Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (29 page)

“He will be all right,” she said, feeling for Chesney’s pulse and nodding to assure the rest of them that it was steady.

The footman returned quickly. “I found her bound in a cupboard.”

Kate fell to her knees in front of the fire, sobbing loud enough to wake the dead. Apart from being scared witless, she appeared unharmed.

“Do you have any idea where he took Crista?” Amos asked, doing his best not to shout with frustration when Chesney gingerly shook his head.

“He said he was going to help himself from the shop and then…well, I’m sure you can imagine what he intends.” Chesney sat forward, seemingly oblivious to an injury that must hurt like the devil. “You have to stop him. He will take what he wants but won’t allow her to live afterwards. I never should have agreed to cross these people.”

“Where would he have taken her, Zach?” Amos asked, pacing the length of the room in growing agitation.

“Not to the Crown,” Nate replied. “That would be too dangerous.”

“Somewhere he’s familiar with, and where he’s confident he won’t be disturbed,” Zach added.

“Mayfield’s establishment.” Amos thumped his fist against the mantelpiece. “It’s the only place he knows, apart from here and the Crown.”

“Stay with Lady St. John,” Zach said to one of the footmen. “Do not let her out of your sight, or you will have me to answer to.”

The three brothers and the remaining footman left the premises at a run. They remounted but Zach waved them to a halt again a short time later, before they reached Mayfield’s house. There was a dim light coming from what had to be the kitchen, but nothing more. They tied their horses to trees on the periphery of the garden and climbed the fence. Zach led them to the stables, where a lone horse stood.

“It must be the one Reece hired,” Amos said. “Which means he’s here. Let’s hope to God we’re not too late.”

They rounded the side of the house and found the kitchen door unlocked. A maid and cook, seated together at the table, looked up with expressions of alarm. Zach placed a finger to his lips.

“Where is he?” he asked in a whisper.

“We don’t know. He dragged a young woman in here a short time ago and locked us in. He said it was the master’s business, and we weren’t to interfere,” the maid said.

“I told Mary I didn’t think it was right, but it’s not our place to say so. Besides, what could we do?”

A thump, followed by a loud yell from upstairs rendered further explanations unnecessary. Zach and Amos shared a look and then put their shoulders to the kitchen door. It gave way on the second attempt with a loud crack and splintering of wood. They ran up the stairs, taking them three at a time. The noises came from the room at the end, and Amos was beyond worrying himself about stealth. Every second could make a difference to the fate of the woman he had fallen helplessly in love with. He thrust the door open and, thanks to the light from a full moon pouring through the windows, he saw Crista quite clearly. Her shirt was torn, her hands bound tight enough for there to be blood on her wrists, but her eyes glinted with the light of conquest. She was alive, and it was not her who had cried out, but Reece. He was prostrate on the floor and she stood over him, systematically grinding the heel of her shoe into the fingers of one hand.

“Crista!” Amos ran to her. “Are you all right?”

“My uncle?” she asked at the same time.

“Lady St. John is with him,” Zach said. “You can let him go now,” he added, supressing a smile as he looked down at Reece, either howling with pain or spitting with rage. Amos was unsure which, and didn’t especially care. “We thought you needed rescuing, but clearly we underestimated you.”

“What happened?” Nate asked.

“He tried to…well, you know, but I smashed his hand with a poker when he broke into our apartment. When he pushed me onto the bed I pretended to lose consciousness. I couldn’t think what else to do, but you might as well know I have never fainted in my life. I leave that sort of thing to Mama and Amelia. Anyway, I remembered their example, how they use that ruse to get their way, and decided there had never been a better time to attempt it myself.”

Amos shook his head in frank admiration. “Inspired!” he said softly.

“More like desperate,” she replied. “The moment I sensed Reece get on the bed beside me I brought my knee up into his groin and knocked him to the floor. Before he could recover, I stamped on his bad hand. I was just wondering what to do next when you arrived.”

The brothers shared a glance, but Amos’s heart was too full for him to find his voice. That she could be so level-headed, so calm at such a time earned his respect, his admiration, his total, unconditional love.

“You are remarkable,” he said, gently taking her arm to lead her away from Reece. She winced at his touch.

“You are hurt?”

“He pulled me along by my arm.”

“Let me see.”

He gently removed the rope binding her wrists, scowling when he saw how chaffed and bleeding they were. He rolled up her sleeve and saw ugly red wheals all over her lovely skin. Reece had just been pulled to his feet and Amos turned to him, murder in his eyes. The footman, on Zach’s orders, was about to bind his hands but Amos stopped him. He then swung his fist and placed it with considerable force in the centre of Reece’s cringing face. He had the satisfaction of hearing bone crack beneath the force of the blow as blood gushed from Reece’s nose. He screamed and crumpled to the floor again.

“That is for daring to touch Miss Brooke,” he said, indicating to the footman to take him away. “Come along,” he added to Crista, shrugged out of his coat and draping it around her to hide her dishevelled clothing. “Let’s get you to safety.”

He swept her from the floor, into his arms, and carried her out into the night.

The moment Amos and his brothers arrived, Crista felt the fight drain out of her. She was dimly aware of the duke ordering his footman to secure her uncle’s premises and to arrange for him to be taken to the Park. That, apparently, was where she was to go as well, and she was too fatigued and relieved at her narrow escape, to argue the point. She was also exhausted. The tension of the past few weeks had taken its toll, and she could scarce keep her eyes open. Besides, being cradled in Amos’s strong arms was far too comforting for her to protest about the arrangement.

She didn’t remember much about the journey back to the Hall, other than she was in a carriage, and still in Amos’s arms. She did recall seeing her uncle. He was pale and tired, and his wound was deep. The duke said it would require stitches, but Uncle Charles appeared oblivious to the pain, frequently saying instead just how relieved he was to see Crista relatively unharmed. Unharmed physically maybe, but she wondered how long it would take for her subconscious to recover from the ordeal. Not that she would ever admit to the degree it had affected her. It would do no good anyway, and besides it was a personal battle to be fought in solitude.

Sunlight filtering across her face woke her from a deep, surprisingly dreamless sleep. She stretched between crisp cotton sheets in a wonderfully comfortable bed and was most reluctant to open her eyes. She did so only because she became conscious of someone sitting beside her. When she turned her head in that direction, she was astonished to find it was the duchess.

“Oh, your grace, I did not−”

“Hush, child, I did not mean to wake you. I only wanted to reassure myself you were sleeping, nothing worse.”

“I did not mean to be a burden.”

“The very last thing you are is a burden to us, my dear.”

What an extraordinary thing to say. Obviously, the duchess doesn’t know the truth
. “How is my uncle?”

“He is sleeping. The doctor has seen you both, but I don’t expect you remember much about that. You were totally exhausted. Anyway, your uncle’s wound has been stitched.”

Crista glanced down and noticed for the first time that her wrists were neatly bandaged. “I see,” was all she could think to say. “Thank you so much, your grace.”

“It is I, or rather my family, who should be thanking you.”

Crista wondered if she had suffered a concussion. “I don’t understand, I−”

“My dear, my sons have told me everything.”

“Oh.” Crista bit her lip. “I wish they had not. Whatever must you think of me?”

“I am very glad they did. I knew something was amiss. We mothers have a happy knack of knowing when our children are up to something, as you yourself will discover one day. Anyway, one of our responsibilities as the leading family in this district is to keep the residents of Compton and Shawford from killing one another. If those rogues had been allowed to get away with what they forced you and your poor uncle to do, then there’s no telling what that would have done for local relations.”

“I am not dishonest, your grace, and I hated what I and what my father had been forced to do.”

“Because of your mother’s ambitions?”

“Yes.” Shame forced Crista to look away from the duchess’s sympathetic smile. “Because of that.”

“Then I am very sorry for you, my dear, and have great admiration for your courage. You have more than redeemed yourself, as well as helping Lord Romsey to arrest the culprits behind an audacious criminal activity against the state.”

“Have the ringleaders been caught?”

“The duke sent an express to London telling Romsey to arrest them there. It would not be safe to allow them back to Shawford, given the circumstances.”

Crista sighed with relief. “Then it really is all over. I am free to do whatever I like with my life from now on.”

“It would seem so.” The duchess stood up. “But I should let you rest.”

“No, if you please, I would like to get up.”

“In that case, I shall send a maid to help you.”

“Oh, but I have nothing to wear.”

The duchess smiled. “That, my dear, is a situation easily remedied.”

A short time later, several footmen came into the adjoining sitting room−Crista could hardly believe this sumptuous bedroom had its own sitting room−and set up a bath in front of a roaring fire. When it was filled with steaming water, and the footmen had withdrawn, a young maid helped Crista into it.

“Please to keep your wrists clear of the water, miss,” she said, soaping Crista’s back, then pouring water over her hair and washing it.

Crista closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the maid’s efficient hands. Feeling the tension drain out of her, she slowly came back to life.

“Oh, miss, your poor arm.”

The maid’s voice snapped Crista out of her reverie. She glanced at her upper arm and saw colourful bruises forming. Far from disheartening her, they reminded her of her narrow escape, of how she
had
escaped without anyone’s help, relying on her wits and determination not to be vilified by Reece. She had survived his attack, and that made her strong enough to survive whatever life threw at her in the future.

“Goodness, to whom does this belong?” Crista asked when the maid held up a beautiful pale lilac muslin gown.

“Lady Annalise thought it might fit you, what with the two of you being a similar height.”

“How thoughtful of her. It is truly lovely.”

“That it is, miss. All of their ladyship’s clothes are of the finest quality.”

The maid helped her into the gown and then dressed her hair. When she declared herself satisfied, Crista glanced at her reflection and hardly knew herself. Her complexion was pale, but her eyes were bright, a hint of defiance in them concealing worries about her uncertain future. The cut on her lip where Reece had backhanded her barely showed. Crista would enjoy her afternoon, pretending to be a lady. She had probably earned the right.

And then, tomorrow, she would think about the future.

***

“You really should not be out of bed, sir.” Amos stood when Chesney was shown into the room, looking pale yet resolute; a large dressing covering the wound on his forehead. “The doctor recommended bed rest.”

“Nonsense, my lord. It will take more than a tap on the head to disable me.”

“Well said.” Zach nodded to Chesney. “I am glad to see you are none the worse for wear.”

“Thank you again for your assistance, Lady St. John,” he said politely.

“It was entirely my pleasure.”

“How is my niece?”

“Sleeping, apparently,” Amos flashed a rueful smile. “I would like to take credit for rescuing her, but she dealt with Reece without any help from us.”

Chesney roared with laughter when Amos told him the particulars. “She always was a spirited little chit,” he said, pride glowing from sapient eyes.

“When he was carted off to gaol last night, Reece was still clutching his…pardon, me, Lady St. John, his private parts where your niece deposited her knee to great effect,” Zach said.

“She should have used more force,” Amos muttered, scowling.

A commotion in the doorway caused all heads to turn in that direction. Amos’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Crista standing on the threshold. She was beautifully dressed, but looked pale and unsure of her reception. Then she caught sight of her uncle, her face lit up, and she ran to him.

“I am so glad you are all right,” she said as he took both of her hands in his.

“I was about to say the same thing of you.”

“I am relieved it is all over,” she said. “I will never forgive myself for what I did to you.”

“You did nothing, child. Besides, you know very well I never do anything unless I wish to.”

“You really would have let Reece kill you rather than admit to how we swapped the stone?” Crista shook her head. “It is only a diamond, Uncle, and not worth dying for.”

Chesney shrugged. “If he knew we no longer had it, he would have no use for us. All the time there was a possibility that we did, I thought we would be safe. I just did not allow for his…for his lustful intentions.”

“Come and sit down, Miss Brooke.” Amos took her arm and steered her to the nearest chair.

“Have the ringleaders been arrested?” she asked the duke.

“Yes, I sent word to Romsey in town, explained the situation, and they moved in. The culprit was a trusted undersecretary in the Foreign Office whom no one had suspected, so the government is greatly indebted to you, Miss Brooke.”