An Unlikely Duchess (25 page)

Her eyes finally came to rest on the opposite side of the hearth from the one on which the gentleman’s boots were stretched. She crossed the room and picked up the heavy iron poker that was lying there. She examined its end in almost leisurely fashion and tested its weight in her hand. She seemed satisfied with her examination.

She turned toward the sleeping gentleman, who had begun to snore quietly. She watched him for several unhurried moments before lifting the poker and prodding him gently in the stomach with the end of it.

The snoring stopped and he made sleepy murmurs of protest.

“It is time to wake up, sir,” Josephine said quietly.

He opened his eyes.

“It is the time of reckoning,” she said, raising the poker slowly so that it pointed directly between his eyes. “It would be a pity to sleep through such an important moment in your life, now would it not?”

When he lifted one hand as if to push the poker away, she moved it forward by a fraction of an inch so that its tip rested against the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said.

Mr. Porterhouse lowered his hand.

Chapter 15

Perhaps it was a good thing that his decision to travel incognito had made him a little more cautious than usual, the Duke of Mitford thought. He normally traveled with almost empty pockets, relying on his secretary or his valet to handle such mundane matters as paying his bills. Unaccustomed as he was to having to look after all his own needs, he had left home this time with far more money than he could have been expected to need. Far more.

But what a blessing his caution and inexperience were proving now. Indeed, another few days of this mad adventure would put his pockets in grave danger of being to let. He had just spent yet another small fortune on yet another ostler whose sense of honor was quite as mercenary as the ostler’s at the Swan had been.

The man’s denial of having seen anything resembling a blue and yellow carriage in the past week had quickly melted away at the sight of gold. And suddenly it seemed that he had not only seen the carriage but had put it away for the night but two hours before.

Porterhouse and Miss Susanna Middleton were, it seemed, guests at that very inn.

How to handle the matter was the next question. They had been there for two hours. The chances were that more than the poor girl’s honor had been ruined in that time.

What was he to do? Somehow he must release the girl from Porterhouse’s clutches as quietly as possible. It was bad enough that her honor and virtue had been ruined. It was of the utmost importance that the fact should not be advertised to the interest of every chance traveler who had taken up his abode in the inn that night.

And then there was Porterhouse to deal with. Punishment must be meted out, but in the form of a challenge or a thorough drubbing? The man did not deserve the honor of a challenge. But how was either to be accomplished without arousing every sleeper in the house?

And how was Miss Josephine Middleton to be kept quiet throughout the proceedings? Indeed, she was likely to be the biggest problem of all, determined as she was to get her own hands on Porterhouse—the unrealistic and thoroughly irritating little baggage.

What he would have to do, the duke decided as he approached the door of the taproom, was try to lure her into a private parlor for tea. He would have to say that the horses needed changing. And then he must go about his business as swiftly and as silently as possible.

He drew a deep breath and pushed open the door. And released the breath and closed his eyes briefly. The madwoman was standing there, not three feet from a man who could break every bone in her body without exerting himself, if he so wished, a poker pointed at his head.

All Mitford’s plans flew out through the doorway as he closed the door quietly behind him.

“Do you seriously think you could do me harm with that thing?” Mr. Porterhouse asked, amusement in his voice.

“To be quite frank with you,” Josephine said, neither her eyes nor her hand wavering, “I am not quite sure. I daresay that my wrist may not be strong enough to hold the poker steady enough to pierce your brain if you decide to move forward. But I suppose any movement may deflect its course and embed it in one of your eyes. Yes, I think that may very well happen.”

Mr. Porterhouse chuckled. “What I shall do in a moment,” he said, “is take that poker from you and use it across your oh-so-lovely derriere. I would advise you to put it down.”

“Well,” Josephine said, while the Duke of Mitford held his breath and closed his eyes again, “we shall see which of us is right, will we not? In the meantime, you will tell me where my sister is.”

“Your sister?” he said, beginning to raise his eyebrows but changing his mind. “She is upstairs sleeping, ma’am. I am taking her home. To ask your father if I may pay my addresses to her, of course. A lovely woman, your sister, Miss Middleton.”

“You are a worm and a toad,” she said. ”I fully intend to kill you.”

“Do you?” he said, lifting a hand to the poker and twisting it away from her. He rose to his feet, grinning. And only then was his eye caught by the other occupant of the room.

“I would not try harming Miss Middleton in any way whatsoever if I were you,” the Duke of Mitford said quietly, his eyes narrowing.

Mr. Porterhouse stared at him for a long moment. He released his hold on the poker. And then his grin returned.

“Well,” he said, “if it is not the brave giant who can heave doors off their hinges. What happened, Villiers? Did you get caught out in a rainstorm and shrink?”

But before either Mitford or Josephine could answer, a sleepy looking and hastily dressed landlord appeared, grumbling at the late arrival of his new guests.

“Yes, I will take a room tor the night,” the duke said, without removing his eyes from Mr. Porterhouse. “This lady will be staying with her sister, who is already abovestairs in the room taken earlier by this gentleman. Perhaps you would provide her with another key?”

“But...” Josephine said.

“You will wish to join your sister,” the Duke of Mitford said, using his firmest ducal manner. “She will be awaiting you in some anxiety at such a late hour, I am sure.”

“Oh!” Josephine said after a short pause, during which she had glanced in some frustration at the landlord, who was yawning and scratching his chest, not much interested in what was going on before him, it seemed.

“You may put down the poker,” the duke said, without looking at either her or it. “You will not need to poke the fire into greater life tonight, having a room to retire to.”

“Oh!” Josephine said after another pause.

The landlord had set a key down on the counter before him.

“Good night,” the duke said.

“Good night, ma’am,” Mr. Porterhouse said, a look of some amusement on his face.

Josephine did not answer. She dropped the poker to the hearth with a clatter, snatched the key from the counter, and stalked up the stairs, her back bristling.

“And here be your key, sir,” the landlord said.

“Thank you,” Mitford said without turning. “Please leave it on the counter. This gentleman and I are going to take a turn outside before retiring for the night.”

The landlord yawned and scratched again and shrugged at the strange eccentricity of the quality. He disappeared into the back regions from which he had come.

“Are we?” Mr. Porterhouse asked. “Are you sure that is wise, Villiers? Will it be good for your health? Night air, and all that?”

“A certain amount of vigorous exercise induces a good night’s sleep,” the duke said, opening the outer door and motioning the other to precede him through it. “I intend to have a goodly amount of vigorous exercise.”

Mr. Porterhouse crossed the room indolently and looked down at the duke. “A little out of your class this time, wouldn’t you say?” he said.

“We shall see,” the Duke of Mitford said. “There is much provocation. The honor of two young and innocent ladies is not something to be taken lightly.”

“You refer to Miss Susanna Middleton and, ah, Mrs. Villiers, I assume?” Mr. Porterhouse asked.

“Perhaps we should continue the discussion outside and a little way from the inn,” the duke said, motioning through the door again, “and with fists rather than words. I find myself somewhat nauseated by the idea of conversing with you, Porterhouse. I prefer to converse with gentlemen.”

Mr. Porterhouse’s smile faded. “Perhaps you will not be able to do even that tomorrow, Villiers,” he said. “Or the next day or the next.” He strode out through the door.

***

There was no answer to Josephine’s gentle tap on Susanna’s door. When she turned the key in the lock and opened the door, it was to find her sister standing very straight at the foot of the bed, fully clothed, and looking as if she would have hurled something if only there had been something to hurl. A single candle burned on the washstand. Clearly, she was not as enterprising as her sister. The water jug and bowl, perfectly adequate weapons, were in their accustomed places.

“Sukey!” Josephine said.

“Jo!”

They were in each other’s arms then and dancing each other around in a circle.

“Did he harm you?”

“Wherever have you been? Bart and I looked everywhere.”

“I’ll kill him if he touched a hair of your head.”

“I feared we would never see you again.”

“You will never know how relieved I am to have found you.”

“We thought you must have gone to Scotland.”

“I was beginning to think he had turned off this road and we would have difficulty finding him.”

“But where were you, Jo? And how have you found me now?”

“Just tell me if he harmed you. I’ll kill him.”

“And, Jo, who on earth is Mr. Villiers?”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Sukey,” Josephine said, “why did you leave Deerview Park with him?”

Susanna frowned. “You know about that?” she said. “But where were you, Jo? Were you at Mr. and Mrs. Hennessys’, as he said? That was where he said he was taking me. I was very foolish to get into his carriage with him, was I not?”

“Yes,” Josephine said, “but no more foolish than I was to do the same thing a week ago. Did he harm you?”

“No,” Susanna said, “I told him I would screech the roof down if he did not leave me here alone. And I would have, too.”

“I was unable to do that when I was with him,” Josephine said. “Everyone was singing downstairs, I seem to recall. But Mr. Villiers came to my rescue.”

“Oh, Jo,” Susanna said, “Who is Mr. Villiers?”

Josephine stared at her open-mouthed. “Oh, dear,” she said, “he is getting himself killed on my account. And on yours, but that does not signify, for if I had not dragged him half across England he would not have known that there was need to fight on your account. And I daresay there would not have been, either, for if I had not come, you would not have come after me.”

“Jo,” Susanna said, looking quite her old self again, “you are not making sense, dear.”

“He is getting killed,” Josephine said, striding to the window and pulling back one curtain to peer out into the darkness. “And it serves him right, too, for he got rid of me in his usual sly manner and sent me up here to you. That was most unfair, you know, for no one has more of a grievance against Mr. Porterhouse than I. If anyone is to have the pleasure of killing him, it really ought to be me. Oh, there they are.” Her voice immediately lost its note of indignation. “He will be killed, Sukey.”

Susanna peered over her sister’s shoulder. “Where?” she asked.

“Over there,” Josephine said, pointing off into the darkness. “They are fighting. Oh, dear me, they are fighting and he will be killed. All on my account. I will never forgive myself. He is the dearest, kindest gentleman.”

“But where are you going?” Susanna caught at her arm as she turned from the window and made for the door. “You are never going down there, Jo. Oh, no, really you must not. You must not. Please, Jo.”

But her elder sister tore her arm from her grasp. “If he has hurt Mr. Villiers,” she said, “then I will kill him for sure, Sukey.” Her voice was shaking.

Susanna was left protesting to empty air.

Josephine paused only long enough in the taproom to grasp the poker she had discarded a few minutes earlier. Then she marched out through the door into the stableyard and without pausing, on through the gate at the other side.

Mr. Porterhouse was hovering over Mr. Villiers. That she could see at a glance even if the night was dark and they were somewhat removed from the lights outside the inn. And he was so much larger and more powerful. In one more moment he would kill him.

Over her dead body! she thought as she strode forward, lifting the poker as she went.

She did not break stride. “Now we will see how much damage it will do,” she cried, using both hands to bring the weapon down across Mr. Porterhouse’s skull with a satisfying thud.

He crumpled up and measured his length on the ground between her and the duke.

“I could not have him killing you,” she said somewhat lamely.

He rubbed at his nose with one hand. “That is the second time you have robbed me of the satisfaction of finishing off an opponent,” he said. “Thank you.” He flexed his right hand. “He was already unconscious to all intents and purposes. All that was needed was the one nudge more to topple him down.”

“Oh,” Josephine said, resting the point of the poker on the ground before her, “how splendid you are. I never doubted for one moment that you could defeat him yourself. You are a great hero, sir.”

“You could not have stayed upstairs with your sister, I suppose,” he said.

“And allowed you all the pleasure of dealing with Mr. Porterhouse alone? Never,” she said. She looked downward at her fallen the with some regret. “I just wish it were possible really to kill him. But it is not, is it?”

“Alas, no,” he said.

“What is on your face?” Josephine asked, raising one hand to it. “It is dark.”

“Blood, I would imagine,” he said. “But no matter. I will doubtless survive. How is your sister? Has she been harmed?”