The Madcap Marriage (37 page)

A figure crumpled to the floor.

“Rafe!”  Cursing herself for shooting an unidentified shadow, she rushed forward.

“Bitch!”  Steven charged.

She slammed the pistol into his face, clawing for his eyes with her other hand.

He smashed her aside. A fist landed in her stomach.

“Beast!”  As she fell, her kick connected with his knee. He toppled against the bed table. Lamp oil and glass exploded in all directions.

Curses joined Rafe’s groans.

She needed a weapon. Hoping to find a shard of glass big enough to be useful, she ran her hands over the floor. Her fist closed over a dagger.

“You asked for this,” growled Steven, hauling her to her feet.

She slashed.

Bellowing in pain, he knocked the knife away, then grabbed her throat and squeezed.

* * * *

Rafe fought past the pain in his shoulder. Helen needed help. She could never defeat Steven alone. Staggering from the bed, he hooked an arm around Steven’s neck and punched him in the kidneys.

Steven twisted. A stray elbow sent sparks darting through Rafe’s eyes, but he held on. He couldn’t let the bastard hurt Helen. Fury rammed his knee into Steven’s groin. When his grip prevented the man from doubling over, he kneed him a second time, then a third. But he was fading fast.

Shouts sounded in the hall. Fists pounded the door. A shadow lurched around the bed.

Rafe cursed. He was too dizzy to hold off Dudley, too.

But it was Portland.

* * * *

Helen staggered to the window the moment Steven let go. Pulling down the curtains flooded the room with moonlight. She whirled…

Three men grappled near the bed. Grunts and the thud of fists smashing into flesh filled the air. Even with the moonlight, she couldn’t identify individuals until Steven collapsed. The others resolved into Rafe and Alex.

Thank God!

With relief came the shakes. Blood covered Rafe’s torso. Horrified, she barely noticed Alex swoon atop Steven’s body.

“My God, Rafe.” She rushed to his side. “Lie down. How bad is it?”

“Shhh.” Rafe pulled her into his arms. “You saved my life. Your shot deflected his knife and saved my life.”

“And you saved mine. Now get back in bed. You’re bleeding.”

“Need to tie—”  He groaned, swaying.

“Down, Rafe.” Shoving him back, she wiped away the blood, and gasped. More welled from a gash on his shoulder.

She pressed the wadded sheet against the wound.

“Are you awake?” she demanded. His eyes were shut.

“Just dizzy.”

“So you should be.” She pressed harder.

“Open up!” shouted Hillcrest, pounding on the door.

“Hold this while I let him in. He sounds frantic.”

Rafe nodded. “We need light. Bind everyone. Can’t afford a new attack.” Someone moaned, punctuating his words. “Might be more down there.” He gestured toward the hole near the fireplace where a stag had pivoted into the room.

“One thing at a time, Rafe.” She made sure he was exerting enough pressure, then headed for the door.

Hillcrest stared. “My God!  Are you all right?”

“What happened?” demanded Alice, stepping around him. “Oh, no!  Mr. Portland!”  She flew to Alex’s side.

Riley followed.

Pounding footsteps whirled Helen around as Tweed charged through the hole and skidded to a halt. “Mr. Portland!” he gasped.

“Enough!”  Helen clapped her hands, drawing all eyes. “Who is on guard in the hall?”

“I locked the door,” said Riley.

“Return to your post,” she ordered. “There may be others, and they may have keys. Tweed, where does this passage go?”

“That bookroom near the library, ma’am.”

“Is anyone else down there?”

“Charlie, Vince, and Nalley, but I tied them securely.”

“Good. Light the lamps here, then wake Frank. He must send David to guard the bookroom, then summon a magistrate – Sir Montrose is the nearest.”

He nodded, the tinderbox already in his hand.

Light illuminated the carnage.

Hillcrest knelt over a gasping Dudley. Alice was mopping the reopened cut on Alex’s forehead. Rafe still clutched the sheet to his shoulder.

“Bind Dudley,” she ordered Hillcrest.

“No point. He’s dying.”

Her stomach lurched, but she forced her feet forward. Her shot had torn Dudley’s chest. Blood pooled heavily on the floor. Gone was his habitual sneer and the fury that threatened everyone in his path. All that remained was the pitiful shell of a dissipated wastrel.

“Bind Steven, then. He may wake at any moment. I don’t think we did him serious damage.”

As Hillcrest moved away, Rafe pulled her down beside him.

“Don’t think about it, Helen,” he murmured. “You had no choice. If you hadn’t shot him, I would be dead.”

“I know. But I wish there had been another way.” Shaking off her growing dizziness, she renewed the pressure on his shoulder.

“He brought this on himself by scheming to steal your inheritance. Don’t waste time mourning him.”

“I won’t.”

Steven awoke, cursing.

Hillcrest finished tying him, then returned to the bed, shaking his head over Rafe. “How bad are you hurt?”

“It’s only a scratch,” vowed Rafe.

“Nonsense.” Helen turned to Hillcrest. “Dudley stabbed him. Do you want some brandy?” she added to Rafe.

“No.”

Hillcrest lifted the sheet to peer at the wound. “The bleeding is nearly stopped, but you need stitches.”

“I can treat him,” said Tweed from the doorway. He clutched a small box in one hand. “Mr. Portland also needs stitches.” He turned to Helen. “A groom is fetching the magistrate, ma’am. And David is on his way to the bookroom.”

“Thank—”

A woman’s scream burst from the passage. “Johnny!  You killed my brother!”

Hillcrest rushed to block the opening, but Maude knocked him down, then gasped when she saw Dudley.

“Dudley!”  She caught his shoulders and shook. “What have they done to you?”

Dudley’s throat rattled one last time, then went silent.

“No!  No!  Wake up!”

“It’s no use, ma’am,” said Hillcrest, pulling her up. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?  Gone!  That bastard!”  Tearing from his grasp, she kicked Steven viciously in the side. “I told you to leave England while we had the chance. I told you this would never work. But you never listen to anything!  Idiot!  Ten times an idiot!”  Another kick landed.

“Shut your mouth, Maude,” gasped Steven.

“Restrain her,” Helen ordered Hillcrest. “I want him alive to stand trial.”

“Murderer!” shrieked Maude, hopping over Steven to kick his other side. “You killed my brother!”

“Nonsense.” Steven’s eyes widened when Maude scooped a pistol from the bed table. “Put it down, Maude. Nalley was fine when I came up here. If anything happened, blame them.” He nodded weakly toward Rafe.

“Liar!  He’s dead. Your fault. Everything is your fault.” She cocked the pistol. “We should never have listened to you.”

Hillcrest tackled her as she pulled the trigger. Helen covered her ears. The basin on Rafe’s shaving stand shattered, raining china fragments on Alex.

Riley raced in from the hall.

“Watch out,” cried Helen as Maude twisted from Hillcrest’s grasp. “She’s a hellcat.”

Riley tackled her. Hillcrest helped drag her to a chair.

“You’ll pay for this,” she screamed at Steven. “Bastard!  Johnny dead. My baby dead. You’ll rot in hell.” She broke into gusty sobs.

“Baby?” asked Rafe.

“She was Dudley’s nurse, then stayed on as Steven’s mistress. But I had no idea Nalley was her brother.” She wondered how Nalley had died.

Riley tied Maude while Hillcrest applied a gag. Blessed silence fell. Hillcrest collapsed on the other chair and closed his eyes.

Alex gestured to Riley. “Make sure David is in the bookroom, then return to your post. I don’t want anyone else in here.”

“Let’s see that shoulder.” Tweed nodded to Rafe. “Hold him down, ma’am. They always move at the worst times.”

Helen nodded. She was beginning to feel unreal. “I hope you have lots of thread. Sir Steven’s arm also needs attention.”

“Let him suffer,” growled Rafe.

“I won’t let him take the easy way out by bleeding to death.”

Helen was so dizzy that Rafe was holding her up instead of her holding him down. But by the time Tweed bandaged his shoulder, she’d caught her second wind.

Hillcrest and David moved Dudley and the prisoners to the bookroom, then remained there to stand guard. Helen sent Frank downstairs to await Sir Montrose. Riley went to check with the sentries. They must remain on duty in case the bully boys were on Steven’s heels.

“Finished,” said Tweed, rising from Alex’s side.

“Good. Put him to bed until Sir Montrose arrives. You need sleep, too,” she added to Alice.

Rafe shook his head as everyone filed out. “Your face is a mess.”

She glanced in the mirror. One eye was turning purple, and a bruise marred her cheek. But it was small price to pay for victory.

Her gaze returned to the secret passage that had nearly been so costly. “I never knew that was there, Rafe.” Tremors shook her hands, rapidly spreading to engulf her body. She clung to a bedpost as her knees weakened.

“I know. I wish I’d thought to look for one, but this wing is too new for priest’s holes and such.”

“I’m sure the former owner said nothing to Father. He would have mentioned it.”

“Forget it, Helen.”

“I can’t!  You almost died because I didn’t know about this.”

“You saved my life, Helen. That’s all that matters. Even if you should have known – which I don’t accept for a moment; this is not an ancestral property, for God’s sake – we all make mistakes. I’ve made more than my share and would never blame you for being human.” His nose twitched. “This place reeks of blood. Let’s move.”

“Of course.” She stepped up to help him, but he was already sliding to the floor.

“Watch out!”

Too late. He stepped on a piece of glass and fell against the fireplace wall. Antlers gouged his hip, breaking the skin when a prong broke off.

“Rafe!”

Cursing, he grabbed a hawk to restore his balance. Its wing twisted, pitching him to the floor.

“Are you all right?”  She dropped to his side.

“We’ve got to get rid of that damned wall.” He grimaced in pain.

“You’ve made a start – though this isn’t the first piece that has snapped.” Even in candlelight, she could see a dozen repairs to the slimmer projections.

“The bird must be the latch for the secret passage.”

“It’s on the wrong side of the fireplace.”

“What the devil?”  He stared. A hole had opened in the tree’s canopy, revealing a niche. Inside was a canvas bag, four boxes, and a sheaf of papers.

Chapter Twenty

Helen was still reeling from the contents of the bedroom safe when Sir Montrose arrived. The bag contained hundreds of gold coins, more than she’d ever seen at one time – banknotes had replaced coins as war expenses and smuggling drained the country’s bullion faster than reduced exports could replenish it.

The boxes held sapphires, emeralds, rubies, and diamonds in exquisite settings. Sir Arthur’s illness had cancelled most entertaining, so Helen had forgotten about her mother’s best jewelry.

But it was the papers that staggered her. Even Rafe seemed shocked.

Sir Montrose began his inquiry by examining the bodies and the slashes in Rafe’s bed. He then adjourned to the library with Helen, Rafe, Alex, and Riley.

Rafe shared Helen’s couch, letting Sir Montrose commandeer the desk. One arm circled her shoulders, keeping her close – contact he couldn’t forgo, so the world might as well get used to it.

“Are you certain Sir Steven was involved?” Sir Montrose demanded ponderously. “Attempted murder is a very serious charge, Thomas. Dudley, I can understand. You are not the first to complain about him. But perhaps Sir Steven was trying to stop him. He has been a valuable addition to Somerset and—”

“You are another victim of his lies,” said Rafe, interrupting. “Before you continue, you should read Sir Arthur’s will.” He handed over the copy they had found in the niche.

Sir Montrose’s eyes widened as he read. “But he swore—”

“Lies,” said Helen calmly. “Steven knew before he came here that Father had left him nothing. He took advantage of Mother’s illness to incarcerate me, turn off every servant who knew the truth, then claim my inheritance for himself. But that was a temporary measure, for many outside of Somerset knew the truth. To make his theft permanent, he demanded that I wed Dudley. He had already prepared the way by forging letters to my trustees. They would not have questioned another letter requesting that they release my inheritance to my new husband.”

Rafe described Steven’s thefts from the trust, then passed copies of the trust documents to Sir Montrose. Another protracted silence ended with Sir Montrose scowling.

“Our marriage foiled that plot,” continued Rafe. “Yet Sir Steven refused to give up. He still hoped to complete his original scheme, but that required killing me. This wasn’t his first attempt.” He nodded at Alex.

“I might have known you were involved, Portland.” Sir Montrose glared. “You always bring trouble.”

“No. I follow trouble. Thomas is no more responsible for inciting Sir Steven to murder than you were for your secretary’s treason.” When Sir Montrose subsided, he described the first attack, then Riley reviewed the Home Office’s findings in the death of Lord Alquist and produced the arrest orders.

Sir Montrose paled. “He killed a lord?”

“He will strike at anyone who thwarts him.”

The magistrate shook his head. “Describe tonight’s business again,” he ordered. “You were asleep, Mr. Thomas.”

Rafe reviewed the attack from the opening of the secret panel until Helen fired the fatal shot.

“She had no choice,” Sir Montrose agreed, then turned to Alex. “You were on guard?”

“Tweed and I had the first watch,” said Alex. “When I heard someone creeping downstairs, I woke Riley to cover my post, then took Tweed with me to investigate.”

Helen hadn’t thought to ask how Alex had found the secret passage.