Margaret Moore (27 page)

Rob spoke in a low, guttural growl, with the accent of the poorest pauper of the streets of London. “If it’s a fight you want, you bloody coxcomb, I’m your man. Come on, fop, let’s see what you can do.”

“What are you?” Philip whispered incredulously.

“A guttersnipe son of a whore. Ain’t that one of the nicer things they say about me around the Inns of Court?” he replied, his tone chilling Vivienne to the marrow of her bones.

“Good God,” Philip gasped as he inched backward.

Rob made a terrible smile. “Get out of here or I’ll make you wish you had died at birth.”

“He isn’t worth it, Rob,” she protested, seeing murder in his eyes. “You could go to prison if you kill him.”

“Or he will, for trying to rape you.”

“No!” Philip cried, climbing over the bed in an attempt to get away from him and to the door.

Tossing his weapon aside, Rob dove at him, pushing him to the ground and wrestling to get Philip’s dagger.

Trying to rid himself of his attacker, Philip bucked like a wild horse, while Vivienne ran for Rob’s discarded knife. She grabbed it, then watched helplessly as the men rolled over the floor, both of them gripping the dagger.

Philip lashed out and kicked Rob in the knee.

Crying out in pain, he collapsed. That gave Philip the chance to shove him off and grab his dagger. He scrambled to his feet and stood over the crippled Rob. He kicked Rob hard in the ribs and she heard a sickening crack.

Rob moaned.

Philip held up his hand, warning Vivienne to stay back. “Leave him or I swear I’ll kill him!”

“No, don’t! Please!”

“You are a fool, Vivienne,” Philip said, standing over his fallen opponent, a triumphant smile on his face. “Why should you care about this piece of dung?”

Vivienne regarded him steadily, her shoulders rigid with determination. “Because I love him.”

“Love is for idiots. Do you think he loves you? He only wants your uncle’s money and the prestige that will come to him if he marries you.”

She glanced down at Rob, who clutched his right side, his eyes full of pain and anguish and frustration. “And what was it you wanted, Philip?” she retorted. “Wasn’t it my uncle’s money and a body for your bed? So much more noble, of course.”

“Shut that shrewish mouth of yours!” Philip snarled. “What will you do, live in poverty with this gutter brat? He won’t be able to earn a living as a solicitor anymore, not by the time I’ve done with him. And as for your uncle—don’t you understand that after what you’ve done, he’ll think himself well rid of you? He’s likely to send you to live in the streets.”

“I would rather live in the streets with Rob than a palace with you. Now leave this house.”

Philip’s eyes flashed with anger, then his lip curled with scorn. “Very well, my dear. But look—he’s getting up. I do believe he intends to murder me. I fear I must defend myself.” Philip raised his dagger to strike.

With a loud cry, Vivienne rushed at him and Rob’s knife sank into Philip’s body.

Aghast, she staggered backward. Philip gazed at her incredulously for what seemed forever before he slowly sank to his knees, then toppled over onto the floor.

Vivienne gradually became aware that Rob had gotten up and was bending over Philip. “He’s dead,” Rob whispered, looking up at her.

Feeling that all around her had become like a dream, she gazed down at the bloodied knife, then let it fall to the floor. Rob hurried to her and enfolded her shivering body into his embrace. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” she whispered, too upset even to weep.

“Vivienne!” Uncle Elias cried from the threshold of the room. “Gracious God, what has happened?” He spied the body on the floor. “It’s Sir Philip! Good Lord, he’s not—”

Rob pulled away from her, but kept one hand on her shoulder for support, keeping his weight on his uninjured leg. “I killed him.”

“No!” she protested, staring at him. “That’s not true.”

“Mistress Burroughs, please allow me to tell your uncle the facts,” he said, once more the coolly determined solicitor. “Sir Philip was attacking your niece, Mr. Burroughs, and I killed him.”

As Uncle Elias stopped gaping at Philip’s body to regard Rob, Vivienne became more determined to have the truth known. “No, that isn’t—”

“I fear Mistress Burroughs is distraught,” Rob interrupted, staggering slightly.

“You’re hurt. We need a doctor, Uncle, right away.”

His formerly pale face flushing, Uncle Elias shook his head. “We need the king’s guards, that’s who we need. A nobleman murdered in my house. This is terrible. A disaster. A scandal. Vivienne, get out of this room. Wait in the withdrawing room.”

“No. I am not going to—”

For the first time since entering the room, Uncle Elias seemed to really
see
Rob. “How the devil came you here, at this hour of the night?”

“Through the window.”

“What?”

“I invited him, Uncle.” Let everything be known. No more secrets, no more lies. “He is my lover.”

“Your lover?” Uncle Elias gasped. “This … this …
lawyer
is your lover?”

“Yes. For him, I turned down Philip, refused to consider Lord Cheddersby, and risked the wrath of the king of England. Philip found out. He attacked me and he was going to kill Rob. I had to stop him.”

For a moment, Vivienne dared to hope that Uncle Elias believed her—until his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “This is the most ludicrous story I have ever heard.
You
killed Sir Philip? Everybody knows women lack the stomach for such a thing. Now get out of the way, or God help me, I’ll pick you up and move you myself!”

“There is no need for such agitation,” Rob said quietly. “I will come with no trouble.”

“But you’re innocent!”

“Mistress Burroughs, please don’t upset yourself. I am most grateful for your defense, but as your uncle says, everybody knows a woman incapable of such an act.”

“Unless the man she loves is going to be killed.” She glared at her uncle. “Why else do you think Mr. Harding is here?
He is my lover.”

Her uncle’s scornful gaze darted between them. “You refused Sir Philip Martlebury and the king for this … this sodomite? And even if that’s true, how dare he come into my house like a thief and take my niece’s honor?”

“I have never been a sodomite, but I will not deny that I have been a thief, Mr. Burroughs. And I will not deny that I have caused Sir Philip’s death. I am willing to go to prison for what I have done.”

He meant it. She saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. “No, Uncle, please,” Vivienne pleaded, her anxious gaze going from Rob to him. “He didn’t take anything. I gave it. And he did
not
kill Philip. I did, I tell you!”

Ignoring her, Uncle Elias marched to the door and bellowed, “Send for the king’s guard. At once.”

Vivienne went to Rob, took his hand and looked beseechingly into his pale and mud-streaked face. “I will not allow you to be imprisoned for something I have done.”

He held her hands between his, his intense gaze boring into her eyes. “Vivienne, I have been to Newgate and it is a hell on earth. I will not see you put there.”

“But Rob—”

He put his finger against her lips. “Shh, my love, say no more. This was done in defense, so have no fear. In the meantime, let me go.”

“Take your filthy hands off my niece,” Uncle Elias commanded.

Vivienne ignored him to kiss Rob.

“Vivienne!” Uncle Elias grabbed her to pull her away.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on her,” Rob said, his voice quiet, but so forceful it made Uncle Elias let go and back away.

In the next moment, three footmen and Owens were in the doorway, gawking at the tableau.

“Take hold of Harding,” Uncle Elias ordered two of his footmen. “You,” he commanded the third, “take Sir Philip’s body below. Owens, fetch the watch.”

As Owens shuffled with more haste than Vivienne had ever seen her display before, one footman started to drag out Philip’s body, leaving a thin trail of blood. The other two warily approached Rob, who limped away from Vivienne.

“Uncle Elias,” she said, moving to stand in front of him, “you can’t take him. He’s innocent, and he’s hurt.”

“Stand aside, Vivienne, and let these men do what is necessary,” Rob said softly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. He nodded. “Please, Vivienne.”

“You heard him, Vivienne. Get out of the way,” her uncle barked.

“Because Rob asks me to, I will,” she said, finally giving in to what Rob wanted—but only for the present, until the situation could be remedied.

She faced Rob. “Tell me what I must do to free you.”

“Speak in my defense if this comes to trial.”

“Take him, bind him and hold him for the king’s men,” her uncle ordered. “A nobleman killed in my house,” he muttered. “Very bad for business, very bad.”

The footmen grabbed Rob roughly.

“Gently! There is no need to manhandle him,” Vivienne cried.

She wished she could go to Newgate with him, hoping he would be freed when the truth became known, or at least the truth that this was done to defend him from death at Sir Philip’s hands. Her freedom would be too dearly bought if Rob’s was the price.

“Vivienne, be quiet!” Uncle Elias snapped as the footmen led Rob away.

Her heart broke to see him being taken from the room as if he were a criminal.

“You are making a spectacle of yourself!” Uncle Elias continued angrily.

Distraught, angry, fearful of Rob’s fate, she glared at Uncle Elias. “I don’t care what I look like or what people think. I love him, and he loves me. We are going to be married, whether you approve or not.”

“You brazen hussy! After all I’ve done for you, you dare to speak to me this way? After I took you in, fed you, clothed you—”

“Almost sold me off to get a title and the influence to go with it. You would have gladly seen me the mistress of the king to increase your position in the city. Forgive me, Uncle, if I did not wish to repay you with the rest of my life.”

“So instead you humiliate me.”

“Instead I fell in love with a fine young man whom you should be proud to know.”

“A fine young man who’s on his way to Newgate for murder! A fine young man born and raised in the gutters of London, who’s notorious for the way he paid for his education with that disgusting sodomite—”

“Be quiet!” Vivienne thundered, her whole body shaking with emotion. “He is a finer, more honorable man than Sir Philip could ever hope to be, or the king, or
you,
Uncle.”

“If that is what you think,” Uncle Elias retorted, his face purple with rage, “I should send you from my house forever.”

“You don’t have to send me. I will go, and gladly!” Vivienne cried as she marched from the room, down the stairs past the wide-eyed servants and out into the street.

“Odd’s bodikins, what the duce is going on?” a sleep-befuddled Lord Cheddersby asked as he rose from his bed. Outside his closet he could hear voices raised in agitation, and unless he was very wrong or still dreaming, one of them was a woman’s. The other, he thought, was one of his footmen’s.

Pulling on his thick velvet robe, he noted that it must be a little past dawn, yet still very early in the day. He glanced at his wig on his dressing table, then remembered he wore his nightcap. Sliding his feet into slippers, he shuffled to the door of his closet, and out into the state bedchamber.

“I say, there, Jeffries, what the devil is happening?” he demanded of the servant in the adjoining room whose back was to him.

A woman shoved Jeffries out of the way. “Lord Cheddersby!”

“Mistress Burroughs?” he cried, utterly surprised.

“I am in desperate need of your help.”

“Good God, you don’t say?”

“Yes! Please, it’s about Mr. Harding. He’s been taken to Newgate for killing Sir Philip. He didn’t, I did, but he lied and—”

Lord Cheddersby hurried toward her and put a brotherly arm around her shivering shoulders. “Hush, Mistress Burroughs, hush,” he said gently and with surprising authority. “Come with me to my morning room, where I can better listen. Jeffries, have Marlowe send in some breakfast.”

Without waiting for either of them to respond, he placed Vivienne’s hand on his arm and led her down the back stairs, then along a corridor.

“Lord Cheddersby,” she began breathlessly after she had taken a seat on one of the chairs in a room decorated in peacock blue. “I don’t know who else to turn to. We need your help. Rob—Mr. Harding—is innocent of any crime, but my uncle won’t listen, and so I have come to you. I know you do not think much of me, but I also know you are a good and kind man. Please do not turn me away.”

Lord Cheddersby tugged off his nightcap, revealing a head of tousled light brown curls. “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said sincerely. “Mistress Burroughs, I am not a clever fellow, as you know. If I am to understand and help you, you must start at the beginning and go very slow.”

Taking a deep breath and trying to sound calm, she did.

“S
o I tried to tell my uncle the truth, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I left his house and came straight to you,” Vivienne concluded.

“I’m very glad you did.” Lord Cheddersby shook his head incredulously. “Odd’s bodikins, what a night! And now poor Mr. Harding is in Newgate?”

“Yes, when I should be there in his place.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Lord Cheddersby began when Jeffries appeared at the door, a tray in his hands and still obviously suspicious. “Your breakfast, my lord.”

“Oh, thank you, Jeffries. Put it down there. We’ll serve ourselves.”

Glancing warily at Vivienne, the servant set out the dishes on the oak dresser, then backed out the room and closed the door.

“Pray, eat, Mistress Burroughs,” Lord Cheddersby urged kindly, coming around to pull out her chair. “You are so distraught, I fear you will swoon otherwise, and that would quite unnerve me.”

She didn’t feel hungry, not when she could envision Rob in a pit of a cell at Newgate, without food or water. However, the smell of freshly crisped bacon and warm bread proved too tempting to ignore.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Lord Cheddersby,” she said after they had returned to their seats, their plates and cutlery in front of them.