Charlotte Louise Dolan (18 page)

“How do you suppose they did it?” Bronson kept his horse at a steady trot beside the governess, while the twins rode a little ahead.

“How did they do what?” Miss Hemsworth turned her beautiful blue eyes toward him, a puzzled expression on her face.

“I can understand how the twins could use a rope to suspend the dummy from the roof, but how did they make it fall at the appropriate time? Neither boy was visible anywhere near the effigy, so how did they manage to untie the rope?”

She smiled, and to Bronson it seemed that the sun had come out, even though the sky was still overcast. “They undoubtedly made an eye splice in the end of the rope and held it in place around the dummy with a toggle. Then when they jerked on the cord attached to the toggle, it would instantly release the rope. Last week I taught the boys splices and knots, you see.”

She began to laugh, and he felt his newly discovered temper start to flare.

“I am afraid I do not find it as amusing as you do.”

“No, no,” she said. “I was not laughing about the trick with the dummy. It just occurred to me that this week we have been studying electricity.”

Bronson gave an involuntary jerk on the reins, causing his horse to rear. He quickly brought it back under control, to the obvious amusement of his riding companion. “Miss Hemsworth, has it occurred to you that it would be safer by far to limit your instruction to less dangerous subjects? Nature study, perhaps?”

“Oh, but we have not been neglecting that at all. We have started studying anatomy, for example.”

Bronson leaned over and caught the reins of her horse, pulling it to a stop. He was now so close to her, his leg brushed against her skirt. “Miss Hemsworth, I want to make myself very clear. It has never been my wish to arise some morning and discover that someone has raided the family vault to find specimens for anatomical study.”

The warmth had vanished from her voice and the laughter from her eyes when she answered him. “We have conducted very scientific dissections of a toad and a rabbit, my lord. I have not turned the boys into grave robbers. The twins have the finest minds of anyone I have ever met, coupled with a curiosity and a thirst for knowledge that is rarely found in anyone, old or young. It would appear that their former governesses were not the only ones who have underestimated their intelligence. You may decide to limit their education to memorizing Latin verbs, my lord, and you may order me to avoid certain ‘dangerous’ subjects, and you may even censor their reading and burn their books, but your efforts will be in vain. They will learn, whether you wish it or not.”

With that, she jerked her reins free from his grasp, and kicking her horse into a gallop, she set off after the twins.

Blast that woman! He had no intention of censoring the boys’ reading material. All he was interested in was a little discretion as to subject matter, a little enlightened self-interest, a little ... self-preservation. Suppose the boys decided they were interested in learning how to make gunpowder—was she in favor of helping them mix the saltpeter and charcoal?

Really, her arguments were nothing more than rationalization, and so he would point out to her the next time he had a moment alone with her.

He would also make it clear that running away from any debate without giving one’s opponent the opportunity for a rebuttal was a cowardly thing to do—no, a
womanly
thing to do. He smiled to himself when he considered what her reaction would be if he accused her of arguing like a typical female.

Setting his horse to a gallop, he rapidly overtook the other three riders. She did sit a horse well, he had to admit. The old groom, Patrick, had been right about that. It was too bad she could not control her temper and her tongue as well as she controlled her mount.

She was, in fact, decidedly prickly, like a little hedgehog. No, she was more like a mother hen, puffing up her feathers at the least threat of danger to her two little chicks.

What would it be like to unruffle her feathers? To soothe away her prickles? To give her further instructions in the gentle art of kissing?

The rest of the way to Thorverton Hall he pushed out of his mind all the serious subjects that had been occupying his thoughts for the last several years, and allowed himself instead to enjoy the familiar rolling hills of the moor, the cool breeze in his face, and the feel of a good horse beneath him.

But most of all he found delight in observing Miss Hemsworth. Everything about her was perfection, from her straight back to the way she held the reins, from the curve of her neck to the tilt of her chin.

He remembered also the frank appraisal she had given him in Tavistock ... the way her lips had felt when he had kissed her ... the swell of her hips when he had put his hands on her waist... the sigh she had uttered when he had kissed her on the ear....

Even the way she had scolded him for his supposed neglect of the twins now seemed endearing instead of aggravating.

With a little patience on his part, he could win her trust. He could teach her to respect men, rather than to berate them. It would be a challenge, but before the summer was over, she would call him by his first name, rather than “my lord,” and she would smile at him the way she smiled at the twins.

Arriving at Thorverton Hall, they bypassed the house and went directly to the stable block, where Lawrence Mallory came out to meet them.

“Morning, Leatham. Heard you were back. We were hoping you would manage to visit before you take off on your travels again. Demetrius just went up to the house, but I shall let him know you are here. Collier is around somewhere.”

A gangling youth came dashing full tilt into the courtyard, and with shouts of glee, the twins scrambled off their horses and ran to meet him. Bronson realized with a shock that it was Collier. The little brother who had tagged along behind Demetrius was no longer little.

Had so many years really passed since Bronson had been at Thorverton Hall? For a moment he had the disconcerting feeling that Miss Hemsworth was correct, that he had not spent enough time recently in Devon.

He dismounted and went to help Miss Hemsworth, but Mallory was before him.

Bronson froze in his tracks, overcome with a burning rage at the sight of the other man’s hands on Miss Hemsworth’s waist.

“I tried that poultice you recommended, Anne, and it seems to be more efficacious than the one we had been using. Our only problem is that Daisy keeps trying to eat it.”

“I warned you about that, Lawrence. And how is Dolly’s fine son doing?” Without a backward look, the two of them strode off toward the row of stalls, calmly discussing horses.

Bronson could not believe what he was seeing. Miss Hemsworth, the man-hater, the radical feminist—Miss Hemsworth, who talked back, who argued, who criticized— Miss Hemsworth was being nothing but charming.

She was not berating Mallory or ordering him around; she was not tossing challenges in his face or upbraiding him for his supposed shortcomings.

Irrationally, what rankled the most was that she called Mallory by his first name, and at the same time allowed him to call her Anne. That was a privilege he, Bronson, desired above all else, and that it should have been granted to another man made him angry—no, it was not strictly anger he felt, but jealousy.

That hitherto unknown emotion now twisted his insides painfully; the strength of it made him feel weak.

“Ah, Leatham, I did not expect to see you again so soon. As you can see, I made good my escape from London and the matrimonial trap.”

Bronson turned to see Demetrius approaching him. With effort he managed to act is if everything were normal. “Have you heard anything from the fair Diana?”

“Not directly, but her father wrote me a civil letter, apologizing for the ‘inconvenience’ I had been put to. And via my Uncle Humphrey I have heard that it is generally accepted that my heart is broken, and that I will never again look at another woman. And speaking of women, is that Anne’s horse? Did she come with you?”

At the sound of Anne’s name on still another man’s lips, Bronson felt such a surge of jealousy that if he’d had an epee in his hand, he would have driven it through his friend’s heart.

* * * *

Creighton Trussell crouched on the little balcony, spying on the party of four seated below him on the terrace behind Wylington Manor.

He ground his teeth in rage at their failure to cooperate with him. Since the day after Leatham’s arrival, the baron had never left the twins’ side except at night, when the boys were tucked in bed in the nursery.

It was almost as if he were deliberately doing his best to foil Creighton’s plan.

But wait—Leatham was standing up. Now he was turning and walking toward the house. He was leaving the others. The moment was at hand.

Creighton fumbled in his pocket, the gun he had been forced to carry loaded for the last three days tangling itself in the fabric of his jacket.

Leatham disappeared from view below the balcony just as Creighton managed to extract the gun. With shaking hands, he pointed it through a small, round opening in the stone balustrade and aimed it in the general direction of the twins.

Shutting both his eyes, he pulled the trigger.

Bronson had barely seated himself at his desk and picked up the first letter addressed to him when he heard a shot fired outside, followed immediately by a woman’s scream. Dear Lord, Anne! Leaping to his feet he dashed back out onto the terrace, to be met by a scene of utter confusion and chaos. In the center of the broken crockery and spilled tea cakes, one of the maids lay lifeless on the ground. Miss Hemsworth and the twins were already at her side.

“Where was she hit?” Bronson asked, shoving one of the boys aside and kneeling by the stricken woman, checking her quickly for signs of blood.

“I do not believe she was, my lord,” Miss Hemsworth replied calmly. “The bullet shattered the teapot on the table, which startled her so she screamed and fainted. In falling, she struck her head on one of the flagstones and has rendered herself quite senseless.”

Other servants came running up, and Bronson instructed two of the footmen to carry the unfortunate maid back into the house. Then he turned his mind to the question of who had fired the shot ... and at whom.

* * * *

Wyke laid a carefully folded shirt in the proper drawer and picked up a pair of his master’s boots that needed cleaning. Hearing someone enter the adjoining bedroom, he put the boots aside for later attention and went to see if his services were required.

The sight that met his eyes astounded him, but he managed to maintain an impassive mien. Trussell stood there, his back against the door, gasping for breath, his cravat in disarray and his coat mussed ... and in his hand was a pistol.

Upon catching sight of his valet, Trussell gave a little shriek and dropped the pistol.

Whatever Wyke had suspected his master of plotting, it had nothing to do with guns. On the other hand, when opportunity knocked, as his dear mum had always said....

Without losing his dignity, he approached the shaken man and bent and picked up the pistol from the floor. One whiff, and he knew it had been recently fired.

“You had better tell me what you have been doing,” he said matter-of-factly, sliding the gun into his pocket.

His calm acceptance of the situation had its effect on Trussell, who stood up, smoothed his hair with one hand, straightened his jacket, and said, “I merely fired a shot at the twins.”

Merely?
thought Wyke. That was an understatement if he ever heard one. “To what end?” he asked.

“As you know, I have been a trifle short of funds recently, so I have come up with a plan to cast suspicion on Lord Leatham, so that—” here Trussell paused to catch his breath, “—so that I will be appointed guardian of the twins in his stead.”

Wyke did not need any more explanation. The advantages that would accrue to Trussell and through Trussell to himself were obvious.

What was also obvious was that as a conspirator Trussell was hopelessly inept. There was not a minute to be lost if this scheme had any chance of succeeding. Although he had not intended to become directly involved in Trussell’s plotting, he had to take an active part now or Trussell’s part in the shooting would be discovered, and all chance for later blackmail would be lost.

“Quickly, sir.” Wyke grabbed his master and spun him around, then ruthlessly ripped the jacket off his back. Shoving the unresisting gentleman down into a chair, the valet wrapped a towel around his neck, picked up the shaving mug, and in minutes had slathered shaving soap all over the lower half of Trussell’s face.

“What on earth—”

“Don’t speak, sir, just do as I tell you. We must be sure to divert suspicion from you.”

Trussell blanched, but made no further effort to resist or question what his valet was doing.

Using the back of the razor, Wyke quickly wiped most of the soapsuds from his master’s face, then pulled him to his feet. “Hurry, go out and join the others on the terrace, quick, before they come looking for you.”

“In my shirtsleeves?”

“Yes, of course in your shirtsleeves, now hurry—run, tell them you heard the shot.”

“Oh, yes, of course, how clever of you.” Trussell departed, if not at a run, then at least more briskly than usual.

Now the only remaining problem was the gun. Wyke took it out and inspected it. A dueling pistol, and quite expensive by the looks of it. He could only hope that Trussell had been smart enough not to use one he had purchased himself.

Shoving it into his pocket, Wyke cautiously opened the door to the hallway and checked to be sure he was not being observed. Then, as if he had not a care in the world, he sauntered casually toward the stairs.

When he reached Lord Leatham’s study, he tapped gently on the door once, then a little louder the second time. Receiving no answer, he opened the door and peered cautiously inside. Empty. Perfect for his plan.

Hugging the edges of the room so that he could not be seen through the French doors by anyone looking in from outside, he circled the room. Then standing concealed behind the curtains, he took the pistol and carefully tossed it through the open doors and into one of the bushes.