The Hired Hero (23 page)

 “But he’s not Davenport—”

  “I’m afraid I am.”

  “Oh. Charles stick his spoon in the wall?”

The earl nodded. “Some months back.”

There was a slight pause. “Can’t say that I am sorry.”

“Nor can I.”

The duke had followed the exchange with increasing puzzlement. “What utter nonsense are you talking about, Lucien? I recognize the fellow—”

 “Twins,” explained his nephew. “Julian isn’t the one who is—or was—a rake. And he most certainly isn’t the traitor we are searching for, that I’d stake my life on.”

 The discussion had diverted attention away from Farrington. Well aware that his chances for escape were dwindling with every passing moment, he intuitively recognized one last opportunity to turn disaster into triumph. With cat-like agility, he lunged towards the duke, catching him off guard. A hard shove sent the gentleman sprawling in the direction of his nephew. The pistols flew from his grip and clattered across the floor. Without missing a step, Farrington continued on, scooped up the object of all his efforts from the sidetable and raced for where the door stood half opened to the beckoning darkness of the night.

Suddenly the tall mahogany clock crashed to the floor, catching the fleeing man on the shoulder and knocking him off stride. It slowed him down just enough to allow the earl to catch hold of his coat. With a strangled oath, Farrington was spun around just short of his only hope of escape.

As he did so, his arm slashed out in a wide arc. Davenport had forgotten about the knife and echoed the other man’s obscenity as the blade cut a gash across his forearm. Still, he hung on and dragged Farrington to a standstill, though the force of the blow had knocked him to his knees. The knife came up again, light flashing off the razor sharp edge.

Lucien, helpless with the weight of his cousin in his arms, cried out a warning.

“Oh, bloody hell,” muttered Davenport, as he let go of the coat and threw himself to one side.

Farrington’s desperate slash caught nothing but air. He tried to recover his balance, but the earl was already on his feet and coming at him. A powerful right connected square on the secretary’s jaw, dropping him to the floor like a sack of grain.

Davenport forgot his gentlemanly scruples long enough to add a kick to the ribs of the fallen man for good measure.

 “That’s for the lady,” he  murmured, as he bent to retrieve the packet from Farrington’s senseless hand. On straightening up, he found the two beady eyes of the pistols trained on him, as well as the duke’s piercing gaze.

“Oh, put those damn things away,” he growled. “I’ve had more than enough of guns and fists and cudgels and knives to last me for quite some time.”

The duke hesitated for only a fraction. A rueful smile crossed his lips as he let the weapons fall to his side. 

Davenport limped over to him and put the documents into his hands. To his surprise, he noted that somehow half the packet had turned a dark crimson.

“Good lord, Julian.” Lucien was staring at his arm.

The earl looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve and drew in his breath. “Would you mind telling your cousin that next time she takes it into her head to save the Empire, she may want to hire a regiment to keep up with her—it is beyond the power of one mere mortal.”

Their startled expressions dissolved in a haze as he passed out cold.

* * * *

The pain in his arm had subsided to a mere throbbing. As Davenport finished buttoning his shirt, he  felt gingerly at his ribs. They, too, were less tender. Just a day’s rest had him well on the mend, and a bath and shave had made him feel nearly human again. Clean clothes helped as well, he thought as he knotted the borrowed cravat. It was fortunate Lucien was nearly his height. At least he could appear in public without disgracing himself, a feat impossible to accomplish in his own tattered rags.

He stared in the mirror. So, everything had worked out in the end—the traitor was caught, the documents were safe and they had both come through it all more or less unscathed. Why, the maid delivering an early morning tray of tea had informed him that Lady Caroline was already up and about, despite the pleadings of the doctor and her family.

So why did he feel so glum?

A soft knock came at the door. It opened before he could voice a response, and a slim figure stole in with barely a rustle.

It took him a moment to recognize her. Gone were the breeches and loose shirt, replaced by an elegant gown of figured hunter green silk. Even so, the willowy curves were unmistakable and the cut of the bodice, though  hardly revealing, showed a good deal more of her flesh than he was used to seeing. The bruises had disappeared from her face, leaving her complexion unmarred for the first time since her had known her. The color had returned to her cheeks, only heightening the depth of her eyes, which were now fixing him with an all too familiar intensity. 

He turned away to adjust his collar. “You must leave off visiting a man’s chamber,” he said in a gruff tone. “Surely you must know that sort of behavior can no longer be tolerated. The consequences would be...” His voice trailed off.

“Lucien told me you are leaving this morning.”

“That’s right.”

“Were you not going to say goodbye?”

He shrugged.

 The mirror reflected a glimpse of her brows drawing together.  There was a pause, then she went on doggedly. “I never had a chance to...thank you.”

 He brushed out the wrinkles on his sleeve. “Consider it done. Now, you better leave before anyone...”

 Caroline put a hand on his arm. “Why you are acting as if we are complete strangers? I owe you my very life and...”

 “I am being well paid for it,” he said curtly. “That is, I assume you will honor your word. After all, it is evident you can well afford it.”

The shock of his harsh words was immediately evident on her face. But she quickly schooled her features to reveal nothing further. “Your appearance and dress may have improved,” she said coldly. “But your manners most certainly have not—you are still the most irritable, odious man I have ever had the misfortune of becoming acquainted with.” 

She dug into the pocket of her gown and withdrew a sheaf of banknotes. “Pray, count them to make sure you have not been shortchanged! I believe I have taken into account your horse. And I have added something extra for blood being drawn—that was not in our original agreement.”

She flung the wad at his chest and stormed from the room. The exit was not quite as noiseless as the entrance, as the door came shut with a sound suspiciously akin to a slam.

Davenport winced, at both the sound and his own inexplicable behavior. He stared at the notes scattered over the expensive Aubusson carpet.

 Damn the chit for having such an effect on him. Damn her for making him feel hot and cold, for sending his world spinning off kilter, for forcing him to confront emotions he wanted desperately to leave unvisited.

His boot kicked away the fortune at his feet, then he stalked from the room as well.

* * * *

“Wonder why Julian bolted so quickly this morning,” remarked Lucien as he helped himself to another slice of sirloin and refilled his cup from steaming pot of tea the footman had just deposited near his elbow. “Looked like he could have used a decent meal, regardless of his hurry.” He speared a kipper. “I know for certain that the Davenport townhouse is closed up tight. Any idea if he is staying in Town for long?”

 Caroline didn’t look up from slowly turning a piece of toast into crumbs. “I have no idea what Ju—Lord  Davenport’s plans are. I can’t imagine why you should think he would inform me of  his intentions, whatever they may be.”

Her cousin’s eyebrow shot up. “Well, the two of you did weather some rather tight spots.”

 She didn’t answer, but raised her cup to her lips, studiously avoiding his gaze.

 “When am I going to hear the full account? I’ve gotten only bits and pieces of the story from Uncle Thomas.”

  The cup came back to its saucer. “I’m sure you’ve heard the important parts. Farrington set two ruffians to ambush the coach. There was an accident. Poor John Coachman was killed. I was hurt somewhat but managed to make my escape. Lord Davenport found me, I recovered from my injuries at his estate, then he helped me get to London. It’s as simple as that.”

The eyebrow raised even higher. “Simple as that? You expect to foist such a Banbury tale off on me, cuz, who have a modicum of experience with your sort of adventures? Simple is not quite the word I would ever choose.”

Another piece of toast began to disintegrate onto her plate.

“It’s odd,” he continued.” Julian seemed to have no notion of who you were.”

“I didn’t tell him. Not exactly, that is.”

“How did you convince him to take you to London in the face of such danger? Surely he demanded some sort of explanation?”

“He did. But then I offered him a goodly sum to serve as an escort. His pockets are well to let, you know, because of his brother.” 

 Lucien’s tone became incredulous. “You...hired the Earl of Davenport?

 “It was apparent he really needed the blunt,” she muttered, then sought to deflect her cousin’s line of questioning. “How is it you are acquainted with him?”

 “Julian? Met him at Oxford. He got Tom Courtney and me out of a silly scrape, and we became friendly, though he’s a bit senior to us. It’s very like him, helping people out of a coil.” His face became serious. “I wonder where Leighton has taken himself too? That’s another of us that Julian took under his wing.”

 Finally her gaze  came up to meet his. “Jeremy?” she exclaimed. “You know him as well?”

 He nodded.

 “What a prodigious talent!” Her eyes took on a speculative look. “Then you shall be pleased to help me  with...”

“A simple story,” he interrupted with a drawl. “Just how did it come about that you ran into Jeremy?” When he saw her mouth set into a mulish expression he merely shrugged. “Well, I imagine I shall hear it all at some time. It promises to be a good deal more intriguing than you are letting on at the moment. At least you were with someone capable of  keeping you in one piece. Bang up to the mark, Julian is, don’t you think?”

“Actually, I think the man is insufferable.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound quite as shrill as it did to her own ear.

Lucien regarded her thoughtfully. “Well, well.”

“Well, what?”

“How interesting, is what I meant.”

Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “What nonsense. I told you, I find Lord Davenport to be the most provoking of men.”

Ah, that is what is so interesting, my dear Caro.” He tried unsuccessfully to repress a grin. “Normally you don’t pay enough attention to the gentlemen around you to care one way or another about them.”

Caroline stared in dismay at the ruins on her plate.  She carefully wiped her fingers on the thick damask napkin, then rose with as much dignity as she could muster. “If you will excuse me, I have a number of pressing matters to attend to.”

In the privacy of her own room, Caroline contemplated the pile of banknotes that the agitated young upstairs maid had promptly turned over to her keeping. Of course she would see to it that they were delivered to Highwood. A bargain was a bargain. But the earl’s actions made no sense to her. Hadn’t he made it coldly clear that he had endured her company for sole purpose of earning the thousand pounds?

Yet he left it untouched, though lord knows, he had dire need of it. She shook her head. Pride could cause one to act in the strangest ways, most of them having no connection at all to common sense, she mused, knowing full well that she was not unacquainted with the vagaries of such feelings. Still, it didn’t seem the answer to all of the man’s quirks.

Perhaps he didn’t want to be beholden in any way to someone he held in...contempt. The possibility caused an unpleasant lurch in her stomach, though she chided herself that what the earl thought of her should matter not a whit. It did, however.  Somehow, the idea that he found her wanting in character or conduct was a blow more painful than any of the physical punishment she had received. Not that she could blame him on either account—she was honest enough to admit that.

 Men simply didn’t like a hopeless hoyden. Actually, she had figured that out long ago. And she was honest enough to admit she wasn’t going to change, not for anyone. So that was that.

The only thing that remained a mystery to her was why he was so tender when she was in need and so harsh all the rest of the time. Hot and cold, like being warmed by the sun’s rays one moment, only to be drenched by a chilling rain the next. Perhaps it had something to do with being an English gentleman.

Paper crackled as her fingers tightened around a handful of the banknotes. It was no use stewing over things she could not change. Putting aside all thoughts of the Earl of Davenport, Caroline vowed to turn her attention to a matter she could act on.

“They are truly marvelous,” said Caroline softly. “It will be a stunning success, of that I have no doubt.”

 The gentleman on whose arm her hand rested made a coughing sound. When he turned his head, his eyes were clouded with doubt. “Do you really think so?” He let out his breath with something like a sigh. “I hardly know what to expect. If you must know the truth, my knees are quaking so badly it is a wonder I can stand upright. What if everyone hates them?”

She smiled and gave him a reassuring pat. “Most unlikely.” Then her expression became more serious, taking on a degree of pensiveness. “Are artists always so afraid of what the critics might say?”

They came to a halt after viewing the last of the paintings and Jeremy Leighton mulled over the question at length. “It is difficult to explain,” he finally answered. “I mean, if you believe in yourself, that is all that really matters. But one can’t help feeling terribly—pardon the expression— naked, with one’s soul hanging up for all to see.”

“That is a frightening thought,” she agreed. “I hadn’t ever thought of it quite like that. But still, I think you have very little to worry about. What you show of yourself is a strength, compassion and lyricism that would do anyone credit.”