Suzanne Robinson (29 page)

“Well,” he said to Pertwee. “I’m here. Now, where is this Al fellow?”

“Al, sir?” Pertwee asked as he carried a basket to the rotunda.

“You said we were dining with Al somebody.”

Pertwee’s nose quivered as he set the basket down on the table. “Sir is mistaken. I said we would dine
alfresco
, which means outdoors.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so, damnit?”

Pertwee sighed. “Perhaps it would take sir’s mind off his troubles if we discussed Plato’s ideas on tyranny as set forth in the
Republic.
”

“It would give me a headache,” Nick snapped.

Pertwee drew a pristine-white tablecloth from the basket and shook it. The linen snapped and caught a breeze. Nick glared at it, rose, and went to the telescope. Pertwee had already instructed him in its use, so he closed one eye and focused. He turned the instrument on the house, searching for the balcony and windows of Georgiana’s room. He found them but couldn’t see inside. Around him the afternoon sun bathed the autumn countryside in gold. He lowered
the telescope a bit to scan the terrace, the lawns, the lake and fishing pavilion.

He was moving on to the woods beyond the lake when he glimpsed something black. He turned the telescope back to the lake, to the Palladian bridge. Rounded arches dipped into the glassy blue water. Upon the bridge walked Georgiana, and she was with someone. His hand jerked, causing him to lose sight of the couple and their chaperon, Aunt Lavinia. He swore and refocused, twisting the instrument until it cleared. When he was finished, Georgiana stood in the circle of his lens beside a tall, elegantly clad young man with golden hair.

“Bloody hell, it’s Dallas!”

“Sir?” Pertwee asked.

“What’s Dallas bloody Meredith doing here?”

“Ah, Mr. Meredith.”

Nick whirled around to stare at the valet. “You know Meredith?”

“Had sir been in a communicative mood these past few days, I could have informed him of Mr. Meredith’s impending arrival.”

“Well, tell me now, blast you. What’s he doing here?”

“Sir will be surprised to know that Mr. Meredith belongs to the family, the Hydes, that is. Mr. Meredith’s grandfather, the old earl’s younger brother, was sent to the Colonies in disgrace over a gambling incident long ago. He changed his name and made his fortune in America. Due to Ludwig Hyde’s unfortunate death and Lord Evelyn’s lack of other issue, Mr. Meredith is now the heir to Threshfield.”

“Bloody hell. Secretive bastard.” Nick turned back to the telescope. Georgiana and Dallas were still
on the bridge, and Dallas was standing much too close to her. “Too bloody close,” Nick muttered. Pushing the telescope aside, he turned back to Pertwee. “Forget the luncheon, Pertwee, I’m going …”

His words trailed off as he watched a party of mounted men ride up the hill. Five of them appeared uncomfortable in the saddle and looked as if they belonged in a gin shop on the London docks despite their expensive riding apparel. The sixth was the Duke of Clairemont, Georgiana’s father.

Although he’d seen the duke seldom, Nick recognized him by his emerald eyes and erect military bearing, which Jocelin had inherited. He had also bequeathed his height and jewel-bright eyes to Georgiana, but Georgiana’s eyes held warmth, interest, and benevolence. The duke surveyed the world and everyone in it with the cold disinterest of one who knew that he ranked above all he observed.

Nick went down the steps of the rotunda to meet His Grace as he dismounted and tossed the reins of his thoroughbred to one of his men. The duke stalked up to Nick, stuck his hands behind his back, and planted his legs apart in a stance so like Jocelin that Nick was taken aback.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the duke said without preamble.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace. I didn’t know you had arrived at Threshfield.”

“No one does, Ross. I came by my private railcar in response to a letter from the new earl.”

“I understand. This business with old Threshfield and Ludwig—”

“I don’t care about Threshfield or Ludwig,” the
duke said, his voice loud. “What do you mean, sir, by interfering with my daughter?”

Nick adopted an impassive expression. “I don’t know what you mean. What has Evelyn said?”

“That you’ve been sniffing around my daughter like a mongrel after a bitch, and that you’ve even been alone with her.”

Nick kept his mouth shut. The duke turned and handed his riding crop to one of his men, jerked off his gloves, and took back the crop. He began to walk around Nick as if inspecting a horse.

“In the past I’ve tolerated your presence in my house once or twice because I couldn’t make Jocelin give you up, but by God, sir, I’ll not have you prowling around my daughter and ruining her. I would have thought Lavinia would have sent you packing, but she seems to have lost her senses where you’re concerned. But I’ll deal with her later. You, sir, will leave England immediately. Go back to Texas, where I’m sure you’ll be comfortable among the barbarians.”

Nick had been contemplating such a course, but hearing himself dismissed like compost heap provoked an unexpected rage. He might not be good enough for Georgiana, but that was for him to decide, not the bloody duke.

“I’ll go when I’m ready, duke old chap, and I’ll see who I want, including Georgiana.”

The duke flushed and drew nearer. “You will refer to my daughter as her ladyship, you worthless gutter rat. Lord Evelyn said you’d gotten above yourself, that you’d even put your dirty hands on—” The duke broke off, glancing aside at his men, and lowered his voice. “If you think I’ll stand by while you try to defile my daughter with your seed, you’re a fool.”

“Bloody hell,” Nick whispered. “You’re not worried about Georgiana at all, are you? You’re ready to piss in your pants at the thought of your pure family line being soiled by the likes o’ me. I forgot what a sodding prick you are, Clairemont. Always thinking of yourself and your position. You and Evelyn are a pair, you are. Go babble at somebody who gives a bleeding ha’penny what you think or say.”

As Nick began to turn away, the duke said, “There never was any use trying to reason with the lower classes.” Clairemont raised his riding crop and slashed down, delivering a blow to the back of Nick’s head.

Nick felt a crushing sting; his knees buckled. Pertwee cried out and rushed from the rotunda only to be stopped by two of the duke’s men.

The duke stepped aside, wiping his crop on the ground to rid it of Nick’s blood. “Snead, you have your instructions.”

Snead, a mountainous man with a broken nose and fists the size of beef joints, lumbered over to Nick and drew a pistol from his belt. Trying to get to his feet, Nick half turned as the man approached. He was still on one knee when Snead reached him. He felt the man’s fist smash into his jaw. His skull exploded with pain.

Nick struck out with his fist, landing a blow to Snead’s stomach. Snead grunted, grabbed Nick’s wrist with one hand, and raised the butt of his pistol above Nick’s head. Nick tried to dodge the blow, but the man yanked him off balance. He felt the pistol butt crack into his skull. Agony flowed from the top of his head straight to his heart. He was sure it had stopped
beating before he hit the ground and lost consciousness.

The duke was busy putting on his kid gloves and didn’t spare a glance at the struggle. Snead straightened up, looming over Nick’s body, and looked at his master. The duke walked over to the telescope and peered through it. Snead joined him.

Training the lens on a flock of ducks near the lake, the duke said, “I’ve been thinking. It will do no good to send Mr. Ross back to Texas. He’ll just sail back here. The solution must be more permanent.”

“Your Grace wants me to scrag him afore he comes awake?”

“No, you dullard. I don’t condone murder, and in any case, a wealthy man like our friend here will be missed.”

Snead’s bushy brows drew together as he struggled to come up with another solution, creativity being a concept foreign to him. The duke turned the telescope on the distant hills.

“I think Mr. Ross should return to the gutter he came from. Pick an appropriately squalid opium den in Whitechapel and put him in it. Keep him there until he can’t go an hour without the stuff, then release him. Send his man to pack his kit. He is to return to the railroad car after he has informed Threshfield that Ross has decided to leave the country. Make sure he knows his master’s life depends upon his cooperation. You can ship Mr. Ross off in a clipper headed for India or China.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duke left the telescope, plucked a half-filled
glass of wine from the table, and sipped from it while his men threw Nick across the saddle of his horse and began to tie him down. Then he mounted his own horse and walked him over to Nick, whose head started to move. The duke pulled his boot from his stirrup and delivered a kick. Nick’s head dropped, and his body went limp once again.

Clairemont sighed and tapped his mount with his riding crop. “A most tiresome business.”

Georgiana’s head felt as if it had swelled to twice its size. She wasn’t ill. Her wound was healing quite well, and she’d had enough rest. But the day’s events had descended upon her with the force of a brigade charge. First the new heir to Threshfield had arrived without warning. Then this stranger had approached her with startling news. Finally, her father had arrived in a rage, and now Nick had disappeared without a word to her.

She sat at her dressing table, lost in misery while Rebecca searched for a heavy jet necklace to go with her off-shoulder evening gown. Yards of
soie cristal
billowed around her, its hue so dark, it appeared purple. When the Duke of Clairemont graced a household, one dressed as if appearing before a monarch. Georgiana wouldn’t have remembered, but Rebecca had been with her so long that the requirements of fashion were an unspoken routine to the maid. Which was fortunate, because Georgiana was too upset to think about clothes.

She had been wrong about Nick. All this time she’d been certain he didn’t want her when it seemed he’d been convinced he was unworthy of her. The discovery, coming at the same time as her injury, had stunned her. She’d wrestled with her bewilderment for a while and tried to push aside her conviction that in spite of his affection for her, Nick wouldn’t want to spend his life with an ungainly giant. Then it had taken more time to summon the courage to face him again, but finally she had decided to confront Nick, to ask him if what he’d said in the workroom had been real rather than a delusion brought on by her pain and distress.

Only late this morning had she emerged from seclusion. Evelyn and Prudence had been formally solicitous, and she had been about to escape their company and search for Nick when Mr. Dallas Meredith arrived. It was then that she learned of Mr. Meredith’s connection to the family. Indeed, his friendship with Jocelin had first come about through a discovery of the connection. Although she wasn’t much interested in the new Threshfield heir, he had been so persistent in seeking her company that she had found herself on a walk with him and Aunt Livy.

He had moved beside her with a lithe, smooth gait, his sun-gold hair catching the light, and spoke in a slow, cultured drawl. “Lady Georgiana, ma’am, as you know, I’ve come from America, where my family has been established for some time. However, you don’t know that I’ve spent many months with your brother.”

Georgiana stopped on the Palladian bridge to exchange startled glances with Aunt Livy. “You have?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Meredith,” Aunt Livy said, “this is all very odd. Your family name isn’t Hyde, and yet you’re the Threshfield heir, and now you say you’ve been visiting my nephew.”

“Well, ma’am, let’s just say my grandfather had a bit of trouble in Georgia a while ago, and when he bought all that land in Mississippi, well, he just changed his name.”

Aunt Livy raised her brows. “Young man, one addresses the queen as ma’am.”

Dallas gave her a lazy smile. “Then I reckon it’ll do for two such regal ladies as yourselves. Just a respectful habit, ma’am.”

“Your manner is quite enigmatic, Mr. Meredith,” Georgiana said. “You were speaking of my brother?”

Dallas slipped his hand inside his coat and brought out an envelope. “He asked me to deliver this.”

“Thank you.”

When she made no move to open it, he said, “Jocelin told me it was important, and that you should read it immediately.”

Eyeing Dallas’s impassive face, Georgiana went a little farther across the bridge while Livy remained with their guest. Opening the letter, she began to read.

My dearest Georgie
,

I know you’re furious with me for trying to prevent your marriage to Threshfield, but we must put aside our quarrel now. Nick has sent me several agitated letters of late, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I should tell you about him
.

She read about Nick’s life—about his drunken, brutal father, his mother, who scrubbed floors until the day she died, about how little Tessie had died because she was a pretty young girl. Jocelin even told
her about Nick’s help with his crusade to rid the world of degenerates who preyed on children. She had known about her brother’s part, but she hadn’t realized that Nick had guided Jocelin, shown him how to move around in the squalid warrens of Whitechapel and dockside brothels. Without Nick, Jocelin could easily have ended up a corpse floating in the Thames.