A Lady of Letters (31 page)

Ludlowe brushed a speck of dust from his embroidered waistcoat and went on. "The nodcock couldn't wait to let me know how such an arbiter of style as yourself had admired my choice of silk. Careless of you, Sheffield. But then again, you have never showed much aptitude for cleverness. Too busy using other parts of your anatomy." He paused once again, this time to refill his glass. "The ladies, no doubt, shall miss you. However, before I speed you to your Eternal rest, I need several answers."

Sheffield's lips curled slightly. "Is that so?"

Ludlowe seemed to miss the note of irony. "Yes. At first I thought your speeches were a mere whim, but now it appears you know all too much about my activities for it to be coincidence. Who else is involved with you? Who was it that discovered the piece of my waistcoat? The damn brat struggled like a hellion, and I didn't dare linger once I'd knocked him unconscious, as several of the nearby farmhands were about to quit for the day."

"Careless of you, Ludlowe."

This time the mockery was unmistakable. The other man's mouth hardened. He stood up and sauntered over to where the Earl was lying. "You are in no position to make glib taunts," he snarled, delivering a vicious kick to Sheffield's ribs. "You are also going to tell me the identity of that other rabblerouser who is stirring up the public's interest. Firebrand—" He fairly spat the word out. "That bastard is even more trouble than you are. But I shall deal with him soon enough."

The Earl gave a curt laugh, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his abdomen. "Firebrand? Why, no one knows who he is."

"The two of you share too many ideas not to have had some contact with each other. My guess is you know very well who the cur is."

He shrugged. "What makes you think I would tell you even if I did?"

Ludlowe reached out and pressed the muzzle of the gun hard up against Sheffield's temple and cocked the trigger.

"Hardly a threat with teeth, seeing as I am to shuffle off this mortal coil regardless of whether I speak or not."

The barrel caught him a blow to the mouth, drawing a trickle of blood. "Oh, there are ways to make you talk, Sheffield, and believe me, I shall enjoy every minute of it. Have you ever seen the thin scalpels the Chinese use to flay the flesh from troublesome peasants? In another hour, you will be begging me to put a bullet in your brain." Ludlowe brandished the weapon in the air. "Now, I'll give you one last chance to tell me what I want to know. If you do, I'll promise to make your death a painless one."

Sheffield appeared to give the offer deep thought for several moments. A resigned sigh followed. "Oh, very well. I suppose it is pointless to fight the inevitable. You seem to have been smarter than all of us." Though the chances of escaping seemed to be slipping away, he sought to keep the man talking. Something might occur that would allow him to make use of what he learned. "There is one thing I should like to know. How do you manage to run such a deucedly clever operation without anyone discovering what you are up to? Where do the children end up?"

Ludlowe circled back to his chair and tossed back the last of his brandy. Unable to resist the chance to gloat in his triumph, he came back to tower over the Earl's prostrate form." Actually it was quite simple...." He went on to explain in great detail how he chose where to strike, how he organized his henchmen and how he effected the transport of the kidnapped children north. "You were getting quite close to the truth," he finished. "The brats go into several mines where none but the smallest bodies can work. It makes, shall we say, for a profitable arrangement for everyone."

"Save for the children," muttered Sheffield under his breath. In a louder voice he added, "Very clever indeed. Let me guess—the mines belong to Herter and Gollert?"

Ludlowe grinned. "Thurgood and Manning."

"Ah."

"And now the name of your informant in the country. And that miscreant Firebrand."

The Earl shrugged. "As I told you, he could be anyone."

The polished boot connected once again with Sheffield's middle, this time drawing an audible grunt. As it drew back to deliver another blow, the distinct click of a pistol being cocked sounded from somewhere near the heavy damask drapes.

"I think that is quite enough, Ludlowe."

Caught off guard, with his own weapon dangling carelessly in one hand, the man staggered back a few steps.

"Goddamn son of a poxed whore!"

"Really, sir! I should think under the circumstances your greeting might be a tad friendlier than that, my lord," said Augusta, her eyes never wavering from Ludlowe's shocked face as she stepped into the circle of light cast by the branch of candles." Drop your weapon," she barked at the man.

He hesitated.

"I am accorded to be a good shot, and in fact I should welcome the slightest excuse to pull the trigger, you miserable cur."

Ludlowe's eyes narrowed, but the weapon dropped to the floor.

Augusta shot a quick glance at the Earl. "Are you all right?"

"I suppose I shall live. What were you waiting for—the knives to come out?" he grumbled.

"I was tempted. Perhaps a little judicious bleeding would prove the cure to your nasty temper," she shot back. "Anyway, you would not have had me interrupt before you had coaxed all the evidence out, would you?" She took a step closer to him. "That was very clever of you, by the way."

"Delighted you approve."

"What the devil is going on here," cried Ludlowe in some confusion.

Augusta smiled sweetly. "The harridan has come around once again to save Sheffield's neck."

"I would have thought of something myself," he groused. "And as for you showing up here! Didn't I make it clear you were not to attempt any more of your impulsive, corkbrained, dangerous stunts—"

"Well, you should be glad I did, seeing as you allowed them to pluck you from the streets as easily as they did." She paused for a fraction. "Careless of you, Sheffield."

"I was in a damned hurry because I was rushing to come after you." He rubbed at the lump on his head and gave another wince.

"How did you know what I was doing?"

There was a slight cough. "Er, we'll discuss that some other time.

Ludlowe had been staring at them in growing disbelief during the short exchange. "My God! This shrew lives at Greenfield Manor. She must be the one who told you, but I can't believe a female would have had the brains to figure it out."

The Earl gave a grim smile. "It is all very well to disparage my intelligence, but you made a grave mistake by underestimating Miss Hadley."

"Not likely." The other man had inched toward his desk.

"Augusta, watch out for—" began the Earl.

With a flick of his wrist Ludlowe sent the branch of candles flying onto Sheffield's lap. As Augusta gasped and took an involuntary step forward, her attention riveted on the sparks and flames threatening to set the earl's breeches on fire, he lunged at her and was able to wrest the pistol from her grasp. "Intelligence?" he snarled, pushing her away from him. "No more than you. Indeed, the two of you gudgeons make quite a matched pair."

Sheffield slowly levered himself up from the floor, having easily put out the flames. "Think on it, Ludlowe," he warned. "My demise you might arrange to look the work of footpads, but two deaths will raise any number of awkward questions. Let Miss Hadley go. She has no proof against you, and who is going to take the word of a sharp-tongued, old female—" Augusta's eyes blazed with indignation. "—over that of a gentleman."

Ludlowe gave a nasty laugh. "On the contrary, Sheffield. There will be nary a troublesome question The two of you have just given me a perfect opportunity to rid myself of your meddlings with no risk to me at all." He paused, savoring his cleverness. "You see, in the course of doing business, I have made certain acquaintances at out-of-the-way inns who, for a price, will be happy to turn a blind eye on anything that might occur in the dead of night—even several shots." He gave a mock sigh. "No doubt it will give the tabbies food for gossip for months when it is learned that the unfortunate Miss Hadley allowed herself to be seduced by the Earl of Sheffield, only to put a bullet in him when she learned he had no intention of continuing on to Gretna Green. No one will be surprised that she then was driven by remorse and shame to take her own life. I have already begun to compose the note—"

Augusta gave an audible gasp and staggered forward several steps. Her hand came up to clutch at her throat. "I... I am feeling very faint."

"Catch her before she keels over," ordered Ludlowe. His lip curled in contempt. "Hysterical harpy. You'll soon feel worse than faint, but for the moment, I need you in one piece."

The Earl reached out and Augusta fell back into his arms, so hard that her dead weight caused a woof of air to come from his lips. For good measure, she flailed her arms and squirmed in a fit of vapors, taking care to rub hard up against Sheffield's middle.

His arms came firmly around her waist, but one hand slowly stole under her clock. "Close your eyes and go limp," he whispered in her ear as his fingers found the hidden weapon. In a louder voice, he addressed the other man. "She's passed out cold. Allow me to lay her on the floor—she's damn heavy."

Ludlowe motioned for him to go ahead.

Sheffield put her down, then slowly rose. While still in a crouch, he whipped up the gun and squeezed off a quick shot. The bullet caught Ludlowe in the arm, sending his own weapon clattering to the floor. Augusta slithered across the carpet in a trice and grabbed it up.

"Meddlesome old bluestocking!" cried Ludlowe, clutching at his bloodied sleeve. "I shall—"

Sheffield's fist slammed into the other man's jaw.

There was a mere wisp of a groan as Ludlowe crumpled to the floor.

Augusta scrambled to her feet, the weapon still cocked and ready. "I was sorely tempted to pull the trigger."

"I know, but it is best this way. We will let the authorities deal with him. He won't escape the noose." He held out his hand. "Give me the pistol, Gus. I shall see to him."

She gave a resigned sigh and handed it over. "I suppose you are right." Her eyes traveled slowly to the unconscious form lying in a heap on the carpet, then to the Earl's glowering face. "I wish I knew how to do that."

Sheffield's features relaxed into a lopsided grin. "Your knowledge is quite extensive enough without knowing how to go a few rounds with Jackson. Besides, I fear I should be the main target and your prowess with lemonade is lethal enough."

A moment of awkward silence followed. He fiddled with the gun, then lay it aside. "Gus—" he began.

"I know. You wish to ring a peal over my head," she said in a rush. "But—"

His hand came up to graze her cheek, causing her words to catch in her throat. "A peal? Yes, I suppose I do," he said softly, though there was some emotion other than anger in his voice. "Don't ever scare me like that again. The thought of you racing neck and leather into such danger had me half mad—"