these items, along with the various other ornaments that she had noticed dotted around the room, would merely put off the inevitable, taking note of their positions for future use might give her a much-needed breathing space.

Turning her attention to the wide, oak-mantelled fireplace, she picked up each of the displayed artefacts in turn, carefully weighing up their possibilities as potential missiles. She was just stooping down to test the relative weights of the fire irons in the companion set on the hearth, when she heard the library door being unlocked. Picking up the poker, she stood up to face her aggressor.

A sour-faced Hazlett entered the room and, after surveying Jessica's defiant stance for several moments, he gave a short laugh. ‘You may put down your weapon, Miss Beresford,' he advised her. ‘Let me assure you that, as things stand, I have no designs on your person—you are far too valuable a commodity to me.'

Then, walking over to a small drum table, he reached for one of the decanters and poured himself a drink, saying, ‘Would you care for a little something, my dear? To steady your nerves, perhaps?'

When she did not reply, he simply shrugged his shoulders and, walking over to the fireplace, threw himself down into one of the leather armchairs that straddled it. Jessica, meanwhile, still clutching the fire iron, had retreated to the alcove at the far side of the room.

Hazlett sighed. ‘You really have nothing to fear from me, dear lady,' he said. ‘Do please dispose of that ridiculous poker, otherwise I shall be obliged to come over and remove it from you, which would be a great pity, since it really would not be in my best interests to damage you in any way!'

Growing more puzzled by the minute, Jessica laid the poker down on the desktop, still within her reach, should she have need of it, and lowered herself on to the very edge of a nearby chair, poised for flight.

‘If it is not your intention to hurt me,' she said carefully, ‘may I ask why you employed those two brutes of yours to manhandle me so roughly?'

A brittle laugh issued from Hazlett's lips. ‘Certain circumstances require rather more forceful solutions,' he replied. ‘I cannot imagine that you would have acceded to their polite request to accompany them!'

She frowned. ‘But why have you brought me here?'

‘All will be revealed very shortly, my dear. Suffice to say that we are about to receive a visitor—someone very close to your heart, if I am not much mistaken. If matters go according to my plan, as I have every reason to suppose that they will, I dare say that both you and he will be free to leave without a single hair of your pretty little heads being damaged in the slightest!'

Stiffening, Jessica realised in an instant to whom Hazlett referred and was quick to work out for herself the meaning behind his words. That he was using her as some sort of bait to draw Wyvern into his web was patently clear, but she still could not understand what it was that he wanted of the earl, unless…?

Then, out of the blue, it hit her. Of course! The wretched fiend was after the earl's missing deeds of ownership! But, surely, she thought, much mystified, the whereabouts of Wyvern's promised solution to their future happiness together had still to be discovered.

Getting to her feet, she glared angrily at her abductor. ‘You mean to use Lord Wyvern's affection for me to blackmail him into handing over that to which you have no right! What kind of a man are you?'

He laughed again, a chilling sound and, tossing back the remains of his drink, he ground out bitterly, ‘A rather desperate one, as it happens, my dear. And you are mistaken about my rights. Until very recently, the title deeds and share certificates were in my possession but then, unfortunately, I fear that I lost them to Wyvern's brother in a game of chance and, even though the blackguard went on to owe me a considerable sum of money, he refused to hand back the deeds.'

‘But, only last evening,' she responded, in a tone of protest, ‘Wyvern himself informed me that the whereabouts of these documents has not yet been discovered!'

‘Ah, yes!' he nodded thoughtfully. ‘Last evening, it is fair to say that your sweetheart spoke nothing but the truth. Today, however—'

The rest of Hazlett's words were drowned by the sounds of a violent altercation, accompanied by the smashing of china and the splintering of woodwork outside the library door. Leaping to his feet, the viscount was at Jessica's side before she had time to consider what he was about. Quickly withdrawing a length of cord from his jacket pocket, he motioned her back in her seat and proceeded to bind the cord about her waist, securing her firmly to the chair's uprights.

‘Just to keep you in your place, my dear,' he grinned, before strolling nonchalantly to the far side of the room and, after putting his ear to the door, rapped upon it three times in quick succession. On receiving the agreed signal from without, he pulled out his pistol, cocked it carefully and, unlocking the door, beckoned to two of his stalwarts to bring their prisoner inside.

As Jessica's shocked eyes registered Wyvern's bruised and bloodied countenance, her eyes filled with tears and she could not prevent her cry of dismay. As soon as he caught sight of her and even though his arms were both being held firmly and none too gently behind his back by Hazlett's two pugilists, the enraged Wyvern renewed his attempts to free himself.

Raising his eyebrows questioningly at the pock-faced one of the pair, Hazlett received a brisk shake of the head from him. ‘Just tha' there chiv,' growled the man, kicking the earl's recently purloined weapon across the hallway. ‘'Ad it up 'is sleeve, so 'e did!'

Frowning slightly, Hazlett motioned the men to release their captive and, prodding the point of his pistol into Wyvern's side, he directed the earl farther into the room, kicking the door shut in the faces of his henchmen.

‘Now that is a bit of a setback,' he drawled as, still keeping his pistol pointed carefully at the earl's chest, he stepped away from him and moved backwards to the centre of the room. ‘I felt sure that, once you found the damned things, you wouldn't let them out of your sight!'

‘Possibly not as clever as you think you are, then,' returned Wyvern, through clenched teeth. His eyes flew across the room to where Jessica was sitting and he shot a questioning look at her. At her tremulous nod, a shudder of relief ran through him. ‘So, what now, Hazlett?' he then asked, briskly wiping away the trickle of blood that had seeped down into his eye from the vicious-looking cut on his forehead. ‘More action from your bully boys, until I divulge the deeds' whereabouts, I assume?'

‘Not at all, my dear chap,' rebutted the viscount with a sneering laugh. ‘It is clear that you have totally failed to get my measure. I have no intention of subjecting
your
well-honed muscles to another pounding—I have in mind a far more tender target!'

His face suffused with anger, Wyvern took one pace forward, causing Hazlett to jerk his pistol threateningly. ‘Touch one hair of her head,' the earl ground out, ‘and I swear that you won't live to see another daybreak!'

‘A somewhat idle threat from where I'm standing, I would say!' sneered the viscount. ‘I'll give you just two minutes to decide, Wyvern. Either you tell me where you have hidden those blasted papers or I will call my men in to take their pleasure with the luscious Miss Beresford! And, naturally,' he added, with a prurient grin, as he registered the riveted expression of shocked horror that had appeared on the earl's face, ‘
you
will be allowed to stay and feast your eyes on the whole delightful procedure!'

With a wry twist of his lips, for to him, there was no other choice, Wyvern leant down and, sliding the slim package from his boot, held it out invitingly towards Hazlett, desperately hoping that the other man's impatience to lay his hands on the eagerly sought paperwork would tempt him to drop his guard. For one split second, as he held his breath, poising himself in readiness to spring, it did indeed seem as if the viscount might be on the verge of dashing forward to rip the packet from his outstretched fingers. Sadly, it was not to be, for Hazlett suddenly checked, clearly having decided that to do so would be unwise.

‘None of your damned tricks, Wyvern,' he panted, his eyes still on the wrapped tube in Wyvern's hand. ‘Toss it down here, in front of me.'

Still struggling in her chair, Jessica, her stomach churning with terror as the dreadful implication of Hazlett's threat sank in, had made every effort to release herself from her bonds, but the viscount had cleverly tied the knot well out of her reach. Frantically casting her eyes around for something that might help her in her quest, her glance suddenly fell on the glass inkstand and its almost globular inkpots.

As the wildest of ideas flew into her brain, she slid her hand carefully across the desktop and lifted the empty pot out of its housing. Desperately trying to remember her half-brother's instructions, as he had patiently endeavoured to teach her to throw in a straight line, she kept her eyes intently focussed on the weapon in Hazlett's outstretched hand and, at the very same instant that Wyvern tossed the package at the viscount's feet, she lifted her arm and hurled the missile directly at the pistol.

Her actual intention had been to try to knock the pistol out of Hazlett's hand, in order to give Wyvern a fighting chance to defend her honour, as she was certain he would have no hesitation in so doing. But her aim, whilst straight enough, was high off the mark and, when the gun went off and the viscount's howl of anguish echoed across the room, she saw, with a curious mixture of relief and chagrin, that the inkpot had hit him squarely on his left temple, the resultant pain of which had caused him to stagger forward, lowering his right arm in the process. Hazlett, it soon became obvious, had shot himself in the foot!

Ignoring the viscount, who was now writhing on the floor in agony, clutching at his bloodied boot, Wyvern dashed to the door, locked it and dropped the key into his pocket, thereby preventing any possible entry by Hazlett's two partners-in-crime. Then, scooping up both package and pistol, he sped to Jessica's side and, unfastening her bonds, pulled her up into his arms.

‘My dearest love!' he cried, his voice choked with emotion, as he buried his face in her hair. ‘Are you all right? Please tell me that the swine did you no harm!'

‘Just a few bumps and bruises,' she assured him, as she revelled in the comfort of his embrace. ‘But you, my love? Those dreadful men must have hurt you so very badly!'

‘Nothing like the pain of finding out that that villain had you in his clutches,' he replied savagely, as, manfully disregarding the painful bruising around his ribs, he tightened his grasp. ‘How can you ever forgive me? If I had come to the gardens as I promised you, none of this could have happened!'

Raising her hand, Jessica placed her fingers over his lips and shook her head, saying, ‘No recriminations, Ben, my love. I'm just so thankful that you found me.' Then she paused, a look of wonderment in her eyes. ‘You were really prepared to give up your mine just for me?'

‘Of course I was, you silly little goose!' groaned Wyvern into her ear. ‘Haven't I already told you that you are everything to me—without you my life would be meaningless—as the past few weeks have most clearly demonstrated!'

Her wide green eyes moist with emotion, Jessica slid both of her hands to the back of his neck and, pulling his head down, she pressed her lips against his. Wyvern's response was sweet and instant. For several minutes, oblivious to the banging on the door coupled with the moans of the injured man, the pair clung together, lost in the rapturous world of their newly discovered love for one another.