Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5) (28 page)

M
ichael Scott! Is that
you?”

“Yes, but it’s Michael Blair now.”

Kit reined in his horse and gaped at the man approaching from the other direction. He shuddered, feeling as if a ghost had walked across his grave.

When Kit had first been orphaned, he and Damian had worked for Michael as pickpockets. At the time, Michael had been little more than a boy himself, but he’d already acquired a reputation for violence and shrewd dealing.

He’d treated Kit and Damian fairly, had taught them most of what they knew about brutality and vice, but he was also the person responsible for their being arrested and transported to Australia.

If they’d never embraced his life of crime, they wouldn’t have been swept up as incorrigibles. Then again, if they hadn’t worked for him, they’d likely have starved on the streets of London. They certainly wouldn’t have survived the sea voyage or their incarceration in Botany Bay.

It had been a dog-eat-dog world, with boys jockeying for position and committing unspeakably cruel acts in order to gain a bit of power. Damian had thrived in the established hierarchy. He was fearless, braver than anyone Kit had ever met, and absolutely undaunted in his ability to persevere and get what he wanted. But Kit hadn’t been quite so successful.

“Damian told me you’d taken your mother’s name,” Kit said.

“And my father’s.”

“Why are you at Kirkwood?” Kit asked.

“I’m on my way to London, but my mother insisted I stop and see how Damian is faring.”

“He’s surly and angry and impossible.”

“In other words, he’s the same as always?”

“Yes. I heard your mother was back from the dead.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

Michael had been lost on the streets as a toddler, and he’d been given the surname of Scott at an orphanage. Now…he’d found his mother, Anne, had retrieved his father’s heritage from his despicable kin, and he proudly wore his parents’ name.

For someone like Kit who yearned to locate members of his own family, it was a heartening development.

Michael’s mother had been transported to Australia too, and it was the reason Michael had had such a difficult childhood. He and his siblings hadn’t known what happened to her and had grown up assuming she was deceased. Damian had brought her back to England.

“Do you ever ponder Fate?” Kit inquired as they turned up the lane that led to the manor.

“No, why?”

“It seems so odd to me that you, Damian, and I were together in London, then he and your mother became such close friends in Australia.”

“She cared about him, which was exactly what she required.”

“He needed a mother.”

“Yes, and she needed a son.”

Anne and Damian had both been stubborn and obstinate so they’d suffered egregiously in Botany Bay. They had a bond that even death would never break.

“How is the foreclosure going?” Michael asked. “My mother has been very worried about it. She didn’t think Damian hired enough men to secure the place.”

“It went fine. Edward Marshall passed on ages ago, and Miles Marshall is a coward and pompous dunce. He didn’t have the resources to halt Damian.”

“Good. Mother will be relieved, and if Damian had distressed her, I’d have had to thoroughly pummel him. My brothers and I have decided that she will never fret over anything ever again.”

“The whole process is progressing with little bother. The Marshalls are upset of course, but no one else is. They’re generally disliked by all.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“In fact, they’re supposed to move out this afternoon. Damian gave them a week to pack and arrange their affairs.”

“He was nicer than I would have been.”

Michael ran a notorious gambling club in London, along with many other businesses that involved smuggling and blackmail. He was filthy rich and liked to use his fists when dealing with reprobates. He terrorized others and enjoyed his power. People recognized his brutal tendencies too. When he walked through a room, they skittered out of his way.

“I’m hoping they departed without too much drama,” Kit said, “but I thought I’d better check. Miles vanished several days ago without making any plans for his female relatives.”

“He’s happy to have Damian kick them out on the road?”

“Apparently yes.”

“The man’s even more worthless than I imagined.”

Kit had spent the night at a coaching inn a few miles from Kirkwood, and the eviction was an excuse to return. He had to gauge Damian’s mood, to discover if he’d calmed, and he had to talk to Sophia so he’d know where she was staying. But as they approached the manor, he wasn’t sure what was occurring.

It was obvious no one had left, and it was also obvious that trouble was brewing. Miles and his fiancée, Portia Smithwaite, were standing on the front steps and there was a crowd of furious men facing them. A quick perusal indicated they were Damian’s guards, but Damian was conspicuously absent.

Miss Fogarty was there too, and a quarrel was ensuing. Miles was armed with a small pistol, holding it loosely and not aiming it, but he certainly appeared as if he wouldn’t mind pulling the trigger.

“What the devil?” Michael muttered, and they kicked their horses into a gallop and raced up the drive. They jumped to the ground and had barely landed before Miss Fogarty was upon them.

“I’m so glad to see you!” she fervidly said to Kit. “You won’t believe what happened!”

“Yes, I will.” Kit pointed at Miles. “Why is he preening?”

“He found out about Mr. Drummond’s past.”

Kit felt sick. “From who? Was it Miss Sophia?”

“No, it was me,” Miss Fogarty glumly admitted. “I blurted it out without thinking. I shouldn’t have, but I was distraught.”

“What did he do? It looks as if it’s very bad news.”

“He went to the authorities and swore Mr. Drummond was a prison escapee! He claimed Mr. Drummond had fled the penal colony prior to his sentence being completed.”

“Why would he assume that?”

“He’s grasping at straws. I told him he was wrong, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s just informed us that he filed legal paperwork to have the estate returned to him, that an escaped felon had no right to seize an honest man’s property.”

“Where is Damian?”

“Some men arrested him! They beat him with a club and took him away.”

Kit gasped with offense. “He’s already gone?”

“Yes.”

“To where?”

“Miles said to London, to jail. He’ll be transported again—to Australia—before anyone has a chance to help him.”

Michael gestured to Damian’s entourage and asked, “Why didn’t they prevent it? Were they twiddling their thumbs?”

“He was captured out in the woods when they weren’t around to see.” She laid a palm on Kit’s arm. “He was terribly injured. They kept hitting him and hitting him with that club. He was unconscious when they rode off. Can you find him? Can you save him?”

“Yes, we can find him.” He wasn’t sure it was true, but he wanted to seem confident. He glanced over at Michael. “Will we be able to?”

“Oh, absolutely. I have a special relationship with the people at Newgate Prison. In my line of business, it’s important to have friends in a place like that. No one comes in or out without my being apprised. We’ll get him back.” He peered over at Miss Fogarty. “How long ago did they leave?”

“It’s been several hours.”

“By horse or by coach?”

“Coach.”

Michael looked at Kit. “If they’re traveling by coach, we’ll catch them easily.” He glared at Miles who was smirking and simpering, the obnoxious Portia glued to his side as if they were a royal couple that had just been installed to their title. “Is that dandy the illustrious Miles Marshall?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

Michael marched off, and Kit hurried after him. They pushed through the crowd, and without any warning, Michael walked directly up to Miles and punched him as hard as he could.

The blow was unexpected and landed with a fierce impact. Miles flew into the door, then slid to the stoop in a stunned heap. His pistol skittered away, and Kit picked it up and stuck it in his coat.

Portia had lurched away and screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Be silent,” Michael calmly told her, “or I’ll hit you next!”

“Help him! Defend Mr. Marshall!” Portia bellowed to the surly group of onlookers, but they only took orders from Damian. They stared at her but didn’t move.

Michael shoved Portia aside, then grabbed Miles by his shirt. One-handed, he lifted Miles to his feet. Blood poured from his nose, his eye swelling shut.

“You little worm!” Michael hissed. “How dare you hurt my friend? Don’t you know I’ll have to extract a very steep punishment?”

“Who are you?” Miles demanded. “Get off my property!”

“It’s not your property, you thick oaf.”

“You! Roxbury!” Miles commanded. “Get off too, and take Drummond’s men with you. I’ve been trying to tell them to go, but they won’t. All of you go! Now!”

Michael said to Kit, “He’s an idiot, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Miles was too stupid to be quiet. “Portia! Summon the servants!”

She scooted behind him and entered the manor. She shouted for the footmen to attend her, for the butler to attend her, but she might have been calling to an empty house.

“You’ve cooked your goose, Marshall,” Kit said.

“How could I have? Your Mr. Drummond has vanished, and I’ve already filed paperwork to have Kirkwood returned to me. A felon can’t roam England harming decent citizens such as myself.”

“Listen to me, Miles—” Kit started.

“It’s Mr. Marshall to you.”

“Listen,
Miles,
Damian’s not an escapee. He served his time and paid his debt to society.”

“Well, the courts will sort it out. In the interim, your Mr. Drummond will have a nice voyage to Australia.”

The comment had Michael laughing aloud. “I’m going to enjoy this so much.”

Miles frowned. “Enjoy what?”

“Killing you.”

“What?” Miles shrieked. “Release me, you fiend.”

Michael asked Kit, “Where shall we do it? Out in the woods?”

Miles was visibly alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re debating the best spot to murder you,” Michael replied. “What does it sound like?”

“You can’t murder me! Help! Help!” he shouted as Portia had, but the bystanders simply continued to glare.

“I’m a fair-minded fellow,” Michael cordially said, “so I’ll let you choose your ending. Would you like me to cut your throat or shoot you through the middle of your cold, black heart?”

“You will not kill me!”

“Yes, I will.”

“Georgina!” Miles screeched. “Georgina, stop them!”

She was frozen in place, appearing very nervous, but confused too about whether she should intercede on Miles’s behalf. Michael Scott Blair was dangerous, and when riled, it was pointless to reason with him.

Still though, Kit advised, “You shouldn’t kill him, Michael.”

Miles slumped with relief, as Michael asked, “Why not?”

“Damian will be eager to handle it himself. The only obstacle that prevented him so far was my convincing him not to, but after this misadventure, he’ll proceed.” Kit glowered at Miles. “And this time, I won’t dissuade him.”

“Drummond will never be back!” Miles huffed.

“You don’t think so?” Michael grinned. “I’m betting he’ll be here in a few hours. Watch your back, Miles. He’s a sneaky devil. He’ll come at you from behind.”

Michael traced a finger across his neck, as if a quick throat-slitting would be the method of Mile’s demise. Then he loosened his grip on Miles’s shirt and tossed him away. Miles collapsed again.

Kit and Michael spun away, and Kit said, “Let’s ride like the wind. I want to catch up to him as fast as we can.”

They ran for their horses, but Miss Fogarty stepped in their path.

“Will you find him?” she inquired.

“Absolutely,” Kit guaranteed.

“He was badly hurt. You may need a doctor.”

“I’ll care for him myself,” Michael said. “I’ve treated many serious injuries, and I’m better than any drunken sawbones.”

“Should you take some guards with you?” she said. “There were a dozen or more men surrounding that carriage.”

“We don’t need any extra men,” Michael insisted.

They both mounted, and she looked glummer by the second.

“What if you can’t locate him?” she asked.

“We will, Miss Fogarty,” Kit assured her.

“What if he’s…dead or—”

“He’s not dead,” Michael scoffed. “He has nine lives, and he’s only used three or four of them.”

Kit nodded to the house where Miles had crawled inside. He’d closed and locked the door, apparently believing a paltry lock could keep him safe from Damian’s wrath.

“It might be wise to talk to your cousin, Miss Fogarty,” he told her.

“I’d rather not. He’s finally vexed me beyond my limit.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t joking when I said Damian will murder him.”

She blanched with dismay. “He wouldn’t…would he?”

“He definitely would. He definitely
will
so you should encourage Miles to haul his sorry behind off Damian’s property.”

“I will talk to him,” she said.

“We’ll be back this evening. If not then, it might be a day or two. If we can’t make it that quickly, I’ll send a message.”

“All right.”

“Don’t worry about Damian. He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take you at your word, Mr. Roxbury.”

Kit glanced around, anxious to see Sophia, but she was nowhere in sight. “Would you tell Miss Sophia I’ll return shortly?”

“I will.”

“And tell her—once I arrive—she and I have to have a long chat.”

With that, he yanked on the reins, Michael did too, and they galloped down the lane, their horses rapidly carrying them out to the road.