Athena's Ordeal (25 page)

Quince waved away his valet. It wasn’t like this was a formal London ball, just his mother’s salon of bluestockings from the region. Sabre had convinced him that they shouldn’t talk to his mother about Draco’s identity yet, lest it should make her nervous and tip their hand if he should be there tonight. His fiancée remained convinced that she could recognize him. And Quince himself was convinced that he would recognize the voice again.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” his brother asked.

Quince looked over to where Jeremy was sitting in a chair near the window, holding a book he had been reading until he lost patience. The most entertaining part of staying at his mother’s house was that she didn’t particularly treat him as a duke. While here he roomed with his brother and received very little special treatment, but a lot of familial affection. As much as he enjoyed spending time with his family, he missed being alone with his fiancée. Last night Sabre was in Jessica’s room. It had been difficult not to go to her, but he couldn’t imagine anything more beastly than making love in his sister’s bed. And no matter his intentions he was sure that if he went to her that is exactly what they would end up doing. Of course, he didn’t have t
o imagine more beastly things, he had read about them. Had some of that documentation with him now.

“Perhaps,” he replied drily. In some ways his relationship with Jeremy was strained. The young man had grown up as the oldest brother, the man of the house. Having an older brother appear, and a duke no less, after all those years seemed to be a source of some frustration. But he would grant Jeremy that the young man was generally respectful. “You could go down without me, you know.”

“Then they would only ask me where you are. Why invite that?”

“Why indeed? Fortunately I find myself ready.”

Jeremy set his book aside and rose.

“One thing,” Quince said.

Jeremy stopped and waited with an expectant look on his face.

The duke took a deep breath. It was hard to know exactly how much information to trust Jeremy with. But as of the prior week he was Quince’s heir. It was possible that Quince owed him all the details. If not now, then later. “There could be unpleasantness this evening. It would mean a great deal to me if you would ensure that mother and Sabre are safe.”

Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “What sort of unpleasantness?”

“That’s difficult to say. But if a certain person is here, there will be a confrontation. May I rely on you to see to the ladies?”

“Of course.”

Quince nodded and walked to the door.

“What sort of name is Sabre, anyway?” Jeremy asked.

The duke chuckled and put an arm over his brother’s shoulders. “The name of your soon to be sister-in-law.”

When Sabre saw Quince on the stairs she stepped up to him to whisper in his ear as Jeremy moved past her and into the room. “He’s here.”

The duke looked worried. “If anything should happen, if there is a confrontation, will you ensure that my mother and brothers are safe?”

“Of course.” She stood near him for a moment more. He smelled heavenly.

He leaned closer and whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear and neck. “Which one is he?”

“Brown jacket, buff breeches. He’s exceptionally unexceptional tonight.”

Quince risked a quick kiss on her ear. “I love you. Please be careful this evening.”

“You as well,” she admonished.

He squeezed her hand and then stepped away to enter the drawing room.

Sabre stayed on the steps for a moment longer. She still wasn’t entirely sure what Quince planned to do with Draco.

The evenings of his mother’s salons were, by
ton
standards, extraordinarily casual affairs. A few select guests were invited to arrive early and enjoy some drawing room conversation followed by a meal. After that, more guests would arrive and the topic for evening debate would be raised. He had attended her salons twice before. They were interesting, but required a level of interaction with others that he generally didn’t prefer.

The evenings were so casual, in fact, that guests weren’t even announced at the door. He simply strolled into the drawing room and over to his mother’s side.

“Hullo, mum,” he said, kissing her hand.

“Hullo, Quince. I would like to introduce you to my gentleman friend.” She turned to the man standing near her and the duke felt a chill go through him at what her words might mean. If Robert were correct and the dragon ascribed his own motivations to Quince’s relationship with Sabre, and if this truly were the dragon as Sabre suspected it was… The conclusion sent a flare of anger burning through him so terrible he was surprised fire didn’t spit from his eyes. His mother continued the introduction with an indulgent smile at her ‘gentleman friend’.  “Quince, may I introduce Lord Granby, Baron of Glenmar. Lord Granby, my son Quincy Telford, Duke of Beloin.”

Glenmar bowed but Quince said sharply. “We’ve met, mother.”

The baron straightened with a look of mild surprise. “Oh, your grace?”

The baron was a man of middling height and unremarkable style. His features, his manner of dress, even his body language, all spoke of being quite ordinary. If Sabre hadn’t identified him, hadn’t said that Draco was exceptionally unexceptional tonight, then Quince would not have suspected this man of anything.

“Yes,” Quince said with a forced smile, “don’t you recall? At the Harrington affair. We spoke about gardens.”

Quince saw the barest narrowing of the baron’s eyes. “Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else, your grace.”

No, it was the same voice. Pitched differently for current company, but the same voice. “Do you think?” Quince asked. “That’s unfortunate because I have recently received the most excellent advice on how to get rid of snakes that are in one’s garden. If I could find the man I was speaking to that night it would be very important information for him to have.”

“Would it indeed?”

The dragon had an enormous amount of control. He barely betrayed himself by a twitch. But Quince knew the man had to be furious. Undoubtedly he had come here to gloat over the control he had gained by threatening the family of a duke. Now Quince was here to throw it all back in his face. It would do well to remember that there was nothing, literally nothing, that this man
was not capable of.

Across the room Sabre saw Quince staring down Draco. This couldn’t be good, she thought. Starting a conflict with the man when there were so many innocents on the field? And who knew what lackeys Draco had, either in the room or nearby? It was a recipe for collateral disaster. But she wasn’t quite sure how to mitigate the damage as of yet. Trying to make the other guests leave when they saw no potential danger would be difficult to say the least.

At this point the best she could do was watch and look for opportunities. If Quince pointed himself at the vanguard then she would need to guard his flank and rear. And his family, as he had asked. With a small sigh she wished they had brought their swords down to supper.

Quince clutched his wine glass with such tension he was almost afraid of breaking it. The dragon had thus far refused to be baited, and now they sat at the table across from one another. The dining room was cozy compared to most of the ducal properties. The table only seated ten and the fireplace was so close to his back that he was glad it wasn’t winter, when a crackling fire would most likely be unpleasantly hot behind him.

It was customary to spend more time speaking to the guests on your right and left than across the table, so he had yet to speak to the dragon since sitting down. Sabre sat to Quince’s right, but was currently entertaining the guest to her other side. Jeremy was across the table and to Draco’s left. It gave Quince some pause to have his brother so close to the man. Baron Granby.

Now that knowledge of Draco’s identity had been revealed it wasn’t possible to let him leave this evening without a resolution. Hopefully a resolution that included the baron leaving England and never coming back. Or, better yet, one where the baron died from some tragic accident and was never able to harm anyone else again. Quince wasn’t at peace with simply exiling the man since it was clear he would continue to hurt others. It was how the man was made, it was a sickness. But the duke wasn’t willing to risk the safety of his family and he had no doubt that turning the baron over to the Crown for punishment would only lead to unpleasant retribution. And try as he might, Quince wasn’t comfortable electing to pass judgment and kill the man outright. Or even by proxy, as he knew Robert
would see the job done. That only left him with the option of driving the baron away. Convincing the dragon that leaving the duke’s loved ones alone was the safest course of action. That for the dragon to do otherwise was to risk his own life.

Now was not a time to wait. Not a time to observe. It was a time to act. Before the dragon could do more harm to his loved ones. A thought that only made him
wonder what sort of relationship the baron had with his mother. Quince glanced down the table to where his mother sat at one end. It was another point to her egalitarianism that she had seated her son, the duke, mid-table rather than at the head. How friendly had she been with the dragon? Had the bastard touched her? More? Even contemplating such a thing made his blood boil again. He took a deep breath. Rage, although justified, could be deadly when confronting such a cold and vicious opponent. He took a moment to center himself, absorbing the buzzing voices at the table. Listening to Sabre chatting with her neighbor. Listening to his brother talk with the dragon.

“Lord Granby,” Quince called across the table. “Who else have you decided is a mark from the present company? I’m sure you aren’t wasting your time here. Or perhaps you are. Intellectuals aren’t known for their wealth as a general rule.”

Quince saw Jeremy furrow his brow. The baron, however, remained calm. But that calm had now iced over a bit. “I think perhaps you have had too much of that wine, your grace.”

“I doubt that I’ve had quite enough. Driving snakes from one’s garden is thirsty work.”

“Quincy,” his mother’s voice came from her end of the table. “What are you doing?”

“Dealing with a pest, mother. Don’t worry yourself.”

The rest of the company had fallen silent and watched uneasily and the baron finally spoke again. “What are you hoping to gain, your grace?”

“I have nothing to gain,” Quince corrected. “I’m only going to point out what you have to lose. I haven’t gone digging in your garden, you see. But I did go digging in my own. And the things I have found there
, the papers, are shocking.”

At last. The dragon’s eyes narrowed to slits. His expression changed from bland insouciance to repressed rage. A dark flush stained his cheeks.

“The rest of you may be excused,” Quince said, relying on the authority of his station to be granted their compliance. “Baron Granby and I have some things to discuss.”

The guests rose. Granby lurched from his seat and snaked an arm around Jeremy’s throat, pressing a knife under the boy’s chin. “You have made a terrible mistake, little hedgehog.”

The duchess screamed, “Jeremy!”

Quince seized an iron poker from the fireplace and leapt on top of the table, knocking over wine glasses and crushing them under his feet, the red liquid spreading out under his boots and staining the tablecloth crimson. He pointed the poker at Draco’s head. “If you harm my brother I can guarantee you will not survive this evening. That’s ultimately what you want, isn’t it Granby? To survive? If so, there is only one way you
will be permitted to do that.”

The dragon spit towards Quince’s boots. “How dare you threaten me? You are weak. Soft. You were a disappointment to your father.”

“My father never understood me. And luckily for him, I never understood him either. Had I known what you all were truly capable of then this day of judgment would have come much sooner.” He took another step forward, crunching broken glass and china underfoot. “Because believe me when I say that you have been judged. And found guilty. The only way that you will continue your miserable, execrable life is, like all pests, by scuttling into the darkness. By leaving England and never darkening our shores again, either in person or by your influence. Should any harm come to me and mine I will kill you. Should I die, the men, powerful men, who hold documentation of your murder and treason are instructed to take it to the Crown and you can rest assured that your deeds will find you hanged. Certainly you know that Cygnus’ son hates you as much as I do and would not hesitate to see you ended.”

“Why should I even believe that you have found papers? That there are any papers?”

Quince used his off hand to reach into his vest pocket, withdrawing one piece of paper. “I brought this just for you.” He tossed the paper onto Granby’s place setting. He could see indecision flicker briefly in the dragon’s eyes. It was something of a risk to take the knife from Jeremy’s throat since it was the primary leverage that was keeping the damned man uninjured at the moment. But they were all currently at a stalemate. From the corner of his eye Quince saw his mother drawing closer, a silver candlestick clutched in her hands. The last thing he needed was for the dragon to have two of his family at his mercy. He heard a thump and crunch behind him, and then saw another poker extended toward the baron.

“You had best heed the duke’s advice,” Sabre said. “it were left for me to decide
, you would already be dead.”

The dragon sneered. “A weak boy and a woman? I don’t find myself intimidated.”

Quince arched a brow. “Would you prefer that I call in the Home Office agents that are outside? You don't believe I left my mother unprotected after your threats, do you?”

The dragon looked up and Quince could tell that the man was measuring him, calculating how possible it was that agents were outside. And whether Quince was capable of killing him outright if the situation were pushed any further.

Sabre chimed in, almost gloating. “As it was in service to a duke I’m sure Robert sent some of his best men.”

“Jeremy,” the baron said sharply, “pick up that paper so that I may read it.”

Jeremy nodded slightly. He had to lean forward to pick up the paper, making the dragon loosen his grip for a moment. The duchess took that opportunity to strike, bringing the heavy silver candlestick down on the back of his head. Quince jabbed the poker into the dragon’s chest, pushing him backward while Jeremy managed to twist away. Quince followed through, continuing to drive the man before him by force alone as he stepped off the table, and slammed the baron into the wall, rending a sharp exclamation of pain from the man. The dragon raised the hand with a knife in it and Quince knocked it from him with the poker as though it had been a stick held by a child, hearing the snap of bone from the strike, then settled the cold, pointed iron under the baron’s throat.

Sabre jumped down from the table to herd Jeremy and the duchess behind herself. She still held up the iron poker, even though it seemed Quince had the dragon in hand. She scanned the room again looking for anyone who seemed inclined to help the baron. It was hard for her to believe that he would travel without some sort of reinforcements, but she had yet to see any of the guests or servants lift so much as a finger to aid the man.

Quince spoke again, his voice cold and sharp as a sword. “Have you decided yet? Will it be death now, death by hanging, or a quiet life somewhere that I will never hear of?”

The dragon’s eyes blazed with rage. Sabre recognized that, even through his fury, the baron was still calculating. Quince had obviously surprised the dragon with both his strength of purpose and skill. The duke’s righteousness was something to behold. But that would only be a minor consideration in whatever tactic the dragon chose next.

Sabre heard a commotion from the front hallway and edged herself in that direction, just in case the dragon’s men were finally riding to his rescue. Then she heard a voice rise in irritation.

“I don’t bloody care if the Prince himself is in there. Let me pass before I throw you out of the way.”

Sabre almost laughed. Gideon. Of course. Apparently receiving a packet of papers had sent the earl into action again.

Quince pressed the poker more firmly into the baron’s throat. “You may want to decide soon. My friend is even less forgiving than I am. And remember, if I allow you to live it is under the condition of not bothering any of us ever again. No threats, no revenge. Just the opportunity to live your life somewhere else.”

The dragon nodded. Not cowed, precisely, but recognizing his lack of options.

Quince took a step back, keeping the poker leveled at the dragon, and nodded to the window. “I suggest you leave that way before the earl arrives. And find the nearest ship. If we can find you we will rescind our offer.”

The dragon managed to open the window one-handed and fled before Gideon, Robert, and Charlie surged into the room.