To Wed a Scandalous Spy (21 page)

Before them all stood John Day, his ruined face contorted in fury. In his hands he held a pistol that Nathaniel recognized as one of his own, taken from his study.

It was pointed at Nathaniel's heart.

Despite the trembling in his hands, Day pulled back the hammer with the skill of long practice and sighted down his arm.

"You are going to die now, Reardon. You ought to have been hanged for your treason. Justice may have been blinded by your title and your money—I, on the other hand, see quite clearly."

The country accent was gone. In its place were the well-pronounced vowels of the upper class. Day went on. "How could you turn on your own that way? Your country, your King—your own father?"

Day waved the pistol, indicating the ornate environs. "You have everything! But you don't have him anymore, do you?" He laughed bitterly. "I read in the gossip sheets that the Old Man told you never to cross his sight again." He aimed the pistol directly at Nathaniel once more. "I wonder, did he mean sight or perhaps…"—he lined up his aim carefully—"
sights
."

The Old Man
. Realization flashed in Nathaniel's mind.
This man is a Liar
.

"Ren Porter." The name was nothing more than a rasp of shock in Nathaniel's throat, but Ren heard him.

"Yes. Ren Porter at your service. Your loyal Liar." His destroyed face twisted with agonized rage. "A Liar who lost it
all
in the service of the Crown—then here you stand, still rich, still pretty…" He dipped a brief mocking bow to Willa. "And you even got the girl!"

"Ren." Nathaniel cleared his tightened throat. "I am glad to see you well."

"I am. I survived that betrayal by my fellows. James—" Emotion choked him visibly for a moment. "James got a
medal
. Did you know that? I got this face and this form. So, I thought to myself, there must be a reason." Ren's tone deepened with conviction and his aim steadied on Nathaniel's chest. "Look at you, standing there without a scratch, in your fine house with your new bride. For whatever reason, the law could not touch the likes of you and James. But I can. This is where you should die, here with all you will lose around you."

Nathaniel moved away from the table, away from Myrtle and Willa and Daphne. "Very well, then," he said quietly. "Kill me."

Willa gasped and started to run to him. Nathaniel held up a hand sharply. "Stay!" He didn't have any desire to die—but he could not explain, not even to ease Ren's pain. All he could hope for was to draw Ren's fire away from the women until he could think of something better.

Ren twitched, then looked behind him as if suspecting a trick. There was no servant sneaking up behind him. Nathaniel didn't tell Ren that he doubted any man in this house would risk such a thing for him.

Nathaniel's calm assurance only seemed to shake Ren more. His hand began to tremble anew, and he was forced to brace his pistol hand with his other one.

A single oddly clear thought went through Nathaniel's mind:
He might actually kill me now
. Nathaniel most assuredly didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave Willa. He looked over at her, standing white and motionless by the table.

He really should have made love to her, he decided. He had let the moment pass again and again. He should have accepted the sanctity of his country marriage and made her his wife in truth. Maybe she would stay with him. There was no telling with Willa.

The pistol began to fall, then came back up. "No. You cannot confound me, Lord Treason. You won't escape this."

The moment stretched, broken only by Sir Danville's appalled wheezing and Victoria's whimpers. Willa wasn't weeping, Nathaniel knew. She was too strong for that. He doubted that her eyes were even closed.

Nathaniel moved slowly, closer to the pistol. He needed to be certain that no one else would be caught with a wild shot. Closer.
Closer
.

Then he leaped forward when he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. "No !"

A burly footman leaped out to tackle Ren, throwing him violently against the giant mahogany sideboard where his head connected with a solid thud. The pistol flew from his hand. Nathaniel rushed forward to catch Ren as he collapsed.

Nathaniel eased Ren down to the floor. Dazed and shaking, Ren still tried to fight him off weakly. "Get off me, you bastard!"

Nathaniel gripped Ren's shoulders and pulled him close. "Ren, it wasn't James," he hissed urgently into Ren's ear. "It was never James."

Ren eased his fighting to blink at Nathaniel in confusion. As the footman reached to take Ren from him, Nathaniel leaned in close once more.

"It was never James. It was Jackham."

Then he stood, allowing his men to take Ren. Pallid and nearly unconscious now, Ren hung from their hands like a rag doll.

"Take him upstairs to a bed," ordered Nathaniel. He grabbed the largest footman by the collar. "Carefully."

The man gulped and nodded. Nathaniel watched for a moment to assure their obedience before turning to see the room packed with curious servants.

"Hammil, send for a physician for my friend." Nathaniel stopped and gave the man a significant look. "Promptly. Am I understood?"

Hammil glanced away, unable to meet the implied threat in Nathaniel's gaze. "Of course, my lord."

"Oh no. You will not allow that criminal to stay here!" Victoria strode forward, towing a red-faced Sir Danville in her wake. "I won't allow it!"

"Pipe down, Victoria." Myrtle tottered forward. "Best see to your lapdog, dearie. I do believe he's suffering a seizure. Don't want him to pop off yet, do you?"

Victoria turned to see that Sir Danville was indeed in serious trouble. His round face was dangerously flushed against his full white sideburns, and he had one hand pressed to his barrel chest.

"Oh no! Stanley? Oh dear! Hammil! Hammil, send for a physician at once! Bring some water in the parlor."

Nathaniel watched as his mother screeched orders at the absent Hammil while she propelled Sir Danville to the next room, where stood the only sofa large enough to hold the man.

Then Nathaniel was almost knocked from his feet by cannonball Willa, who flung her arms about his neck so tightly he couldn't breathe.

Shaking, she clung to him. He wrapped his arms about her and held her close. "Shh. It's over."

After a long moment, Willa shook her head and pulled away to look into his face. "Nathaniel, what is going on? Who is this Ren Porter?"

Nathaniel froze. In the midst of it all, he had not realized that Ren had spilled out the Liars' existence. He spoke without looking at her.

"Ren is only a patriot, angry at a traitor."

"But—"

"Master Nathaniel," called a footman from the doorway. "I've sent for one doctor for Sir Danville already. The other physician has been called for… ah…"

"Mr. Lawrence Porter." Nathaniel strode to the door, then turned back, still not meeting Willa's eyes. "We shall… discuss this later."

Willa watched as Nathaniel practically sprinted from the room. She crossed her arms.

Nathaniel Stonewell, Lord Reardon, hadn't precisely told her everything, had he? Not about his family, not about Ren Porter, either. She wondered how many other things she was going to learn about the hard way.

Nathaniel shook the physician's hand as he showed him to the door. It had been a grueling hour assisting the man with Ren, but Nathaniel would trust no one else in this house to help. "Will he recover from the pneumonia, do you think?" Nathaniel hoped so. It would be far too much to take if Ren Porter was finally killed for the sake of Willa's laundry.

The doctor shrugged. "Time will tell. That dunking he took in the river might just have been too much for him. He isn't far gone in the infection, but he is weak and very worn."

Worn like a man who had pushed himself to follow Nathaniel to London?

"I imagine so," Nathaniel replied to the doctor. "I'll see to it that he stays put for as long as it takes."
And put a guard outside that door as well
. Ren was ill, damaged, and misinformed. It might take a while to convince him he was among friends.

The doctor was still understandably curious. "He's a fortunate man to have such influential friends…"

Nathaniel grimaced. "I'll be sure to tell him so. Thank you again, sir. Good night."

Closing the door after the doctor boarded his carriage, Nathaniel waved the driver on and watched them drive off through the dripping, tattered fog.

«
^
»

The pain was back.
Of course
, Ren Porter thought dully,
it never really left
.

His body had been broken. Hell, even his skull had been cracked! Then had come the ache of healing, of returning to use parts of him that bore no resemblance to the strong young limbs of before.

But this was a new pain, like a giant on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Pneumonia, the doctor had said. Ren had taken a simple dunking in the river and now he had pneumonia.

Wasn't that just perfect? Done in by dirty laundry. He laughed shortly, only to nearly cough his lungs onto the coverlet. Finally, he caught enough breath to lie back on the pillow, gasping.

"Ow," he wheezed.

No more private jests. No blackly humorous thoughts of any kind.

No, not even sarcasm.

Only breathing allowed. He glanced sideways to look at the numerous pots set to steam on the hearth. If his lungs were full of water, why was he then set to inhaling
steam"
? Bloody doctors.

Ren hated doctors. Nurses were all right. Mrs. Neely, who had cared for him when he was unconscious, had been a fine woman. If she'd been forty years younger, he would have married her.

Of course, if she were forty years younger, she would have run screaming from him like every other young lady did these days.

Willa didn't.

No, that was true. He'd startled her at first, but later, by the fire, she'd looked at him curiously but unflinchingly. He'd tested her, too, when he'd fixed her tea. She hadn't so much as blinked when he approached her.

Willa was clearly a very unusual lady.

And she belonged to Reardon, as the man had made very clear that night.

There came a sound, just a small one. A tiny shifting of fabric, perhaps, or it could have been a careful exhalation. It came from the corner of the room farthest from the candle. From the bed, nothing could be seen but shadows and shapes.

"I know you're there."

"Well, then, I suppose there's no use in being uncomfortable." The shadow stepped forward, becoming more man shaped.

"Reardon?"

"Hardly. Merely Cousin Basil, heir apparent." Basil sat down on the bed and lounged against the bedpost. He withdrew a cheroot from his jacket and, leaning forward, lit it from Ren's candle.

Basil smiled slightly, then blew a cloud of smoke that wrapped itself around Ren's throat and spiked pain into his lungs. He gasped, only to take in more tainted air as Basil leaned closer, seeming concern on his face.

"Oh, you don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

Half-choked, his sickened lungs seizing under the assault, Ren could only nod frantically.

"Pity. And you seemed like a chap who could enjoy a bit of good tobacco." Basil tossed his cigar to the fine carpet and ground it out with his heel. Then he stretched his legs out on the bed and put both hands behind his head in a pose of relaxation.

"What are you doing here?" Ren finally managed to quell the urge to cough. "Are you part of the guard?" He waved a hand to the door, where he knew at least one footman watched outside.

"I'm here to apologize for this evening, dear man. Nathaniel shouldn't have been so hard on you. That frightful family temper, you know. Quite takes hold of us sometimes."

"I notice that it didn't take hold of you while I held the pistol."

"Better part of valor, my boy, better part of valor." Basil shrugged. He cast a what-can-you-do look at Ren. "Can't just go risking myself. That's what Thaniel's for, anyway, facing down the wolf. Or the pistol. Not that it did him any harm."

Bitterly Ren had to admit to himself that it was true. His entire plan, from the moment he had seen Nathaniel Stonewell on the walk outside of that bookshop, had been to face him down and kill him.

Then he just couldn't make himself do it. Ren felt sick. It must have shown on his face, for Basil made a sympathetic noise.

"Feeling worse, old son? The physician left some laudanum for you." Leaving the bed, Basil crossed the room to pick up the bottle on the cabinet. "Quite a jug of it here. You may have all you want."

Ren shifted. "No thank you." Sleep had stolen weeks of his life before. In the end, he'd found he preferred the sharp-minded state of unrelieved pain.

At any rate, all the laudanum in the world couldn't numb the pain away, unless he wanted to kill himself with it.

That was always a possibility, but in the weeks since he'd awoken Ren had found meaning in his wasted life. He had been left alive for one purpose, to destroy the two men who had betrayed the Liars.

And now he must contend with the fact that he had failed. He had not been able to kill Lord Treason, and it seemed there was no reason to kill James Cunnington. The story about Jackham had rung quite true to Ren. He only wondered that he'd not seen it before. His mind truly had been muddled, though he felt clear enough now.

There would be no revenge. There was only the rest of his life as half a man.

"I wonder," mused Basil. "I wonder how much laudanum it would take to kill a man? Would he taste it in his wine, do you think?"

Pulling his thoughts away from their dismal destination, Ren snorted with disdain. "Sir, the only way you could kill anyone would be to bore him to death." Nathaniel may have been a traitor, but his cousin was undeniably a fool.

Basil whirled to glare at Ren. "Fine thanks I get, after I kept my cousin from carting you off to the magistrate!"

"You did that?"

"And called a physician for you."

Ren supposed it had been kind of Basil to take him in and try to help him. Although the words
kind
and
Basil
didn't really seem to belong in the same sentence.