Compromising the Marquess (20 page)

In spite of their assurance, she was well aware that she couldn’t be allowed to live.

* * *

Hal strode to his study, closed and locked the door behind him. He found his trusted dagger in a desk drawer and slid it into his waistband. He thought about a pistol but dismissed the idea. Rob and Wright would carry firearms aplenty. Hal contented himself with just a knife. He wasn’t about to discharge a gun anywhere near Leah if it could be avoided. Bullets had a habit of going astray, especially in small buildings.

Holding a lantern in one hand, Hal released the catch behind the third bookcase on the left. The shelves swung forward without making a sound, revealing the steps leading to the dark passageway beyond. Grimacing, Hal descended, anger and determination strengthening his resolve. If Leah’s captors had harmed one hair on her head, he would not be responsible for his actions. He ground his teeth, too intent on his purpose to spare time to examine the intensity of his feelings. The degree of chronic fear for her safety that gripped his heart like a vice.

Progress was frustratingly slow since the passageway was narrow and hadn’t been used for a long while. Some small pieces of rock had fallen, littering his path. He didn’t think that any noise his boots made in contacting them would penetrate the thick walls of the dower house. Unwilling to take that chance, he was obliged to place each foot carefully, testing the ground beneath it before transferring his full weight onto it. Quelling his impatience, he speculated upon the situation he was likely to be confronted with, convinced he was missing something vital.

Hal stop dead in his tracks when a truth so obvious that he ought to have seen it weeks ago hit him broadside. It was too much of a coincidence that both Leah and Jean-Philippe would disappear at the same time. Whoever had taken Leah had done so to lure him to her aid. Phillips and Humphreys knew nothing about Leah. They had only met her for the first time that night and nothing about their behaviour this evening had roused his suspicion to the slightest degree. Even if, as Rob suggested, his partiality for Leah had been apparent and one of them
was
the traitor, there would have been no opportunity for them to arrange her abduction.

Jean-Philippe on the other hand, had seen Leah on his boat, had probably watched Hal kiss her. He had certainly heard her beautiful voice and must have gauged the profound effect it had on Hal, even in the brief time they were on the deck together before Hal had Jean-Philippe bundled away.

Could it be? Was it really possible?

Did Jean-Philippe actually have it in him to murder his own father?

Hal’s every instinct, everything in him that was good and honourable, rebelled at the thought but he could think of no other explanation to fit the facts.

He had absolved his suspects and no one else had been sniffing round Denby, asking awkward questions whilst Jean-Philippe had been on board
The Celandine.
Hal only had Jean-Philippe’s word that an Englishman had killed his father but he, and his superiors at the Admiralty, had accepted it without question. None of them had considered that a mild-mannered, rather underdeveloped young man—still a youth really—could possibly be involved. It had been a brutal, frenzied attack that had killed the
comte,
one that still caused Hal to wonder if he was on the right track.

Hal had only met Jean-Philippe on a couple of occasions before the hostilities came to an end. Prior to that he had mostly been at the
comte’s
country estate, safely tucked away with his faithful tutor, Martell.

Ah, Martell!

Hal slowly recommenced walking, finding it far easier to believe that Martell had something to do with the
comte’s
death. There was something about him that had never sat comfortably with Hal. His saving grace was that he was devoted to his young pupil—perhaps too devoted. Hal had actually been glad that Jean-Philippe had someone with him whose society he enjoyed whilst confined on board
The Celandine.

As he continued his cautious approach to the dower house, Hal became increasingly more certain that he was correct. Even so, he still had trouble accepting that he’d actually been duped by the young pup and his handler. He ground his jaw, determined, first and foremost, to rescue Leah. Then the pugnacious Frenchmen would pay for their dastardly deeds.

He reached the steps that led up to the dower house and paused, convinced that he could hear something—some melodious sound completely at odds with the circumstances. It took him a moment to realise that what he could hear was singing.

Beautiful singing.

His heart lurched. Leah was pouring her soul into Countess Almaviva’s aria from
The Marriage of Figaro.
Hal recognized the haunting beauty of a piece that had always been a favourite of his. He enjoyed opera and had once confessed to Leah that he particularly enjoyed Figaro.

“What the devil,” he muttered. Why had she chosen to sing at such a moment?

Then it came to him. She was warning him of the dangers. Unlike her captors, she knew he would approach the dower house via the tunnel but she couldn’t be sure that he would have figured out Jean-Philippe’s duplicity.
Figaro
had been banned in Vienna during the decade before the French Revolution, considered dangerous because of its satirical take on the aristocracy.

The admiration Hal felt for Leah’s quick-wittedness and bravery strengthened his resolve. She must be terrified and yet had remained levelheaded enough to think of a way to warn him that was unlikely to register with her captors. Hal rose to the challenge, determined that her resourcefulness would be rewarded with quick and decisive action on his part.

So resolved, he found the catch that opened the door, took a deep, fortifying breath and pushed it forward with one decisive thrust of his hand. He stepped through it, taking in the scene that greeted him at a glance. Leah was bound hand and foot but still singing beautifully enough to soften the hardest of hearts. Jean-Philippe and Martell certainly seemed enthralled—so much so that it took them a moment to realise Hal was actually there.

Leah stopped singing and slumped against her bonds. “You are come at last,” she said softly.

“Did you doubt me?”

“Never.”

Casting her a glance intended to convey confidence, he walked directly towards Martell, whom he considered the more dangerous of the two. The man had already recovered from the shock of Hal’s arrival and was reaching for his weapon. Without breaking stride, Hal knocked the pistol he’d drawn to the floor and sent Martell tumbling after it. The Frenchman reacted quickly, rolling into the fall and reaching for the pistol again in the same movement. Hal applied his booted foot to the man’s hand, increasing the pressure until he heard bones crack, and Martell screamed in agony.

He hadn’t worried unduly about Jean-Philippe, not considering him particularly dangerous without the support of his mentor. Besides, all the commotion of his brief scrap with Martell would be enough to bring Rob and Wright running.

Except no one came bursting through the main door. Unperturbed, Hal turned to Jean-Philippe, ready to deal with him, only to find he had a pistol of his own. With a murderous glint in his eye, he trained it directly at Hal’s head, holding it in a rock-steady hand.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said in a glacial tone.

Chapter Nineteen

Hal’s appearance caused the strain Leah had been holding at bay to settle about her like a dull ache. Convinced that he’d be able to handle these two without input from her, she sagged against her bonds, physically and mentally exhausted and more than happy to cede control of the situation to him. A ferocious scowl etched deep furrows in his forehead and he looked ready to commit murder. A shudder passed through Leah. She had always sensed that he would be dangerous when roused and was glad not to be on the receiving end of his fulminating anger.

The thought had barely crossed her mind before he lost the advantage. It happened so quickly that she barely recalled how it had happened. One moment Hal was in command, the next Jean-Philippe was training a gun on him. There was a commotion outside, presumably Hal had brought others with him, and they were dealing with the rogues stationed there, but no one immediately came to Hal’s rescue.

Another moment and it would be too late for them to do so.

She glanced at Jean-Philippe’s handsome young face, screwed up with bitterness and hatred. With Martell out of the picture she had hoped that his resolve might falter. The resolute set to his features caused that aspiration to wither before it even took hold. She could see by the icy determination in his eye that he would carry through with the crime he’d come here to commit, with or without his partner’s help.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the only person in the room who had reason to act with cold disregard for the sanctity of life. Leah loved Hal with an unrequited passion that gave her strength and purpose. She wasn’t about to watch him gunned down by a maniac with a grudge to bear and would gladly sacrifice her own life if it meant that his would be spared.

Martell nursed his injured hand, uttering expletives beneath his breath, no longer a danger. Jean-Philippe stood close to her chair, all his attention trained on Hal. He seemed to have forgotten all about her. She watched his evil smile as his finger slowly tightened on the trigger. Hal stared at him, helpless to do anything as Jean-Philippe took his time, savouring the moment.

“Think about what you’re doing,” Hal said.

“Are you going to beg for your life?” Jean-Philippe tittered. “I thought you had more dignity than that.”

“I was merely pointing out the futility of your actions, which hardly amounts to begging.” Hal stood a little straighter, towering over the Frenchman, as though to prove his point. “Kill me by all means, but you won’t leave this estate alive if you do.”

“Hah, still so arrogant. In case it slipped your notice, Monsieur le Marquess, it is I who has the pistol.”

“Indeed.” Hal levelled a malevolent stare on the young man, his eyes as black as obsidian, no emotion evident in his tone. “But do you have the courage to use it, that’s the question?”

“I killed my father,” he said proudly.

Hal quirked a brow. “Did you?” His glance moved towards Martell, still clutching his broken hand. “I rather thought you had a little help with that.”

Jean-Philippe’s features twisted with anger. “Then you are about to learn differently.”

Leah listened to this exchange, her mind whirling. Hal must be keeping him talking in the hope that help would arrive. But he had miscalculated, that much was obvious when she noticed Jean-Philippe’s finger tighten on the trigger a little more. Hal was a fraction of a second away from death.

Unless she did something to prevent it.

With no time to left to think, Leah acted on instinct alone. She rocked her chair until it lurched sideways, crashing into Jean-Philippe at the exact moment he fired his shot, sending him sprawling to the floor. Still bound to the chair, she had no way of breaking her fall. Her head made hard contact with the wooden floor, sending a debilitating ache shooting through it. She blinked back the pain, watching Hal move with agility to disarm Jean-Philippe.

Finally the front door crashed open but before she could determine whether the newcomers were friend or foe, she lost consciousness.

* * *

Leah opened her eyes, unaware how much time had elapsed since the brief, brutal confrontation between Hal and his enemies. She immediately shut them again, the thumping pain on the inside of her skull eliciting an agonized groan. Where was she? Her thoughts were a tangled mass of nonrecollection. The feel of crisp linen sheets told her she was in bed, but not her bed, surely? Her uncle’s gatehouse didn’t run to such expensive linen. She opened her eyes again, more cautiously this time, and jumped when she heard gunshots.

“Shush!” A large hand gently brushed against her brow. “It’s just the fireworks.”

She looked up and found Hal sitting beside her, a frown creasing his beautiful brow. “What happened to me?” she asked, still dazed. “Where am I?”

“You were in the dower house but are now safely back at the Hall. How do you feel?”

She wiggled her limbs and winced. “Like I’ve been trodden on by a large horse.”

“You saved my life,” he said, choking on the words.

She managed a brief smile. “Any time.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes, I think so. Jean-Philippe was going to shoot you.” She sighed, fighting the temptation to surrender to sleep. “Couldn’t allow that.”

“He would have done, too, but for your quick thinking. I made the mistake of goading him instead of trying to placate.”

“Placation wouldn’t have worked. He was quite determined to do away with you. He boasted about it.”

His hand continued to gently caress her face. “You have a nasty bruise on your temple where you hit the ground, and chafing on your wrists and ankles where those bastards bound you so tight.” He ground his teeth. “We shall send for the doctor once the ball is over.”

“No, it’s not necessary.” She placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “I have no serious injury.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

She smiled. “You say I saved your life so you must allow me to decide whether I need a doctor fussing over me.” She thought of her aunt’s reaction if news of such a situation where to reach her ears, which it surely would. She winced for a reason that had nothing to do with her thumping head.

“Very well,” he said with patent reluctance. “Have it your way, for the time being, at least.”

“I ruined my lovely gown and I haven’t paid you for it yet.”

“Nor shall you. It is I who is in your debt.” He dropped a featherlight kiss on her brow. “Your thinking to sing
Figaro
was inspirational.”

“I thought you would understand why I’d done it.”

“When we discovered Jean-Philippe missing, I finally realised that he must be his father’s actual killer.” Hal grimaced. “I’m a mutton-headed fool for not having suspected him earlier.”

“Why would you? He’s looks like nothing more than a child. Martell was the driving force.”

“Yes, I came to realise that too. Father and son didn’t spend much time together, whereas Martell was constantly in Jean-Philippe’s company, easily able to influence his impressionable mind.”

“Do you have any idea why they really did it?”

Hal shrugged. “Greed, I would imagine. They wanted to continue with their relationship and have money and power enough that people would turn a blind eye to their proclivities.”

Leah blinked. “What relationship?” Hal said nothing, leaving her to think it through. It didn’t take long for the truth to dawn. “Ah, I did not realise,” she said.

Hal expelled a long sigh. “I doubt Martell was too happy when his protégé insisted upon coming after me. The mistake he made was being too convincing. Jean-Philippe believed the yarn that Martell spun about his father’s treachery and needed someone to blame. I think he also saw himself as an avenging angel. I never knew him that well but I believe he had a great attachment to his grandfather. He was certainly spoiled and indulged, accustomed to getting his own way.”

“What will happen to him now?”

“They’re both secured in the dungeons, along with their helpers. Dealing with them held Rob and Wright up outside the dower house. Two ruffians for hire who slipped into the grounds tonight and acted as their eyes and ears. They will all be transported to London tomorrow to answer for their crimes.”

“And so they should.”

“I shall have to go with them, Peisinoe, much as I would prefer to stay here with you. There will be reports to write, meetings to attend whilst we decide how best to deal with them. I shall be gone several days.”

“Of course you must go.”

“You will oblige me by remaining here at the Hall, you and your sister, until I return.”

“No.” Leah shook her head and immediately regretted it when the pain reasserted itself. “That wouldn’t be proper. We shall return home tomorrow.”

Hal tried to dissuade her but Leah was adamant. She was also realistic. She had no excuse to spend more time at the Hall, especially when her true purpose was merely to feast her eyes on the man whom she’d fallen so comprehensively in love with. She had to look to her own future now, and to Beth’s, and that future was unlikely to interlock with Lord Denby’s.

* * *

Hal’s few days in London turned into ten. His patience, never his strong point, had almost reached its limit when it was finally decided to incarcerate Jean-Philippe and Martell in a gaol beneath the Admiralty building that few people knew existed.

The difficulty was that if they were sent back to France, Jean-Philippe would get an opportunity to crow about his father’s treason. The French courts might then overlook his murderous attack on his father and, instead, hail him as a hero. The British couldn’t afford to take the risk, especially since one of the men whom Hal had set to guard them in the nursery at the Hall had subsequently died as a result of the severe knock on the head he received.

Again, prosecuting could be difficult since Hal would be required to explain why they had been imprisoned there in the first place. And so the decision was finally taken to hide them away until it could be decided what best to do with them. That could take a considerable while since the wheels of bureaucracy turned at a frustratingly slow pace.

All the time he was kept in town, Hal’s thoughts constantly returned to Leah. Several times he was tempted to send word to her, explaining the reason for his delayed return. He didn’t do so because he was convinced it couldn’t be much longer before he was absolved of responsibility for young Jean-Philippe. But ten days!

Furious, he stomped through the rooms of his town house, ready to commit a murder or two of his own. Very few staff were at the house at this time of year, most of them having moved to the Hall along with the family at the end of the season. Glad of the solitude, he poured himself a large brandy and sat in front of the drawing room fire, relived to the core that it was finally over. He was now free to leave town, but he wouldn’t be going straight home. He would make a detour to Brighton first and attend to some long-overdue business there.

He reached the seaside town the following afternoon and met with Parsons at an agreed location. Exchanging the minimum of words, they made their way to Morris’s bookshop. From Parson’s description, Hal guessed it was the man himself who stepped from behind a towering pile of books and bowed low. He summed Hal up with one glance of his furtive eyes, clearly recognizing a gentleman of quality when he saw one.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Morris said in a sycophantic tone that made Hal wince.

Without responding, Parsons slipped the bolt on the door.

“I say, sir, what do you think—”

Hal risked soiling his gloves when he placed one hand on Morris’s chest and pushed him into a chair. “I am here at Miss Elliott’s behest,” he said.

“Miss Elliott?” Morris wrung his hands. “Such a charming young lady. Her father and I were in the way of business together. It was a tragedy what happened to him.”

“Especially as that tragedy was of your making.”

“Me, sir?” Morris feigned surprise. “Why ever would you say such a terrible thing? He was my greatest friend.”

Hal removed his tainted glove, slapped it against his palm and fixed Morris with an icy glare. “To get your hands on his valuable books. Books that he’d steadfastly refused to sell to you.”

“How dare you, sir!” Morris attempted to stand and express his indignation. With just one finger Hal pushed him back into his seat. “I’ll have you know that his books were damaged almost beyond redemption in that unfortunate fire. However, out of the goodness of my heart, I had them restored as best I could and sold them for what I could get.”

“Oh, we know what you got for them.” When Hal named the precise figure, all colour drained from Morris’s face. “The question is, why did that sum not reach Miss Elliott’s account?”

When Morris opened his mouth and then shut it again like a dying fish desperate for oxygen, Hal moved in for the kill.

“I neglected to introduce myself. I’m the Marquess of Denby and have taken it upon myself to seek justice on behalf of Miss Elliott and her sister.” Hal had thought it impossible for the weasel of a man to pale even more, but he managed it at the mention of Hal’s name. “Now then, why don’t we discuss what you are going to do to make things right?” Without waiting for a response, Hal continued. “You shall arrange for the full value of the books to be made over to Miss Elliott. We shall be perfectly comfortable here whilst you write the order to your bank.”

“But I paid Miss Elliott—”

“A mere fraction of their value. You will now pay Miss Elliott their full value plus, what shall we say, Parsons, an additional ten percent interest, perhaps?” Hal nodded. “Yes, that seems perfectly fair.”

“I can’t, I won’t—”

“You can and you will, if you want to remain a free man. Make the direction to my bank.” Hal handed him a piece of paper with the particulars. “I’m unsure if Miss Elliott has an account of her own.”

“How do I know you won’t gull her?”

A penetrating silence greeted this foolish slur on Hal’s honour. The sound of wheels on cobbles and the odd cry from a street urchin were the only sounds inside the cluttered shop as Hal left Morris to ruminate on his own stupidity.