Dedicated Villain (27 page)

“Yet how many gentlemen who appear to be brave and dauntless are all talk, and when called upon to do something that might hold an element of risk or of inconvenience to themselves, contrive to be elsewhere, or claim some pressing obligation which will not allow them to help? Roland Mathieson is exactly the reverse. He
says
he is a villain, yet
acts
bravely and without an instant's hesitation where many a lesser man would do nothing—or run away! You saw him fight last night, Beth. He was splendid, was he not?”

Deeply dismayed by the depth of enthusiasm, by the revealing glow in her cousin's sweet face, Elizabeth said carefully, “He is a magnificent swordsman, I allow. But—rather frightening. No, did you not mark the way his eyes shone? How he laughed while he faced Torrey's steel? He enjoys to fight! The last time I visited you, dearest, I heard my uncle say that Torrey was very
good with the foils—yet Captain Mathieson made him appear a rank amateur.”

“Must I like him less because he is a first-rate swordsman? We may stand in dire need of such skills. And soon!”

“Yet, if my grandmama really trusted him, he would have been admitted to the meeting last night after we came home. He wasnae, Fiona.”

“Was
not
,” said Fiona, with a smile that took the sting out of the correction. “Besides, Lord Thaddeus was not admitted to the meeting either. Yet you both like and trust
him.
No?”

It was Miss Clandon's turn to blush. “I have very good reason to trust Thaddeus Briley—”

“I said ‘like,' also. “And 'tis
Heywood
, coz! Be careful!”

“Och awie! I
must
try to remember! And of course I—I like him. He is a close friend of Ligun Doone, and although a full-blooded Sassenach—”

“Not a half-breed, like Papa and Francis and—”

With an irked exclamation Elizabeth leaned across to tug at one of her cousin's glossy ringlets. “Ye ken well what I mean, you wretch! Thaddeus almost lost his life while helping our fugitives escape Inverness. He's as brave as he can stare. The very finest kind of gentleman.”

“Yes.” Fiona took her hand and said firmly, “And you are in love with him! Oh, never deny it, Beth, 'tis writ all over you. Why did you not accept the poor creature, for heaven's sake? Was it because of dear Jamie? He's been gone over a year, now.”

Elizabeth shook her golden head sadly. “'Twas not for that reason, though I do mourn Jamie and always shall, God rest his brave soul. When first I met Thaddeus I thought him a silly, dandified creature. But I soon found out differently and I began to like him—more than like him, but … We are worlds apart, Fiona.” Agitated, her accent became pure Scots again. “I'd nae wish then tae become a baroness, y'ken. Nor tae leave my dear Scotland.”

“But Thaddeus seems so kind and considerate a gentleman.
Surely he would understand your feelings and allow you to spend part of the year at least with your family?”

“Aye. He did offer that. But …” Elizabeth drew a hand across her eyes wearily. “Och, but I could only think of how awful it would be to become the wife of an English nobleman … All the pomp … The haughty English ladies looking down their noses at the wee Scots lassie who caught the gentleman they'd hoped to snare. Tae—tae be presented tae—royalty!” She shuddered again.

“Is
that
all? La, Beth, but what a simpleton you are! Only look at yourself. How many ladies can claim a tenth of your loveliness? Why, within a month you would be the Toast of London! And if Lord Thaddeus has a country estate, as I fancy he has, he would doubtless rather spend most of the year there than subject you to unhappiness—if to be in Town would be distasteful to you!” She shook her head at her blushing cousin and added, “When I think of all the Toasts who would give their ears for such as Lord Thaddeus Briley to glance in their direction—and here you refuse the poor soul, and send him off, eating his faithful heart out for you! I
knew
something of the sort ailed him, for when he thought himself unobserved his eyes were so sad. Beth, Beth—are you not ashamed to have teased him so?”

Remorseful but eager, Elizabeth asked, “Was he really grieved, then? How dreadful! I'd not have caused him a moment's sorrow—not for the world! I thought he soon would forget me, even if
I
—” She broke off in confusion, then continued hurriedly, “I never dreamed he would run himself into danger again—and only for my sake.” Her lips curved to a fond smile and she murmured tenderly, “Such a bonnie wee lad. …”

Watching her, Fiona smiled also and thought that by the grace of God, Thaddeus Heywood would take a bride back to London with him.

“Utter folly!” muttered Heywood, jerking the collar of his cloak higher about his ears, and chirruping to the team he guided along the narrow lane. “Beth ought never to have come! Damme, but thometimeth I wonder what Lady Clorinda ith thinking of!”

Reining Rumpelstiltskin around a large puddle, Mathieson asked, “Why
did
Miss Clandon come? I'd think Cuthbert able to be trusted with any message from MacTavish.”

“No doubt of that. The thing ith—” Heywood paused, glancing at his companion from the corner of his eye.

“Have a care, milord,” warned Mathieson with a grin. “You know I mean to abscond with the caravans and all the treasure!”

“Clod.” Heywood paused again, then added rather diffidently, “I think I know men, Roly, and I'll admit I'm glad to have a fellow of your calibre to help uth. I fanthy you're aware we mean to load the treathure very thoon. Mith Clandon hath been arranging the matter of how it ith to be carried on from here.”

Mathieson was touched by the shy compliment, but that reaction was drowned in the ramifications of Heywood's following sentence. His mind fairly buzzing with conjecture, he managed to ask coolly, “And she came down from Scotland to do so?”

“Clever, ain't you? How'd you know where the lady come from?”

“Because I am astute as well as talented. And just occasionally Miss Clandon has the very faintest trace of an accent. When are we to collect the treasure?”

“I don't know ekthackly, but I imagine 'twill be within a day or two, and that it will take a little time.”

It would take a great deal of time, thought Mathieson, if the
treasure was as large as rumour said. Yet it could not be of vast size, else how could they transport it in six caravans, most of which were already crowded? There was milady's ridiculous coach of course, wherein Cuthbert slept at night, but even that outsized and outlandish vehicle could not carry a great deal—certainly not without being detected. Besides, the flamboyant coach, certain to draw all eyes, went on ahead when they approached the town or village in which they were to present the play. On these occasions large banners heralding their arrival were hung from each side of the coach, and Cuthbert and whoever went with him posted notices announcing the time and place of the performance. No—of all their vehicles, the coach was the most public—it could not logically be used to transport the treasure.

He had lost the thread of Heywood's remarks and was brought back to the present by the mention of Fiona's name.

“… for her to be traipthing about the countrythide like any gypthy girl! A lady of Quality! Appalling! Enough to ruin her forever!”

“Oh, I cannot allow that, old lad. The girl is well chaperoned—her papa and grandmother are both here to guard her.”

“Aye, and to allow her to
perform!
In a
play!
Come now, imagine what the
ton
would have to thay!”

“Gad! I dare not! I bow to your superior wisdom. She would be ruined fairly. Lucky we are so far from London.”

“And luckier ith the lady not identified before we're done with thith mad venture! And no need for it in my opinion. We could have had an all male troupe.”

Mathieson jeered, “I wish I may see it! At a time when there's a widespread hunt for a hoard of treasure, here comes a group of men jauntering about in caravans, claiming to be a theatrical troupe! No, my lady is not such a fool! Everyone knows 'tis the pretty girls bring in the custom for such ventures. She knew the military would have pounced on such an unlikely lot.”

“I may be a fool,” argued Heywood grimly, “but how will you like it an we are hauled off to the Tower? Have you pictured Mith Fiona in ironth? Or put to the quethtion? Curl your mocking lip over
that
pretty prothpect, friend!”

“Now—damn your eyes!” exclaimed Mathieson, whitening at this reinforcing of his own fears. “You blasted well know we'd all die sooner than allow such a thing to happen!”

“I know we'd all be willing, but a man don't alwayth have the opportunity to act ath he intended. We've already four ladieth to protect. And now—to have Beth Clandon at tho dreadful a rithk!” His comely face darkened. “God! It don't bear thinking about!”

Considerably shaken, Mathieson muttered, “It doesn't. But I imagine each of them was fully aware of the danger and chose to share it rather than allowing some other woman to take such a chance. One can only admire them for their courage and devotion.” And again, he was reminded of Fiona looking so small, so intrepid, on Rump's back, and holding that mindless mob at bay with his pistol …

“You're abtholutely thertain you have no objection to Torrey courting Mith Bradford?” Heywood, his eyes crinkling at the corners with sly laughter, watched him.

“When did I ever make such a remark? Poor fellow,” Mathieson shook his head sympathetically. “I collect you were so besotted over your lady at that moment, you did not hear what I said.”

Heywood reddened, but persisted determinedly, “I heard you tell Freemon he need not be jealouth on your account, but—”

“As to that of course, he must make his own determination.”

Heywood stared at him. “But—you dithtinctly—”

“I told him he had nothing to be jealous about, which is perfectly true since the lady in question is not interested in him—in that particular way.”

“Why—you deviouth charlatan! You gave him to believe—”

“Not so,” protested Mathieson, injured. “I was the soul of honour and honesty and gave him a clear accounting of myself.
I even asked if he supposed me to be poor competition. Now,” his eyes sparkled irrepressibly, “if the silly fribble really believes
that
to be so …”

Driving the lead caravan, his mother bundled in her fur-lined pelisse on the seat beside him, Mervyn Bradford glanced back curiously. “'Tis going to rain, as if there was not already water everywhere one looks! But only listen to Heywood laugh. He's a happy man this morning. It's all midsummer with him! I think one of your granddaughters is destined to be a baroness, ma'am.”

“And the other is falling in love with a rascal,” she muttered.

“No, no, Mama,” he said, highly amused. “Faith, but you romantical ladies have but to see a fellow compliment a girl and—
voila!
'tis a lifelong attachment! Be at ease. That suave young devil is not the man for my daughter, and well he knows it.”

“He's not the man for any woman with half a brain in her head. I'd have thought Fiona the last girl in the world to interest him. But—do you know Bradford, I begin to believe he is—intrigued, to say the least of it. He can scarce keep his eyes from the child and a time or two I've thought to catch a look … The last sort of look one would expect from such a rake.”

“And why not, I'd like to know,” said her son huffily. “Fiona is a beautiful girl with a warm and loving nature and a happy disposition that would charm—”

“Tush and a fiddlestick! She is a hoyden, sir! You have seen to it that she has been taught little of feminine wiles and maidenly propriety! She says what she thinks—when for a lady to think at
all
is fatal! She
walks
—or dances!—instead of mincing! She laughs aloud when she should shyly smile or titter behind her fan! I doubt she even dreams of how improper is this desperate business—nor would she care if she did, by heaven!”

“Yet you appear to think those very qualities have intrigued a
suave and polished individual such as Roland Mathieson,” her son riposted triumphantly.

“Such a conquest gives you pride, does it?” she sneered. “Though you did but say he was not the man for her!”

“Not for marriage—certainly not! I'll not deny I like the rascal. But nor will I have my daughter claimed by a fellow with no fortune and precious little respectability, come to that!”

My lady gave a derisive snort. “Marbury saw to it he'd a name, at least, if that is what you mean. 'Tis not his bastardy which concerns me, but his character. Or lack of it!”

Despite his basic selfishness, Bradford was deeply fond of his daughter and at this he drew himself up and said majestically, “I'd fancied him a gentleman, whatever his background, but an you know of things to his discredit where the ladies are concerned, then I must insist that we get rid of the fellow at once.”