Heartless (21 page)

Aurora laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was the last thing she expected to hear. She saw the look of anger start in her hostess’s face and quickly apologized. “I am sorry, Leandra, but you have to understand that I had very nearly forgotten that incident. It was over two years ago, you see, and I am so used to being asked other, more… personal questions that I had not even anticipated that it would not be the same here. And I had not thought that Hart even remembered that. Why he would tell you of it, I can’t begin to guess.”

“He didn’t exactly volunteer the information. We were discussing what I was to call him and he suggested I call him
Lord Heartless
since that was what everybody called him. He told me that you were the only one who ever called him that to his face.”

“And so I did,” nodded Aurora. “I regret that I did, although at the time, I believed it.”

“But what did he do to make you think that? I know Hart very little and I want to understand why he is so accepting of such an appellation.”

She knew him very little? Aurora looked at her husband and he gazed back with the same confused expression. As one, their eyes returned to Leandra.

Aurora leaned close, squeezing Leandra’s hand. “I will explain the situation and then I think, my dear, that you should tell us your story. Perhaps we can help.”

15

Derringer returned to his yacht’s cabin where he had placed his insensate relative and sat down on a hard chair to think. Gabriel had changed drastically. He was missing an arm, for one thing, but even worse, he seemed to be in some sort of trouble. Derringer had not the least idea what that trouble might be but Gabriel had muttered something about D’Arcy right before he lost consciousness.

Why he fainted was yet another mystery. Gabriel did look a good bit thinner than he had when he had first departed England to fight Napoleon. What had happened in the eight years since Gabriel had left? And a better question, what had happened in the five years since he had disappeared?

“Hart.”

The duke shot out of his seat at the whispered word and crouched next to his bunk. “I’m here, Gabe. What is it?”

Gabriel St. Clair grimaced slightly. “Where the devil are we?” he asked hoarsely. “And why does my head hurt?”

“I imagine your head hurts because you struck it when you fainted. As to where we are, we are aboard
The Merry Belle
. We will be home soon. Don’t try to speak.” He gently lifted his cousin and held a glass of water to his lips.

Gabriel swallowed the clear liquid, sputtered a bit, then complained, “Haven’t you anything stronger, Hart?”

Chuckling softly, Derringer rose to fetch a brandy decanter from a locked cupboard on one wall. He removed two glasses and filled them both, then returned to the bed, unaffected by the slight rise and fall of the floor beneath his feet.

“Here,” he said as he handed Gabriel one glass and, pulling the chair closer to the bunk, sat down with the other.

“Much better,” Gabriel sighed as he sipped at the brandy. He gazed up at his cousin. “How did you find me?”

Derringer shrugged. “Never stopped looking. Everyone thought me mad, I know, but something told me you were not dead. Something here,” he told him as he dramatically struck his breast. A self-deprecating smile fluttered on his lips. “A trifle melodramatic, I admit, but true nonetheless.”

“I know what you mean, Hart,” Gabriel admitted. He shifted on the bed, a faint groan rising to his throat. “Though I wondered time and time again if each day would be my last, I knew you would appear eventually.”

“And when you learned it was me, you behaved as though I were your enemy. Why?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I trust no one since Waterloo.”

It was said with such finality that Derringer wondered at it. “What happened at Waterloo?” He settled back in his hard chair, expecting quite a tale of derring-do. He was more than surprised by his cousin’s response.

“Someone tried to kill me.”

Derringer snorted a laugh. He couldn’t help it. “You were in a war, Gabe. Many men were trying to kill you.”

“No, someone was trying to kill me and it wasn’t a Frog.”

That made Derringer pause. Someone was trying to kill him? It was something Derringer knew all to well.

“Explain.”

“It wasn’t just the French, Hart. One of my own men attacked me. Had I been a more disagreeable fellow—like you—I’d have not thought much of it. But me? Who would want to kill me?”

Derringer had nothing to say. His cousin may have sounded a mite conceited but it was nothing but truth. No one would want him dead... unless they were French.

“I didn’t know who to trust.”

“Thus, you distrusted me?”

“I’m sorry.”

Derringer chuckled, waving a hand at Gabriel. “Don’t be. I wouldn’t trust anyone either.”

Silence fell. Derringer watched his cousin, saw him wince when he moved his missing arm, and wondered at his fidgety movements. It all became clear when Gabriel continued.

“How is Martin? And Mama?”

The duke leaned back in his chair. “Martin is well and working as my secretary. Your mother is well as far as I know. I haven’t seen her since you disappeared. Kathryn is lovely, married, and has three boys. I wrote to you about the oldest. She’s had two more since then.”

“And you, Hart? How are you?”

“I am married,” Derringer told him reluctantly.

Gabriel tried to sit up and get a better look at his cousin. “You…you are married?”

“I had to according to the old duke’s will. I was told seven days before my birthday that I had to marry before I was thirty. I saw Merri at an inn in Maidstone and asked her to marry me. She really had no choice. She was on her own because her father died and she had no money and no prospects.”

“You married a girl you happened to meet just to get your inheritance?”

“I… uh, yes. I suppose I did.”

Gabriel regarded him from wide blue eyes that revealed nothing of his thoughts. “How could you?” he finally stated after what seemed like an eternity.

Derringer stood and paced the confines of the tiny cabin. He shoved one hand through his loose hair, a sigh dragging from his chest. He stopped, placed his hands on his hips, swung around, and sighed again.

“How couldn’t I?” he finally retorted. “How could I just walk away and leave her there to fend for herself? How could I look into those glorious eyes of hers, see the laughter bubbling there, and just turn around and leave her? I couldn’t do it. I denied any altruistic motives at the time but I did it more for her than for me.”

“Dear God, Hart, you’re in love with this girl,” Gabriel accused with an awestruck expression.

“In love with her? No, I’m not, Gabe. I married her because I felt sorry for her. I do not love her.”

“Would it be so wrong to love her?” Gabriel asked softly.

Derringer stared at him a moment. “Yes, Gabe, it would. You have not been there enough to notice, but everyone I care about, everyone that cares for me has been cursed with misfortunes of some kind.” He held up his hand, ticking off his woes. “Mama died. Uncle David died. Old Sam lost his leg. You disappeared. Rhiannon was kidnapped. Rory was shot. Levi was plagued by worry over his family. Then, Rory almost died in childbirth.”

“Unless you caused her pregnancy, I fail to see how that last has anything to do with you at all, Hart.”

The duke grunted. “Perhaps not.”

“Your mama’s death was not your fault. Uncle David was a traitor to England no matter how much he cared about us. Old Sam was a drunk and bound to fall into trouble whether he knew you or not. I don’t know who Rhiannon, Rory, and Levi are, but I’m sure you cannot be blamed for their woes. And you most certainly did not cause my disappearance.”

A shake of his dark head revealed Derringer’s disbelief of this claim. “I couldn’t bear to think that Merri should suffer just because I care.”

Gabriel wisely held his tongue. He just watched his cousin move around in obvious agitation and pondered the oddity of his childhood playmate falling in love with… his own wife. It was ludicrous.

“Tell me why you muttered D’Arcy’s name when you realized it was me,” commanded Derringer suddenly. He stopped pacing and stared down at Gabriel.

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

He was hiding something, Derringer was sure of it. “Come, Gabe, you’ve never been able to hide things from me. Tell me what’s amiss.”

Gabriel turned stubborn blue eyes on the duke. “It doesn’t concern you, Hart. It is my problem.”

“The devil it is! I have searched for you for five years. I think I have some right to get you out of whatever mess you’ve landed in.”

“No, you don’t. You’re not my keeper, Hart. You’re my cousin.”

“Yes,” snapped the duke, “I am your cousin. The same cousin who pulled you out of the briers on too many occasions to count. The same cousin who defended you more than once when your father tried to beat some sense into your thick skull. The same bloody cousin who sent you off to war and nearly got you killed in the process!”

Shock sucked the air from Gabriel’s lungs. “You blame yourself, Hart? Because I enlisted?” The duke’s self-conscious shrug was his only answer. “I was army-mad, Hart. I would have gone if I’d had to take the King’s shilling to do it. You know that. There was never anyone closer to me than you. You know, Hart.”

Derringer stood and went to the one porthole in the cabin. He stared out into the night at the myriad stars hanging in the heavens. He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to be free of the blame. Deep down, he knew he was responsible. He was responsible and no one else.

“You are not my keeper,” Gabriel repeated emphatically. “I made my choice and now I must live with the consequences.”

Derringer didn’t turn around. “How did you lose your arm, Gabe?”

Gabriel glanced down at the missing appendage, then laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Waterloo,” he said. “Shrapnel lodged in too many places to be easily removed. Infection.” He threw his remaining hand up with a flourish, intoning dramatically, “Goodbye, arm.”

The hand he waved was, naturally, the one that held the thick brandy glass. Thankfully, it was empty. It did, however, fly from his hand to land with a thwack against the door of the cabin. Derringer jumped at the sound and swung around to see his cousin doubled over. He rushed over, fearing the worst, and was astonished to realize Gabriel was laughing.

“What the devil!” he exploded.

“I am s-sorry, H-Hart,” sputtered Gabriel, holding his side with his one arm. “It w-was just s-so f-f-funny!” And he succumbed to another round of hearty laughter.