Part 29 (1/2)

”I cannot be certain,” the man said; ”perhaps I am overcautious, but a group of three heavily armed gentlemen entered the tavern below.”

Cartland tucked his weapon into his waistband and reached for his coat. ”Better to be cautious than foolhardy.” He caught up his small sword and moved swiftly toward the door. ”Are the others below?”

”Yes, and two in the stables.”

”Excellent, come with me.”

Moving with long, rapid strides, Cartland made his egress by way of the servants' staircase. Straight ahead was the rear exit, but he turned left instead and went through the kitchen to the delivery door. I t always paid to be careful.

The door was ajar, allowing the cool night breeze into the hot kitchen. Cartland saw nothing but darkness beyond the small pool of spilling light, but he rushed outside to the alley in a near run to give himself a better chance of escape if a trap was set.

Once he was shrouded by the enveloping moonlit night, he felt safer.

Until he heard the pained grunt of the lackey who ran just behind him.

Startled, Cartland stumbled over a loose bit of gravel. He spun, pulling his gun free as he did so, his gaze wild and seeking.

”So good to see you again,” Mitch.e.l.l called out.

The light of the moon illuminated the narrow alley and the p.r.o.ne body on the ground with the knife hilt protruding from its back. The lackey groaned and writhed and was absolutely useless to Cartland.

”You!” he sputtered, unable to see the man who hunted him.

”Me,” Mitch.e.l.l agreed from the shadows.

The echo created by the surrounding buildings made it difficult to determine where Mitch.e.l.l was.

Meanwhile, Cartland was out in the open.

Brandis.h.i.+ng his firearm, Cartland said, ”The French won't believe that I am at fault. They trust me.”

”Allow me to worry about that.”

There was a thud to the left, and Cartland fired in that general direction. When a large, round rock rolled down the shallow incline to rest against his booted foot, he knew he'd been tricked. Had he not been so panicked, he would have known better. His heart sank into his gut, frozen by terror.

Mitch.e.l.l's laughter filled the night. Then the Gypsy appeared in a flurry of a swirling cape like some phantom apparition. In each hand was a weapon. One was a pistol, which left Cartland with no options beyond death or surrender. His useless, smoking gun fell from his nerveless fingers and clattered to the alley floor.

”I can help you,” he offered urgently. ”I can speak on your behalf and clear your name.”

Mitch.e.l.l's teeth flashed white in the darkness. ”Yes, you will-by returning to France and paying for your crimes.”

Amelia jolted awake just before dawn. Her heart was racing as if she'd run a great distance, but she could not discern why.

She lay abed for a long moment, blinking up at the canopy above her. Her bleary gaze lingered upon the gold ta.s.sels that framed the edges, and she attempted to regulate her panting by concentrating on every breath.Then she heard an unmistakable noise that filled her with dread-the sound of swords clas.h.i.+ng outside.

For a moment, she feared the men had not succeeded with their early morning capture of Cartland, but the lack of shouting and mayhem dispelled that thought.

The duel!

She called out for her abigail as she leaped up from the bed. ”Anne!”

Hurrying to the window, she threw the drapes wide, cursing under her breath to see the pale gray-and-pink sky.

Amelia rushed to her armoire and pulled out a shawl. ”Anne!”

The door opened, and she turned in an agitated flurry. ”Why did you not wake me before-Maria!”

”Amelia.”

The note of sympathy in Maria's voice caused gooseflesh to flare across Amelia's arms. ”No!” she breathed, rus.h.i.+ng past her sister to the gallery.

”Poppet! Wait!”

But she did not. She ran with all the strength she had, nearly cras.h.i.+ng into an industrious chambermaid before skittering around the corner and stumbling down the stairs. As she approached the lower floor, the unmistakable ring of clas.h.i.+ng foils iced her blood. Amelia was nearly to the French doors that led to the rear terrace and the lawn beyond that when she was caught in a crus.h.i.+ng embrace and restrained. She attempted a scream, but was gagged by a ma.s.sive hand over her mouth.

”Sorry,” Tim muttered. ”I can't let you distract 'em while they're fighting. That's 'ow men are killed.”

She shuddered violently at the thought of either man being injured. Struggling like a madwoman, Amelia fought for freedom, but even grown men could not best Tim. As the sounds of fighting continued, tears welled and coursed freely. Every clang of steel clas.h.i.+ng against steel struck her like a blow, causing her to jerk repeatedly in Tim's arms. He cursed and pressed his cheek to hers, murmuring things meant to soothe, but nothing could alleviate her distress.

Then...silence.

Amelia froze, afraid to breathe in case the sound would overpower the heralds of whatever was transpiring outside.

Tim carried her to a nearby window and pushed up the sash a bare inch. A damp, chilly breeze blew through the tiny gap, making her s.h.i.+ver.

”You are the better man.”

Colin's voice drifted to her ears, and her lips quivered against Tim's palm.

”You are the reasonable choice,” he continued in a grim tone. ”You have been steadfast and true to her. Unlike my estate, your wealth and t.i.tle are long-standing. You can give her things that I cannot.”

Amelia hung limply in Tim's arms, sobbing silently.

”Most importantly, her affection for me is not something she welcomes, while she gratefully embraces her future with you.”

Her head turned to the side, her tear-stained cheek pressing against Tim's thundering heart.

Colin was leaving her, as he had so many times before.

Tim's hand fell away from her mouth.

”Release me,” she whispered, her spirit broken. ”I will not go outside.”

He set her down and she turned away.

”Poppet.” Maria waited at the bottom of the stairs with her arms wide open. Amelia walked gratefully into them, her knees weakening, forcing them both to sit on the bottom step.