It Takes a Hero (38 page)

All around, agreement rose on that point. Tears were being wiped aside, as were the black armbands most of them wore to commemorate their once beloved hero.

"I would wager that if Miss Darby were here," Rebecca advised them, "she certainly wouldn't be wasting her time lolling about in the wings of a ballroom when there were so many eligible men about to which to be introduced—"

The stampede was almost immediate as the girls fled first to their mothers, aunts, and relations seeking the necessary introductions that had gone too long unwanted.

"Discreetly, of course," Rebecca finished to no one in particular. Even Lady Penelope had recovered and was taking the arm of a young swain. Lady Lucinda and Lord Barwick took their place at the head of the forming lines and soon the floor was filled to overflowing with young couples.

Across the room, Lady Tottley stood beaming beside a smiling Marchioness of Funtley as if the future of England had just been saved from unimaginable catastrophe.

By the time the musicians started the next song, the Setchfield Ball was declared the miracle of the Season. And the duke was planning a full day ahead collecting his winnings.

Now that Rebecca's obligations in London were done, it was time for her to find Rafe and her own happy ending.

"Perhaps we can have our dance now," said a voice at Rebecca's shoulder.

She spun around thinking at first it was Rafe, only to find Lord Pease standing before her. Rebecca did her best not to reveal her disappointment, before she shook her head and said, "I would rather sit this one out, my lord. It looks quite crowded."

He laughed and pointed toward the refreshment table with his cane. "Perhaps we can take a stroll and get some punch."

"My lord—" she began.

"Tsk tsk," he said. "So formal, Rebecca."

"Yes, well, while I find your attentions very flattering, surely you must realize that I am not the same girl I was in Calcutta."

"No, you aren't," he said, moving closer. "You have grown into a beautiful woman." He paused and drew himself up to his full height, striking an elegant pose—one that reminded her unfortunately of the same one Lt. Throckmorten had favored before his demise. "Rebecca, I was a fool to ever leave you behind. When I was recalled home, I should have just married you then and there, but I was an idiot. I can understand you were hurt, but now can't you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," she told him, glancing around for Rafe, and not really listening to the viscount's words, until he made a fateful request.

"Please, allow me to put the past behind us. Would you, my dearest Rebecca, make me the happiest man in all of England, I daresay, and marry me?"

Unfortunately for Rebecca, Lady Tottley had arrived to see for herself that Rebecca wasn't "ruining her chances" and overheard the question. So before Rebecca could refuse, the lady replied for her.

"Why of course she will, Lord Pease."

Rebecca's mouth flapped open in shock, her protest lodged in her throat like a cannon ball. Meanwhile, the countess was not so afflicted and opened her mouth loud and clear.

"I do declare, we have the first engagement of the Season! Huzzah for Miss Rebecca Tate, the future Viscountess Pease."

"Where is he?" Rafe demanded as he stormed into Lady Tottley's salon.

The colonel looked up from his reading and shook his head. He sat in a chair before the fireplace, Richard's journal in hand, the man's haversack at his feet. "Sorry to have called you back here, Danvers," Posthill said. "But Cochrane was sure he saw Kitling in the neighborhood and I thought it best to alert you, though now it appears the lad was mistaken. Easy to do—spot some fellow and blow his head off, only to discover he was your advance scout. Sorry business, that."

Rafe shrugged, not sure he wanted the colonel to elaborate on that point. Still it was unlike Cochrane to be mistaken. He'd take a look around in a minute, but first he had another matter to attend to.

"As it is, sir, I wanted to come back here to speak with you. Privately, that is."

The colonel looked up from his reading. "In private, you say? Sounds serious." He set aside the journal. "Can't find a single reference to the ruby as yet, so I might as well hear you out."

Taking a deep breath, Rafe found himself tongue-tied. "It is, sir. I mean to say, that is—"

"Out with it, Danvers! No need to shilly-shally around." The colonel stood up. "Are you going to marry Bex or not?"

Rafe was so taken aback, he sputtered a hasty, "Well, yes." Then he added, "If she'll have me."

The colonel snorted. "She'll take you. And I'll give you my blessing on one condition."

"What is that?" Rafe asked.

"You agree to take the ruby back to India when you find it. No matter how much Rebecca protests, no matter the fortune that it would bring. I will not give you my blessing unless you agree to my terms."

"She'll have my hide." If Rafe was lucky that would be all she'd take.

"No doubt she will," the colonel agreed, "but better that than keep it and doom yourselves to a cursed existence."

Rafe wasn't all that convinced of the calamity the colonel seemed to believe was so insurmountable, but his blessing was important.

And though they didn't need it—Rebecca being old enough to marry without her guardian's approval—Rafe didn't like the idea of putting an estrangement between his bride-to-be and her only relation.

Giving up the ruby was a lot to ask, but there was still Bettlesfield Park and the Company's reward money to be had. It would be enough for a start. And knowing Rebecca and her practical, managing ways, she'd have them uncovering a fortune before he knew it.

He held out his hand and took the colonel's outstretched one. "You have my word."

Heaving a sigh of relief, with his duties to Rebecca now duly dispatched, the colonel retook his seat by the fire. "Suppose you'll want to marry her straight away?"

"Actually, I've already procured a Special License."

The colonel nodded. "Smart man. I'd suggest not telling her about our agreement as to the ruby until after the blessed event."

Rafe laughed. "Just in time for my funeral."

They both laughed, but their jest was interrupted as a commotion arose in the entryway.

Lady Tottley's voice rattled the walls with its fevered pitch. "Miss Tate, I will not hear another word of this mutiny! You shall give Lord Pease your pledge immediately."

"The hell she will—" Rafe muttered, starting for the doorway, but the colonel stopped him.

"Is there somewhere private we can discuss this matter, Lady Tottley?" Pease was saying. "I have a proposition that I believe will convince Miss Tate of the seriousness of my intentions."

"Yes, we can go in my salon and—"

Rebecca interrupted her. "I don't see that anything you have to say, Lord Pease, is going to—"

Rebecca's words ended as Lady Tottley screeched, "Lord Pease, put that sword down immediately."

Rafe looked at the colonel and then at the hallway.
Sword?

Pease's walking stick. It wasn't Kitling they were looking for, but—

"
You!
" Rebecca cried out. "It was you all the time."

"Yes, and now I've come to collect what is mine," Pease said.

Crumpton, Lady Tottley and then Rebecca came backing into the salon. Rafe dodged behind the door and let Pease enter the room. He'd already drawn his pistol and was about to put an end to the villainous viscount but to his dismay he realized the man had the advantage, at least for now—for the viscount had the tip of his sword resting under Rebecca's chin.

"Handy little stick, this," Pease was saying. "Found it in my cousin Kemball's belongings after I inherited. Much less conspicuous than my saber, but just as deadly."

From the glint of the blade, Rafe had no doubt that it was razor sharp. One false move and Rebecca would end up like the rest of Pease's victims, split from stem to stern.

So for the moment, Rafe remained concealed, his body tense and his finger coiled around the trigger of his pistol, awaiting his chance.

"Colonel Posthill," Pease was saying. "How nice to see you again, sir."

"Habersham!" the colonel blustered. "Let Bex go."

He shook his head. "Not until I have what I came for—Richard's haversack."

"Don't give it to him," Rebecca said, her voice filled with resolve and anger.

That's my foolish, headstrong girl
, Rafe thought. She'd fight to the end to save what was hers.

"Miss Tate, I don't see that your uncle has a choice. For if he doesn't hand it over, I shall spill your insides all over the carpet, much like I did your insolent brother."

"And Harrington and Codlin?" she brazened.

"Yes, those fools as well. Stealing your research like the worst amateurs, when I was so close to laying my hands on it by merely enduring your dubious charms." Pease sneered at Rebecca. "Bah, how I deplored you. Still do! But to gain a fortune, a man is willing to lower himself to do almost anything."

"You mean your proposal wasn't honestly intended?" This indignant question came from Lady Tottley.

"Madame, I hardly think that matters at the present moment," Crumpton pointed out, still the model of excruciatingly polite decorum.

"Of course it matters," Lady Tottley said, outraged.

Pease's sword wavered under Rebecca's chin, but she only tipped her head up higher and stared him in the eye. "You would add my death to your list of crimes?"

"Happily to regain the Kailash," he told her, his voice rising in pitch. "It is more beautiful than any mortal can imagine. To hold it, is to hold eternity."

"You had it?" the colonel asked.

Pease nodded. "The night I gained it from Mayne."

"You killed him as well?" Rebecca gasped.

"Yes. And I would have added your wretched brother to my list that night if he hadn't been so quick. Stole the ruby from me. My ruby. And I swore, then and there, I would gain it back from him. But by the time I returned home as well, he'd already joined a regiment in Portugal." He turned to the colonel. "Richard's haversack, if you please. For I've had a devil of a time locating it." He held out his free hand, all the while the sword remained dangerously perched at Rebecca's throat. "You don't know how many times you've come close to this end. How many times I watched you at Bettlesfield Park, waiting for this day, to take my revenge on the lot of you and regain what is mine."

"It was you there," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. "So you figured that out as well. You never stop surprising me, Miss Tate. Now let us finish this game of cat and mouse and give me what I want. The Kailash ruby."

The colonel glanced in Rafe's direction and he nodded at him. Scooping up the haversack, Posthill went to toss it at Pease, but the man shook his head. "Nothing too fast, sir," the viscount told him. "Empty it out here on the table." Then he glanced over his shoulder. "And tell Danvers to step out from behind the door."

Rafe cursed, but slowly walked out from his hiding place.

"Rafe!" Rebecca cried out, her words like a silent plea.

But whether it was to save her life or save the ruby from Pease, he wasn't too sure. Knowing her mercantile heart, the fortune was paramount. But he also suspected she wanted retribution.

For Richard and the others.

"I thought I smelled your cowardly stench," Pease said, his voice filled with contempt. "Don't even think of taking a shot or you shall have to find another bitch with which to rut."

Rafe started forward, but the colonel stopped him with a curt shake of his head.

"The haversack, Posthill. Now!" Pease said, his madness growing more and more apparent.

The colonel upended the contents of Richard's haversack on the table beside him. Then he backed away, until he stood by his chair, and Rafe realized what the colonel was doing.

Though he had given Pease the haversack quite willingly, his real objective was to save the journal sitting safely and unobtrusively on the table.

Pease, meanwhile, was picking through Richard's belongings, tossing aside the remnants of his life as if they were but flotsam. His eyes grew more wild and desperate with each object, his motions frantic. To see him turning from an elegant gentleman into this crazed madman was alarming.

Rafe was starting to believe that perhaps the colonel was right, the Kailash curse wasn't to be taken lightly.

The viscount had come to the last thing remaining, the small portrait of Rebecca.

He held it up and examined it, then laughed cruelly. "A fine likeness, Rebecca. Exactly as I remember you. Gads it was a chore to listen to your prattle, to offer you my lips. But ah, the prize. It was worth having to lap at your ragged skirts."

Rafe made a low noise in the back of his throat.

Pease turned to him and shot him a withering stare. "From the looks of you I would assume you've had the lady's favors. Not that I suppose her common qualities would be all that noticeable to someone of your ill-breeding."

If the man hadn't had the advantage already, Rafe would have seen him consigned to hell that very moment.

Pease took one last distasteful glance at the portrait and threw it against the fireplace, shattering it.

Then he turned a wild eye on the room. "Where is it? Where is Richard's journal? I want it and I want it right now!"

"Is this what you are looking for?" the colonel asked.

Rafe didn't know who looked more angry—Pease or Rebecca as they both saw what the colonel intended.

The cagey old man held Richard's journal over the licking flames in the fireplace.

"Let her go, Habersham," the colonel said, in a cold, determined voice. "Or I will make sure no one ever finds the ruby."

"You wouldn't dare," Pease said, as he drew the sword back.

Rafe knew that the madness that encompassed the man was about to take Rebecca's life, so he aimed his pistol.

And fired.

The ball hit exactly where Rafe had intended, and Rebecca screamed in agony—for it tore into Richard's journal, pulling it from the colonel's fingers and dropping it into the greedy flames. Almost immediately the fire consumed it.