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Authors: Hannah Howell

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BOOK: If He's Dangerous
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It had also helped him to understand the man when he had allowed himself to think on his own two bad marriages. The first had actually been the worst, for he had been young, as virginal as his wife, and his first taste of passion, only his own unfortunately, had left him besotted with his bride. She had been disgusted and remained disgusted until she died. Childbirth had appalled her so much that she had never forgiven the children or him for putting her through such an ordeal. She had also thought him a fool for not using his title to its full advantage, not wielding his power over all, and even for treating his tenants and workers as if they were actually people. He still believed her worst sin was demanding that he dismiss Max because the man was, as far as she was concerned, acting far above his station.
His third wife had expected him to become a London man. At first he had placated her and gone to the wretched city so that she could parade her title before all and spend enough to keep the city itself in clothes. She had whined a lot, too. Whined about his clothes, his books, his other children, the children she had to bear for him, and on and on until one day he had ceased to listen. The only good thing was that she had liked the bedding, but she had obviously liked it enough to try it with others. The final thin threads of their marriage had snapped when she had demanded they go to London and he had said no. Of course, he had said a lot of other things concerning her morals and spendthrift ways, but it was mostly his refusal to go to London or even fund her going on her own.
One thing he had learned was that, although it had all been hard on the children, they had survived because they had had him and Max. They had been the anchors in the children's lives. Roland was just wondering if he should share some of his thoughts with Sir Argus when a pale-faced Olwen leaping up at his side startled him.
“We must go,” the boy said.
The duke set his fishing rod aside and clasped the boy's hands. Those small hands were like ice. When he looked into Olwen's eyes he saw a look that was not focused, was set on something no one else could see. Roland could not completely repress a tingle of excitement, for he knew he was actually seeing one of the gifts all the Wherlockes and Vaughns had.
“Why, Olwen?” he asked. “Why must we leave here?”
“Danger comes.” Olwen's eyes cleared and he stared at the duke in alarm. “Where is Darius?”
 
Looking around, the duke realized that the boy had wandered off while he had been lost in his thoughts. A glance toward Mr. Pendleton revealed that man discussing the flow of the water in the spring-fed pond with the twins Axel and Wolfgang. Everyone was doing what they had come to the pond to do and no one had yet noticed that Darius had wandered away.
“Pendleton!” he yelled as he leapt to his feet. “We are missing Darius.” To his credit the tutor was swiftly on his feet and looking around. “Stefan, do you have any idea where the boy may have wandered off to?”
Stefan stood up and rubbed a hand over his hair. “He was talking about acorns earlier.”
The duke looked toward the wood that surrounded nearly a third of the pond. “Did anyone see Darius wander off?” He frowned when only one child, his youngest, pointed to the wood, which was little help except in that it confirmed Stefan's suspicions. “I want everyone to stay close to me, Pendleton, and Stefan. We are going to look for Darius.”
They were only a few feet into the trees when a high-pitched cry echoed around them. The duke gave a sharp hand signal to Pendleton to stay with the children, pulled out the pistol he had begun to carry since Lady Olympia's attack, and moved toward the sound. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stefan moving along at his side, a large, lethal-looking knife in his hand. The boy glanced at him and cocked one brow up in a very adult gesture.
“Cannot shoot,” he said in a near whisper.
“Can you use that well?” the duke asked just as quietly.
Stefan just smiled in a way Roland thought would put a chill down any miscreant's spine. He turned his attention to finding out where Darius was. Then the air was filled with a litany of curses, many the duke was unfamiliar with. They were being shouted in both a child's voice and a man's.
 
He paused as he caught sight of a horse, Stefan keeping pace with him, and then edged closer until he finally saw Darius. The child was being held in a big man's arms and that man was very close to getting on his horse and riding away with the boy. Darius was putting up a furious fight but inflicting injuries that most likely only tried the man's temper. What troubled the duke was that there was no way he could get a clear shot.
 
A frontal assault, he decided and boldly stepped into the man's view, Stefan right at his side. He noticed that the youth hid his knife down by his side. It occurred to the duke that Stefan might have lived somewhere that did not have the peace of Radmoor. He had what could be considered some of the skills of a London street tough.
“Put the child down, sir,” said the duke. “I would prefer not to have to shoot you.” The brief flare of amusement on the man's face was an insult, and the duke began to feel his rare but hot temper stir to life. “I will not ask again.”
“You shoot at me and you could be hitting this lad,” said the man in a thick London accent. “Think you ought to be considering that.”
“What I am considering is that you are kidnapping a child in my care and that cannot be allowed. I can see that you find me amusing for some reason but allow me to assure you that the dukes of Sundunmoor have always been expert marksmen.”
“If you be the duke then this brat is nothing to you. He is one of them Wherlockes.”
“That may be so, but he was still placed in my care. Now, I suggest you put him down.”
The man gripped Darius so tightly with one arm the boy could barely breathe and aimed his pistol at the duke. “Never killed me a dook.”
He tensed and Roland chanced a quick glance around to see why. His heart nearly stopped as he saw his children and Olwen encircling the area around the man and his mount. Pendleton was there, pale and sweating, but standing straight.
“What did you do, dook, bring out the whole nursery?” the man snapped and held his gun against Darius's head. “You want them to be seeing this lad's head shot off? If not, best be telling them to get back.”
The duke felt Stefan press up close behind him as if he was hiding in fear and the youth whispered, “I am going to get him to aim at me. Are you good enough and quick enough to shoot the bastard's gun out of his hand or just his hand?”
He nodded, unable to protest because the man was watching him closely. The duke did not want the youth to take a chance with his life, and not only because he had a mind quicker than any the duke had met in a long time. Sixteen was far too young to die of a bullet to the heart.
 
“Now,” whispered Stefan and he leapt out from behind the duke, his huge knife readied to throw.
The man holding Darius immediately swung his pistol around to aim it at Stefan. Silently praying that nothing went wrong, the duke aimed his pistol at the man's wrist and fired. The scream that split the air made him wince. The man's gun went off, but the shot went wild, spinning off into the air. Darius dropped to the ground the minute the man grabbed at his profusely bleeding wrist and scrambled away. His face twisted into a grimace of pain and fury that made him look less than human, the man then started to run. The moment his back was turned, Stefan threw his knife and it buried itself between the man's shoulders, causing another scream to send the birds flying up in panic.
“He is getting away,” said Darius and bolted after the man.
All the other children followed Darius and the duke cursed. With Pendleton and Stefan running apace with him, the duke raced after the young army that had been loosed into the woods. His only comfort was the fact that the man no longer had a weapon, nor the strength to hold one.
 
 
“Shots!” cried Olympia as she turned slightly toward the sound.
 
“You stay here,” Argus ordered. “You have no weapon and we do not know what we are facing. Anyone comes thrashing through those trees, you hide.”
He did not wait to see if she obeyed him but ran toward the sound of the shots, the other men right behind him. Then came the sound of a lot of people running toward them, the hoots and cries of children, and a soft low cursing of a man. Argus held up his hand and stopped, his relatives and Leopold's men stepping up in line with him. When the big man stumbled out of the wood, he raised his pistol, but before he could fire it the man fell to his knees, sat there panting for a moment and then collapsed onto his face. Bursting out of the cover of the trees came Darius, Olwen, and half a dozen other children. Mr. Pendleton staggered to a halt, placed his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath as the duke and Stefan appeared, the duke still holding his pistol, which Argus suspected was now empty. He recognized the large knife sticking out of the prone man's back as Stefan's.
 
“Olympia,” he called and was not really surprised at how quickly she showed up as he had guessed she would stay close without getting in the way. “Please escort Mr. Pendleton and the duke's children back to the house. Take Todd with you.”
“It might be best if your sons go too,” the duke said quietly as he glanced at the man on the ground, “for I am not sure but we will have a dead man on our hands soon.”
 
“Darius and Olwen spent their first years in a not so very fine part of London, Your Grace,” said Argus. “I fear the sight of the dead is nothing new to them.” He walked over to Stefan, who had removed his knife from the man's back so that Leopold could turn him over. “That is Jones,” he said and looked at Stefan. “Chances of healing?”
Stefan shook his head. “Mortal. Knife pierced a few important things, but the duke's shot opened his wrist and the blood was pouring out. Steady stream of it as he ran, which just made it flow even faster.”
Argus crouched down by the side of the man, whose eyes fluttered open. “Hello, Jones.”
“Bastard,” Jones said. “Knew you was trouble first time I saw you.”
“Where are Cornick and Tucker?”
 
“Not peachin' on 'em, so stop wasting my dying breath.”
“Then answer this, who is the one giving Cornick orders and paying for this hunting of Wherlockes? Have you his name?”
“Chuff something. Cornick just calls him Chuffy.” He glanced up at Stefan. “Good toss, lad. Spent some time in my city, I wager. And I demmed well misread the dook. Done in by bloody little nits.”
Argus was surprised by how quickly and quietly the man died. He stood up and cursed softly. There had been no time to make him tell them more, to force him to tell where Cornick and Tucker were. The only good thing was that they now had only two men to worry about. The very fact that Cornick and these two men were the only ones hunting him, told Argus that
Chuffy
was not sending any help.
“He did not give you much information, did he?” said the duke. “I should have aimed for the pistol, but I thought shooting his wrist would be a better bet.”
“It worked. Unfortunately, he bled to death,” said Argus. “But it is one less to worry about. And my thanks for protecting my children.”
“Darius was the one the man grabbed,” said the duke. “Olwen warned us, so we got to him before the man could get the child on the horse. I have the chilling feeling that the man had been watching us come and go from here for a while, just hoping for some opportunity to get something to use against you. He must have thought God was on his side when young Darius decided to have a wander.
“Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I shall go talk to my children about all manner of things concerning this incident, such as not coming to the rescue when the only place you can reach on your enemy is his knee.” He smiled faintly when the men laughed and then patted Darius and Olwen on the head. “I hope you now understand that the danger your father told you about is very real.” Both boys nodded and the duke turned to Stefan. “Well done, sir. And perhaps you will wander by soon and we can discuss how you could so easily know that man was dying.”
After the duke was gone, Argus looked at the dead Jones one last time and then looked at Stefan. “I am sure you will correct me if I am wrong, but I believe it was the duke's shot that really killed him.”
“Most likely, and did so faster,” Stefan replied and then quickly told Argus what had happened. “His children did not like him going into danger, I think. He is their lodestone.”
 
“Poor man must have felt his heart stop.” Argus shook his head. “Now we just have to tote this corpse somewhere.”
“I will fetch his horse,” Stefan said.
By the time they returned to the gatehouse, Max was waiting. He and two men took possession of the body, telling him quite nicely that the duke, the magistrate of the area, would tend to the matter. Argus decided that having a duke around could be helpful and then went to find some brandy. He kept an arm around each son's skinny shoulders as he walked, realizing how close he had come to losing one of them. It would be a long time before he forgot it. One glance at the faces of his family told him that his decision would not be argued.
BOOK: If He's Dangerous
2.49Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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