Part 21 (2/2)
”Do you plan on shooting someone, my lady, or would you like me to do it for you?”
Caroline swallowed her laughter. Putney was a gem. Rubbing her chafed wrists, she followed him and his jingling keys around the ground floor as he checked the locks.
”I'm not sure yet, but I don't think your involvement is necessary. My husband is next door.”
Putney paused at a heavy red velvet drape, allowing himself the tiniest frown. ”Lady Christie, if I may be so bold, I don't advise that you kill your husband. The murder of a peer is a very serious offense. I'm sure the legal separation will be adequate.”
Everybody knew everything on Jane Street. ”You misunderstand, Putney. I was attacked by Lord Randolph Pope. My husband plans to do something to him, I'm not sure what. I'd feel ever so much better if I helped him.”
”Are you an expert with firearms, my lady?”
Caroline thought back to her unsupervised childhood. She and Nicky had shot their share of pickle jars and pots. ”It will all come back to me, I'm sure. Really, I'm going quite mad with worry. Could you hurry?”
The butler drew himself up. ”It is my responsibility to protect the lady of the house. As Miss Serena is off with her gentleman until tomorrow, it is my duty to protect you. I was once quite good with my fists, you know. I daresay it will all come back to me.”
Caroline was skeptical. If Putney had ever fought, it was in the featherweight category about a thousand years ago. But his arms were folded across his narrow chest and he looked implacable. ”Oh, very well. If Serena's not even here, we won't worry about locking up. Let's go.”
”I am sure Lord Christie would not appreciate it if we interrupted him. I expect he told you to stay away and that he would come here when it was over.”
”How did you-Wait, I just thought you said you'd help me. What was all that talk about being a fighter?”
”Indeed. If our security is breached, I shall ensure with my dying breath that you are safe. If you feel my fists are inadequate, I shall position myself at the front door with a truncheon. But you will not leave the premises, Lady Christie. Lord Christie would have my hide if I enabled you into danger.”
”Oh, for heaven's sake! My husband could be lying in a pool of blood right this minute and that revolting viscount heading for France!”
”Doubtful. Lord Christie seems eminently qualified to deal with the task at hand. Would you care for a cup of tea, Lady Christie?”
”I don't want any b.l.o.o.d.y tea! I've already been Pope's prisoner once today. I won't be yours.” Caroline raced to the front door. It was, as she requested, locked.
Putney came up silently behind her. ”Perhaps a sherry then. Something to calm your nerves.”
Caroline felt her heart go black. ”Give me the keys, Putney. If you don't, I'll find that truncheon.”
”Now, my lady. You'll thank me in the end. And don't get any ideas about going upstairs and climbing out the balcony window. Miss Serena told me all about that.”
She had been too good for too long-except for the interlude with Edward, when objects came so easily to hand and were tossed with smas.h.i.+ng satisfaction at the walls. At him. Caroline picked up a particularly ugly vase. Serena would be grateful it was gone.
Putney looked at the fragments at his feet. ”Tsk, tsk. Lord Buckley gave that to her, you know. There is plain white ironstone in the kitchen which has much less sentimental value. Shall we go belowstairs?”
Caroline admitted defeat. She was behaving like the spoiled child Edward accused her of being. But if she never heard him accuse her again, she'd simply die. She burst into tears.
Putney placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. ”There, there. It will be all right. We'll give Lord Christie a quarter of an hour, how's that? If we've no news by then, I'll go round personally and find out what's what.”
”I-I'll go with you,” Caroline sniveled.
”We'll see.” Putney went to the drinks cupboard and poured her some sherry. ”Oloroso. Excellent, as I understand.”
Caroline took a small sip. She had never been much for drinking spirits-at least that was one fault she did not possess. Oh, a gla.s.s or two of champagne with Edward when she was nervous or love-flushed. A drop of brandy when she had a cold. But she'd seen firsthand what alcohol had done to those she loved, and would never follow them to their graves in that manner. She smoothed her wrinkled gray skirt, imagining she must look like she'd been run over by a dray cart. Love Lane, as she recalled. She'd once wished such a denouement for Edward, but now she prayed with every ragged breath that he would be safe.
So she could send him on his way again.
The bra.s.s clock on Serena's mantel ticked along. Putney puttered about the room, trying to appear is if he wasn't trapping her within. Just when she thought she'd go completely mad, the knocker sounded on the front door.
Caroline raced to it, leaving the elderly butler far behind.
”Don't open it yet!” he huffed. ”Look out the sidelight to make sure it's Lord Christie.”
Edward's tall form was visible through the wavery gla.s.s. Caroline threw open the door and screamed.
”Shh, Caro. It's not my blood. Everything is all right, I swear.”
Caroline reached for Edward's ruined cravat, which was spattered with bright crimson droplets. His coat was torn, and he'd made an attempt to wipe more blood from his left cheek, streaking it from beneath one eye to his shadowed jaw. ”D-did you kill him?”
”Just planted him a facer. Or several. I suppose I broke his nose, but he was no beauty to begin with anyway. Caro, come inside and sit down. I must talk to you.”
She looked out to the empty street. A few leaves fluttered across the sidewalk. ”Where is he?”
”You're safe. He's on his way home to pack, and then he's taking a little trip.”
Caroline's panic reemerged. ”You just let him go? What if he comes back?”
Edward took her by the elbow and drew her into the hall. ”He won't. I promise. Let's go into the parlor.”
Putney hovered, but one look from Edward sent him scurrying elsewhere.
Trembling, Caroline sat back on the ruby velvet sofa. ”You've terrified Putney. He was very kind to me.”
”I'll make it up to him later.” Edward went to the drinks table, poured himself a brandy and downed it in one swallow. Caroline's sherry gla.s.s was still nearly full, but she had no desire for it. Her hands shook too much to hold it.
Edward had an odd smile on his face. ”Pope and I had a little chat. It seems he blames you for his current predicament. Once you exposed him in that book of yours-what was its name?”
”The Vicious Viscount.”
”Very apt. He has been unable to bed any woman successfully since its publication. His wife left him, you know. High cla.s.s courtesans will have nothing to do with him, and rightly so. They know his reputation after reading your book. Everyone in the ton does, it seems. No one wants to take a beating for Randolph Pope's pleasure no matter how large his purse. He was forced to resort to common streetwalkers, where he failed to perform despite repeated use of the rod on those poor souls. Not only that, he picked up a rather unpleasant affliction. You've made his life quite miserable, Caro.”
”Good.”
”Now who is the vicious one?”
She had no remorse. She had tended to Lizzie's back. ”Wh-what was he planning to do to me?”
”Nothing half so sinister as we might have expected. He was going to hold you for ransom, a rather modest one when all is said and done. He wanted me to pay for his treatment at an Austrian spa for gentlemen he'd heard about. It seems he's spent what's left of his fortune on quack remedies for impotence. No doubt there are just as many quacks in Austria, but at least he'll be on the Continent and not in Mayfair. I've readily agreed to provide him with the blunt. With any luck, he'll fall off an alp and that will be the end of him.”
”The Count's Courtesan.”
”I beg your pardon?”
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