Edith Layton (11 page)

“Vikings?”

“Well, his hair is fair, and he’s very large, and he’s riding at breakneck speed. He’s a tall blond man on a very big white horse.”

Drum gave a gruff laugh. “A Viking, indeed. He claims descent from them and fought like one when he was in the army. But don’t worry, he doesn’t need to fight anymore, he can charm any treasures he wants from his victims. It’s Eric Ford,” he said with exasperated humor. “Lady Dalton’s brother. Yes, she’s dark as a gypsy and he’s fair as the sun, but they’re half-siblings and wholly devoted to each other. She did say he’d be coming. I didn’t know it would be so soon. I’m sorry, you must have had your fill of my friends today.”

She absently touched a hand to her hair as she stared down at their new guest. “Uh, no,” she said inattentively, “no trouble at all. I’ll just go down and send him up.”

Drum watched with a faint frown as she hurried from the room to welcome the tall blond stranger to her house.

“Miss Gascoyne,” Eric Ford said, his big hand swallowing hers after she greeted him at the door and introduced herself. “I’ve missed my sister, haven’t I? Yet I can’t be sorry about anything now that I’ve met you.”

Alexandria looked up at him—and up. She knew Drum was tall, though she’d never seen him standing upright. But this fellow was huge. He wasn’t fat, but rather large in every dimension, and wide of bone and breadth. He was casually but correctly dressed in a snug jacket that showed a remarkable expanse of masculine shoulders, his long muscular legs were encased in tan breeches and shining half boots. Thick, honey-blond hair framed a classically handsome tanned face, and there was a warm look in his hazel eyes as he smiled down at her.

He positively took Alexandria’s breath away, and so she immediately discounted every compliment he paid her. Men such as he didn’t need to flirt with females such as she, she reasoned, so it must be his common way of communicating with women.

But the seriousness of his visit must have occurred to him, because his smile vanished and he immediately asked about Drum. “Is the earl all right? He’s still here, isn’t he?”

“He’s fine. He had a rough fall, but he’s mending. Please go right up, his room’s at the top of the stairs. Have you come far? Are you hungry?” she asked belatedly, realizing it must take a lot to fill up such a big fellow.

“I’m always hungry,” he said with a laugh, “but don’t trouble yourself, I’ll do.”

“No trouble,” she said, flushing, realizing he still hadn’t released her hand. When she looked down, he saw the direction of her glance and let her hand go. She quickly took it back. “Go on up, I’ll get refreshments,” she told him. “Some chicken, perhaps? Or ham? Or a few slices of meat pie? Would you prefer ale, tea, or wine?”

“Yes, thank you,” he said, grinning at her, before he went up the stair.

“Well, trust you to come out of disaster so sweetly,” Eric said as he strolled into the room. “Fell into a pot of honey, did you? Faith, she is a little honey, isn’t she? Gads! Your leg, is it?” he asked, circling Drum’s chair, eyeing the splinted leg that was propped on a stool with the professional interest of an ex-soldier. “You’ve got a good excuse to stay here forever then.”

“She’s respectable,” Drum said curtly, snapping his dressing gown over his leg like a spinster covering a hint of ankle, “and everyone’s little to you. It’s my leg and my head, and I’m lucky it wasn’t more. It could easily have been. Someone shot at me, Eric,” he said soberly. “They tell me it must have been some lad taking potshots at anything that moved. I’ve seen too much in my life to be entirely comfortable with that. I don’t know. That’s the point. I want to know, but I’m fastened here as though bolted to the floor.” He pounded the arm of his chair in frustration.

Eric raised one tawny brow.

“My horse fell on me. Don’t look so perturbed, he’s fine,” Drum added with a thin smile. “He broke my leg
in two places, so it’s taking an eternity to mend. My head’s better, though the doctor acts as though it will fall off if I nod too hard. I’m glad you came, I need someone to cover the ground for me and look for a hint of what happened and who did it. You’re an old trooper, with a nose as well as an eye. Speaking of which, leave her alone. Unless you’re serious, and you never are.”

“But I’m getting older,” Eric said, propping one wide shoulder against the wall by the window. “Seriousness comes on a fellow like gray hair, nothing one morning—a full crop the next. I’ll stay out of your way if you want, though.”

Drum’s face grew still, then his expression grew haughty. “My interest is that of a grateful patient. I just wanted to let you know she’s a country girl and not up to snuff, and you’re a consummate flirt. But do as you wish, you always do anyway. Still, I’d rather you did my work than court my hostess right now.”

“Oh, I can do both,” Eric said with a broad smile. “And I’m happy to. I’ve been at loose ends lately. Maybe it
is
time I settled down and raised a litter of my own. But until then I’ll play Bow Street Runner for you. Have you anyone in mind? Anyone with a reason to put paid to your existence?”

“No more than most men.” Drum shrugged.

“But you’ve got more money and power than most men,” Eric argued. “Come, you must have thought of some possibilities. Even a saint can put someone’s nose out of joint.”

“
Especially
a saint, I’d think,” Drum said with a laugh. “How do you think they got to be saints? Putting noses out of joint is a requirement for martyr
dom. I don’t aspire to sainthood, though, so I think we can put that to rest.”

“Right, so who’s harboring a grudge against you? Who has reason to? Someone who owes you so much they’d like to see the debt canceled—immediately? Anyone with a wandering wife he thinks wandered into your bed? Or a daughter he thinks you jilted? It might be someone beneath your notice too. Think back, have you dismissed any servants recently? There might be a disgruntled one brooding about some supposed injustice.”

Drum gave a huff of a laugh. “Lovely to know what you think of me! No. I’m no one’s banker and I don’t go in for wild wagers. I don’t entertain other men’s wives because I believe in the old adage: Do unto others. I make it a point never to warm a married man’s bed. I pay for all my pleasures and I don’t play with innocents.”

He thought of one particular innocent he was tempted to play with and went on quickly. “
And
, strange as it seems, I notice my servants. I pick them carefully and pension them off handsomely when they retire from my service. No. I think my attacker, if there was one, had to be someone who knew me from my days working against Napoleon. All my moral rules were suspended then. You know how it is, Eric; it’s the same for a soldier as a spy. You do what you have to when you must. I made some richly deserved enemies. If it’s one of them, he’s also well trained. That’s why I sent for you. You could do me much more good than Bow Street.”

“I hope I can,” Eric said. “At least, I’ll try. Where do I stay? There’s hardly room for me to stand in here.
This is a charming example of early English architecture, but I’ll get a permanent crick in my neck if I don’t fold double, though I’d be able to see your Miss Gascoyne better than way. So,” he said, noting with interest Drum’s sour expression at the mention of flirting with his hostess, “shall I pitch camp in the open, like I did in the old days?”

“No need,” Drum said, “There’s the barn. You don’t have to sleep with the livestock, there are comfortable rooms in the loft.”

“The barn?” Eric asked. “The one I couldn’t help seeing as I rode up? The one with the strange new excrescence protruding from its side, fresh sawdust still seeping from it? Your handiwork, I heard in what passes for a town around here.”

“Mine,” Drum admitted glumly. “Well, I had to build it if only to provide conversation in this part of the world, didn’t I? The truth is I needed constant care at first and I couldn’t run Ally—Miss Gascoyne—off her feet, or let my men sleep in the damp. It just didn’t turn out looking the way I thought it would. Yes, I’d like you to stay on. You’ll be comfortable there.”

“Hannibal’s army would be,” Eric commented, looking out the window. “Complete with elephants. Oh,” he said, turning as Alexandria entered the room carrying a laden tray, “you shouldn’t have brought that up, I’d be only too happy to come down.”

She smiled. “But I thought you’d prefer keeping the earl company.”

“So he would,” Drum said abruptly. “I’ve things to talk over with him too. Thank you,” he added belatedly.

“You’re welcome,” she said, shooting him a puzzled
look. He wasn’t usually so curt. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Would you like something too?”

“No thank you,” Drum said.

“Then if you need anything, just let me know,” Alexandria said, and turned. She spun right around again as she heard a great clatter and commotion in the yard. She and Eric went to the window and looked out. They covered it so completely Drum couldn’t see a thing even when he levered himself up and craned his neck to try to get a glimpse of what was causing the hubbub.

“Oh, my,” Alexandria breathed.

“Oh, yes,” Eric said.

“If someone would care to tell me what’s going on?” Drum asked in a pinched voice, seeing nothing but the two heads so close together as they stared out the window.

There was amusement and a note of sympathy in Eric’s voice when he spoke. “Your father seems to have arrived. I thought it was the king at first, until I recognized the crest on the coach. It’s much bigger than George’s. He’s got two other coaches following, and enough men to invade the entire coast. Ready to build another wing on the barn?”

“Oh, lord,” Drum said wearily, sinking back in his chair. “I’m sorry,” he told Alexandria.

“What for?” she asked, her thoughts racing. She wished Mrs. Tooke was back because she didn’t know how she was going to feed such a horde by herself.

Drum fell silent. She didn’t know yet, but she would, and he was even more sorry about that.

A
LEXANDRIA WOULD HAVE KNOWN THE MAN AT
her door was Drum’s father even if she hadn’t been told who he was. He was tall and slender too, and wore that signature great narrow hawk’s nose the way other men might wear a coronet. He carried his silver-haired head high so that he had to look down at all in his path, no matter how tall they were. His face was all crags and angles, the skin stretched tight except for lines at the mouth, as Drum’s would be when he reached middle age. But those lips were thinner than Drum’s, or at least, that mouth was held yardstick straight. And the eyes were as gray as flint. They lacked the startling beauty of his son’s azure gaze, and had none of his humanity, either.

He was immaculately clad in black and white, the only notes of color the glow of the chased silver head on the walking stick he held and the gleam of the gold quizzing glass in his gloved hand. At least he didn’t
raise the glass to look at her, because that would have made Alexandria very angry indeed.

This was a hard, proud man, she thought, a man who considered those things a virtue. She recognized the breed. Mr. Gascoyne, a small, wiry commoner with a face more simian than human, would nonetheless have understood this nobleman perfectly.

“I’ve come to see my son,” he said, slanting his head in a sketch of a bow—or ducking it so he could step under her low lintel. “I heard he was here.”

He didn’t even bother to ask her name, much less introduce himself as he stepped in. Alexandria felt her temper rise. She mightn’t be in the habit of hobnobbing with dukes, but she’d observed the greatest snob in all England, and knew how to treat unruly boys
and
rude gentlemen.

“I am Miss Gascoyne,” she said haughtily, blocking his way, so he couldn’t march in to her house. “Since he couldn’t be moved after his mishap, the earl’s been staying on here with us.”

He checked. One eyebrow rose. “I am Winterton,” he said, inclining his head in what certainly was a bow. “May I come in? And may I see my son, please?”

There was only a shade of uncertainty in his voice when he said the word
son
. But it was enough to tell Alexandria that the man might be moved by more than he let on. She relented. She dipped her head and stepped aside. “Yes, of course, your grace. He’s in the room at the top of the stair. His friend Eric Ford is with him at the moment, but I know he’ll be glad to see you.”

He hesitated. “Is he well?”

She smiled. “He’s doing very well, your grace. He’s broken a leg and injured his head, but all is mending, though not as fast as he’d like.”

“Sounds very like him,” he said. He stepped into the little hall, showing that his walking stick was for effect only, because his stride was sure-footed. A thickset, middle-aged man dressed in black began to follow him.

“I beg your pardon,” Alexandria said huffily, because she hadn’t invited this man in and was beginning to feel her little cottage had swinging doors. “I don’t believe there’s room for more than yourself upstairs, your grace. Eric Ford is a very large man.”

“Major Ford is enormous, I grant,” the duke said with a thin smile. “But there must be room for the doctor, my dear. He’s come all the way from London to examine my son.”

He made it sound as though Drum had been taken care of by a blacksmith until now, Alexandria thought angrily. “Dr. Pace set his leg immediately after the accident,” she said, folding her hands in her apron to keep them from shaking. “If he hadn’t, and done it perfectly, too, your son would be in much worse condition. As it is, the doctor says he’s coming along beautifully. He visits your son every day. In fact, he’s due back any moment now.”

“Good,” the duke said, and went up the stair. “Coming, Doctor?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I’ll wait,” the doctor said. “No sense crowding the patient or alienating his nurse.”

Nurse!
Alexandria thought in outrage. She wished she’d had on her best gown—she wished she had a best
gown to have on. But she calmed herself, realizing a better gown would only have made them think she was a more highly paid nurse.

She sighed and asked the doctor into the kitchen, offering him something to drink, because she supposed she might have been called something much worse. Drum’s guests had done that before, after all.

“Father!” Drum said. He tried to stand.

His father waved a hand. “Don’t be absurd,” he snapped. “Stay seated. If you could walk, why would you be here?” He peeled off a glove and nodded to Eric. “Major, I give you good day, sir. How odd,” he continued as he paced to the window and glanced out. “I heard, when I stopped off the highway to rest the horses, that your cousin and his wife, and their friends the Ryders,
and
your firebrand of a soldier friend Dalton and his wife stopped here to see you today. And here’s the major. But I had not a word of your injury from you, and had to prise it out of your staff.”

“I told no one,” Drum said, sitting back. “They discovered it for themselves.”

“Perhaps because they are such excellent spies. I grant you that. But I am not so good at subterfuge,” the duke said coldly. “Nor did I believe I’d have a reason. I would think my only son and heir would let his father know if he were on the brink of death.”

Drum laughed. “Consider, Father, if I were on the brink of death, how could I tell you? But if I weren’t, why trouble you? I’d thought to write a note when I was recovered. Why vex you unnecessarily?”

“Because you would expect the same from me,” the duke said brusquely, turning to survey his son.

Drum nodded. “A very good point. I’ll remember it in future.”

“One hopes you’ll not have to. Tell me what happened, if you please.”

Drum told the bare details quickly. “Eric will be hot on the scent now, so we may have more answers soon,” he concluded.

“Good,” the duke said. “Now what about this Miss Gascoyne? She’s very young, surely, to be mistress of this house. Where is the rest of her family?”

“Her parents are dead,” Drum said simply. “It’s only Alexandria and her brothers.”

His father’s thin brows went up at the way Drum called his hostess by her first name.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Drum said with a small smile. “We’ve covered all the decencies, with a respectable older female staying on here while I’m in residence.”

The duke frowned. “She lives here by herself otherwise?”

“With her three younger brothers. But I assure you all the proprieties have been observed. In fact, that grotesque wing to the barn was put up by my men so that they could stay on and help with the chore of having me here.”

“Had you known her before your accident?” the duke asked, too mildly.

“What?” Drum laughed. “You never cease to amaze me, Father. At least your estimation of my morals never does. No. I wasn’t on my way to visit her when my accident occurred, either. In fact, I’d never clapped an eye or any other part of my immaculate person on
her until she dragged me bleeding from the road where I’d landed myself. After that? I can promise you she has no designs on my virtue. She saved my life. That’s all. I’ve discovered it’s poor payment to suspect her of any ulterior motives.”

“So you believe that barn you built her is just payment?” his father asked. “No, I’m not omniscient,” he added to Drum’s wary look. “I know you built it, in little more than a week, at that. It’s all they’re speaking of in the blacksmith’s shop I paused at on the way here.”

“If you’d stayed a moment longer you’d have realized that’s all they had to talk about. That shop is almost the sum of the town, the boys say. Ally’s brother’s, I mean.” Drum corrected himself. He smiled at his father’s expression. “Your pardon. It’s what the boys call her and I sometimes slip into that too.”

“So long as that’s the only thing you slip into.”

Drum shook his head. “I’m flattered by your estimation of my abilities. I’ve a cracked head and a shattered leg, I’m staying with an utterly respectable woman in a crowded house where no sneeze can go unremarked, and you think I can slink out and seduce her? Thank you, I’m honored.”

“I was merely wondering if she would slink in to accomplish the same thing,” his father mused.

Drum sat up straight, his expression suddenly severe. “I think if you knew her you’d apologize for that, sir.”

His father returned the look with a calm one. “Would I? Perhaps. Forgive me. My mind runs to matrimonial thoughts concerning you these days. Perhaps I attribute that idiosyncrasy to all others too.”

“Precisely what got me here.” Drum laughed, relaxing. “I was thinking about your lecture on marriage in
stead of watching where I was going, so the accident, or ambush, caught me off guard.”

“Were you?” his father asked with sudden interest. “Any lady in particular, if I may inquire? The lady Annabelle, as I suggested? Or another?”

Eric, forgotten by the window, looked at Drum with sudden interest.

“Lady Annabelle? The toast of London Town?” Drum asked wryly. “How can I forget? You extolled everything from her toes to her eyelashes. The way you concentrate on her makes me wonder if I should be the one to consider her as wife—or you.”

“Were I ten years younger, that question would be neither insulting or ridiculous, whichever you meant it to be.” The duke waved away any protest Drum tried to make. “As it is, the lady is beautiful, accomplished, wealthy, titled, and charming. She’d suit me very well as daughter-in-law, and mother to my grandchildren.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Drum said. “You’re fitter than many men half your age, and richer than most of any age. You’re eminently eligible yourself. Come to think of it, she’d be a very agreeable wife for you, and could certainly produce a better heir than me. She
is
beautiful, clever, and poised. But I know her and not just her reputation—which is also that of being a heartbreaker, by the way. They say she became a jilt and a flirt because her true love was thwarted when her ideal married another. As it happens, it was thwarted twice—by two of my friends. The two who were here today. First she was passed over by Damon Ryder, the idol of her youth, and then by the consolation prize she chose for herself, Rafe Dalton.”

In a gesture eerily like that of his father, Drum put
up one hand to prevent any comment the duke might make. “Please don’t think they were villains. It wasn’t through any fault of theirs. They married elsewhere, where their hearts led them. She isn’t a villainess either, just spoiled and self-involved. But since I know her through her failed campaigns for Dalton and Ryder and because I also interceded for them when I had to, there’s no love lost—or to be gained—between us. The point is that a romance between us would be highly improbable. I see no reason why it wouldn’t be fine for you, though.”

Drum glanced over to Eric to see his reaction to his outrageous jest, and caught Eric’s expression before he could conceal it. Was that a flicker of despair, or quickly throttled anger? Did his friend’s interests lie with the lovely Annabelle? They’d met, after all, they did know each other. Annabelle was anxious to wed now, and probably eager to marry well to show the world that she could. If Eric had his intentions fixed there, a duke would be heavy competition. Drum suddenly realized it wasn’t just a joke. His father
would
be a catch for a woman who wanted a title, an even better catch for one who had been crushed by the disappointments of young love.

“But times change and so do people, there’s no reason I can’t see if things have changed,” Drum added quickly, to squelch any interest in the lady he might have aroused in his father’s mind. “I’ll call on her when I get back on my feet and back in London. Who knows what might happen?”

His father didn’t answer immediately. He stood deep in thought. He cocked his head to one side. “Who knows, indeed?” he answered absently.

Twilight had given way to a soft blue evening by the time Eric finished stowing his belongings in the barn and came out to see how his friend was doing. Vin, Kit, and Rob trailed after him like a string of ducklings, gabbling at him as they did. The Duke of Winterton, standing at Drum’s window, could see the huge fair-haired man and the three flaxen-headed boys in the wash of golden lantern light that spilled down from the barn’s new windows. He watched the merry quartet for something to do, his hands clasped behind his back as the doctor finished his examination of Drum.

“Well, when can he leave?” the duke asked without turning his head.

“In a month, at the earliest, perhaps,” the doctor said as he rose from kneeling beside Drum. “Sorry, my lord,” he told Drum, who was looking white-faced and thin-lipped after the ordeal. “I had to be thorough and that can’t have been pleasant. But I’m satisfied. Whoever put you back together did a neat job of it. I couldn’t have done better. Now you must let your bones knit, and there’s no way even a superior physician like myself can help you with that.”

The duke’s expression didn’t change. “So long?” he mused. “Surely there must be a way we can transport him before then?”

“How?” the doctor asked. “By having him fly? I can’t think of any other way to get him out safely. The roads have ruts and potholes, hidden pitfalls everywhere that can cause even the best coaches to shake and sway. We can’t chance undoing all the good that’s been done. A bone moving from its proper place would be undetected until the earl tried to stand again. No,
here he stays, your grace, unless you want to chance permanent damage.”

Now the duke turned. His expression was glacial. “You smile, sir?” he asked Drum icily, when he saw his reaction. “So happy to remain here then?”

“So unaccustomed to hearing anyone say no to you,” Drum said. “I marvel. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

His father didn’t have a chance to answer because the room was invaded.

“Oh, don’t tell us Drum’s going to have to leave!” Rob begged the doctor as he bounded in, followed by his brothers.

“Rob!” Vic shouted, his face growing ruddy at the look the tall, gray-haired man by the window gave them, his gaze going up and down them as though they’d come in without bothering to put on clothing. “Mind your manners, you haven’t been introduced.”