A Wager for Love (26 page)

Isabella had played them off one against the other, until they were at each other’s throats, and then came the bombshell that her engagement was to be announced. Even to this day, Saltaire could remember his despair. He could not recall who had first thought of the plan. It might have been Andover or it might have been himself. All that really mattered was that what began as a jest in a tap room bar developed into a serious plot. They would kidnap her. Just to frighten her of course. He shook his head. This was folly, it was all in the past now. But how well he remembered it. His mouth curled. She had not behaved like Lavinia. There had been tears, tantrums, pleadings and finally, when she saw all else would fail, promises. Was that when he first began to despise her? Perhaps. Well, he had made off with her under Andover’s nose. Pursuit had followed, and from that day on there had been bitterness between them.

He was brought back to the present by his mount shying at a rabbit. The fitful moonlight disclosed a small huddle of buildings lying in a hollow. It was not far now. He breasted the hill and saw the posting inn. He would not need to change horses. His stables boasted the finest horseflesh in England, never had he been so grateful for that fact. Suddenly his eyes sharpened, and he checked the horse’s progress as he caught the outline of a chaise in the innyard. Thoughtfully he urged the horse on.

When he reached the innyard, the ostlers were bustling about, rubbing down horses and fetching water. “This coach-to whom does it belong?”

The man thus addressed spat, changing his mind about the terse reply he had been about to give when he saw the Earl’s face. He eyed him for a second before replying. “Don’t rightly know, Your Lordship. Came in about an hour ago, it did. The postillion in a right state, it seems his gentleman met with an accident.”

The Earl was in no mood to listen to the ostler’s ramblings, “Where is he now?” he asked tersely.

The man jerked his thumb in the direction of the inn. Carried him in there, they did.” Whistling tunelessly he went back to his work. The ways of the Quality were mortal strange. Rushing about in coaches in the middle of the night.

The Earl entered the inn so quietly that it was several minutes before the innkeeper saw him. Instantly he bustled forward. This was a good night, two important visitors within the space of an hour. However, one look at the Earl’s grim countenance was sufficient to make the innkeeper wonder if it was going to be such a good night after all. Still, being impolite would gain him nothing. “Yes, Your Lordship, can I help you?”

“Where is the gentleman who arrived in the chaise outside?”

The landlord’s instinct for survival came to the fore. “Might the gentleman be a friend of yours, My Lord?” he enquired cautiously.

“He might,” answered the Earl. “Now where is he?”

The man’s face paled as he caught the Earl’s instinctive movement towards the sword hilt buried in his coat. “I don’t want no trouble here, My Lord,” he began.

“Trouble?” One eyebrow rose haughtily. “There will be no trouble, my friend.” He leaned across the bar, practically lifting the poor man off his feet as his fingers snaked round the lapels of his coat. “Now, my good man, this friend of mine, where is he?” Having received his reply, he addressed one further question to the landlord. “This man, I take it he was alone?”

“Alone?” The man rubbed his face. “Why yes, Sir, apart from his servant that is. Aye and mortal feared he were, lest the man snuffed it. But ‘twas nought but a light blow. He’s as right as a trivel now.”

A little of the tension went out of the Earl’s face. “You relieve me, my friend. I should have hated to find that fate had been before me.” He turned one booted foot on the stairs. “Oh by the way, you had best send for a doctor, and mind, he must be discreet.”

“A doctor?” stammered the innkeeper.

The Earl sighed patiently. “Yes?”

“Oh It is nothing. a doctor you say. Right.”

Soundlessly the Earl mounted the stairs, standing for a second by the door ofthe private room. There was no sound from inside. Long lean fingers gripped the knob and slowly he opened the door. The sole occupant of the room was stretched out in an easy chair before a roaring fire. At his side on a small table was a bottle and a glass.

“So, Andover, and where may I ask is my wife?”

Slowly, Andover rose from the chair. “Saltaire!”

“Yes, Saltaire.” mocked the other. “Were you expecting someone else?” He crossed the room swiftly to stand beside the other, the flickering firelight showing his face gaunt and menacing. “Now, Andover. I shall ask you again. Where is

my wife?”

Andover poured himself a glass of wine, his hand marvellously steady. “Your wife, Saltaire? What if I were to tell you she is waiting for me in the next room?”

“I should be forced to call you a liar,” answered the Earl calmly. “Now, Andover, will you tell me?”

” … and if I won’t?” drawled the other.

Saltaire shrugged. “It means little to me whether I kill you now or after you have told me. I shall comb the entire countryside for her, if necessary.”

Andover’s eyes droped to the sword hilt showing through the slit in Saltaire’s coat. “So … the vengeful husband. I never imagined you in such a role, Saltaire, I must admit.”

He shook his head. “It does not suit you.”

The other laughed. “Not a role I envisaged for myself, Andover, but tell me,” he asked conversationally, “how did you manage to abduct Lavinia?”

“Abduct.” Andover’s eyebrows rose challengingly, “What makes you think this was a matter of an abduction? Your treatment of her can scarcely have given her a liking for your company.”

Only the sudden whitening of the knuckles on the sword hilt betrayed the intense strain the Earl was under. “I know my wife, Andover. She would never go with you willingly.”

Calmly, Andover crossed to the other side of the room, removing his coat. “A little melodramatic perhaps, Saltaire, but then you always did have a taste for, shall we say, the unusual?”

The Earl said nothing, merely pushing the table to one side, and motioning to Andover to move the chair. In the candlelight, the Marquis’ teeth flashed for a second. “I fear I cannot oblige you, Saltaire, even with the best will in the world. I have no sword.”

The Earl threw off his coat and replied tersely. “Put your mind at rest, Andover, I have come prepared. He removed the belt from his waist unsheathing the rapiers. and pushed them towards the other man. “Take your pick.”

Andover laughed soundlessly. “Such thoughtfulness, Saltaire, what is it that hurts the most-your pride?”

The Earl made no answer, merely continuing with his preparations.

Andover stopped in the act of removing his waistcoat. “Tell me, Saltaire, how did you know where to find me?”

Saltaire smiled unkindly. “lsabella-did you think I had I forgotten?”

Recognition dawned as Andover returned the smile. “Ah, yes, foolish of me to choose the same house.”

“You own others?” Saltaire mocked. The Earl removed his riding boots, pausing for a second as Andover said, “I own I had misjudged you, Saltaire, I had not expected you to come after us.”

“You abduct my wife and you expect me to do nothing?”

The Earl flexed his sword calmly, putting it down whilst he fastened back the lace ruffles at his wrists.

Andover, his own preparations complete, removed the rug.

“I can forgive you many things, Andover. Isabella, yes, but my wife-never.”

The swords clashed together in a brief salute. “Tell me where she is.”

Andover shook his head, smiling grimly. “Never, but tell me, Saltaire, why should you forgive me Isabella? The boot I am sure was on the other foot.”

For a moment the Earl made no reply. He circled his opponent with his eyes fixed on his face. The only sound was the soft thud of their stockinged feet on the bare boards, and the even rise and fall of their breathing. Without waiting for him to reply. the Marquis lunged forward, delivering a swift thrust, his arm high. aiming straight for the heart. The muscles of his arm corded with effort. The Earl parried swift and sure, sending the blade glancing harmlessly past his guard.

“You know full well why, Andover; The girl was no virgin.”

The Marquis, keeping his eye fixed on the Earl’s blade, shrugged. “Was she not? Well, it was none of my doing.”

Saltaire, his mouth grim, feinted, and then lunged. Only the quickness of his feet saved Andover from being pinned by the thrust. Both were breathing heavily now, and on and on it went, as they circled, lunging and feinting.

At length Saltaire spoke again. “It matters little now. My concern is with my wife, but Isabella named you as her ravisher.” He put up his blade motioning to the Marquis wipe the sweat from his eyes.

Andover grimaced his thanks. “I never touched her.”

“And my wife?”

“Ah yes, your wife.” The expression on Andover’s face brought Saltaire’s blade flashing into a flaconnade, swiftly parried.

There was silence whilst they fought on. Time and time again, Andover tried to break through the other’s guard. He was beginning to tire and he knew it. Even to the veriest casual onlooker they were well matched.

“I understand you arrived here alone and unconscious,” drawled the Earl.

“Did you so?” responded Andover. He tried another thrust, and this time met with more success. The Earl parried a little too late, and the blade slashed along his arm, leaving a broadening crimson line. The Earl never even checked, but Andover put up his sword “Tie it,” he commanded. “I have no mind to slip in your blood.”

For a second a smile crossed the Earl’s face. “What poetic justice,” he murmured.

Watching him rip one of the ruffles from his shirt and tie it over the wounded arm, Andover leaned on his sword, “Tell me why you are so concerned for Lavinia?”

“Because she is my wife,” came the reply, as the Earl’s sword flashed once more into the on guard position.

“She is your wife,” laughed Andover softly. “Is that the only reason Saltaire, or am I right in thinking there is another?”

A furious lunge was the only reply.

Andover laughed again. “How delightful. So you are that most pitiable of all men. a man in love with his own wife.”

Saltaire said nothing. He did not need to, the grim expression of his face said it all for him. “Where is she, Andover?” He was pressing his opponent far harder now. Muscles and sinews betrayed the immense strain to which they were being subjected. “Where?”

Andover heard the word in all its muted fury. He was losing ground fast as the blades rang together and disengaged. He set his teeth and would not answer. There could be only one outcome; he knew that now, but still he would not give in. Time and time again he parried, until the action became almost mechanical. His breath was coming in rasping sobs, the ache in his arm had become a throbbing agony. He saw the thrust coming and was powerless to avoid it, a straight lunge aimed at the heart. He braced himself for the impact. By some miracle, at the very last moment the Earl deflected, the blade passing through the flesh high in the shoulder, and as Andover slid to the floor, blood dripping steadily from the wound, the Earl flung his sword to one side, dropping down beside him. Calmly he tore another ruffle from his shirt, opening the other man’s cravat and feeling for the wound. He smiled grimly as Andover groaned. He quickly made a pad and pressed it against the wound. “Well, Andover. Were is she?”

“God,” he groaned. “Will you never give up?” The words came in short bursts, his face lined with pain.

“No, not until you tell me.”

Andover stifled another groan. “Is that why you did not kill me?” Seeing the other’s movement, he motioned tiredly with his hand. “All right, I don’t know, Saltaire, and that is the truth. The coach jerked forward throwing me against the door. When I came round I was here at this inn and she was gone.”

Seeing Saltaire’s expression, he smiled. “I have questioned my man. At least he is not really one of mine, I regret to say. Someone I hired.” His eyelids flickered in exhaustion. “All he knew was that she got out of the coach. Said she was going to look for a doctor, or some such thing.” He coughed, making the pad red with blood.

“Where was this?” asked Saltaire. “Where did she leave the coach?”

“About two miles back; you may well have passed her on the way.”

“Is there a farm hereabouts?”

Andover was tiring fast. “Yes. about five miles away.”

Saltaire got to his feet. but Andover’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Saltaire.” Blue eyes looked into green and the years fell away.

“Why did you not kill me?”

Saltaire shrugged. “I could not,” he said briefly, turning to catch words so faint he had to bend low over the wounded man to hear them.

“Better that you had.”

Saltaire grimaced. “You will recover and be back in London before long.”

“London,” jeered Andover. “What, and have to witness your happiness?” He shook his head, his mouth twisted. “I think not, Saltaire. Ironic, is it not, that we should both have this compulsion to love the same women? But be warned, Saltaire, take care of her, for I shall always be there.”

Without a word Saltaire got to his feet. He paused for a second at the door. “I’m sorry, Andover.”

“I don’t want your pity.” murmured the other weakly. “Go to her, Saltaire, for it is you she wants. ” The wounded man heard the clatter of a horse leaving the innyard, then voices on the stairs. He closed his eyes. If it hadn’t been for a slight accident -such were the workings of fate.

The door opened and the doctor walked in, “Well, young man, what’s this? Let me see. Well, it’s nasty, but clean. You will live,” he declared cheerfully, and could not understand why his patient laughed wildly.

“That, my good man, is what I am afraid of.”

Once clear of the inn Saltaire allowed the horse its head. Five miles. She could be anywhere. Even he was conscious of the cold through the thick cloth of his cloak, and she had nothing but her gown. He urged the horse forward. When he reached the spot where Andover said the coach stopped, he looked round carefully. The frost had frozen the ridges and furrows in the road. There were no footsteps to be seen. All around looked bleak and bare, there was no sign of any habitation. Where would she go? A woman on her own and probably frightened? A muscle in his cheek tightened.