Compromising the Marquess (22 page)

“My lord,” he said, bowing.

“Green, this is Miss Elliott. Has a chamber been prepared for her in accordance with my instructions?”

“Naturally, my lord.”

A young maid came forward and curtsied.

“Mary, show Miss Elliott to her room and help her with anything she needs. Come down when you’ve refreshed yourself,” he added to Leah, “and we will take supper together.”

* * *

Leah followed the maid up a wide staircase to the first floor, along a wide gallery with portraits of past generations lining the wall. They appeared to follow her progress with disdain, as though wanting to know what she thought she was doing there. Leah tilted her chin and didn’t supply them with an answer, mostly because she was asking herself the same question. They continued on past a row of closed doors, until the girl finally stopped in front of one of them.

“This is for you, miss.”

She opened the door and stood back so that Leah could enter the room first. She tried not to show just how impressed-—and intimidated—she felt. The entire gatehouse would have fit into this one chamber with ease.

“I’ll just bring up some hot water, miss,” Mary said. “I expect you need a good wash after your journey.”

A short time later, washed and changed into a serviceable gown that definitely didn’t do justice to her surroundings, Leah went downstairs again. She found Hal waiting for her, flipping through some papers as he sat beside the fire in the small sitting room.

“Ah, there you are,” he said looking up and smiling. “We’ll dine at once, Green.”

“Very good, my lord.”

A message arrived just as they were finishing. Hal scanned it quickly and stood up.

“Things are happening quicker than I anticipated,” he said. “Morris arrived, went to several taverns, spoke to a few people and then went to an alehouse in Mill Street. He’s been there in close conversation with one man ever since.”

“Then we must go there too,” Leah said, placing her napkin aside and standing up.

“
I
shall go,” he said. “It’s not the sort of place for a lady to be seen at night.”

“Then why am I here?” she asked. “I lived in that part of town for years, remember? I’m not afraid. Besides, I shall be with you.”

It was obvious that Hal wished to argue the point but in the end he agreed with an abrupt nod. Just as well since had he not done so, she would simply have made her own way to Mill Street, and she suspected that he knew it.

“Stay close to me at all times,” he said. “Green, have the town coach brought round at once.”

Mere minutes later they were inside a coach again, a different one to that which had conveyed them to London. How many conveyances did Hal own? With such banal thoughts running through Leah’s head, they rattled along as fast as Hal’s coachman dared to travel through increasingly narrow streets, the cobbles damp and slippery for the horses to negotiate after a recent shower. Hal appeared to know the district as well as she did—he was full of surprises—and tapped on the roof with his cane as they approached Mill Street.

“Keep going round,” he said to his coachman, “and don’t wander far. If all goes to plan, we shall have need of you again very soon. Try to pass the end of this road every couple of minutes.”

It seemed a rather tall order to Leah but the coachman nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the bizarre instruction.

“Come,” Hal said to Leah, reaching for her hand. He paused to pull the hood of her cloak over her hair and led her towards the tavern. “Are you ready?”

“I’m quite prepared,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so even when it felt as though an entire horde of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach.

Hal pushed through the door to the tavern and stopped just inside it, surveying the occupants of the taproom. He saw someone he obviously knew through the thick cloud of smoke that hovered in the air and made his way towards him, keeping a firm hold of Leah’s hand.

“This is Miss Elliott,” Hal said when they reached the man. “Leah, meet Parsons, my investigator.”

“Mr. Parsons,” Leah said, acknowledging the inclination of his head.

“They’ve gone into the back room, just the two of them, and closed the door,” Parsons said.

“Then perhaps we should join them,” Hal said, clenching his jaw. “Do you have a couple of men out front?”

“Aye, Morris won’t get past them. They already know who he is.”

“Good. Right, stay close behind us, Leah, and do whatever I ask of you.”

“I won’t be any trouble.”

There was tension in Hal, she could sense it. He didn’t know how this would go any more than she did, and it struck her then that this marquess—this gentleman of elevated status and privileged rank—was risking his all for her sake. If she hadn’t already been comprehensively in love with him, she suspected she would have become so at that point, since no one had given much thought to her welfare since the death of her father. She reached for his hand, staying him.

“Thank you,” she whispered, drinking in the sight of his beautiful features in case she never saw them again.

“You’re welcome, Peisinoe,” he said softly. Then he turned to the man beside him. “Miss Elliott’s safety is our primary concern, Parsons, always remember that.”

“I can take care—”

“Got it,” Parsons said, winking at her with easy familiarity.

They pushed through the door to the room where Morris was closeted with his partner in crime. The two men, heads together over a narrow table, both looked up and glared. Leah took one look at them, forgot all about Hal’s warnings to remain behind them, and dashed forward.

“Jenkins!” she cried, her voice a startled quaver. “You? You killed my father?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Morris and Jenkins leapt from their seats, wearing identical shocked expressions. Jenkins looked as though he was going to reach for a weapon. He glanced at Hal and Parsons and thought better of it.

“You know this man, Leah?” Hal asked.

“Yes, he was my father’s most trusted assistant,” she said bitterly, shaking her head repeatedly. “He pretended to be devastated when Papa perished in that fire.”

“And so I was, Miss Elliott. Really, it wasn’t supposed to—”

“Shut up, you idiot!” Morris shouted.

“He spent all his time with us, comforting us, making himself useful after Papa died,” Leah said, disgust in her voice. “And then—” She clasped a hand over her mouth, looking as though she might cast up her accounts. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you were persuaded to do it.”

“I didn’t do anything. I—”

“He wanted to marry Beth,” Leah told Hal. “Papa wouldn’t countenance the match and anyway, Beth had no interest in him. You thought that if we were alone, without much money, and came to depend on you, she would have a change of heart.”

“I didn’t do anything, Miss Elliott, I swear it.”

“Then why are you here with Morris?” Hal asked. “He just got off the stagecoach and this tavern was one of his first ports of call. If I ask the innkeeper, I’m sure he’ll tell me that you’re to be found here every evening at this time. A few questions in the right ears and Morris discovered that out for himself, if he didn’t already know.”

“We met by chance,” Morris said, his voice full of smug insincerity, “and you can’t prove any different. Two old friends having a drink and passing the time of night, nothing more than that.”

“Then why the need for a private room?”

The men exchanged a loaded glance but neither answered Hal’s question.

“I now have all the information I need and you will both be arrested for arson and murder,” Hal said easily, tugging at Leah’s arm until she finally moved behind him again.

“Here, you can’t do that,” Jenkins said, paling.

“You will both hang for your crimes. Unless, of course, one of you was coerced into acting against your will and is prepared to turn king’s evidence.”

“He made me do it!” Jenkins cried, pointing an accusing finger at Morris. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Fool!” Morris muttered.

“I owed him money, see. I like to gamble and it got out of hand. He picked up my notes and said he could make them disappear, and find a way to make Miss Beth look more kindly upon me, if I’d do just one small thing for him.”

“A small thing!” Leah tried to step forward again but Hal held her too tightly. “To burn alive the man who had done you so many kindnesses, to—”

“No one was supposed to die!” Jenkins tore at his hair. “I just had to steal those books that your father was too stubborn to sell and make it look like a burglary. But your father arrived unexpectedly. He was supposed to be out with the rest of you, but he forgot something and came back for it.”

“We were going for a family picnic in Vauxhall Gardens,” Leah said quietly, reliving that dreadful day in her mind as she had done so many times in the past. “Papa had promised to read to us from a new book he was excited about but left it behind.” She sighed. “He went back to fetch it even though we tried to persuade him not to go to the trouble.” She felt close to tears. “How I wish we’d insisted that he not bother.”

“His unexpected appearance made things awkward for you, Jenkins,” Hal said.

“Mr. Elliott wanted to know what I was doing there on a Sunday. He got suspicious when he saw I had one of his precious first editions in my hand, there was a tussle, an oil lamp fell over, and before I knew it the whole place was alight.”

“So you escaped and didn’t try and help my father.”

“I did try, really I did, but
he
,” he said, pointing at Morris, “was waiting outside to take the books from me. I gave them to him and went to go back in and help Mr. Elliott.”

“You saved the books
before
you saved my father?” Leah cast him a look of disdain. “What sort of man are you?”

“If I had my time over, Miss Elliott, I would do things very differently, I swear it. Besides, I still could have saved him but he deliberately tripped me up.”

Morris puffed out his chest. “I did no such thing.”

“He sat on me until it was too late to do anything. It’s his fault he died. He said it was better that way.”

Hal glanced at Leah, tears streaming down her face. He longed to comfort her but now wasn’t the moment. “If Mr. Elliott had lived he would have known that you stole the books and you would have led the authorities to Morris. He couldn’t afford to let him live.”

“I don’t, I—”

They all glared accusingly at Morris, the atmosphere rife with tension, Hal’s accusations still ringing in the air. It was Jenkins who eventually broke the brittle silence.

“I ain’t taking all the blame, Morris.” He stood up rather abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor, diverting everyone’s attention for a split second.

It was all Morris needed. He bolted for a door or at the rear of the room that presumably led to a back alley. Hal swore, restraining Leah when she attempted to go after him.

“Where will he go?” Hal asked Jenkins.

“He still has a room in a house on the top floor in Davis Street.”

“That alley’s a dead end,” Parsons said. “I had one of my men check it. He’ll have to go over a high wall, or somehow cut through one of the buildings to get away.”

“Can I trust you to stay here with Miss Elliott?” Hal asked Jenkins.

“I don’t want him anywhere near me.” Leah shuddered. “I would come with you, but I would slow you down trying to climb walls in this gown.” She gave Hal a little push when he still lingered. “Go! Don’t let him get away.”

“I swear I won’t run,” Jenkins said. “This has been on my conscience for too long and I’m prepared to face the consequences.”

Hal believed him. He seemed like a basically decent man who’d got in over his head with a gambling habit, tempted by love for Leah’s sister to do something that turned deadly.

“Come on, Parsons,” Hal said grimly. “And, Jenkins, if you do anything to harm Miss Elliott, I swear I will find you and personally tear you limb from limb.” He fixed the hapless man with a gaze of firm resolve. “I have the means and determination to do it. Never doubt that for a moment.”

“I won’t harm a hair on her head. You have my word on it.”

And with that Hal was forced to be content. With a quick, speaking glance at Leah, he and Parsons left through the back door at a run.

“Which way?” Hal asked.

“Go right.”

Hal did, and ran directly into three burly individuals armed with cudgels. He could dimly make out the shape of Morris standing well back behind them.

“Do you think I’m bird-witted enough to go anywhere unprotected?” he sneered.

Hal cursed his stupidity in underestimating Morris. He hadn’t survived in his disreputable business for as long as he had without taking precautions, and Hal ought to have realised that. Those calls he made at taverns earlier had, presumably, been necessary to round up this disreputable crew and establish them in this alleyway, just in case he had need of them.

“You’re certainly a fool if you think you can attack a marquess and expect to get away with it,” Hal said carelessly, eyeing the menacing posse blocking his path but knowing better than to show any fear.

“A marquess?” One of the cudgel-bearing men said, looking unsure. “No one said nothing about no marquess.”

“You’re getting well paid to ask no questions,” Morris barked. “Just get it over with.”

The leader of the three stepped forward, grinning as he raised his bat high and aimed it at Hal’s head. Hal, breathing deeply and evenly, contemplated him with an air of quiet disinterest. The thing about thugs for hire, he had good reason to know, was that they possessed considerably more brawn than they did brain. That was usually enough to intimidate their foes into surrender. Not so Hal. As the man’s arm came crashing down, Hal twisted to one side, at the same time grabbing the smallest of his three assailants by the arm. He caught him by surprise and threw him into the path of the cudgel. The man screamed as it hit his arm with enough force to shatter the radius.

That man was out of the fight. It was now two against two since Hal didn’t count Morris.

The third man—the one who’d expressed doubts—turned to flee, but Parsons caught him and laid him flat with one vicious blow to the chin. Unfortunately that wasn’t the end of it since Hal had underestimated a desperate man’s willingness to act out of character. Before he could shout a warning, Morris produced a dagger and slashed at Parsons, stabbing him in the stomach. A surprised look on his face, Hal’s investigator folded in on himself and fell to the ground clutching his stomach to stem an alarming flow of blood.

“Give it up, your lordship,” Morris said in a sarcastic tone. “You can’t beat this man.” He pointed to the original cudgel bearer. “No one ever has, but even if you manage it, you’ll then have to face me and my dagger. I’ll wager you thought I wouldn’t have the backbone to use it, but now you know better.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Good, but whilst you’re fighting us, your friend here will bleed to death.”

Unfortunately he was right. Taking Hal’s silence for indecision, Morris bared his yellowing teeth and grinned.

“If that ain’t enough to make you back off, all I’ve to do is go back in there and have a little chat with Miss Elliott.”

“I would strongly advise against that,” Hal said in a monitory tone that silenced most men. Not so Morris, who merely sneered.

“With you out of the picture, Jenkins will soon come to heel. He’s incapable of thinking for himself, you see.” Morris looked thoroughly pleased with his twisted logic. “Now then,” he said, extending his hand. “That banker’s note, if you please. I know you have it with you.”

“It seems that you’ve won, Morris.” Hal glowered at him. “For now.”

The idiot had given him a perfect opportunity to delve into his inside pocket. Hal did so, pretending to search for the document in question.

“I’ve won forever. You like the little doxy in there, that much is obvious. Why else would you put yourself to so much trouble? No doubt you’ve set her up in a little nest somewhere.” Morris shrugged his loathsome shoulders. “Can’t say as I blame you. Always did think she had more mettle than that prettier sister of hers. Still, it won’t take me much effort to find out where you’re keeping her. You try anything and she’s history.” He leered at Hal. “Do we understand one another?”

“Perfectly, I thank you.”

As Hal’s hand closed around the hilt of his own dagger he sent up a silent prayer of thanks for fools who were too used to intimidating to imagine that anyone might have the courage to fight back. He withdrew the blade in one swift movement and buried it deep in the thigh of the thug who’d unwisely chosen that moment to step in for the kill. He howled, his expression a mixture of surprise and pain, and hopped away, bleeding profusely. Hal didn’t spare him a second glance but turned to face Morris, who no longer looked quite so sure of himself now that he had no one to cover his back.

“It seems that I had a dagger all along,” Hal said. “Fancy that. Now then, do you really think you can overcome me and get still away?”

Morris had no choice but to try. He lunged at Hal, screaming invectives, his face twisted into a mask of hatred. He was a small man, but wiry and surprisingly strong. He butted his head into Hal’s gut, a sensible move that Hal hadn’t expected and which momentarily unbalanced him. He spared a glance for Parsons. He was moving, doubled over, towards the back door of the inn. Good. If he got help now then he might just survive.

Morris charged again, which dispelled all other thoughts from Hal’s mind. Still winded from the blow to the stomach, this time he wouldn’t underestimate the cunning of his desperate opponent. Before Morris even reached him, a movement to his left distracted Hal. To his dismay, the thug Parsons had laid cold was back on his feet and moving towards Hal with murder in his eyes.

Hal had to make an immediate decision. The thug was stronger, a real street brawler, but Morris was more cunning and totally desperate. But he never fought his own fights unless he had to. Assuming he would cede to his hired bruiser, Hal made up his mind.

He swung towards the thug and struck out with his dagger, at the same time dancing clear of Morris, just in case he still tried to move in. He didn’t, apparently more than happy to stand back and watch the action. Hal caught a brief glimpse of a smug grin on Morris’s face when Hal’s blade missed its target and the thug stumbled clear of it. Obviously Morris was convinced that his lout, who was enormous and used to fighting dirty, would finish this business. He too was grinning when he regained his balanced and advanced again.

A strange sense of foreboding enveloped Hal, as did a deathly sense of calm, even though the thug was now bearing down on him with his cudgel raised. Too close to avoid the blow, Hal could only twist his head out of its path, taking the full force of the man’s considerable power on his shoulder. The pain was excruciating, creating stars before Hal’s eyes. With no time to recover, he immediately went on the offensive, lunging for the man’s heart with his dagger. With his weakened shoulder, the blow lacked the necessary force, merely tugging at the man’s shirt and nicking the skin beneath. His opponent grinned as he pulled back one massive fist and landed it on the side of Hal’s jaw, hard enough to break it, or so it felt. Leaving Hal with no time to dwell on his injury, the man waved as he moved in for the kill.

Morris came at him from the opposite side, leaving Hal with a choice to make. Should he take on the man mountain with the cudgel, or the determined murderer with a dagger?

He’d been in a similar situation once before, one from which he was lucky to emerge unscathed. Praying that his quotient of luck hadn’t run out, he watched his two opponents closing in on him, weapons raised. He had one shot at this and it all depended upon timing. Noise from the tavern filled the narrow alleyway—an alleyway from which there was nowhere to run, even if he’d wished to. Not that he would ever run from a fight, however heavily outnumbered, but that wasn’t the point. It gave a man comfort to know there was a way out, even if it wasn’t an honourable one.