A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels (39 page)

"I know." He squeezed her hand, then winced as he finally felt the pain from the bums on his hands. "Clovis, I'm putting you in charge. Get us out of here, including our prisoners. I don't know how you're going to do it, but find a way."

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant!" Clovis said, saluting smartly, tears for his friend still coursing down his smoke-blackened face.

"Wait!" Spencer said, collecting his thoughts. "Renard. He's got a bullet hole in the middle of his face. We can't leave him here. Too many questions."

"That's a bit trickier, sir, if I may be so bold," Clovis said, but when he snapped his fingers, the men from Becket Hall retrieved Renard's body, Clovis already planning to drop it a few feet inside the first alleyway they passed on their way back to Upper Brook Street. This was London, after all. There must be people tripping over dead bodies in London alleyways every day...

The Beckets sat in the drawing room in Upper Brook Street two mornings later, with nothing much to add to the newspaper recounting that Mariah had just read to mem concerning the destruction of the Chinese pagoda in St. James's.

There had been no explanation for the fire other than that one of the fireworks may have ignited the wooden facade or the gaslights had malfunctioned in some way. Yes, those gathered in the park had been unaware for several minutes that the fire had not been planned as a part of the festivities, but when workmen belatedly attempted to put out the blaze it was too late to save the structure. Several workmen had been injured in the attempt and, sadly, when the fire was at last out, the bodies of two workmen were discovered in the ashes. It was doubtful their identities would ever be known.

The article had ended with a tribute, not to the injured and deceased workmen, but in a sad farewell to a number of Royal swans in the canal that had succumbed to the smoke and fire.

"It's over then," Rian said at last, sitting on the arm of one of the couches, his right leg swinging in agitation. "What a sad fiasco all around. The rockets scattered the Prince Regent and the others, made some holes in the ground and caught one of the Hyde Park stalls on fire, but Wellington's men quickly surrounded everyone and got them all to safety without so much as a single blow struck. I suppose that's all right. Good thing we did, you know, alerting the Iron Duke. We're heroes, that's what. But nobody will ever know. Just a couple of rockets gone wrong, that's all."

"That still smarts, does it, Rian?" Julia asked, smiling slightly. "His Grace did tell us that several men in black were captured as they attempted a run at the Czar as he was being spirited away to his carriage. And, remember, it wasn't as if we were wrong. It's just that we were only nearly right. Still, I think we can be proud that, without us warning the Duke, things could have been a lot worse."

"The men we turned over to the Duke were nothing but minions," Chance said. "Hired assassins who know nothing of Edmund Beales, more's the pity. Young Johnny Keeler will be fine in time. But the loss of even one man is one too many."

Spencer looked down at his hands, both wrapped in layers of white linen. "I want Aloysius's body. I want him back at Becket Hall. Some spot where he can face the sea."

Mariah leaned her head against his shoulder. "He'd like that. With nothing but nothing to do today and nothing more to do again tomorrow."

"I've already spoken to the Duke in confidence, Spence, and everything is arranged for Billy to transport the body back to Becket Hall tomorrow ," Chance said, looking at the buttered scone in his hand, then replacing it on the tray, his appetite gone. "Jules's body can rot wherever someone puts it. You know, Ainsley must be wearing out his carpet, waiting for news."

"And we'll have none on Courtland's success or failure for several more days," Spencer said, dragging his thoughts away from Aloysius. Poor, brave Anguish. A change of name hadn't altered his bad luck, had it?

"I wonder if it matters whether they were successful or not," Mariah said, feeling very much the doom-sayer, even if she felt she had reason, that the world turned upside-down much too often for her liking. "Unless this Congress of Vienna that supposedly convenes soon has the sense to listen to those demanding that Bonaparte be moved to that other island, he can probably leave Elba anytime he feels the need to have the sheets changed in his palace in Paris."

"Saint Helena," Julia said, nodding her agreement. "But I think that plea is falling on deaf ears. I wonder why."

Chance smiled at his wife. "That's what's left to us, darling. To watch and to wonder why those in power do what they do. So many things we could have learned from Jules if we could have taken him prisoner."

"Forgive me," Spencer said wryly. "I wanted both he and Renard alive, but they refused to cooperate."

Once more, they all lapsed into silence, broken now only by the sound of the dice rutting the tabletop as Rian, always easily bored, began rolling a pair of dice, his left hand against his right. His right, he announced a few minutes later, was pounding the flinders out of his left.

"What about Nicolette?" Mariah said at last, shifting in her seat. "If we could find
her?
She might know more about Edmund Beales, where he is— Spencer, why haven't we thought of that before?"

Spencer and Chance exchanged looks, and Mariah, who didn't miss much, saw the exchange.

"What aren't you telling us? Julia? Do you know what they're not telling us?"

Spencer bent down to retrieve the newspaper from the floor, swearing softly when he couldn't quite grasp it, so that Rian hastened to pick it up, then folded it over before handing it to his sister-in-law. "It's a very small story, Mariah, at the bottom of the page."

Mariah looked at him curiously, and then dropped her gaze to the newspaper, already sensing what she would read did not bode well for Nicolette.

#The body of a young woman was Most Unfortunately Discovered in a cupboard at Grillon's Hotel at NO. 7 Ablemarle Street two nights previous by a parlourmaid in search of a broom. The woman, found with a thin cord Knotted Tightly about her neck, had been a Guest of The Hotel along with her Husband, one Monsieur Lyon, who has Mysteriously Disappeared Without Notice, or settling his accounts with the hotel. Misadventure is suspected.

"He killed her," Mariah said dully, handing the newspaper back to Spencer. "I should have spoken to her that day in Calais, convinced her to escape him. It was clear to me that he didn't care for her."

"We all choose our own paths, Mariah," Julia said, getting to her feet, her hand in Chance's so that he stood up with her. "We've decided to go collect the children tomorrow and visit Becket Hall in the next week. There's a lot to talk about now that we know Edmund Beales has such grandiose plans."

Spencer and Mariah stood, as well, leaving Rian to scoop up his dice and fall back over the arm of the couch, tucking a pillow beneath his head as he settled against the cushions. "Yes, that's it. You all go off somewhere to think heavy thoughts," he told them. "Me? I'm going to rest my weary bones for a while, and then Clovis and I are going to take ourselves out to Hyde Park for the day and the night, to eat a bite of everything being sold there, and drink a bit of everything that is being poured there. Tomorrow is soon enough for heavy thoughts. For today, Clovis needs to find his way into a half dozen bottles."

"Thank you, Rian," Spencer said, and then smiled. "I know what a sacrifice this is for you."

"Well, seeing as how you can't hold a pint with those bandages and Mariah wouldn't let you go at any rate, I thought I'd do my part."

Mariah rolled her eyes and led the way into the foyer, Spencer following her up the stairs to their bedchamber.

"I should change those bandages again," she told him as she helped him unbutton his shirt, as he'd insisted on trying to hold his coffee cup with his bandaged hands and his shirtfront was the worse for the effort.

"I'd rather you didn't, thank you. The damn things stick to my skin and pulling them loose hurts like the very devil."

"Baby," Mariah said, stepping up on tiptoe to kiss him. "Spencer?"

He leaned forward for another kiss, but she placed her hands on his chest, holding him off. "Uh-oh," he said, wincing. "We're married such a short time, and already I believe I recognize that look and that tone. You want me to say yes to something, don't you? Do you want me to tell you again that I love you, how much I love you? I will, if only to hear you tell me you love me."

"I love you, Spence. I love you, love you, love you." She blinked back unexpected tears. "But I want to go to Becket Hall, Spence. Now, this morning. I know we were going to leave tomorrow, but tomorrow is so far away. William is so far away. I love you, I really do, but.. .but I need to hold William. I need the world to make sense again. Do you mind?"

Spencer pulled her close, careful of his hands, although his burns would heal. Someday, even the world might heal, and although both his hands and the world would forever bear the scars of war, he wanted to believe that seeing those cruel reminders, understanding them, would help his son and others learn not to repeat the same mistakes that had led to those scars.

Some day, they'd be free to sail to Virginia, start a new life. Some day, when Edmund Beales was finally out of their lives. But until that day, he and his small family would remain at Becket Hall.

And he'd no longer chafe to be gone from there. Because no matter where he lived, as long as Mariah was in his life, he would be content.

He kissed wife's head, took in the sweet smell of her, the soft, warm promise of her, his heart aching, but full.

"You're right, Mariah. Let's go home...."

* * * THE END * * *