Anita Mills (2 page)

His gaze discovering Dominick, he brightened visibly, and he hurried forward gratefully. Despite the plainness of the cloak, there was no mistaking that the solitary drinker bore the look of a gentleman, and that was a comfort to him. He was not entirely alone in this foresaken place. As he approached, his expression took on the amiable appeal of a pup expecting to be welcomed.

Dominick slouched in his seat, pulling his hat further and turning his face away from the candle too late. He could only hope that Bascombe was as dim as reputed and somehow would not recognize him. Or that he would hold his tongue if he did. But even as those thoughts crossed his mind, he doubted both possibilities. From all he’d ever heard of Haverstoke’s heir, the fool was a complete muddler. Schooling his face into utter indifference, Dominick appeared bored as the younger man approached.

Bertie peeled off his kid gloves and peered through the smoky, steam-filled semi-darkness, observing hopefully, “Devilish bad out tonight, ain’t it? Collect the weather drove you in also, eh?” His eyes moving contemptuously to the cracked, soot-streaked walls, he complained, “Call it the Blue Bull on the sign, but it ought to be the Dead Ox, by the looks of it.”

“The place suits me,” Dominick muttered.

“Eh? Heh-heh. Collect you are funning, ain’t you?” Even as he spoke, he cast about for an empty chair, then settled on the one beneath Dominick’s boot. “Mind if I was to join you? Name’s Bascombe—Albert Bascombe, by the by.”

“I do.”

Thinking he’d not heard aright, Bertie reached for the chair, and as he leaned forward, he was afforded a better glimpse of the shadowed face. “Egad—Deveraux!”

Dominick started to deny it, but his unwanted intruder rattled on, “Trent’s cousin, ain’t you? Heard you was out of the country! Beresford died, you know.” As the blue eyes hardened, Bertie was taken aback by the sudden coldness in them. “That is, I … well, dash it, ain’t you supposed to be in France somewhere?” he demanded aggrievedly, then lowered his voice. “Heard they were looking for you—Patrick said Beresford’s papa was offering money to see you swing on the Nubbing Cheat.”

Abruptly Dominick kicked the chair toward him. “Sit down,” he ordered brusquely. “And put a clamp on your tongue, for I cannot abide a fool.” Leaning forward, he added so softly that Bertie could scarce hear him above the taproom noise, “Beresford was a fool.”

“Eh?” There was no mistaking the warning in the bigger man’s eyes. “Oh … collect you don’t want it known,” the younger man decided as he sank into the chair. “Well, I ain’t saying nothing—didn’t like the fellow myself, in fact. If anybody ever deserved to cock up his toes, ’twas him. Bad
ton,
you know—even m’father said there was no loss there.” He paused, then leaned across the small table. “But I heard they were pursuing the matter and saying it was …” He stopped short of uttering the word “murder,” choosing instead to finish lamely, “… well, it don’t signify. Guess you wouldn’t be here if the matter wasn’t settled all right and tight, would you? Good thing, too, since it don’t seem right to put money on a gentleman’s head.”

“No.” Dominick looked down at a bead of condensation on his glass, then flattened it with a fingertip casually. “I believe the amount is still one thousand pounds.” When he raised his eyes, he looked straight into Bertie’s. “All you have to do is deliver me to the nearest constable, Bascombe,” he said softly.

“Do I look like a curst rum to you?” Bertie asked plaintively. “Dash it, but I ain’t that sort! Ain’t my business if you was to plant a dozen fellows! Besides, I told you, I never liked Beresford myself.”

“Bascombe!” Dominick’s voice rose sharply in warning.

“Oh.” Bertie straightened, whispering loudly, “If any was to ask me, I ain’t seen you. Stood by Westover, you know. But Patrick wasn’t a coward about his business—he stayed for the inquest. Coroner’s jury ruled Bridlington fired too soon. Sorry—didn’t mean you was a coward—daresay circumstances was different, after all.”

“Very.” Turning the conversation to safer ground Dominick inquired politely, “And what of the lovely Miss Canfield? I heard you were to be leg-shackled. Surely you have not left your bride so soon?”

“You
have
been away, ain’t you?” Bertie grinned smugly. “Near thing, it was, but she wed Rotherfield instead. Thought I was off the harridan’s hook then, but …” His expression sobered suddenly. “Thing was, got m’father to thinking about my future,” he recalled glumly. “Thinks I ought to get a wife. Since I escaped Miss Canfield, he’s paraded a whole string of ’em at me—some long-toothed, some even still in the schoolroom—short, fat, skinny, spotted ones—it don’t seem to matter to him. Says I got to choose one of ’em or he’s goin’ to talk to Miss Brideport’s father. Guess he don’t think I’m much of an heir, and he hopes I’ll give him a better one ere he’s planted.” He fell morosely silent for a moment, then recovered. “Running,” he uttered succinctly. “Got to—Miss Brideport’s got one of them high voices I can’t abide. Going to France when the weather clears. Hope m’father forgets, but ain’t got much expectation of that. I ain’t in the petticoat line, you know, but he don’t listen to me.”

“I own I
had
suspected,” Dominick murmured dryly.

“Never liked Rotherfield until the Juliana thing,” Bertie mused, wandering backward briefly. “Cold. Like your cousin Trent. Sorry—didn’t mean anything by that either. Don’t know Trent but by rep, but I hear he ain’t the sort as one would want to cross.” When the other man said nothing, he sighed. “Regular prattlebox sometimes, ain’t I? Don’t mean no harm, I hope you know.”

“Yes.” Abruptly Dominick rose. “Your servant, Bascombe. As I doubt I will see you on the morrow, I’ll wish you a good journey now.”

“Wait—don’t suppose you are wishful of sharing your chamber?” Bertie asked hopefully.

“No.” With a straight face Dominick added, “I am inclined to snore.”

“You? But… well, daresay a little noise wouldn’t bother me.”

“Good night, Bascombe,” he said definitely.

Unable to stand it any longer, Anne again cracked the door and was about to inch into the deserted hall, when she heard heavy bootsteps on the stairs. Shrinking back into the shadows, she waited for this man to pass also. From below, she could hear someone calling up, “I say—wait for me! Dash it, but they ain’t got no other rooms!”

The man stopped a scarce five feet from her, and turned back just as a flash of lightning struck something outside, affording her the briefest glimpse of a gentleman; then all was dark again. The crash of thunder shook the walls with such force that an empty sconce fell, breaking beside her door. Startled, she gasped audibly, drawing his attention.

“What the deuce?”

Dominick spun around, his body suddenly tense, his mind wary, and he saw her. As dark as it was, he could scarce make out much beyond her disheveled hair and the faint gleam of a bared shoulder. His mouth curved cynically, and he was about to tell her that there was a greener man coming up the stairs after him, when she stepped out to face him. As another flash of lightning illuminated the bleak hall, she swallowed visibly.

She hesitated, for the man before her suddenly seemed as forbidding as Lucifer. Wiping wet palms against the skirt of her gown, she dared to blurt out, “I am Anne Morland—Miss Morland, sir—and I have been abducted!” Despite the darkness, she thought one black eyebrow rose in disbelief, and she added baldly, “I think I have killed Mr. Fordyce.”

Hackles rose on the nape of Dominick’s neck, warning him that it could be a ruse to rob him. And yet there was no sign of anyone else there. His hand crept beneath his still-damp cloak to grasp the reassuring butt of his pistol. Behind him there were more steps on the stairs.

“Deveraux?” Bascombe called out tentatively. “They ain’t got an extra room. If you was to share, I’d sport the blunt. I say, Deveraux, but this ain’t the number—” Bertie stopped when he saw the shadowy figure of a girl. “Oh … sorry to intrude,” he mumbled. “Your pardon. Didn’t know.”

He started to back up apologetically, caught his foot in the frayed edge of the rug, tripped, spun around several times, and fell forward through the open door. For a moment he lay there regaining his breath, before he rolled to sit. Then he saw the body. He blinked a couple of times as though he doubted his eyes, but the cresset lamp above told him otherwise.

“Oh, lud, you didn’t …” He looked up reproachfully at Dominick Deveraux.

“Of course I didn’t! For one thing, I don’t even know who he is!” the other man snapped.

Bertie turned his attention to the body before him, leaning to peer cautiously into the still face. “Can’t see … Dressed like a gentleman … Who … ?”

“He is … or he
was
Quentin Fordyce,” Anne answered with a calmness she did not feel. “He abducted me, and when he threatened my virtue, I hit him with the poker.”

“Fordyce,” Bertie murmured. “Shocking bad
ton,
if you was to ask me—fellow’s run off his legs. But even
he
ain’t sunk to a place like this, I can tell you. What was he thinking of, bringing a female here?”

“Ravishment, apparently—if Miss Morland can be believed.” Dominick bent over to feel along Fordyce’s jawline. “He’s still warm, but there’s a nasty lump—the skull’s probably fractured. Can’t tell if—”

His observations were lost in the pounding on the front door below. “Open up! Open up! ’Tis the law!”

Bertie clambered awkwardly to his feet, his face suddenly stricken. “Egad! Deveraux, you don’t think I—”

“The law? Oh, dear!” For a moment Anne was at a loss; then she sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. “Well, I shall just have to face them, I suppose,” she decided, squaring one shoulder while holding her torn dress against the other. “But who could have known … ?”

“It ain’t you—daresay ’tis Deveraux they want,” Bertie told her. “But I didn’t tell ’em—I swear it!”

“It was probably someone who heard you downstairs,” Dominick muttered dryly, adding a curse under his breath.

“Got to get you out of here. My fault—my accursed tongue—devilish sorry for it, you know.” The younger man ran his hand through his hair as though it would help him think. “Can’t be found with another body—hang for sure. Got to escape ere you are taken.”

“Another
body?” Anne echoed faintly. “But …
oh, dear!
” She looked at Bertie. “Before they come up, sir, do
you
think you could tell if he … ? Her eyes dropped to Fordyce’s still-inert form.

“Don’t know—and don’t want to know neither,” he answered, shuddering. “More to the point, you got to run now.”

“The window—does it open?” Dominick demanded.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I just awakened here.”

Even as she spoke, he was already working at the window. “Damn! Water’s swelled the wood. Stand back.” He picked up the chair and swung it against the rotted frame, hitting the panes with such force that the wood splintered and the glass shattered. A hail of rain pelted the frayed carpet. “Which carriage is yours, Bascombe?”

“I say, but … No! Can’t… Dash it, but I don’t want anything to do with this!”

“Don’t be a fool, Bascombe! Do you want to be caught with a body?”

Bertie wavered. “But what about Miss Morland? It don’t look like she can stay here either. Tell you what—the two of you run, and I’ll go to France.”

For the briefest moment Dominick looked to where Anne stood watching him curiously. “Come on. We can quarrel amongst ourselves later.”

“Me?” she responded faintly. “But I—”

“Do you want to hang?” he asked brutally. “If he doesn’t come round …” His voice trailed off meaningfully.

She could hear the landlord below disputing loudly that he ran a respectable place, an assertion that was greeted roundly by guffaws and derisive shouts. And above the din someone shouted they’d come for a fugitive, that the rest could go back to their drinking.

“We’ll have to jump for it,” Dominick decided.

“Dash it, but it’s the second story!” Bertie protested. “Got to be a back way out.” But already there were running foot-steps coming up. He hastily pushed the door closed and turned the key in the lock, hoping for time.

Dominick had grasped Anne’s arm, and when she pulled back, he snapped, “Miss Morland, there’s no time for vapors now. Either you go or you face them.”

Someone rapped loudly at a door, and in the next room a woman complained vociferously that they had no right to interfere in a girl’s living. Anne hesitated, and the tall man’s eyes seemed to mock her as he held back the worn curtain from the jagged panes. He was right—she could stay and face a magistrate, or she could flee with strangers. It really was not much of a choice. White-faced, she nodded.

“We’re fronting the roof over the taproom,” Dominick told Bertie. “You go first, and I’ll hand the girl to you.”

“Me?
But I ain’t … Dash it, but I don’t like heights!”

“Open up! ’Tis the law! In the name of His Majesty, I command you to answer!”

The door banged against the jamb with the force of the pounding. Swallowing hard, Bertie managed to step through the broken window, scattering pieces of wood and glass. A sheet of rain hit his face. Shivering as much from fear as from cold, he turned to reach for Anne Morland, and as his weight shifted, he lost his footing on the slippery roof. Grasping wildly, he caught at the gutter to break his fall, then went over the side, to hang several feet above the ground. Terrified, he looked downward. His scream seemed to catch in his constricted throat as he lost his grip and fell to the muddy alley below.

Anne had no time to protest before she was thrust through the window. For an awful moment she wanted to close her eyes, but the man behind her steadied her, and the tightness of his grip was reassuring. He slid his other arm about her waist, then edged toward the gutter where the other fellow had disappeared. When she looked down, the slender man was struggling to rise.

“Try to land on him,” Deveraux advised against her ear. Then, before she could stop him, he dropped her, and she fell, to lie in a tangle of Bascombe’s flailing arms and her sodden clothes.

Above them Dominick Deveraux spread his cloak like bat wings and jumped. His feet hit the ground in a heavy thud, and his knees bent from the force.