Dangerous Escapade (16 page)

She was
standing so close to him that he could feel her breathing; her scent was in his
nostrils. He looked down into eyes that seemed, all at once, heavy and
languorous, and for all his experience, he lost his head. He caught her roughly
into his arms as her own twined around his neck. She forced herself to return
his kiss while, with one hand, she carefully took her tiny weapon from her petticoat.
Slowly, she brought it up until the point was against his heart. Then, just as
she was about to lunge, some instinct warned him, and he glanced down in time
to fling her from him.

He crouched,
watching her, his breath coming in heaving gasps. She held the knife in front
of her, dangerous and purposeful. He lunged for it and fell back, cursing, as
the blade caught his hand, drawing blood. “You should not have done that, my
dear,” he managed to drawl, “Now I know how sweet the goods are, I am all the more
determined to possess them!”

“We shall both
die first!” she flung back at him.

“I hope you
are wrong,” he answered, “Indeed I am sure you are. About time, Brabington,” he
added, glancing past her shoulder. “This wildcat almost did for me!”

“That's an old
trick,” said Mistress Kitty, scornfully, the blade unwavering before her.

“True, but unfortunately
for you, it happens to be the truth.” As he spoke, she felt her arms pinioned
to her side and found that Cousin Cedric held her motionless. Wellbeloved
sauntered over and removed the dagger from her nerveless hand, and then he hit
her quite deliberately on both cheeks so that her head snapped from side to
side. “You really should not have done that,” he repeated.

Behind her,
Lord Brabington uttered an inarticulate cry of protest and, finding her arms loosened,
she wrenched herself away and sank onto the sofa, trying to still the trembling
in her limbs. Her captors watched as she struggled to regain control of herself
—
Wellbeloved surveying her greedily, Brabington with
concern. When he judged her ready, Wellbeloved spoke again.

“I take it
that you were lying when you agreed to marry your lamentable cousin,” he remarked.

“Of course,”
she replied hopelessly.

“Then, my dear,
we will have to persuade you. Leave us, Brabington.”

Cedric looked
uncertainly from his cousin to his accomplice and then made for the door. As he
reached it, he turned. “What are you going to do?” he asked nervously.

Wellbeloved laughed.
“Use your imagination, my friend,'' he replied. “Now get out!”

As the door
closed behind him, Kitty gave a little sob of despair, which elicited only
another grim laugh from Wellbeloved.

“What do you
imagine I have in store for you, you little fool? Thumbscrews? Come here.”

She lifted her
head. “Why should I?”

“Because I
tell you to, my love,” he answered, jerking her roughly to her feet. “I tell
you this, my dear
—
there is no escape from me,
so why do you fight me? We could have a good life together, you and I. Forget
that fool Brabington; come away with me.” His face was close to hers, his
breath on her face. Mistress Katherine Brabington, reverting suddenly to Kit
Clareville, swore vilely, spat in his face, and brought her knee up sharply in
his groin
—
all in the space of a split second
—
and was facing him across the room with the poker
in her hands.

Wellbeloved
doubled up in agony, but still he flung himself across the sofa towards her,
only to go down with a well-aimed blow upon the temples from the poker. Even
this could not keep him down for more than a second, however, and he lurched
towards her once more. So intent were they that both failed to notice the drawing
room door open. And so, when a cool voice said in an amused tone, “Very well
done, my ward, your father would be proud of you,” the words fell into an
astonished silence. “But do not, I beg, kill the man yet,” continued the voice.
“That is a pleasure I have promised myself,”

Twelve

“Oh, Sir!” cried
Kitty, breathlessly, and ran headlong across the room to fling herself into the
waiting arms of her guardian. They closed protectively around her, but not for
one instant did Debenham take his eyes off Wellbeloved, who still crouched
ready to spring, his breathing raw. He was kept at bay by a serviceable pistol,
which Debenham held levelled at him while, with his left arm, he pressed his
ward to his side.

“Are you hurt,
Kitty?” he questioned, his calm voice comforting her, even as the pressure of
his arm.

“He hit me, Sir,”
she told him in a small voice, “Twice.”

The arm tightened,
“Did he, my ward?” he asked. “Then he shall pay…twice.”

“Brave talk,
Debenham,” jeered Wellbeloved, recovering himself. “Can you make it good?”

“With ease, my
friend, I have only to shoot you as you stand.”

“What, shoot an
unarmed man? That's murder, my Lord.”

“I would
prefer to call it an execution.”

Wellbeloved
paled, he had staked his life on the certainty that Debenham would offer him a fair
fight. But, evil though he undoubtedly was, he was no coward. “Very well, do it
quickly!” he commanded arrogantly. “I do not care to wait upon your
convenience.”

The Earl
smiled. “Do not worry, Wellbeloved. I have no intention of allowing you such an
easy death. You will have your chance to fight. My ward, will you wait outside
while I finish this business?”

Kitty shook
her head, “What if he should kill you, dear Sir? I must be ready.”

Debenham laughed,
“It is an unlikely contingency, Kitty, but how like you to consider it. Very
well, you may stay. Here, take the pistol.”

He shrugged
himself out of his coat, and stood flexing his blade, a romantic figure in his
shirt and breeches. Wellbeloved also divested himself of his coat, but even in
his shirtsleeves, he looked too stocky and powerful to be in the least
romantic. The tables were pushed aside, and the light adjusted in a
business-like way that quite astonished Kitty, who would have wasted little
time on such niceties. She reflected wonderingly upon the peculiarities of the
male code of honour.

The two men
faced each other, and there was a flash of light as their blades met in a brief
salute. They disengaged and circled each other slowly, looking for an opening. Kitty
saw Wellbeloved lunge and a swift parry from her guardian. There was a confused
clashing of blades, and then they sprang apart once more and resumed their
watchful circling. Another thrust, a parry, and swiftly Debenham’s blade
flashed under his opponent's guard and gashed his cheek. “That is for my ward!”

Wellbeloved sprang
back, his fingers probing the wound. “A scratch, my Lord, you will have to do
better than that!”

“I shall,”
promised Debenham grimly. “On guard!”

Each man moved
warily, having assessed each other's quality. Wellbeloved was a strong
methodical fighter. He fought skilfully and untiringly like a machine. Debenham
was much lighter and more active. He moved swiftly, using tricks of duello he
had learned in Italy and France. Again and again, he slipped under the other
man's guard, only to be parried just in time. Both men were tired; the sweat
glistened upon their brows. The blood from Wellbeloved's wound had dripped onto
the wooden floor, making it slippery for both.

Wellbeloved
was fighting defensively now, hoping to wear down an opponent who appeared to
be tireless. Debenham feinted; Wellbeloved pursued his chance and found the
Earl's blade once more at his throat. The blade leapt and slashed his other cheek.
“That is for Clareville,” came the cool voice again. Wellbeloved grunted and
sprang back to wipe the blood from his face. It could not be long now. The pain
in his chest was agony, he could hardly breathe, his arm was tiring, and he saw
his enemy through a film of sweat across his eyes. “End it!” he gasped hoarsely.
“For God's sake, end it.”

“Very well,” said
that maddeningly cool voice. Wellbeloved little knew how much effort was
required to keep it so. “Very well, say your prayers, my friend, for you will
need them!”

To the
watching Kitty, it seemed that Debenham had been merely trifling with his
opponent until that moment. Suddenly he fought like a demon, so quick and strong
that the other man was forced back and back against the wall. He made one last
desperate lunge; his side was open. Debenham's blade flashed under his
opponent's guard and buried itself in his heart. Wellbeloved crumpled where he
stood and died at the feet of the only man who had ever worsted him.

The Earl
pulled his blade out of the body at his feet and flung it aside. He moved like
a man inexpressibly weary to where Kitty stood, very pale, still holding the
pistol on the dead man as though she feared he would rise up again to torment
her.

Quietly, Debenham
took the pistol from her and pocketed it. Then, very gently, he took his ward
in his arms and buried his face in her hair.

“He is dead?”
she murmured into his shoulder.

“He will never
trouble you again.”

“I thought it
was you. That is why I went with him at first; then he kissed me, and of
course, I knew at once that it was not.”

“Did you, my
love?” His arms tightened around her. “Look at me.” Then, as she raised her
eyes to his, he said, “I have been going out of my mind wondering what was
happening to you, but at least it has helped me to make my decision. My
darling, to hell with honour and duty, I love you! Marry me!”

“Anthony, dearest
Anthony,” she murmured, stroking his hair with fingers that shook. “We cannot!
You were right all along, my darling, I know that now. You could not live
without honour, nor could I live with you knowing that through me you had lost
it.”

“Is there no escaping
this match, then?”

“How can I
tell? But this I do know
—
I love you, and I belong
to you. If you want me, I am yours, married or no.”

“Oh my love, that
is not what I wish for. I want you to be my wife, to be mistress of Debenham, to
share my life. Amelia could never be a wife to me; she does not even feign to care
for me.”

“Come, you are
tired,” she said coaxingly. “Rest upon the sofa with me here, and we will
forget about Amelia until tomorrow.” She led him across the room and knelt upon
the floor beside him as he stretched out upon the couch. She held his hand in both
hers, and soon his untroubled breathing told her that he slept.

With one last
lingering look upon her guardian, Kitty slipped quietly out of the room. She
found herself in the dark hallway and was preparing to let herself out of the house
when a muffled noise above her reminded her that Cousin Cedric remained to be dealt
with. She did not consider him to be a threat any longer, but she determined to
confront him once more with his treachery, for her father's sake.

Swiftly, she
ran up the ancient stairway and was in time to see a door at the end of the
passage close behind her cousin. As she approached the chamber, she called in a
low, carrying voice, “Cedric ... Cedric, let me in. I mean you no harm, I
swear.” There was no answer, yet she was sure that he was listening. “Cedric, listen...Wellbeloved
is dead...do you hear me...the Black Dog is dead. You have nothing to fear any
longer.”

She heard a
scuffling noise from the other side of the door, and then the sound of a key
turning. The door opened a crack, and the white face of her cousin appeared.

“Truly he is dead?”
quavered Brabington incredulously.

“As a
doornail, Cousin. Now let me come in.”

The door
widened, and Kitty stepped into a dilapidated chamber containing a huge
four-poster bed, “Was it true, Cedric? Did you indeed betray my father to that
man?”

He did not
meet her eyes. “Yes.”

“You do not
seem to me to be an evil man. How did you become involved with such a man as
Wellbeloved?”

 
“I was a fool. I believe now that Wellbeloved
laid a trap for me from the start. He needed someone who moved in the right
circles to help uncover high-born rebels whom he could not investigate openly,
protected as they were by wealthy family and connections.” He sank onto the bed
and buried his head in his hands.

“I met him at
a gaming hell in St James. It is a notorious place, but the play is deep, so it
is well attended. He held the bank. At first, I won continually, the best run
of luck I have ever had. I won enough to pay off all my debts. They were
enormous, Cousin. I was near to being ruined. Then the luck changed. I lost
heavily. Before I knew it, I was in to the bank for over five thousand.... I
tell you I came near to blowing my brains out.” He glanced up at Kitty but saw
no pity in her eyes. He sighed heavily and continued: “Then Wellbeloved came to
me with a proposition. He would forget all my debts and furnish me with the
wherewithal to pay off all those devilish tradesmen who were dunning me. All I had
to do was give him a little information. It was so easy
if I kept
my ears and eyes open. Then, after a year or so, old
Brabington died. I had all the money I needed, but Wellbeloved bled me of every
penny. It was blackmail, but I would have been ruined, Cousin. I had no
choice!''

Kitty arose
and stood over her cowering relative. “You deserve death almost as much as Wellbeloved,”
she told him contemptuously. “But you are safe from me. I could not kill so
poor a creature.”

In an ecstasy
of gratitude, he caught hold of her hand and kissed it. But she snatched it
away, crying, “Do not touch me, or I may forget what I have said. You do not
know how much I should like to put an end to your miserable life. The only reason
I spare you is because you tried, however feebly, to protect me from that man.
Now I advise you to leave this house, Cousin, and if you value your safety,
keep out of my way!”