Captain Rakehell (2 page)

Chapter Two

Despite his advanced state of inebriation, Captain Lord Lesley Earnshaw executed two masterful thrusts with his rapier before turning somewhat wobbily to face his younger brothers. Although he could only remember one Teddy in the family, the fact that there were two blurred and worried-looking faces gazing back at him in the dim lantern light seemed just the tiniest bit strange.

“Have you always been twins?” he asked puzzledly.

“No, Lesley, I’m not twins.” Theodore Earnshaw, the youngest of the Dowager Duchess of Braxton’s three sons, grasped and shook his brother’s shoulders. “Amanda Gilbertson is a twin. Remember Amanda? Your soon-to-be betrothed?”

“Amanda ... my betrothed ...” The captain’s handsome face furrowed thoughtfully as he raised his right hand, which still held the rapier, to scratch his tousled dark hair.

The blade whizzed past Teddy’s head, just missing his left ear. He ducked, then turned to his friend, Lyndon Smithers, who stood in the shadows holding a small water keg and wooden tankard borrowed from the coachman who’d driven them down to London to attend Captain Earnshaw’s welcome home ball.

“Time for drastic measures,” Teddy announced.  “Fill the cup and stand back.”

“You’d best do the same,” Lyndon advised, as he poured the tankard full and passed it.

“I intend to,” Teddy replied, retreating a safe distance before letting the water fly.

Because the captain stood on the very edge of the aura cast by the lantern, puzzling over why his mother had given the twins the same name, he didn’t see the toss coming. It caught him full in the face, startling and unbalancing him. His knee-high Hessians shot out from under him on the dew-soaked grass, and he sat down heavily with a yowl of pain. Clutching his left buttock, he rolled onto his stomach, gasping, gritting his teeth, and becoming suddenly sober.

As he laid there, spluttering and cursing not only his brother but the cross-eyed Froggy who’d aimed his musket to unman him, but instead had only unhorsed him (praise God), Teddy cupped one hand around his mouth and called softly into the darkness: “Hallo, Forbes! Having any luck with Hawksley?”

A young man of about Teddy’s eighteen years leaned his charge against a stout-boled elm and stepped into the misty glow of the half-dozen lanterns illuminating the center of this remote glade in Regent’s Park. As he did so, Sir Alex Hawksley slid slowly to the ground and slumped on his left side. Forbes called back: “Not a whit’s worth!”

“Hang on! I’ll send Smithers with the water! Lyndon?”

“On my way,” he replied, the keg sloshing in his arms as he jogged away.

Gingerly easing himself into a right-sided sitting position, Earnshaw reached inside his unbuttoned waistcoat for a handkerchief, but instead pulled out a black silk mask. The light from the lantern winking through the eye holes brought the wine-clouded earlier portion of the evening back to him: drinking his dinner at his club on his way to Bond Street and the ball his mother had contrived to introduce him to Lady Amanda Gilbertson; falling in with Sir Alex and repairing to Madame Sophia’s masquerade; discovering Teddy there in the arms of one of Madame’s Cyprians, unmasking him and ringing a peal over him, Hawksley saying ... something insulting about Charles.

“Teddy?”

“Yes, Lesley?”

“Did Hawksley actually refer to our brother as His Dottiness?”

“He did. But as I tried to tell you at Madame Sophia’s, Charles knows everyone calls him the Dotty Duke, and actually thinks it’s quite amusing.”

“Does he?” Earnshaw laid his elbows on his knees and glowered at his younger brother. “I wonder if he’d think finding you at Madame’s amusing?”

“As I also tried to tell you,” Teddy replied defensively, “I did go to Charles and ask him to—er— arrange something for me, but it flustered him so—”

“That you took the matter into your own hands,” Earnshaw finished, cocking one eyebrow. “So to speak.”

“Yes, so to speak.” Teddy sighed wistfully, recalling the lush redhead whose arms Lesley had wrenched him out of. “I don’t see why you couldn’t have allowed me another half—no, make that three-quarters of an hour.”

“Because, Teddy,” Earnshaw replied tiredly, as he raked his wet hair off his forehead, “a boy your age has no idea of the trouble he can get into in a place like Madame’s.”

“Of course I do!” Teddy cried indignantly. “It’s why I was there! But now, thanks to you, I’m here instead!”

“Just precisely where is here, by the way?” Earnshaw asked, glancing around him at the trees enclosing the glade and the wisps of ground fog drifting between them.

“Regents Park. Madame suggested it. She also suggested rapiers—”

“To avoid bringing the whole of Bow Street down on us, yes, I remember now. Something about the Runners keeping a watchful eye on her establishment for gentlemen who leave there with scores to settle.”

“It was also Madame’s suggestion that we adjourn here straightaway, because the Runners periodically keep dawn watches at the usual fields.”

“A wise woman, Madame,” sighed Earnshaw. “Well, I suppose we should get on with it then.”

“Are you all right, now?” Teddy asked, as he helped his brother to his feet.

“Other than being thoroughly soaked, I seem to be.”

“Sorry, Lesley, but when mention of Amanda Gilbertson couldn’t rouse you from your stupor, I hadn’t any choice.”

“Since I am now roused,” the Captain growled, “I’ll thank you not to mention the chit’s name until I contrive a way to make her cry off.”

“I’ve thought of a way.” Teddy grinned and folded his arms. “Simply carve up Hawksley and bruit it about that it was your swordsmanship that left him looking like a Christmas goose.”

“Think of another one,” Earnshaw suggested with a pointed glance. “I’ve no wish to see the inside of Newgate, thank you, and I’ve been to France.”

A howl of outrage drew their attention to the opposite side of the glade, and to Lyndon and Forbes fleeing Sir Alex, who lurched to his feet spitting water and epithets.

“I say, Hawksley!” Earnshaw called quietly. “You might recall the point of this is secrecy, so if you wouldn’t mind—stifle it!”

“Right you are,” replied Sir Alex, as he shook the water off himself. “A moment and I’ll be with you.”

“At your leisure.”

“Perhaps,” Teddy suggested brightly, “your not showing up at mother’s ball tonight will put Amanda off.”

“Doubtful.” Carefully, Captain Earnshaw wiped the blade of his rapier on his buff-colored pantaloons. “If she’s been out—how many Seasons did you say?”

“Three.”

“Three Seasons, then, with no offers, she’s undoubtedly desperate.” He stepped closer to the lantern to examine the rapier, the tallowy light streaking his still-wet raven hair with blue highlights. “Tell the truth, Teddy. How ugly did she grow up to be?”

“Not very,” he lied, hiding the grin on his face behind a hastily cupped hand. “And she’s had offers, Lesley. One that I know of—perhaps even two.”

“Why the devil did Lord Hampton refuse them?” A lock of hair fell over the captain’s drawn-together eyebrows as he ran the flat of his thumb lightly up the edge of the blade.

“According to Andrew he didn’t—it was Amanda.”

“For heaven’s sake why?” Earnshaw asked mildly, as he took several practice cuts.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Is that so?”

The rapier flashed in the backwash of the lantern and came to rest with its tip just pricking Teddy’s neckcloth. Despite the grin on his face, the boy swallowed hard.

“Since you ask so politely, then,” he said, lying baldly as he eased the unresisting blade away from his throat. “According to Andrew, Amanda is holding fast to the attachment she formed for you in childhood.”

“Teddy.” Earnshaw said threateningly, bringing the tip of the rapier again to his throat.

“I swear it’s the truth, Lesley. On our father’s grave I swear it.”

He made the vow knowing that their father, the Master of every Jackanapes ever born, would forgive him; and that the lie was the very least Lesley deserved for depriving him of his luscious redhead.

“Oh, dear God,” Earnshaw sighed, the rapier going limp in his hand.

“I’d sooner you killed me now,” Teddy said, stepping in font of the wilted blade, “as let on to Amanda that I’ve told you. I gave Andrew my word I wouldn’t, you know.”

“I won’t betray you, Teddy,” Earnshaw said soberly, frowning as he resheathed his blade, “Damn and blast! I could have sworn she loathed me.”

“Oh, no!” Teddy assured him quickly. “You should have seen her, Lesley, when we read in the Dispatches that the Second had captured an Eagle. Why, her breast nearly burst with pride! Amanda is convinced you secured the standard singlehandedly.”

Making a noise in his throat, the captain forked his hands through his hair and turned away.

“Frankly, Lesley,” Teddy went on blithely, “I can’t think of a single thing that would turn Amanda’s affections. She’s quite convinced that you are the handsomest, bravest cove that ever—”

“What’d you say?” Earnshaw interrupted, spinning sharply on one heel.

“I said I can’t think of a single—”

“No, no — tell me again what Amanda thinks.”

“I said she thinks you’re the handsomest, bravest—”

“That’s it!” The captain grinned and clasped his brother’s shoulders. “Bless you, Teddy! You’ve saved me from a parson’s mousetrap!”

“I have?” He asked blankly. “How’d I do that?”

“Very well, Earnshaw!” Hawksley called gruffly. “Ready when you are!”

“Just coming!” The captain gave Teddy an affectionate jostle. “Later, lad.”

Perplexed, Teddy hurried to keep pace with Lesley as he strode, whistling under his breath, toward the lanterns lighting the middle of the glade. Lyndon had withdrawn to one of the sidelines, where he sat on the water keg to keep watch. Forbes, who’d come down in the coach with Teddy and Smithers, followed from the far side of the glade behind his cousin Hawksley.

“Here we are then, Alex.” Earnshaw stopped a few paces short of his opponent. “I’ll give you one last chance to recant.”

“Not much point since we’re already out here,” Hawksley replied, as he drew his rapier. “But I’ll say this much—you’re going to be a busy fellow, Lesley, if you call out everyone who dubs Charles His Dottiness.”

“I think not.” The captain grinned, taking his blade in hand and squaring off on Hawksley. “Once word gets round of how easily I sliced you up for beefsteak, I’m sure the term will fall out of fashion.”

“Oh ho!” Sir Alex laughed, taking his stance. “Brave words!”

“Am I supposed to be doing something?” Teddy asked, the gleam in his brother’s eyes making him nervous.

“Just keep out of the way,” Earnshaw replied, his gaze fixed intently on Hawksley, as the slightly taller but much heavier man began to circle him.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Forbes said, catching Teddy’s elbow and drawing him clear of the lanterns.

“I’ll give you first strike, Alex,” the captain offered, wincing a bit as he shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet and felt the muscles in his left leg tighten.

“First and last,” replied Hawksley, feinting, and then following with a deft inside thrust.

Just as deftly, Earnshaw deflected it and countered with a lightning quick stroke that sliced Sir Alex’s left sleeve near the shoulder. Hawksley glanced down at the blood staining his linen and tightened his grip on his rapier.

“Thought you’d be rusty, Lesley.”

“Think again, Alex.”

More cautiously this time, Hawksley circled, looking for a weakness. Earnshaw’s pulse was thudding with excitement so loudly inside his head that he didn’t hear his brother’s shout, wasn’t aware that he’d even spoken until Sir Alex lowered his blade and glanced toward the sideline. The captain turned then, as Teddy and Forbes and Smithers came pelting toward them.

“Runners!” Teddy cried. “Three of them, working their way this direction!”

“Damn!” Earnshaw spat, more disappointed than alarmed, as he sheathed his rapier. “We’ll have to finish this another time, Alex.”

“So we will, Lesley.” Hawksley, too, put away his rapier, then said to Forbes, “Stay with your chums, lad, and get yourselves back to your coach quick as you can.”

“Come on!” Teddy cried urgently, tugging at his brother’s arm. “They’re coming!”

Though he wasn’t overly concerned—Bow Street rarely made trouble over duels between gentlemen—Earnshaw allowed Teddy to pull him into a limping run toward the stand of elms where he and Hawksley had left their horses. As they entered the trees, a gruff voice called from the far side of the dense copse: “You there! Hold!”

“The bloody hell I will!” Earnshaw shouted back. In answer, there came the snap and rustle of heavy feet moving rapidly toward them through the wood.

“Damn buggers have us surrounded!” Hawksley cried, his voice ringing with outrage, as he untied and mounted his bay gelding.

“Go, Lesley!” Teddy urged, pushing his brother toward his prancing, excited black.

“And leave you to face a pack of Runners?” Stumbling against his horse, Earnshaw caught hold of the saddle but refused to mount. “Not likely!”

“What can they do to me if you aren’t here?” Teddy unlashed the reins securing his brother’s stallion to a stout sapling and shoved them into his hands. “And think what mother will do if she finds out about this!”

“He’s right,” Hawksley agreed. “Without our presence to incriminate them, the lads will be safe enough.”

He dug his heels into the bay’s flanks, then, and the gelding leaped away. Earnshaw’s stallion tried to bolt with him, and while the captain fumbled to gather his reins and steady the ready-to-run thoroughbred, Teddy grabbed his left boot heel and tossed him into the saddle. Taken off guard, Earnshaw had no choice but to catch the stirrups and snatch the bit out of Lucifer’s teeth to keep him from rearing.

“Meet me at mother’s house,” Teddy told him, “in the stables. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

“Too late,” Earnshaw replied, looking over the stallion’s ears at the three figures striding into the lantern-lit glade. “Bright as daylight out there, they’ll see me for sure.”