GypsyDukeEpub (7 page)

A murderous rage rose in John, but he held his temper in check. He would not be like his father...or his uncle. "No. Lady Katherine is but a girl. We will wait until I reach my majority."

"We shall see." Bartholomew continued to smile in such an overbearing manner that John's fist opened and closed with his desire to strike the satisfied look from his uncle's face.  

John followed his mother into her conservatory, but the lovely surroundings were lost on him.

She dabbed at her eyes as she settled into a seat and looked around helplessly. "What are we to do, John? I just don't know…"

He breathed hard from the confrontation with his uncle. He wanted to rage at someone, preferably his uncle, but he had to reassure his mother. "First, you must stop crying, Mother. It only makes you feel worse. You are stronger than you know. After all, you survived Father.
Strange to think it was better with him here. Are you sorry he's gone?"

"More than I thought. He was…difficult to deal with. At times, I thought he hated me." Her chin rose. "Before he came into his title, there was a time when your father was quite taken with me. But things…changed. I was not able to give him another child, and…it matters not." She shook her head, gripping the handkerchief in a tight fist. "I suppose I grieve for what might have been. And now, what have we but each other? Your uncle has made his feelings quite clear. I do not think Mr. Shaw will be able to thwart him."

"I will protect you, Mother."

She gave a strangled laugh. "Your uncle has taken no notice of me. It is I who should protect you. You...and the servants. But I guess you have already taken care of that, have you not? I see many new faces or should I say exceedingly old faces?"

John managed a tight smile and paced before her wicker settee. "I have rearranged the duties of our younger staff. It should keep them well away from Bartholomew."

"You think he has a taste for maids?" his mother asked with rounded eyes.

"I think he enjoys causing pain. Those weaker than he cannot fight back."

"What of Kitty?" Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze. "She will soon be six and ten. The terms of the nuptial contract-"

"He cannot force me to marry."

"I do not know. Bartholomew could cause trouble with Lord Raeburn. Raeburn might think you were refusing to honor the betrothal to his daughter."

"No, Mother." He stopped his pacing to stand before her. "I have already spoken to the earl. He is aware of our changed circumstances and is sympathetic. I will postpone the wedding until I come into my inheritance...and then I will throw Uncle out on his ear."

She studied him, traces of doubt leaving her face pale and pinched. "If you are certain."

"Quite certain. Now dry your pretty eyes." He dropped on one knee and smiled at her. "I daresay you look beautiful, even in that black bombazine. I can see why father loved you." He reached a hand in his coat pocket. "I found the collection of poetry he gave you."

He held it before her and swallowed a laugh when his mother blushed like a schoolgirl. "Oh, my. I hope you did not send any of those poems to Kitty."

"I could not bring myself to say such things. Quite truthfully, I cannot see how father said them either."

Her wistful smile eased the ache in his heart. "Some day, you may."

The following day, John bolted out to the stables, tormented by his thoughts. He needed action. He saddled his own horse, ignoring the dismay of the grooms in the tackroom.

He rode along the edge of the fence bordering the Newburn estate. It looked as if Mr. Timmons had already affected repairs. The man worked quickly indeed.

Renegade acted in a disgruntled mood, jerking his reins and dancing as though he hadn't been ridden in days. John pushed him into a gallop and went soaring across the hedges. For one tiny second, he felt free of his burdens then he came down on the other side, and his horse reacted as if possessed, bucking and twisting, trying to throw John from his back.

John jumped down, rolling to the side to avoid murderous hooves, but the horse calmed within seconds.

He sat up and stared at the beast. "What the…"

Before he had an opportunity to inspect the animal, he saw a rider with dark auburn hair coming toward him. Robert Westley.

Robert studied him with wary concern as he approached. "You wouldn't be trying to kill yourself, now would you, Seymour?"

John smiled without humor, brushing off his breeches, and reaching for his saddle. "You know me better. Why have you come?"

"I knew you would be here to ride away your demons. Are they gone? I would assume they fell off at that last jump."

This time John's smile was genuine. "Nay, they're still nipping at my heels. Would you care to give them a run?"

Robert grinned. "Aye, friend. Lead on."

John went to lift himself into the saddle, and Renegade went wild again, kicking out and rearing his back. He stepped away, at odds to know how to deal with the creature.

"Have you checked under his saddle? I once had a horse that acted out…had a burr under his saddle."

"I saddled him myself. I do not see how…"

Short, bloodied gashes showed fresh in the animal's back. They turned the saddle and found some sort of metal prong wedged into the under-side.

Robert shook his head. "Seems a vicious sort of prank. Who means you harm? Does your groom dislike you?"

"There's only one person who bears me ill will. My uncle." He ran jerky fingers through his hair then stalled as cold realization hit his gut. "With my father dead, and me, the only heir dead, my uncle would
become the next Duke of Somerset."

Robert started to laugh. "Surely, you aren't saying…"

"I am. He's threatened me several times."

Robert mounted his horse and reached a hand down to John. "Come. You cannot ride a horse in this condition. We shall obtain another and leave Renegade to be tended by father's head groom, a miracle man with horse-flesh. I daresay, by the time we finish our romp, the horse will be ready to ride home."

For several hours, John and Robert rode rough. Their mounts were wet with sweat and mud when John finally reined in at the stream. He breathed hard as he turned to look at Robert. "You're a filthy sight, Rob."

"And you, John. Best not let Grayson catch sight of those muddy Hessians. He'll never forgive you for going out without your riding boots."

John gaped at his feet. He had forgotten…again. He glanced back at Robert. "I think he would forgive me anything today."

"Aye. I'm sorry, Seymour, or should I call you Somerset? I didn't think. Is there anything I can do?"

Should he tell Robert everything that had happened since his uncle arrived? Would it serve any useful purpose? At least, he would have someone who understood how he felt. Robert was his closest friend. It might look a bit odd if he didn't explain all the changes coming soon.

John climbed down from his mount and waved a hand for Robert to follow. They led the horses to drink at the stream then walked to some nearby boulders, boulders used many times as they fished along the banks. He dropped to sit and took a stick in his hand.

"Westley, have you heard of my uncle? I mean...before today."

"Not really. My father made a small comment to my mother, but I didn't catch it. I could tell it wasn't favorable. Is something wrong? Besides him wanting to kill you?"

John threw the stick across the water. "Just about everything. My uncle is now my guardian, holding the purse strings to my estate. And to make matters worse, he fancies himself a bit of a dandy, spending inordinate amounts of money on hideously
fashionable
clothes I can't abide. He cannot wait to spend every bit of my coin on senseless endeavors."

"I say, that is rough. Can you do nothing?"

John shrugged. It was comforting to have a sympathetic ear. "I will save what I can. Kitty's father has pledged to help me. I hope he will be committed to the endeavor since it will directly benefit his daughter."

"A wondrous idea. Raeburn is all too interested in Kitty's welfare. But what of you? Have you spoken to your uncle? Have you challenged him at all?"

This was a more delicate matter. But if he couldn't trust Robert, who could he trust? Besides, his friend should be forewarned of his uncle's violent nature. "I attempted to make my displeasure known when my uncle arrived, but…he took steps to prevent my interference."

"What could he possibly do?"

"He threatened to injure the servants on the estate. He even threatened Kitty."

"Ye gads, this is preposterous!" The idea was too horrific for Robert to take seriously for long. John watched his face change from one of outrage to doubt. "Perhaps, they were just threats. Are you sure…"

"Quite sure. I found him with one of the maids pressed against the wall, her arm nearly broken in two. He resented something I said in front of Raeburn. If I had not come in...the maid was terrified. I removed all the younger servants from the grounds, even the stablelads."

"I've never heard of one so despicable."

"Yes. Don't ever find yourself alone with him. He would hurt you just to harm me."

Robert shook his head, glancing down at his barrel chest and broad frame. "He could not. I am no weakling. Besides, my father would kill him."

"I am no weakling, and his strength surprised me. Do not take the chance. I fear he is unbalanced and would not consider your father's retribution until the deed was done."

"I don't know what to say. Have you warned Kitty?"

"What can one say to a lady of tender years? I did my best to warn her off, and I told the earl of everything. He promised to protect Kitty. But you must also, Westley. You know how she is prone to wander. I cannot always be there for her."

Robert took John's arm forcefully. "I give you my word, Seymour. I will guard Lady Katherine as if she were my own."

John felt such a relief, as if a terrible weight had fallen off his shoulders. Perhaps he just needed to share his fears with someone who would readily accept his word as truth. "I thank you. We'd best be getting back. There is no telling what mischief has occurred in my absence."

Robert's eyes rounded. "What of your mother?"

"Do not concern yourself. I left word with the household to guard her every movement, but, even so, she is too old to attract my uncle's
interest. Oddly enough, he only threatens the young."

Chapter 4

Strong hands clawed at him, pushing at his body. He could see nothing in the darkness, but fear gripped him when a suffocating weight dropped on his face.

As John broke free of the remnants of sleep, the cloying smell of liquored breath made his head swim with nausea. He jerked his head, trying to dislodge the pillow from his face and struggling to breathe as he pushed at the heavy body moving over him. Who held him down?

He felt a hand at his throat and choked as a face pressed up against his ear. "I told you…you'd be sorry, boy."

Bartholomew. His uncle was trying to-

John's bedroom door burst open, and a pistol shot rang out. His uncle's grip loosened, and John shoved the pillow away to see his mother's small frame outlined in the doorway. She stepped into the room, followed by Grayson bearing a lantern.

"I've been waiting for you, Bartholomew. Get off my son! That first bullet was a warning. I have another pistol, and I'm a crack shot."

Bartholomew eased backward, but didn't remove himself from John's bed.

The duchess took another step forward. "Grayson, be so good as to insure that Lord Bartholomew makes it to his room…and lock him in."

"Aye, your Grace." Grayson moved around the duchess, setting the lantern on a side table. He took a menacing step toward Bartholomew.

"That won't be nece…se…nece…back off." Bartholomew lurched to his feet, dropping the pillow on the floor.

John struggled to sit up in the tangled bedclothes. His uncle had tried to kill him. He must be insane! He gaped at his mother. She was a wonder. She had saved him.

They watched as Grayson half-dragged the drunken Bartholomew out of the room, and then the duchess rushed closer to John. "Oh, John, my boy, are you all right?"

He shook his head, rubbing his hand across his throbbing neck. "I think I feel quite ill. He was going to suffocate me. However did you know?"

She sat at the corner of his bed and laid the pistols down. She drew a handkerchief from her dressing gown and dabbed at John's sweaty brow. Never had she looked more wonderful to him.

"I listen carefully to his comments and watch the way he glares at you. When you did not return last eve, he went into a rage, threatening all sorts of evil. I felt him capable of carrying out his rantings. I told Grayson to wait up for you and make sure you came to no harm. But I felt that your uncle would wait until the household had retired to move against you. I asked Grayson to be prepared for mischief." She gave a weary sigh.

"I told you, you are stronger than you thought."  John reached for her hand. "I cannot convey the relief I felt when I saw you at the door, holding a pistol. You were a veritable, avenging angel." He managed a shaky laugh. "I feel a helpless child."