The Duke (32 page)

G
iles suddenly rose and cocked his ear toward the barn door. “Ah, our hero now, come to rescue his damsel.”

Brandy twisted about, pulling herself to a sitting position, and looked wildly toward the barn door. She screamed, “Ian! Go back! Don't come in. Giles will kill you.” She stared in mute misery as Ian kicked in the rickety wooden door and hurtled inward, rolling onto his side in the shadowy corner of the barn to come up on his hands and knees. He blinked rapidly to accustom his eyes. It was so bloody dark in here. Giles yelled, “No, Duke, I know you've got that damned pistol of yours palmed in your right hand. You try using it and I'll kill Brandy. See, I've got a pistol against her temple. Throw that gun toward me, Ian, now!”

He felt the weight of failure. He'd literally been blinded by the gloom in the old barn. He stared toward his cousin. Giles, he thought, Giles. All the time it had been his cousin. Not a Robertson, but his English cousin, the man who was his nominal heir. He threw the gun toward Giles. “I've done as you asked. Get that gun away from her head.”

Giles lowered the pistol from Brandy's temple.

Ian called, “Brandy, are you all right?” She lay
propped up against a moldering pile of hay. Giles was standing near her now, the pistol lax in his outstretched hand.

“Aye. Oh, Ian, ye shouldn't have come.”

“Don't be a fool, Brandy. Clever of you, Giles, with your Scottish spelling—you had me quite convinced that I would find Percy here to kill me so I couldn't reinherit Claude and Bertrand.”

“Yes,” Giles concurred with a brief bow, “I thought it was a good touch. You would have saved me much trouble, Ian, had you died that first time.”

“Why, Giles?”

“I do so dislike that blunt manner of yours, Duke, but since you will know the truth, I must plead guilty of greed. A plain
Mister
Giles Braidston has never been to my liking, you know. I believe I've hated you since I came wailing from my mother's womb. I think I must have sensed even then that you'd won and I'd lost. You would be the Duke of Portmaine. I wouldn't be much of anything.”

Ian said slowly, instinctively sparring for time, “There are only two years between us, Giles. You have known all your life that I was to hold the title. You hated me? Surely I gave you no reason to. No one ever turned up their nose at you. Your income is handsome. You can have nearly anything you wish. You certainly lead your life as a gentleman of leisure.”

“Paltry, Ian, paltry. I can't remember the day when I wasn't heavily in debt. Being your nominal heir has, indeed, been the only bar to my more pressing creditors. No, Ian, I'm the natural Duke of Portmaine, not you. I hear you gave away Penderleigh and the title. I will reverse that, naturally. Even if Lady Adella tries to reinherit that old fool Claude, why, your vast wealth will be in my hands and any of their machinations won't come to anything. A duke doesn't give away his birthright. You're a fool.”

Ian forced himself to keep his voice steady, not to show incredulity or anger. “You made no attempts on my life when I married Marianne, Giles. There could quite easily have been an heir born within another year had she not died.”

Giles said, his voice almost gentle, “My dear cousin, do you not recall how very much time I spent with your young wife? We were much the same age, you know, and it required little effort on my part to gain her confidence, for she held you in tremendous awe. You always wondered, did you not, what prompted her to be so bold as to take herself off to France, supposedly to save her parents? You cursed yourself because you hadn't gained her trust, because you failed to save her from the guillotine.

“One afternoon while you were at your club, I paid her a visit and found to my surprise that Sir William Dacre had just told her that she was pregnant. Within hours, cousin, I presented her with a letter, again supposedly written in great haste, from her esteemed parents, the Comte and Comtesse de Vaux, begging her to come to France and plead their case before Robespierre's tribunal. I was eloquent, I assure you, and finally convinced her that if you knew she was carrying your precious heir, you would never let her travel to France. She pleaded with me to help her. I had gotten her to Paris when she tearfully told me that she'd left you a letter. I thought myself quite done in until she told me that she had dared not mention my name for fear that you would blame
me
.

“I did then what I had to do. I sent Marianne's direction to the citizen's committee, and was on a packet back to London within the hour. I only discovered later that her parents had fallen under the guillotine nearly a week before. I thought it all rather ironic. Then, of course, she was guillotined.”

The duke simply couldn't take it in, not at first.
Giles had seen to it that Marianne had been killed. He as good as released the hook on the guillotine himself. He'd murdered her. He wanted to fling himself on Giles, to choke the life out of him. He couldn't keep his rage to himself even though there was still a cool, logical part of his brain that was clamoring for him to keep his control. “You filthy bastard. Marianne was innocent. She'd never harmed anyone in her life. You murdered her. God, I'm going to kill you.”

“I can imagine that you want to, Duke. Don't move or I swear I'll kill Brandy. Come now and think. You must realize there wasn't anything else to be done. If she'd borne you a son, I could have no longer nourished hope of becoming the Duke of Portmaine. Nor could my creditors. Nor could my friends. In short, I would have been treated as a simple Mr. with nothing to impress anyone.”

Brandy saw Ian's rage, the trembling of his hands. She had to buy time to gain control. She said to Giles, drawing his attention from the duke, “But Lady Felicity—she was to marry Ian, yet ye didn't kill her. Ian was yer target.”

Giles did look at her, but only for a moment. “As I told you, Brandy, Scotland was a blessed opportunity and one I couldn't afford to pass by. Everyone was sure to suspect one of the Robertsons. And I must admit that Felicity was a very different kettle of fish from Marianne. Such a greedy, cold lady, Ian. How lucky you were to be rid of her. I must admit that she taxed my ingenuity, for her mind was so much set upon being the Duchess of Portmaine.”

The duke said slowly, “All those barbs to her as well as to me—I thought it merely your way of warning me, protecting me. But it wasn't. You wanted her to be appalled at the thought that I wanted children. You wanted her to be so revolted that she'd break off our engagement.”

“Yes, Duke. I had nearly given up hope of routing the lady when your autocratic, stubborn temper combined with her hatred of the Robertsons, Brandy, and Scotland finally won the day. I quite enjoyed escorting her back to London. Your money was paying all the bills, and I didn't have to worry about the bitch any longer.”

“You encouraged her in her jealousy of Brandy, didn't you, Giles? It was you who pushed her to come to Scotland, you who made her question my honor.”

“Naturally. I even spoke ever so solicitously to her dear mother, another bitch. The note you wrote me the day you left London—that came as quite a shock to me. You planned to marry Brandy. I hadn't guessed, but I should have. How did it feel, Ian, to have your betrothed and your mistress under the same roof?”

“Ian, don't.” She held out her hand. Ian stopped dead in his tracks. Giles took a hasty step backward, only a few feet in front of Brandy. She found herself growing almost morbidly calm, for she knew that Giles would kill them both when he had finished his bragging. She barely heard Giles's voice as she frantically searched about for something, anything she could use as a weapon. She had almost decided to hurl herself at him when she saw a long wooden-handled haying fork half buried under clumps of moldering hay. She inched toward it until the toe of her shoe reached the haying fork.

“Surely you must realize, Ian,” Giles said, “that I cannot allow you to wed Brandy. I regret what I must do, but there is simply no other way. My plan is distasteful, I admit, for I don't really want to kill her. But there's no hope for it. Once I sent you the note, her fate was decided.”

Ian saw Brandy moving slowly behind Giles. If only somehow she could distract him, if but for an instant.

“I believe I've explained myself to you. Now, I have a long ride ahead of me. I will be well ensconced in London when the news of your tragic death at the hand of a Scottish Robertson comes to my ears. Ah, what a stir I'll cause. I'll shout and scream in the House of Lords that you, my noble cousin, was murdered by a savage Scot. Who knows what will happen? Maybe this ridiculous pile of a castle and all the Robertsons will be transported.”

From the corner of his eye, Ian saw that Brandy was easing the haying fork into her hands. If Giles saw her movement, all would be lost. He rushed into speech. “I believe you now, Giles. You do hate me. I've been blind. Have you laughed at me when I had my secretary pay your bills? Or did me paying you make you hate me more?”

“Of course I hated it. Wouldn't you?”

“Did you conceive your plan when you first heard of my Scottish inheritance?”

“No, not at first. But enough, Ian. I'm not without feeling and assume that you would wish to die first. I am truly sorry, cousin, but I must now bid you a final good-bye.”

“No!” Brandy shrieked as she heaved up the haying fork. She swung it wildly, with all her strength against Giles's back.

Giles whirled on her, striking the side of her face with the butt of his pistol, sending her sprawling to the ground. Ian hurled himself toward Giles, grabbing furiously at his arm. They grappled in panting silence, Giles struggling to turn the pistol inward to the duke's chest. He felt himself weakening in his cousin's powerful grasp and tried desperately to pull himself free. He stumbled backward, jerking the duke with him. Ian stepped on the pronged blades of the haying fork, and the wooden handle whipped up, striking his arm. Giles
drove his fist into Ian's stomach and leaped back, shakily aiming the pistol at the duke's head.

“Hold, Mr. Braidston!”

Giles only dimly heard the sharp command. As he tightened his finger on the trigger, he heard a crashing sound explode in his ears.

Ian watched in amazement as Giles, his face distorted in ghastly surprise, weaved above him, then fell heavily to the ground.

“Are you all right, y'grace?”

Ian gazed up into the leathery face above him, for an instant too stunned to speak. “You saved our lives, man. Who the devil are you?”

“Me name's Scroggins, y'grace.” He dropped the smoking pistol to help Ian to his feet. “The young lady hired me two months ago to protect you. You've led me a fine chase, y'grace, what with all your gallivanting about in London, then your trip back here to Scotland. Always fancied visiting Scotland, I did, and just look what happened. All the action was here, not back home.”

The two hundred pounds.

Brandy was struggling up on her elbows, her vision blurred from the blow Giles had given her. She smiled up at him. “No, I'm all right, Ian, truly, I'm quite all right now. Thank you, Mr. Scroggins. You've done all I could have wished for. Thank you for our lives.”

Ian dropped to his knees beside her and cupped her chin in his hand. Gently his fingers explored the line of her jaw. He smiled at her. “Your jaw isn't broken, thank God. But you'll be black and blue for your wedding.” He turned briefly toward Giles's fallen body. “He's dead?”

“Yes, indeed, y'grace. I couldn't take the chance of only winging 'im, for he still might have shot you. And you were me client.”

“My thanks, Scroggins.”

Scroggins chuckled. “I don't mind telling you, y'grace, I was beginning to wonder if the young lady weren't a bit screwy in her thinking. But a job's as you finds it, even though you have to trek all over the countryside.” He frowned down at Giles's body. “Mighty wily cove, your cousin was. Very nearly fooled I was. Aye, I'll admit it and I'm the best. But I knowed something was in the wind when you flew off on that mighty brute's back, your eyes blazing murder.”

Ian looked a last time at Giles. Brandy placed her hand upon his arm. “Let's leave this place, yer grace.”

“I'll take care of 'im, y'grace. You take care of the young lady.”

“There's a local magistrate. His name's Trevor. I'll send someone from the castle to assist you.” Ian cupped Brandy's elbow with his hand for support and walked beside her from the barn. The bright afternoon sun blazed down from a cloudless blue sky. Ian drew a deep breath. Never had life seemed more precious and, at the same time, more fragile.

“I owe you much, Brandy, including my life. I can't remember when the expenditure of two hundred pounds bought me so very much.”

“I never knew who the man was. You see, Mr. MacPherson arranged it all. He proudly informed me that he had hired the services of a former Bow Street Runner.” She paused a moment, gazing up at his profile. “I'm sorry for deceiving ye, Ian, but I thought if I told ye the truth about the money, ye would be touchy, thinking yerself inviolable. Ye're a proud man, Ian, that's why I kept it to myself. Ye would have sent him packing, wouldn't ye have?”