A Love Laid Bare (43 page)

Tying the reins loosely to the gate, he grabbed his
saddlebag and strode swiftly to the front door. Was it only a few
months ago that he vowed never to return? Now his wife was a light
in his life and his newfound daughter a blaze of joy in his heart.
Never had he imagined such a thing.

Pushing the door open, Halcombe let himself in and
silently explored the house. The rooms were bare for the most part,
except for a single cot in one at the rear of the hallway. A tangle
of blankets, oddly enough harbouring a kitten, and the smell of
unwashed bodies in another small chamber told him where Flora and
Nancy had likely been imprisoned. Left alone with a madman, what in
God’s name had they experienced during the long, fearful night?
You can’t think of that now. Anger will cloud your
judgment.

Halcombe returned to the entryway. The door was still
ajar, as he’d left it. He surveyed the front of the property. The
sun was high, harshly bright. It was close to noon. Where the hell
was Jensen? Were Jim and the others even now edging closer to the
house? What if they were spotted? The delay stretched with
unremitting torment. Halcombe’s gut knotted in a painful vise and
sweat beaded along his back. It occurred to him that Jensen had
already put them through
hours
of hellish waiting. It was
yet another thing he owed the man for.

The scrape of a boot sounded loudly in the unnatural
silence and Halcombe swung around, blinking into the dimmer light.
Stupid to have stared into the sunlight.
Silently cursing
his ill judgment, he waited for his vision to adjust. Slowly, a
shadow detached from the wall and he again heard the sound of boots
scuffing along the floorboards. He squinted and Jensen was suddenly
visible, a pistol steady in his hand.

“Lord Halcombe. So wise of you to come. If you will
please join me, we can complete this transaction to both our
satisfaction.” Jensen used his free hand to gesture toward a
doorway on his left.

Halcombe crossed the threshold into what was once Mr.
Nesbitt’s study. The empty shelves gleamed in the shafts of light
streaming through the wide windows. The earl had a quick vision of
Thomas Blount faithfully dusting the polished wood and almost
smiled at the absurdity. But the pistol at his back was no joke and
he turned to face his nemesis.

Keeping a prudent distance between them, Jensen
jerked his head in the direction of the shelves. “Lay the Folio
over there.”

The gun was not entirely a surprise to the earl. He
felt that taking his life would be of little benefit to Jensen, but
an incapacitating wound was another matter and not something
Halcombe had previously considered. He let the saddlebag slide from
his shoulder, taking care to keep it balanced over his arm, then
bent his elbow and let the bag hang directly in front of his body.
Jensen was not likely to damage the fragile parchment with a bullet
hole. He undid the buckle, lifted the flap, and withdrew the
Folio.

Sunlight caught the brilliant colours of the
illuminations, splashing a rainbow on the walls. Jensen let out a
soft hiss. “Yes…” He drew out the word with eloquent satisfaction.
“Now spread out the maps and step back.”

Halcombe laid each map on the shelf with deliberately
slow precision. The other man shifted impatiently as he waited.
Good. Nervous men were more apt to make mistakes.

Jensen motioned with the gun. “Move into the corner.
If you make any attempt to stop me, I’ll shoot you…starting with
your leg.”

Halcombe looked into Jensen’s cold eyes and knew the
man was more than capable of carrying out his threat. “Tell me
where Lady Flora and her maid are and I will.”

“You will anyway, if you want them back”

“You fool. I could fight you for that weapon and both
of us would lose. I might end up dead, but I’d make damn sure the
Folio was destroyed in the process.”

“Don’t be a hero, Halcombe,” Jensen said mockingly.
“You want the girls, and I want
that
.” He jerked a finger
toward the maps.

“No.”

“Damn you, Halcombe. You are one stubborn son of the
devil. I don’t have time to stand here and debate the issue. Back
up or I swear I will shoot you where you stand.”

Halcombe gauged his opponent. Jensen’s control was on
a knife’s edge. Better not to test him further—at the moment. He
inched to one side, granting Jensen just enough space to allow him
access to the Folio without coming into Halcombe’s range.

Keeping the pistol aimed steadily at Halcombe’s
chest, Jensen hastily scanned the contents of the Folio, and then,
appearing satisfied, awkwardly shuffled the maps together with his
left hand and slid them and the cover back into the saddlebag.

“I assure you that Lady Flora is resting safely, if
somewhat precariously, on the cliff less than a quarter mile hence.
You won’t have any trouble finding her.”

Jensen darted through the door. Halcombe heard the
key turning in the lock, and the sound of rapid footsteps running
along the corridor. He made one swift survey of the room, wrenched
one of the draperies from its rod, and wrapped it around his hand
and arm. The window glass was thick. It took several furious blows
before it shattered and even through the padding he felt pain sear
his knuckles.

Avoiding the jagged sections that remained, he
stepped over the low sash and tossed the fabric aside.
Think,
Halcombe. Don’t run off half-cocked.
Jensen had to be planning
an escape by water. A land route was too dangerous—and too slow.
Every man in the county would be hunting him. He would head along
the coast. If Jensen had hidden his horse in the stables, Halcombe
had him. The road leading from the stables cut through a hollow and
he would be able to catch him there. Halcombe spun around and
ran.

Straining for any sound of a horse, one part of his
mind wondering when Jim might appear, the earl threw himself on the
ground at the top of the rise and peered at the track below. Jensen
thought he was hunting for Flora. He would not expect to see
Halcombe here.

And searching for Flora is precisely what would you
have done if not for Summerton. Had he already found them? Jensen
said they were out on the cliff. What if…? Stop! It was stupid to
speculate. Colin will not fail. Pay attention to your part now.

Halcombe considered his position. He might be too
exposed. A bit further along the road took a sharp turn inland. If
he remembered correctly, the terrain changed to a rocky
outcropping. Keeping his body low, the earl crabbed up the hill and
crouched in a spot as close as possible to the edge. Riders seldom
looked up and Jensen was in a hurry.

There, hoofbeats, coming fast
.
Wait,
wait—go!
Richard jumped up and sprang onto the unsuspecting
horseman, his momentum sweeping them both onto the hard, dusty road
and rolling wildly over in a tangle of limbs.

Their bodies thudded painfully against the remnants
of an old stone wall, Jensen landing on top. His fist landed
squarely on Halcombe’s jaw. Head ringing, the earl jabbed an elbow
into Jensen’s belly and shoved him aside. He lurched to his feet
and took the second blow with his shoulder. Jensen had the longer
reach and Halcombe skipped backwards, waiting for the next swing.
They danced around, feinting, but Jensen was too impatient to wait
for an opening. He plunged forward, fist swinging, and Halcombe
ducked, his own fist coming up in a right hook that snapped
Jensen’s head back. Closing in, Halcombe punched him again, the hit
smashing on the man’s cheekbone with a satisfying whack.

But Jensen was quick to recover. He bounded forward,
struck a glancing blow against Halcombe’s mouth, and drove the earl
to the ground. Halcombe’s attempt to knee him was blocked, Jensen
taking the strike on his thigh, but the earl gained enough leverage
to flip him onto his back and brace his arm across the man’s
throat.

“Bloody bastard,” Halcombe grunted. “I should kill
you and toss your worthless body into the sea.” He pressed down
harder, stoically absorbing the increasingly weaker blows from
Jensen’s flailing fists.

“Do it,” Jensen wheezed. “If I don’t return with the
Folio, I am a dead man anyway.”

“No reason, then, why I can’t have the pleasure,”
Halcombe panted. He sat up, straddled his captive, and wrapped his
hands around the man’s throat. “Worthless scum. You stole my child
and put us through agony—all for a few goddamned scraps of paper!”
He shook Jensen violently.

“I never…hurt her,” Jensen rasped. “Had to…get…back.
Stolen. Earl…knew.”

Halcombe stilled. He assessed Jensen’s defiant gaze
and slowly eased his grip. “What the hell are you saying?”

Jensen dragged in a shuddering breath. “It was…my
father…stole the Legacy. Earl
knew…
still bought.”

“You lie,” Halcombe growled. “My father would never
stoop to buying stolen goods.” Although he was quick to defend the
earl, Halcombe could not ignore the conviction in Jensen’s eyes. In
truth, Richard did not know
what
his father had done in the
last year of his life. Halcombe dropped his hands to the man’s
shoulders and shifted his body to put almost all of his weight on
Jensen’s chest.

Jensen lay passive beneath him. He seemed oblivious
to the blood trickling from the gash on his cheek. His breath
remained ragged and stuttering. “He had to know it. Been in—private
collection for centuries. Wanted it badly. Enough to trade the
Milton toward it.”

“What the
hell
are you talking about? We’ve
never owned anything of Milton’s!

Jensen somehow managed a sneer. “Your sainted father
had a first edition of
Paradise Lost.”

Halcombe struggled to reconcile this new picture of
his father with the scrupulous man he had known. What else might
the previous earl be guilty of? But it was of no matter. Jensen’s
sins were beyond anything the old earl may have done. Filled with
disgust for the
Bruxellese
, Halcombe brought his knee up
solidly into the man’s groin and then staggered to his feet.

Jensen let out a hoarse groan, his hands
instinctively moving downward. He curled into a ball, gasping for
breath. Halcombe watched, unmoved. The short-lived agony was little
enough payment for the man’s foul deeds. But Halcome’s hot rage had
cooled. Jensen’s death was not worth the burden it would place on
his soul.

The earl wiped at his bloody lip with the back of his
hand. His jaw ached and every movement sent a stab of pain through
his left shoulder. His knuckles were split and swollen and felt
like he’d been clawing his way through a bed of nettles. He looked
around, surprised that it had all taken but a few minutes. He
needed to find Colin—and Flora. Frances was surely close by now.
But first, he had to decide what to do about the Legacy folio.

Halcombe glanced at the ashen-faced man on the
ground. Jensen was entirely still now, recovering, but sitting on a
horse was going to be painful—and he damned well deserved it.

Jensen’s horse had not gone far. Halcombe caught the
reins and flipped open the saddlebag. The Legacy Folio was intact.
He held it in his hands for a long moment and then put it back with
a cold smile. Jensen might get away with returning copies of the
maps themselves. They
were
expertly done. Halcombe shrugged.
It was none of his concern if Jensen was caught. He heard a faint
whimper and returned to stand over Jensen, his shadow looming
darkly across the prostrate man.

“Get up and get out of here. If you ever set foot in
England again, I will hunt you down like the dog you are.”

Jensen opened his eyes, clouded now with pain. “You
are letting me go?” he croaked in disbelief. He shuddered and
heaved himself onto his knees.

“You are not worth killing,” Halcombe said coldly. “I
advise you to take the first ship you see—get out and stay
out.”

“I’ve passage,” Jensen said.

The earl gave him one last icy glare and left him
there in the dirt. He took off at a jog, his eyes scanning the
surrounding property for other signs of life.
Colin, where was
Colin? If anything had…
Halcombe rounded the corner of the
house, nearly colliding with Summerton and the wildly squirming
child in his arms.

“Papa, Papa!” Flora threw herself at her father,
sobbing his name.

Halcombe caught her and rested his hand on her head.
“Hush, sweetheart. All is well. Papa has you,” he murmured
soothingly.

“I think you’ve been missed,” Summerton said gravely,
laughter dancing in his eyes.

Halcombe grinned, looked down at Flora, and kissed
her tear-stained cheek, his relief so great he felt dizzy with
it.

“She is unharmed, other than a mild sunburn,”
Summerton said, sobering. He gestured to the young woman standing
next to him. “Nancy is fine as well. Hungry and thirsty, of course,
but there appears to be no lasting damage…
physical
damage,”
he amended.

Halcombe looked at Nancy and nodded. The dazed,
bewildered look in her eyes pained him more than her pinched, wan
countenance and weary stance. The girl appeared absolutely
exhausted, in both body and spirit.

“There is water in the house.” Halcombe eased Flora’s
slight body to the crook of his arm and touched the nursemaid’s
shoulder. “Thank you for taking such good care of Lady Flora. Could
I ask you to hold on just a bit longer? Lady Halcombe and Mrs.
Blount will arrive shortly with a carriage, and then we will all go
home.”

“Yes, sir.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “The
man…?”

“He will never bother you again,” Halcombe said
firmly and was pleased to see some of the tension ease from her
slim shoulders.

“You disposed of him?” Summerton asked in a low
voice.

Halcombe laughed shortly. “Not in the way I suspect
you mean, but yes, Jensen will not be seen around here—or anywhere
in the entire country for that matter—ever again.”