A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (14 page)

The
door of the Bird in Hand opened and, as two men lurched out into the street,
Zanthe caught a glimpse inside. She could see into about half of the crowded
little tap room, which was dimly lit with oil lamps. There was an astonishing
mix of types, from young bloods to pickpockets, sprawled at the few tables and
chairs, while the noise that flooded the street through the open door was loud
and strangely menacing. It was as though the inn were a bubbling pot that might
at any time boil over.

Above the babble of rough talk, a
fiddle, and a few voices raised in ribald song, Zanthe’s ears caught another
sound. It was a sweet, melodious whistling. She recognized it as the song
Susanna had sung that evening at the concert. As she pressed her forehead
against the window-pane, a male figure came into view, strolling down the
street very much at his ease, his hands in his pockets and his hat tipped
forward at a rakish angle over one eyebrow.

What happened next was indelibly burnt
upon her memory and often visited her in nightmares for years afterwards. From
out of the shadow, four dark shapes surrounded Launceston, shoulders hunched,
fists bared. He did not even break his stride but, in one fluid movement, drove
his fist into the soft belly of one man and thrust the stick he carried between
the legs of another, bringing him down. As Critchlow, cursing under his breath,
entered the fray, the first man, wheezing but game, rushed at Launceston and
was stopped dead by a vicious slice across the throat from the side of his hand.
Launceston brought up his foot to the other man’s groin and, as he bent over in
agony, his nose smashed against the Viscount’s knee. He fell to the floor and
curled into ball, moaning. In the meantime, Critchlow had overcome a third
assailant by the simple expedient of catching him in a bear hug and squeezing
until he became unconscious. The fourth, less gifted with courage, or more
intelligent than his comrades, ran for it but fell victim to Parry, who rolled
an empty beer barrel he had found in the inn’s back alley down the street after
him. It caught the man behind the knees and brought him down with a satisfying
crash.

The second man had got his wind back and
was up. He was shorter and more agile than his fallen comrade. And he had a
knife. So, too, it appeared, had Launceston. The two men circled each other.
The paid bravo was laughing, confident. He tossed the knife from one hand to
the other to show his contempt for the flat who thought he could fight. ‘Come
on then, cully, if you thinks you can,’ he urged.

Launceston shrugged, stepped back and,
with a flick of his wrist, sent the blade flying into the other man’s chest. The
man’s mouth fell open in shock, he looked down at the hilt sticking out of his
ribs, and then toppled over and lay still.

‘Is ‘e dead, Sir?’ Critchlow peered over
Launceston’s shoulder.

The Viscount stirred the fallen man with
his foot. A low groan rewarded him. ‘No. I didn’t mean to kill him. If you hit
it just right the ribs deflect the blade. He has merely passed out with the
shock.’

‘My God, Launceston, where did you learn
that?’ demanded Parry, hobbling up and surveying the fallen bravos. ‘Never seen
anything like it.’

The Viscount shrugged. ‘Pass a couple of
years among the
Camorra
in a Neapolitan prison and you’ll learn a few
dirty tricks, too.’

Screened by the curtains in the bow
window, Zanthe exchanged a speaking glance with Martha. Two years in
prison
!
So that was why he believed he was so far beneath her. She would have to
convince him that she did not care one jot whatever he had done. And that
nothing in her life had thrilled her so much as the scene she had just watched
played out in front of her.

Launceston, having assured himself that
none of his recent assailants was likely to offer any more violence, pushed
Parry gently back into the alley with a brief command, ‘Stay out of sight.’ He
jerked his head to Critchlow, who fell into place at his shoulder, and the two
men opened the inn door and walked inside.

Zanthe could have screamed with vexation.
‘I cannot just sit here, waiting. I have to know what is happening to him in
there—that Carlyle has not harmed him.’

‘From what I seen of your gentleman, my Lady,
any ‘arm that’s bein’ done will be to the other gentleman, not yours.’ Martha
smiled. ‘A proper man ‘e is. Just like my Bob.’ She laid her hand over
Zanthe’s. ‘Never fret.’

A dark shape slipped out of the alley
and peered through the inn’s dirty, diamond-paned casement. Parry had grown
tired of hiding. Zanthe, with some difficulty, managed to slide up the sash window
and called to him in a carrying whisper. ‘Parry! What is happening?’

He jumped and cursed. ‘Damn it, Zan! You
scared the life out of me.’

‘Never mind that. Can you see anything?’

He pulled himself up by the window sill
and peered into the interior. ‘Just a lot of fellows milling around—wait—I see
Duke—where’s Launceston—I don’t see— Oh, there he is. They’re talking, can’t
make out what about. Oh—!’

‘What! What is it?’

‘Launceston just struck Duke across the
face with his glove!’

‘Why—is—is that bad?’

Parry crossed the narrow street and
talked to her through the cracked window. ‘He’s called him out, Zan. Yes, it’s
bad. If he kills him, as I swear he means to do, for if ever I saw murder in a
man’s face—well, it’s still a crime as far as the law is concerned, be it never
so much a fair fight. He’ll have to leave the country, or they’ll hang him.’

She turned pale and clenched her fists.
‘Oh, I could
kill
him!’

Parry was shocked. ‘Here, steady on, you
can’t say things like that, Sis.’

‘Just when I thought everything is
settled, and now— It has to be stopped! You must go and summon the watch or—no—a
magistrate
—
yes, that’s it! A magistrate can put a
stop to it!’

‘Where shall I find a magistrate at this
time of night?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Well, neither do I, so think of
something else.’

‘Go back and see what is happening.’

Obediently, he positioned himself at the
window. ‘They’re still talking,’ he called to her. ‘Hold on a minute.
Critchlow’s coming out.’

Before Martha could prevent her, Zanthe
had dashed out of the house and into the street. ‘Mr Critchlow, where are you
going? You cannot leave him in there alone!’

The big man smiled at her and said in
his deep countryman’s voice, ‘E won’t come to any ‘urt. ‘E just sent me over to
Westgate to fetch ‘is duelling pistols.’

‘Please, before you go, tell him I’m
here and need to speak to him.’

‘’E won’t like it.’

‘I don’t care in the least what he likes
or does not like.’

He laughed. ‘You’re a right ‘andfull, my
Lady, and no mistake. All right, I’ll tell ‘im, but you got to get back inside
wi’ Martha.’

Zanthe retreated back into the
ramshackle little house as Critchlow departed on his errand. A few minutes
later, he emerged with the Viscount. The two men separated, Critchlow striding
off down the street, and Launceston crossing the cobbles to rap upon the
worm-eaten front door.

Martha retreated tactfully into the
back-room while Zanthe went to the door. As she opened it, she was assailed by the
wrathful Lord Launceston. ‘What the devil are you doing here? Have you lost
your mind? Don’t you know what kind of a place this is?’

‘Yes, I do know. This is Martha
Critchlow’s house, and it’s a very nice place.’

‘You know very well that is not what I
meant. This part of the town is not fit for you.’

‘You are always so very concerned about
what is fit for me. Let me see.’ She began to count on her fingers. ‘You are
not fit for me—the Signora is not fit for me—Sir Marmaduke is not fit for me—Avon
Street is not fit for me—’ She chuckled, ‘I seem to be very hard to
accommodate.’

‘Zanthe, why did you send for me?’

She opened the door wider. ‘Do you mean
to stand on the doorstep all night, or will you come in. It is immaterial to me,
but you are always so concerned about my reputation that I probably should not
be seen talking to you in the street at this time of night and in
this—this—locality.’

He stepped inside, and instantly the
little room seemed to shrink. ‘I could wring your neck.’

She took a step towards him and lifted
her chin, displaying the long, lovely line of her throat. Her lips were
slightly parted, and her eyelids lowered so that her lashes cast shadows on the
fine ivory of her skin. ‘Could you, Jarvis? Could you really?’

He stared down at her, frowning. ‘Now
what are you up to?’

She smiled. ‘I don’t think you are very
polite. That was an invitation to kiss me, in case you had not noticed. I
thought you might like to.’

‘You know very well that— Oh,
damnation!’ He pulled her into his arms and crushed her mouth beneath his. They
stood so for long moments. Then he released her suddenly, almost flinging her
from him. ‘No!’

She faced him, eyes blazing in anger.
‘And I say yes! I will not let you destroy my happiness again. You do not have
the right, you selfish beast!’

His brows twitched together in a quick
frown. ‘Zanthe? What do you mean?’

‘What I said! You think you are being
noble, don’t you? Well you are not. You are being quite odiously selfish and condemning
me to a life of misery. You and I could be married and I could have—have—a
little baby and be so happy, but instead I shall be worn to death by Mama-in-Law
or very likely die of an ague if I have to go back to live in Lincolnshire,
which, in case you don’t know, is horridly damp! Even Mr Cholmondeley was brave
enough to rescue Margery from the same fate, but you will not—oh no—because you
say I am “above your touch.” Well, I think I have just proved that I am not
above your touch. Or do you think I make a habit of kissing men who are beneath
me? I know you love me, and I utterly refuse to let you ruin both our lives because
of your past. Do you think I care that you have made love to dozens of women
and lost your fortune and learned how to kill people in some horrible prison?’

‘You heard that?’

‘Of course, I did.’

‘Don’t you want to know what crime I
committed?’

‘No! Well, yes—but only because I’m
curious. It won’t matter to me whatever it was.’

‘You trust me so much?’

‘Love and trust go hand in hand. Don’t
you know that?’

He reached out, took her hands in his,
and kissed them. ‘It was nothing very dreadful. I merely got myself involved in
their somewhat complicated politics and on the wrong side. It was not a wise
move.’

‘I hate to think of you in that terrible
place. Did they—did they—hurt you, darling Jarvis?’

His face grew very still, and his eyes
seemed to gaze into some dark and distant place. Then he smiled wryly and
shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not once I had learned a trick or two worth knowing. But
I was nothing but skin-and-bone when they let me out. Fanny took me in, nursed
me. That’s all there ever was between us.’

She looked a little incredulous, and he
laughed. ‘Almost all, I promise you.’ He shrugged. ‘But a man who has been
where I have been and done the things I have done can never be worthy of you.’

Her hands clasped his, and her voice was
very sweet as she told him, ‘You are worthy in my eyes. I cannot, I will not,
live without you now that you have come back to me.’

He gave a shaken laugh. ‘Zanthe, are you
by any chance asking me to marry you?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

 ‘But I’m not sure I want to marry such
a bold, forward minx as that.’

‘I thought you liked bold, forward
minxes.’

‘No, you are wrong.’ He pulled her back
into his arms and laid his cheek against the silken gold of her hair. ‘I love
them.’

‘Them?’

‘You—only you—forever!’

Zanthe
perched upon his lordship’s knee, threading her fingers through his hair and
pressing little kisses against the line of his jaw, his neck, and the lobe of
his ear. Martha was still in the back-room, kindly giving them time together.

‘Tell me you love me,’ Zanthe demanded.

‘I have told you.’

‘Tell me again.’

‘I would rather show you,’ he said
forcing up her face with his hand under her chin. ‘You are so lovely.’

‘I was prettier when you first knew me.
I’m getting old now.’

‘You were enchanting, adorable, dazzling
beyond words. But now—’

‘Now?’ she prompted.

He bent his head to taste her sweetness.
‘Now you are a warm, generous-hearted, glorious woman, and I propose to spend
the rest of my life making love to you.’

This rapturous interlude was brought to
an abrupt end as the door was thrust open and Bob Critchlow walked into the
little parlour with a polished wooden box tucked under his arm. Zanthe slid
from Launceston’s knee and eyed the box with misgiving. ‘Are your pistols in
there?’

Launceston flicked the two brass clasps
with his thumbs and lifted the lid. ‘Manton’s,’ he said, lifting one
deadly-looking weapon from its green-baize cradle and testing the balance with
one hand. ‘Beautiful pieces of work.’

‘But you will not be needing them now,
will you?’

‘Will not be needing them? What are you
talking about?’

She opened her eyes at him. ‘You are not
still going to fight a duel with that man are you?’

‘But, of course I am, Zanthe. I cannot
draw back from an engagement.’

‘You said you would make him sorry, but
you never said you meant to shoot him. Could you not just—’

 ‘It was not my intention—then. But, my
lovely one, he had not then attempted to have me murdered. And, moreover, I had
not yet encountered young Reggie Huntington, who had an entertaining story to
tell about a damsel in distress and a filthy villain who had arranged a very
convenient accident to his phaeton.’ He looked at her rather sternly. ‘Why did
you not tell me?’

‘Why do you think? Because I was afraid
of this very thing. I knew how you would take it, but truly I came to no hurt.’
She frowned. ‘I am surprised at Mr Huntington. I think it was very indiscreet
of him to spread the story about. Why should he tell you, and where did you
meet him?’

‘Tonight, my love, as I was leaving the
Lower Rooms, he was entering the building. We are a little acquainted. To be
honest, I have won money from him, and so we fell into conversation. He,
espying you through the open doors of the concert room, favoured me with an
account of the whole adventure without having the smallest idea I was in any
way connected with you.’

Bob Critchlow, who had been listening to
this exchange with a furrowed brow, suddenly interposed. ‘Beggin’ your pardon,
Sir. Are you tellin’ me that slippery rogue laid a finger on my lady?’

The Viscount accorded him a curt nod.
‘Keep it to yourself, Bob.’

Critchlow grunted his agreement and
opened the street door, looking out. ‘Clouds ‘ave cleared. It’s a fine night,’
he commented.

As he walked into the street and closed
the door behind him, Zanthe said, ‘What did he mean by that?’

‘He meant there will soon be light
enough for our meeting.’

‘Where is it to be? You can’t shoot at
each other here, can you?’

‘Hardly. It is to be out near Oldfield,
you would not know it.’

She lifted imploring eyes to his face,
gripping his hands. ‘Jarvis, I cannot bear it. If he should kill you, I shall
die, and if you kill him, then we must leave England and—’

He caught her face between his palms.
‘Did you say “we,” my darling?’

She smiled mistily. ‘Of course. Don’t
you understand? It will always be “we” from now on.’

He bent his head as though to kiss her
but suddenly lifted his head, arrested, for at that moment, the door of the
Bird in Hand opened and a melee of its patrons came roaring out into the
street, cheering, cursing, and shouting the odds. At the centre of their
impassioned interest were two men locked in a desperate struggle in the middle
of the street.

Launceston and Zanthe sprang up and ran
to the door. ‘Stay back,’ he commanded, thrusting her back inside the room. She
watched as he pushed his way through the crowd of men. She stood on tiptoe,
craning to see what was happening, but to no avail. The noise brought Martha
running into the room. ‘Never fret, my Lady. There’s always some fightin’ and
to-do goin’ on at the Bird.’

‘Oh, but Jarvis has gone out there, and
Parry, too. I must see what is going forward.’

Martha nodded and gave a little shiver
of excitement. ‘We’ll likely have a good view from the attics. No one ain’t
livin’ there since the floor give out, but if we’re careful, we can pick our
way across.’

She picked up the oil lamp and led the
way up a narrow wooden staircase to the upper floor, which was merely a cramped
space under the roof with scarce room for them to stand upright. Zanthe found
it hard to believe that anyone could ever have lived there, but there were
still a couple of old chairs and a three-legged table propped up by an old packing
case. By following carefully in Martha’s footsteps, she reached the little round
attic window without incident and stared out.

It was Martha who called out in horror,
‘Oh, my Lady! It’s my Bob and that Sir Marmaduke! An’ Bob with only one hand he
can use.’

‘But how well he uses it! Oh, Martha, Mr
Critchlow is a splendid fighter. Just see how he has knocked that detestable
man off his feet.’

Martha, who had covered her face with
her hands, opened her fingers enough to see her husband, whom she had always
thought of as a gentle, kindly man, pound Sir Marmaduke’s head back and forth
with a left fist that more nearly resembled a blacksmith’s hammer than a human
hand. Because the little window was not made so as to open, the sounds were
muted, coming to them through the holes in the roof rather than the window. But
they caught the sound of an authoritative voice, the crowd stepped back, and
the watching women could see Sir Marmaduke’s limp body stretched upon the
cobbles, with Bob kneeling and wiping the blood from his face with a
handkerchief handed to him by Launceston, who was standing over him. Launceston
barked more orders, and a couple of the bystanders stepped forward. One man
went to Sir Marmaduke’s head, the other to his feet, and between them, they
carried him back inside the inn. Launceston bent to help Critchlow to his feet,
and the two men turned back towards the little house.

Quite unheeding of the worm-eaten state
of the floor and the treacherous stairs, the two women sped downstairs. As the
door opened, Martha cast herself into her husband’s arms and kissed him
repeatedly. ‘Oh, Bob, Bob ‘ow could you?’

Launceston was looking very grim. ‘Yes,
indeed, how could you, Bob? Do you think I don’t know why you did it? Damn it
man! I’m not exactly a greenhorn. I don’t need your protection.’

Bob grinned. ‘Aye, but me and Martha
think the world ‘o your young lady, an’ it would have broke her ‘eart if you was
hurt or got took up for murder.’

Martha, having finished kissing her
husband, now set her hands upon her hips and scowled at him. ‘An’ what’ll
happen to me and the babies if
you
get took up for murder instead?’

Launceston smiled. ‘Have no fear, Ma’am.
Carlyle won’t be on his feet for a couple of weeks, but he’s not mortally
injured. More’s the pity.’

‘And if anyone should enquire into his
injuries, I shall swear Mr Critchlow was here with us the whole time,’ Zanthe
assured her, blithely. ‘The magistrates will believe me, for I have no reason
to lie.’

‘No, no, my Lady, we couldn’t let you
swear to an untruth. It wouldn’t be right,’ protested Martha, shocked.

‘Never fear, she will not be called upon
to do so. The magistrates take the view that whatever happens in the Bird is no
business of theirs. Nor is Carlyle a favourite with them. His reputation is so
bad that it will come as no surprise that someone has given him his just
deserts.’

Zanthe slid her hand into the Viscount’s
and said softly. ‘You will not pursue this, will you? I mean, when he is well
enough to fight again?’

He raised her hand to his lips. ‘No, my
love, for he will not be fit to fight again for at least a month
—
and,
by that time, I expect to be enjoying an extended honeymoon with my adorable wife.’

‘Lovely! May we go to Naples?’

‘Naples? My darling, why?’

‘Because I want to see where you were
put in prison, of course.’

‘But—why?’

‘Oh, it is quite the most romantic thing
I ever heard of.’

‘Good God! And I was sure you would be utterly
disgusted.’

‘Disgusted? Why, it only makes me love
you even more.’

‘It does?’

‘Well, of course it does,’ interposed
Martha, giving him a pitying look. ‘Anyone can see that.’

Viscount Launceston and Mr Critchlow
exchanged a look of pure masculine bewilderment and uttered in unison, ‘Women!’

The
End