My Unfair Lady (36 page)

   The door opened farther, and she could glimpse his blond hair. He must've managed to crawl to the door before passing out. Summer coughed and blinked stinging tears from her eyes. Tarnation, the man may not be tall, but he was pure muscle. How was she ever going to move him?

   "Byron!"

   Had she imagined it, or had his head really moved? Summer pushed at the door again, gently this time, and suddenly it gave way. He'd spun out of the way and lay there looking at her as if he didn't know who she might be, those vivid blue eyes blinking above the gag around his mouth.

   Summer pulled out her knife, and his eyes recog nized her, the skin crinkling at the corners as if he smiled beneath the gag. But of course she had to be wrong. What crazy man would smile at a time like this? She cut away the cloth from that handsome face. He coughed and rolled again, revealing the bindings around his wrists, his swollen hands near purple from where the circulation had been cut off too long. She sawed through those, the ones around his ankles as well, and when she could be sure he followed her, turned to crawl back out of the house.

   "Summer." His voice rasped. He'd half coughed her name. He'd crawled beside her, and she glanced at him, for just a second, just long enough to see… something in his eyes. Something that tugged at her insides and settled into her soul with a finality that she knew she'd never budge.

   Something crashed behind her, made a burst of heat flare that had her and Byron scrambling across the wooden floor, splinters only a minor nuisance. Summer could feel the blessedly cool air from the open door and staggered to her feet, ready to plunge out of this inferno.

   And stared into the barrel of a pistol. She'd forgotten about the men. Tarnation… but she still couldn't feel any regret for not killing them.

   "I knew you'd look for him."

   Summer blinked through the tears in her eyes, blinded by the smoke and the contrast of the dark night from the bright flames. That had been a woman's voice that had spoken. She tried to make out the identity of the woman who stood before her, but what little she could see kept centering on the pistol.

   "I never underestimate my enemies," the woman continued. "Although I never would have imagined such a ridiculous outfit."

   Summer inwardly groaned. It had to be a lady… with those cultured tones and a ridiculous concern about what she wore. If she didn't know better, she'd think it sounded just like Lady Banfour…

   The barrel of the pistol moved. "Get back in the shack."

   Summer felt the heat of the flames behind her like a wall of lava. She wasn't going back in there—this woman would have to shoot her first. Maybe if she kept her talking…

   His Grace had the same idea. "Lady Karlton, I suggest you consider your actions. Your mantle of nobility will not protect you from murder charges."

   "What nobility? I'm only a marchioness when I should have been a duchess, thanks to you. Even if I hang for this, the child I carry will become the next duke, and that will be enough for me."

   One of the wounded men groaned, and the lady glanced over at him for just a moment. "I knew these idiots would mess this up again," she started.

   Byron took advantage of her moment of distraction. With the same uncanny speed and agility Summer had seen when he'd fought before, his leg flew up, knocking the gun from Lady Karlton's hand. Byron spun and wrestled the woman to the ground, holding her still while she tried to bite and claw him. Summer sank to her knees, watching them tussle, trying to keep an eye on the two injured men in case they fully recovered. The fatigue of being up all night, the turmoil of her decisions tonight, and the smoke she'd inhaled all combined to make her head spin.

   Byron pocketed the pistol, tied up Lady Karlton with strips of her own petticoat, and did likewise with the men. He put his arm around Summer, supporting her as if she needed it. She felt surprised to realize that she did, that it felt good to have someone else to lean on, and that reaction in her soul shivered again.

   He had saved her life.

   They rode back to London in the chilly darkness, and their mount spooked at every little shadow. Byron rode behind Summer, and the heat of his body, and the feel of his arms around her waist, made her wish that their ride would last forever. She felt so unsure of her future and what she really wanted. Summer decided to fish. "Lady Banfour was quite concerned for you."

   "Was she?" His voice sounded tired and thick.

   "She went with me to your family's home, and to Scotland Yard." The horse's hooves clopped loudly in the silent night.

   "But she didn't come with you."

   "No, she couldn't. She's a real lady."

   His sigh stirred the hair against her ear. "That's still so important to you, isn't it?"

   Summer opened her mouth and shut it again. After tonight, well, she realized that she'd never be a real lady. But if she had one wish, yes, she'd still want it.

   His voice interrupted her thoughts. "It just occurred to me that you could have been killed tonight, and it would have been all my fault. Although I appreciate your assistance, it would be best if you let me handle my own problems from now on."

   Tears stung Summer's eyes. He made it very clear that he didn't want to have anything to do with her anymore. He was still angry because she'd left Cliffs Castle, and she'd thought that he'd understood. But she couldn't blame him.

   They rode the rest of the way into town in frigid silence.

Summer woke to late-afternoon sunshine streaming through her window and Lady Banfour scowling at her.

   "I tried to wake you four times," she said. "You have missed your presentation!"

   Summer groaned and clutched at her throat. Why did it burn so badly? The additional pain of the splinters that had gouged her hands made her remember the night before, and the fire, and how Byron had saved her life. He'd taken her home before fetching the police, telling her again that he'd take care of his own problems himself. She'd managed to do a quick wash, pull on a nightgown, and tumble into bed. But she couldn't sleep right away, remembering what he'd said. He could handle his own life, without her interference. It'd been a long time since Summer had cried herself to sleep, but last night she'd remembered how.

   "What… what time is it? Have you heard from Byron?"

   Lady Banfour's back went rigid, and she sighed with impatience. "I was right about that family, but I never would've guessed she'd go to such extreme measures." She tapped a finger against her pale cheek. "But Lady Karlton is an American too. So I shouldn't be surprised."

   Summer ignored the remark. "Is the duke all right? And Lionel?"

   "Of course they are. They came by earlier, and other than a few singe marks, Byron is fine. Lady Karlton has been quietly sent to an asylum for the insane to protect the family name from scandal. I thought it quite wise. You, however, have bigger things to worry about. Like your missed presentation. And this telegraph message."

   Summer bolted out of bed, snatching the paper from the other woman's hands. She read it twice, feeling her heart sink further with each passing second. "Pa's sick," she whispered. "Maybe even dying. How can that be? He only had a little cough… I have to return to New York."

   "But what about your presentation?"

   "I thought you said if I missed it, there wouldn't be a chance of another one."

   Lady Banfour fluttered her hands. "Well, under the circumstances, I might be able to arrange another."

   Summer started pulling out clothes and stuffing them into her trunks. "You really want Byron badly, don't you? Are you afraid that he won't marry you unless you fulfill your end of the bargain?"

   "Stop doing that—a lady has her maid pack her things. And yes, I really want to be a duchess, and don't tell me social position doesn't matter to you. You came all the way to England to get it."

   Summer froze, her hands fisting around the silk fabric of a rose-print shawl. Could she be right? But she had loved Monte, and that's why she'd wanted social standing, not the other way around. Well, it didn't matter anyway, because she had failed to become a lady, and after last night she knew she never would. Even if Lady Banfour managed to get her another presentation, it wouldn't change a thing. She could never be the lady Monte had wanted for a wife, and she realized that the thought didn't bother her very much.

   Because she was helplessly in love with Byron. But she could never be a proper wife to him either. Even though he said he loved her just the way she was, she knew that eventually he'd become ashamed of her, that even their children would have a difficult time becoming accepted among the aristocracy with her for a mother.

   A tap at the door and the maid entered, bearing a tray of buttered scones, hot tea, and pudding. Summer's belly growled, and she realized she felt famished. So when Lady Banfour told the maid to take everything out of the trunks and pack it back in properly, Summer shrugged and attacked her breakfast.

   She'd have to write Maria and tell her what happened of course, but she couldn't take the time to make the trip back to the Baron of Hanover's estate. It would be a lonesome voyage, but tarnation, that wasn't a new feeling for her, now was it?

The Duke of Monchester stared at the letter in his hand as if it were his worst enemy. She was gone. Just like that. And now Lady Banfour wanted to know if he intended to keep his promise, that it certainly wasn't her fault that Summer didn't attend her presentation.

   He strode over to the hearth and threw the letter in the flames, the glow and smoke reminding him of when he'd been in that burning building, sure that his life was over. And then she'd pushed open the door. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. With her hair braided and her face smudged with black, and in buckskins, no less. The memory of her backside wiggling across the floor made his pants feel uncomfortably tight, and he shifted to relieve the pressure. He'd never had just the thought of a woman affect him this way.

   On their way back to London, he'd suddenly realized the danger that she'd put herself in, and he hoped he'd made it clear to her that he'd never allow her to do it again. He'd felt her small waist between his hands and realized how incredibly tiny she was, how infinitely precious to him she'd become. That he valued her existence over his own.

   Byron shifted again. He should never have let her leave Cliffs Castle, shouldn't have given a whit about what she wanted. Should've married her first, then helped her to realize the wonderful person she was. The quicker he went to America to fetch her back, the better.

   "Father?"

   Byron glanced up from the fire. The worried face of his son peeked around the corner of his room. He'd felt like that whenever he'd approached his own father, always unsure of his welcome. Byron erased the scowl from his face and smiled, a gesture he was trying to become accustomed to.

   "Come in. What is it?"

   "I was just wondering… When can we go see Summer? You said she was all right, but I'd like to see for myself."

   Byron smoothed the hair back from his face. "That's going to be a bit of a problem. She went back to New York."

   "Without saying good-bye?"

   "Her father is sick. Don't be hurt, now. She didn't have time to see you before she left."

   Hunter came rolling into the room, sniffed at the boy's leg, then started to prowl the corners of the walls, hunting for vermin. Lionel sat on the floor, in the injun style he said that Summer had taught him, and stared at Byron as if he seriously contemplated his father's intelligence level.

   "She was the only one who would listen to me. The only one who would go help you."

   Byron shrugged. "I know."

   "When someone looks out for you," said Lionel, speaking slowly, as if to an idiot, "then that means they love you, right?"

   He could feel the heat flare in his cheeks. "Usually."

   "Then how could you let her go?"

   "Yes, how could you?" boomed a voice from the open doorway. His son scrambled out of the way, and Byron bowed as Prince Albert Edward entered his dingy rented flat.

   "Your Highness," growled Byron, deeply embar rassed to be caught by his friend in such lowly surroundings. But, he decided, he might as well get used to it. Instead of asking how HRH knew where he lived, for he knew the prince had more confidants than he'd ever know, he said instead, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

   Prince Albert puffed into the room and sat heavily on the largest chair. "I've been hearing rumors… What's that?"

   Hunter had wheeled over to sniff the visitor.

   "It's my cat, sir," said Lionel, scooping up his friend and cradling contraption and all in his arms. "He lost his legs, sir. And my father made this for him so he can get around. Sir."