The Wyndham Legacy (35 page)

Trevor rose, the gun raised, his face flushed, then it seemed he got control of himself again. Slowly, he sat down again on the crate. “Think what you will,” he said, then shrugged. “It doesn't matter. The outcome will be the same. You'll be dead and I'll be the earl of Chase.”

He looked from one to the other of them. “Life is so terribly uncertain, isn't it?”

Suddenly the Duchess began to laugh. It bubbled out of her, tears pooled in her eyes and she was nearly losing her breath she was laughing so hard.

He jumped to his feet, waving his pistol toward her. “Damn you, shut up!”

“Ah, but it's so very funny,” she said and went into gales of laughter, full-bodied laughter that made Marcus so afraid he thought he'd choke on it. What the hell was she doing?

“What the hell is so funny? Shut up, I tell you!”

“You, Trevor.” She hiccuped and laughed more. “You. You're so very funny. Actually, what you are is pathetic. You, the next earl of Chase?
You?
You're a bloody madman, that's what you are, insignificant, not really there as a man, just a shadow, yes, a madman, that's what you are. Yes, you're sad really, a loudmouthed preening cock, an ass braying like a man, a real man. You're nothing but a dismal excuse for a man, nothing more, just an excuse.”

And she laughed and laughed until Trevor, his face blood-red now, fury roiling through him, roared to his feet, raised the pistol, and came over her. He had the pistol in his hand and he would strike her with it, hard and again and again, she saw it in his eyes, eyes she'd believed once so warm and filled with intelligence and humor. Now they just held death and his loss of control.

Just as he was coming down over her, she drew her legs back to her chest to give her leverage and power and she kicked him in the groin. She kicked him so hard that for an endlessly long moment, he just hung there over her, poised to strike her with that pistol butt, doing nothing at all now, not breathing, just staring down at her disbelieving, then he screamed and screamed, falling backward onto his back, clutching his groin, crying now, wailing really, the agony ripping him apart, and in those moments he was behind them, not even aware that they were there and that they were his enemies.

“Well done, Duchess.” She saw Marcus roll over on top of Trevor, grab the pistol, and toss it to her, for his hands were tied behind his back and hers were tied in front. She caught it and held it in front of her.

“Get off him, Marcus. Let him suffer, then we'll see.”

He rolled off Trevor and came up onto his feet. Slowly, he hobbled to her and sat down beside her. “Untie me if you can,” he said.

She'd released his wrists when Trevor, finally enduring the worst of the nausea and the tearing pain, managed to sit up. He looked into the barrel of the pistol that Marcus now pointed at him.

He cursed very softly.

The Duchess wasn't laughing now, but her voice was calm, not the detached, dispassionate calm of the old Duchess, but a determined calm, a nearly ferocious calm. “My wrists are nearly free, Marcus. Don't bother with me, just keep that gun pointed at him. Just another moment. Yes, now I'm all right. Hold still and I'll untie your ankles.”

When they were both free, Marcus stood slowly, the pistol never wavering from Trevor's face. He stomped his feet up and down to get the feeling back.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Trevor, still struggling with the grinding pain in his groin, was silent for a few more moments, then he shrugged. “I hadn't expected you to ask me that just yet.”

“Why the hell not? There's nothing else to ask you. You've carried on about how brilliant you are, you the head of the Wyndham family, you the one who believes it his right to kill with impunity all in the cause of your damned duty, your responsibility to your mother and brother and sister. All right, tell me, cousin. Do they truly have no idea what you've done?”

“Perhaps. My mother hates both of you, naturally. Does she know? And Ursula, so sweet, at least she seems so, doesn't she? You've gotten to know James, an honorable boy, don't you think? He worships me. You'll never know for sure now, Marcus, will you?”

“You're quite mad, cousin. More important, you're sane in your madness and that is surely worse. Now you can tell me. Where are we?”

“I'll see you in hell before I tell you.”

“You know something, cousin? It doesn't really matter, because you'll be in hell a long time before I will.”

He raised the pistol, looked in that strong face that held too much resemblance to his own, and for that brief moment, he thought,
dear God, he's my cousin, he's of my flesh,
and he faltered. It was all Trevor needed. He kicked out at Marcus, sending grinding pain through his thigh, then lunged for the gun. Marcus wasn't quite fast enough. He felt Trevor's hands close around his wrist, squeezing it tightly, shaking his hand to free the gun, but he held tight.

Their struggle was a silent one, save for the grunts and heavy, ugly breathing. The Duchess was now on her feet, her hands free of the ropes, looking for a weapon, anything. She felt no fear for herself, just this nearly deadening fear for Marcus, and knew, knew somewhere deep down, that she had to tamp down on that fear. She managed it, flooding herself with savage frenzy and urgency.

They were on the hay-strewn floor now, still struggling for the gun, rolling over and over, panting more deeply now, sweating with exertion. She saw it then, a pitchfork, rusted with age, leaning crookedly against the far wall of the barn,
looking none too sturdy, but no matter. She grabbed it—damn but it was heavy—and ran to stand over them.

But they were rolling over and over, first Marcus with the advantage, then Trevor, evenly matched. She saw that Marcus still held the gun, but Trevor was keeping well clear of it. She was terrified of striking Marcus. She circled them, waiting, waiting, wanting to scream each time it looked like Trevor would win.

Then, quite suddenly, the barn doors were flung open and brilliant sunlight streamed in.

Trevor, on top of Marcus at that instant, was blinded, and jerked back. It was all Marcus needed. He kicked him off and rolled away, coming up on his knees, raising the gun.

But the Duchess was faster. She raised the pitchfork over her head and brought it down with all her strength, striking Trevor squarely on the back of his head with the wooden handle, sending him sprawling on his face. He twitched once, then lay utterly still. She didn't know whether or not she'd killed him and she didn't care.

“Marcus!” She was beside him in an instant, not really aware that North, Badger, and Spears were standing over them.

B
ADGER PATTED HER
back and clucked like a mother hen, feeling at once foolish at his display of emotion and so scared in his relief he wanted to yell with it.

“Chocolate!” he said against her hair, furious with himself. “Dear God, somehow that mangy bastard Trevor got laudanum into the chocolate I sent to you and his lordship. And like a fool I let Antonia carry it to you, never thinking—”

“But how did he manage it?” Marcus asked as Spears was examining his bloody knuckles and the bruises on his face. He looked over at his unconscious cousin, North beside him, feeling for his heart, as he spoke.

“I spoke to Antonia, just by chance really. Jesus, you can't imagine how that fear was curdling my toes when I didn't find either of you in bed where you should have been, all tight and cozy and tangled up together, like two ears of corn in a husk. The bed was empty and I don't mind telling you, and Mr. Spears will agree, I was nearly frothing at the mouth with fear. It turns out that Antonia paused only a moment to speak to Fanny and the Twins went into the bedchamber for a moment.”

He didn't tell them that Antonia had been plenty mad because Fanny, the wretched flirt who wanted Marcus for herself, had demanded that she, not Antonia, take the chocolate to the Duchess and Marcus. They'd argued until finally they'd both fetched a sovereign from Fanny's bedchamber, then they'd tossed it to see who would carry the chocolate to the Duchess and the earl.

“The Twins evidently were arguing about something. And while they were carrying on, even going to one of their bedchambers, Trevor quite easily poured laudanum into the chocolate they'd conveniently left in the corridor.”

“Damnation,” Marcus said. “What if they hadn't argued? What if Antonia alone had been carrying that chocolate unbothered by her twin? I think that Trevor would have hurt her, both of them if necessary, perhaps even killed them as swiftly and remorselessly as he would a fly. What are two twins, fifteen-year-old cousins to him, after all? How the bloody devil did he get into the house?”

It wasn't all that hard, so no one said anything. It was all so frightening, it still made Badger's tongue thick and dry, sticking to the roof of his mouth.

It had been close, too close, so close that even now his heart was pounding faster than when that sod of a nag
Midnight Fleet
had beaten all odds and won at Ascot just last week.

He stroked his hand over the Duchess's back, crooning like a damned turkey all the while. She got a grip on herself and drew back to look up at him. “He wanted us to believe that you were in this with him.”

“I beg your pardon, Duchess?”

She grinned at the outrage in Spears's voice. “Marcus and I knew Badger couldn't be involved with him, Spears. Never for a moment did we doubt you, Badger, never. But it pleased Trevor to taunt us with it.”

“See that you never doubt me in the future either.”

“I agree. A most unworthy thought of a duchess and an earl,” Spears said. “Most unbefitting either of you. Mr. Badger is a man beyond men.”

“Amen,” said Marcus. He looked over again at North, who'd returned just two days before after visiting a military friend in Castleford, leaving only after he'd been certain that Marcus and the Duchess would be all right after they'd been shot. “Will he live, North?”

“Yes, I think so. The Duchess gave him a solid hit but
his pulse is strong as is his heartbeat. If you like, Marcus, I'll take him to Darlington and see that he's put safely in the gaol. I'll even hire guards to keep an eye on him around the clock.”

“I'll go with you. I don't want to let him out of my sight again until I know he's safely locked behind some very sturdy bars. Yes, the guards are an excellent idea.”

“What happened, my lord?” Spears asked. “I mean, why is Mr. Trevor still alive?”

“I had the gun and I was ready to kill him. Then I realized who he was—my cousin, a Wyndham, my flesh—and I couldn't do it. It was the chance he needed. He jumped on me.”

“That's right, Marcus,” North said. “Don't flail at yourself. I'm glad you won't have his blood on your hands—either of your hands, for that matter. Have him deported to Botany Bay, a wonderful place I understand, savage as hell itself. Let him finish out his life there. I daresay he'll make his way amongst all the other criminals. At least you'll be safe from him then.”

“Yes,” Marcus said slowly, “Botany Bay. I do believe I could arrange that without too much difficulty. There's no reason to have an ugly scandal if we can avoid it. Even though Aunt Wilhelmina deserves any and everything, Ursula and James don't. I don't want them hurt more than they have to be.”

“I agree,” Badger said. He saw that the Duchess was nodding also, then turned to Lord Chilton. At North's nod, he added, “There, that's all of us, my lord. Ah, I should add that Maggie was beside herself, let me tell you, screamed at Mr. Spears and me, even at poor Lord Chilton, who surely wasn't to blame, cursing us that we wouldn't bring her with us.”

“The picture painted with your words, Badger, quite boggles the mind,” Marcus said.

The Duchess managed to find a remnant of a smile, then said, “We won't have to worry about him ever again. Thank
God, Marcus, you're safe. You're what's most important to any of us, and even if that's not quite true, then you're what's most important to me, at the very least. Oh dear, I was so scared he would kill you, so very scared. Don't you ever do something like that again.”

She pulled herself out of Badger's comforting hold and walked straight to her husband. He pulled her close and just held her, silent for several moments. He raised his head finally, saying, “How did you find us?”

Badger said, “We went to the stables after I found Mr. Spears and told him you and his lordship were gone and what I suspected. Not that it was necessarily Mr. Trevor, you understand, just that there'd been
foul play,
as Mr. Kemble of Drury Lane calls it, and sure enough, both Stanley and Birdie were gone. Lambkin was fit to eat the horseshoe nails, my lord, utterly stammering he was with confusion and mental turmoil. Ah, yes, I tracked you here,” he added simply, as if it were the most common ability on earth.

Marcus looked from one of them to the other. “You tracked us here, Badger? This is beyond what you are supposed to be able to do. You are the Duchess's valet. You are our cook. You know a lot about medicines. Now I hear that you tracked Stanley and Birdie here?”

“Well, my lord, it wasn't all that difficult, truth be told. You see, Stanley has a strange shoe, put on by the Duchess's father, some three years ago, a shoe in the shape of a star. Why, you might ask? I haven't the foggiest notion. It wasn't difficult, as I said, to follow you and find you here in old MacGuildy's barn. Poor old man, dead now and no one cares that this barn is falling apart and that's why Trevor Wyndham brought you here. He rode Clancy around the estate many, many hours as I recall.”

North shook his head. “All I had to do was follow orders, Marcus. These two had everything well in hand. I'm sorry I left, Marcus. Damnation, I knew that the danger wasn't over by a long shot.”

“You, North, are just angry because you missed finding the treasure with us,” Marcus said, and punched his friend in the arm.

“Alas, that's part of it, I fear.”

Spears said, “However, my lord, having you at our side gave us additional confidence. In your anger, you wore a dark, quite menacing look that would challenge the devil himself.”

There suddenly came a loud shriek from the barn door.

“Ho! I knew we'd find you! Damn you, Mr. Spears, and damn you even more, Mr. Badger, I knew we'd find you! Ah, and Lord Chilton, well damn you as well, you sneaking lordship! Oh, hell and the devil, all the fun's over! It isn't fair, I've missed all of it.”

The Duchess looked at Maggie, dragging a red-faced Sampson behind her, then looked up at her husband's astonished face. “How,” she asked, giggling, her breath warm against his throat, “how could you ever imagine that Maggie would willingly miss any of the fun?”

“Ho! What's this? Good God, it's Mr. Trevor, and he's sprawled in a very ungentlemanly fashion on the ground. Whatever has happened?”