Pale Moon Rider (49 page)

“I might.”

“As well, Lord Paxton is terribly worried about his niece and nephew; I would be remiss if I did not convey his fondest desire that they be returned to the bosom of his family with all due assurances, naturally, that there would be no repercussions for their unseemly behavior.”

Tyrone snorted. “Tell Lord Paxton he has about as much chance of seeing his niece and nephew again as he does getting his hands on the fortune belonging to the Duc d’Orlôns.”

“I am afraid I do not follow—”

The muzzle of the gun gouged deep again and Roth bared his teeth in a grimace.

“Shall we agree not to play stupid here, Colonel? I have seen the inventory, I know all about the jewels and the bullion being held in Paxton’s bank. I also think I have it pretty well figured out how your little scheme worked. So has Mam’selle d’Anton and her brother. What they choose to do about it is their business, of course, but I doubt either of them are feeling particularly generous toward anyone who was a party to having their family murdered.”

“Nor are they likely to see a pence of it themselves should they be charged with the brutal murder of Edgar Vincent.”

“Which we both know is as valid a charge as the one against Antoine d’Anton for the attempted murder of his uncle.”

“As it happens, the burden of proving or disproving the charges has been removed. The old man wrote out a full confession this morning wherein he admits that he not only assaulted Lord Charles Paxton some weeks ago in
London
, but he killed Edgar Vincent last night. Shot him point blank in the head, right between the eyes.”

“Which you, naturally, are prepared to accept, even though it is a lie and an innocent man will go to the gallows?”

“Has your opinion of the state of my conscience improved over the past five minutes?” Roth inquired wryly. “Do you honestly think I give one whit if the man lives or dies, if he is innocent or guilty or merely convenient in providing me with an opportunity to rid myself of a noisome, arrogant, blundering fool.”

“Such high praise for your own partner.”

“Vincent was getting careless. It was only a matter of time before he outlived his usefulness. The same with Paxton. I should have done away with that yellow-livered coward when I had the opportunity. It might amuse you to know he departed Harwood for
London
before dawn this morning. I imagine by this time tomorrow he will have emptied the vaults of any and all evidence of anything held in trust for the Duc d’Orlôns.”

“Including your share? How unfortunate.”

“He will not get far with it,” Roth said, clamping his teeth around the end of the cigar. “Edgar Vincent had men in every seaport. A word in the right ear and the fat oaf will find himself wearing chains around his ankles and going for a swim. And if Vincent’s men do not get him, the French will. They have agents watching his bank day and night. If he thinks he can walk in empty-handed and walk out again carrying chests of gold and jewels, well, more fool he.”

“You are taking the loss rather casually.”

“It has been a profitable venture for three years now. I have an appreciable amount put aside already and once we conclude our negotiations for Mr. Finn’s release, I shall have considerably more.”

“What guarantees do I have that you will let the three of them walk away?”

“My word, for one thing.”

“Don’t make me laugh. These triggers are extremely sensitive, I would not want to blow your head off by accident. I will want full pardons in writing, duly signed by a magistrate of my choosing.”

“Mmm.” Roth pondered it a moment, then waved his cigar in a circular motion. “And what guarantee will I have that you will not simply steal the jewels back once you have the old man?”

“You will have my word on it.”

Roth chuckled. “You’re right: it is rather amusing. But even so, I still have a problem. I still need to hang someone for the crime of murder. And if it isn’t the old man, or the girl, or the mute … who else is there to step forward and take the blame? Who else might have been in the room at the time of the killing? Who else might have collaborated with the girl to rob her fiancé of a fortune in jewels? Who else might write out a confession and use it—along with the aforementioned return of stolen goods—not only to buy but to
guarantee
the freedom and future welfare of three innocent people?”

“No doubt you have someone in mind?”

“The capture and conviction of the infamous Captain Starlight would certainly add a singular feather to my cap, so to speak. Moreover, you
have
become somewhat of a personal challenge,” Roth conceded.

“If it is a personal challenge you want, I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“A duel? A fight to the death? You and me, with the victor taking all the spoils?” Roth tipped his head back and laughed. “How refreshing! A common thief with pretensions of being a gentleman! The insult alone makes the offer tempting, and I promise I shall give it some thought with regards to the method of your death. In the matter of saving Mr. Finn’s life, however, the time for playing games is over. You have my terms. Return of my property, a full confession, and yourself, presented without arms or deception of any kind. Once you have met those conditions, the old man will be released, set free and unharmed to whoever chooses to claim him.”

After several moments of throbbing silence, Roth risked turning his head a fraction of an inch. There were only two candles alight in the room, neither of which were strong enough to reveal more than a figure in a black greatcoat, raised collar, and tricorn.

“You must agree,” he mused, “it would make for a splendidly noble sacrifice, all things considered.”

“Even for a common thief?”

“Especially for a common thief. Think of the lore the name of Captain Starlight will garner down through the ages. Why, you might even come to rival that other fox … what was his name? Turpin?”

There was movement in the shadows and a heartbeat later Roth found himself staring into the double barrels of the gleaming over-and-under snaphaunces. The colonel held his breath. He was confronting his enemy up close for the first time and he did not miss an inch of the awesome sight, from the fully extended arms and broad shoulders, to the raised collar and black-edged tricorn. He was a magnificent creature, even to the glittering stare that had been said to freeze a man’s bones to the marrow.

“I am not in the habit of making sacrifices, Roth. Noble or otherwise.”

“How unfortunate for Mr. Finnerty,” the colonel rasped. “For those are my terms. My only terms. And they are nonnegotiable.”

One by one, a black gloved thumb cocked the four hammers, revealing four primed firing pans and four full loads ready to be shot simultaneously, capable of delivering enough power to obliterate most of Roth’s upper body.

“If they are so nonnegotiable, perhaps you can tell me why I don’t kill you right now.”

“Because if you kill me now, the old man will hang at
noon
tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“We have a full written confession, remember. The magistrate need only sign it. What is more, if you kill me now, the warrants for theft and accomplice to murder will remain outstanding against Mademoiselle d’Anton and her brother. Every port, harbor, and ship will be searched, every road patroled,
every one of Vincent’s waterfront mongrels given the scent and told to find her.
Moreover, every agent of the French government will be informed of the theft of the Dragon’s Blood suite; that alone would put the hunters on her trail like flies on shit. She would be running and hiding for the rest of her life.”

Tyrone’s fingers squeezed a shade tighter around the front triggers. “I am sure you have been told this many times before,” he hissed, “but you are quite the rare bastard.”

Roth savored the piquant rush of power, growing almost lightheaded with the strength of his erection.

“Oddly enough, though, I never tire of hearing it. I expect you will want some time to contemplate your answer? I should not wait much past
eleven o’clock
tomorrow morning to deliver it, if I were you. After that, it might prove awkward to delay the proceedings. Now, if you don’t mind”—he gave way to the weight of his eyelids as he sank deeper into the water—“I would like to finish my bath.”

“I don’t mind at all. And if you don’t hear from me by
ten o’clock
tomorrow morning, you can take this as my answer.”

Roth glanced up in time to see the blur of one of the flintlocks swing hard and sharp across his face. The barrel caught him high on the same cheek marked with the barely healed slash from their last encounter. The force of the blow split the flesh open to the bone and sprayed a fan of blood across the wall behind him. His head whipped to the side, knocking solidly on the rim of the tub, dazing him long enough for Tyrone to unlock the door and stride out into the darkened hallway.

Roth had dropped both the cigar and the glass of brandy into the tub. He tried to lever himself up, but he had been soaking for over half an hour and the
calluses
on his feet were spongy. He slipped on the metal and went under, spluttering and choking out a scream as the soapy water swirled into the open wound on his face. When he lunged upright, the plastered red streaks of his hair were bleeding into the dark red streaks of blood that ran down his neck and he screamed again, in rage this time—rage for the man he vowed to kill with his own bare hands.

“You did what?”

“I pissed Roth off,” Tyrone said, shedding his greatcoat in a swirl of black wool. It landed in a heap by the door of the library, followed a few angry paces later by the tricorn, the gloves and lastly the two guns, slammed down on the top of the desk. “Then I robbed a coach on the way home. Here”—he tossed a small canvas pouch beside the guns—“fourteen shillings and a gold ring. A rippingly satisfying night all around, wouldn’t you say?”

Dudley
was not all that surprised to hear that Tyrone’s meeting with Roth had gone more or less as anticipated. He was, however, mildly alarmed to hear about the unscheduled robbery. “May I ask what inspired you to take such a risk?”

“That’s what I do, remember? I take risks. I put on my hat and my coat and my gloves”—he pointed contemptuously to each garment in turn—“and I wait in the shadows until some unsuspecting fool rides by. I sleep with loaded guns by my bed and I spend nights crouched in ditches while patrols of dragoons search the woods for me. I spit in the eye of danger and laugh at the hand of fate, and by God … I love it! I really do!”

“I can see that.”
Dudley
pursed his lips and clasped his hands behind his back. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“What happened?” Tyrone halted in the middle of pouring himself a hefty glass of brandy. “You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened. I came out of that stinking brothel and rode north. I rode north for ten, maybe fifteen miles until I damned near blew Ares’ lungs out his throat. He isn’t talking to me by the way. Damn near bit off my hand when I tried to unsaddle him.”

“No doubt he’ll forgive you in the morning,”
Dudley
murmured, watching the first glassful of brandy flow down Tyrone’s throat without a pause for a breath. “So you were sitting by the side of the road, and …”

“And I’m asking myself why. Why do I care? Why do I care what happens to a hundred-year-old valet who wants to make a grand gesture to save his mistress? Why should I spoil his moment of glory?” He paused and waved a hand airily by way of explaining. “He has made a full confession to the fact that he shot Edgar Vincent in cold blood. He is to be hung tomorrow at
noon
if Roth does not hear from me ”

Robbie only said, “Ah.”

“By
noon
tomorrow we could be in
Manchester
. Roth has threatened to unleash the hounds, but we have a few contacts of our own. Getting her out of
England
would not be an
insurmountable
problem. And once we do, well, she is a young, beautiful woman, an exile from the French court and sister to a
duc
, goddammit—she would have no trouble finding a rich husband to protect her in
New Orleans
or wherever the hell it was she said she wanted to go.”

“
New Orleans
,”
Dudley
agreed calmly. “And I believe it was Antoine who mentioned it.”

“Yes, well, she will survive. They will both survive without any gestures, noble or otherwise, from me.”

“I am still not sure what this has to do with robbing a coach.”

Tyrone refilled his glass and carried it to the window, watching the scene play out in his mind as he retold it.

The coach had appeared, literally, out of nowhere. He had given Ares his head, urging the stallion to run like the wind in whichever direction the moonlight took them. When at last he had reined the lathered beast to a halt, the two of them had stood by the road, panting and heaving for breath, with Tyrone calling on every oath and expletive he could remember. He had heard a distant, yet familiar sound coming along the road toward them, and without thinking, he had raised his collar and taken both pistols out from beneath his coat.