Dair Devil (28 page)

William Watkins glanced at the two mute footmen, whose chins remained up and their eyes staring straight ahead, and said gently, “We are in accord there. But he has the devil’s own luck, and there is little we can do to counter that.”
Except have him poisoned, or stabbed to death in a bordello while he’s sleeping off a night of drunken debauchery,
his inner claret-fueled voice told him.
But you’re petrified you’d get caught. And you would, too. Even in death the luck would be with Shrewsbury’s fatwitted favorite, Major Lord Fitzstuart.

Mr. Watkins recalled the covert missions Lord Shrewsbury had entrusted to Major Lord Fitzstuart, and how he had survived each and every one, despite the danger and risk to life and limb. No wound to his athletic limbs, and the odd nick and scar to cheek and chin had only added to his Grecian good looks. He was convinced Fitzstuart had sold his soul to the black arts, and one day the Devil would come to claim it.

“I have given the dilemma of the Major’s undue influence over your husband much thought and have arrived at a suitable solution which, I believe, you will approve of most heartily.” William Watkins could not help smiling smugly. “Whatever the effect of Fitzstuart and his ilk on Grasby, it is countered by Miss Talbot’s sensible and loving counsel. With careful nurturing, and the added influence of myself, in the more intimate capacity of husband to Miss Talbot, would wean Grasby off his friend’s influence.”

“
Aurora
? Aurora married to you…” Lady Grasby blinked her surprise. The idea had never occurred to her. But now the suggestion had been voiced, it made perfect sense. “William! Oh! Yes!
Yes
! It would make me so happy to have Aurora as my true sister! And Grasby does listen to her more than any other; more than he does me! And with you married to her—Oh please tell me you are serious. That this is not a whim. With your wealth and important position within the government, you could have married any woman of face and fortune. But to choose Aurora… I think I am about to cry with happiness.”

He put up his hand in a gesture of self-effacement, though his grin was indication enough he was pleased with her effusive response, and beckoned a footman to set the crystal decanter at his elbow. It was such a hot day…

“My dear, your support pleases me greatly. I admit the prospect of approaching Miss Talbot, of seeking the consent of Lord Shrewsbury, makes me exceedingly nervous. Hence, I fear, I am full to the gills with claret. I know I am nothing above the ordinary. As my sister you have a duty to think so, but—”

“Oh, hush! That you are prepared to marry Aurora can only make Lord Shrewsbury eternally grateful. We all privately believed she would never receive an offer, even Lord Shrewsbury. As for Grasby’s romantic notions, that one day a gentleman would come along who would love Aurora for herself, that is a great piece of fanciful nonsense. She has a pretty countenance and an excellent pedigree to be sure, but that vanishes from consideration, does it not, the moment she struggles to her feet and uses that wretched stick. But you—” She squeezed her brother’s hand. “—you, dearest William, are such a
noble
man. You have always managed to cloak a natural uneasiness, as have I, with her ungainly ways.”

William Watkins refilled his glass. His sister’s enthusiasm for a match with Aurora Talbot was reassuring, but he was not the paragon she believed him. That she had a pretty face and gentle nature went a long way in his overlooking her physical infirmity and her headstrong character. But he was prepared to put up with a lot—the stares of pity from his peers, her passion for pineapple cultivation and a natural reclusiveness, not to mention her candid observations, all of it, however disagreeable—if it meant that through marriage he would realize his twin ambitions; of marrying into the nobility and being acknowledged the successor to her grandfather as Spymaster General.

“Your assurances warm my heart, Drusilla,” he said with a thin smile. “It had been my intention to ask Miss Talbot this afternoon, and have her acceptance, then approach Lord Shrewsbury this evening. I realize this is an unorthodox method of seeking consent, but without the former I do not wish to pursue the latter.”

Lady Grasby was up off the settee, and flung wide the French windows, a sweeping look about the barge and then out to the dry land, in search of her maid. She must make herself presentable for her husband’s return, and that of his sister, newly-betrothed to her brother.

“What do I care about formers and latters?” she declared. “I just want you to marry Aurora as soon as possible and get my husband away from Fitzstuart! So go. Please go, and say whatever you have to, to get her away from those vulgarians. And on the return journey here, find a moment to rally yourself to ask her to marry you. Now, go, William!”

William Watkins dutifully followed his sister out onto the deck and instantly shut his eyes tight against the sunlight. Squinting, he opened an eye, made her a bow, and lurched towards the jetty. Glad to be off the barge, he was surprised when the feeling of dizziness did not subside, for he had assumed it was the gentle rocking motion of the barge that was making him sway. Now, he wondered if the claret was taking its toll on his tea-only brain. He stumbled onward, up the jetty, and made for the low stone wall. Glad to be on solid ground, and to have something to guide him onwards, he made for the gate he had seen earlier on his tour of the Physic Garden.

He was almost at his destination when he was confronted with the startling sight of Major Lord Fitzstuart carrying Aurora Talbot in his arms. The Major appeared as if from nowhere, out from under the canopy of a birch grove, and came striding across the open ground towards the wall. Thoroughly unprepared for such an eventuality, William Watkins panicked and did the only thing that came to mind. He hunched down, not wanting to be seen, scrambled across the graveled pathway, and flung himself sideways into a hedgerow to hide. But the unexpected vigor needed to ensure safe cover was enough to awaken a digestive system unused to alcoholic stimulation. His stomach was literally drowning in claret. William Watkins fell through bracken and leaves, hit the ground hard, promptly threw up, and passed out.

When he woke, which was a few minutes later, he had a moment of panic that the barge had left without him. But he dismissed this as mere fancy, picked himself up, brushed himself off, and hastily wiped his face and mouth with his handkerchief. Panic returned as he inspected his frock coat for signs of digestive stains and scuff marks. Satisfied he was presentable, he took a peek through the shrubbery. Startled by what he saw, and to convince himself he was not dreaming, he stuck his head over the hedgerow, and openly gawked.

Miss Aurora Talbot, the woman to whom he had pinned his matrimonial hopes and dreams, and the dissolute Major, were kissing! It was not any kiss. It was a fervent kiss. It was the sort of kiss reprobates and well-paid whores engaged in. Even then, degenerates did so under cover of darkness or behind closed doors. It was a scene straight from a Hogarthian etching, and it left William Watkins catatonic with rage and fear in equal parts.

His matrimonial dreams were about to come to naught if he didn’t do something, and immediately, to haul aside a libertine, with more muscle than brain, who was forcing his attentions on his chosen bride. Dear God! Fitzstuart must have plied her with enough alcohol to make her compliant, and too shocked and too fragile, she could not fight him off.

He would stride over there and demand satisfaction. But a fat lot of good that would do. The Major would rightly laugh in his face and decline—they were not social equals. But as the Major was more brute than nobleman, he would not have been at all surprised if his weapon of choice were his bare knuckles rather than the nobleman’s rapier. But he did not want his facial features bloodied, so he sensibly decided to put his own safety above any rash move to extricate Miss Talbot from such a thoroughly compromising and immoral position.

Thus he bided his time in the hedgerow, wondering how best to save a maiden from a fate worse than death, when an opportunity to rescue Miss Talbot, without endangerment to his person, presented itself. The Major, hailed by a yokel, had turned his back on his victim. It was now or never to play the hero for Miss Talbot.

Mr. William Watkins parted the shrubbery and scurried across to rescue his matrimonial quarry. His moment to shine had arrived!

E
IGHTEEN

‘M 
R
. W
ATKINS
! Release my hand and stand up this instant!”

Rory looked about for her walking stick, but it was not against the wall where she had left it. It must have fallen into the grass while she and the Major were preoccupied. With Mr. Watkins determined to keep hold of her hand, gripping the wall with her free hand to remain upright was all she was capable of to stop herself toppling off to join her stick in the grass.

“Miss Talbot—
Aurora
—Please listen—”

“You do not have permission to use my name, sir. Again, I say, stand up! No good will come of this.”

Balancing on the balls of his feet, and calf muscles aching from such an unnatural posture, William Watkins felt the sweat of uncertainty beginning to bead at his temples. Miss Talbot’s reaction was not what he had expected. She was no shaking maiden, no terrified spinster, grateful for his interference, relieved to be rescued from the brutish arms of her seducer. Yet, he convinced himself she was not herself. That fiend had drugged her. It was the alcohol talking. And it was his own alcohol intake that fuelled his natural conceit, urging him to declare himself immediately or lose the opportunity. If he persisted and she was to hear him with a clear mind, she would jump at the chance to be Mrs. William Watkins. And so he persevered with his declaration, however unorthodox the delivery. This, despite the growing loss of sensation in his right leg.

“Miss Talbot, my greatest desire on this earth is to have you as my wi—”

“No! No, do not say it, Mr. Watkins,” Rory demanded. “This is neither the time, and it certainly is not the place, for such a declaration. If you ask me, I shall be truthful, and I have no wish to embarrass you.”

“Miss Talbot, when you are sober, you will see the merit in my proposal and give me the answer I want from—”

“When I am—when I am
sober
?” Rory gasped, affronted. “Mr. Watkins, clearly it is
you
who have been drinking or you would not dare suggest such an improbability! You have insulted me, and if you apologize, let go of my hand, and remove yourself from my presence, then perhaps I will forgive you.”

“Forgive
me
?” His fingers tightened about her slender wrist as he rose up, unaware his right leg had gone to sleep. “Miss Talbot, I stand before you with an honest proposal of marriage. I will not remove myself until I have secured my present and future happiness, and that requires you to say yes, you will be my wife.”

“Your…?
Your
present and future happiness…?”

Rory decided Mr. William Watkins was drunk,
very
drunk, and her anxiousness increased tenfold. Not so much for herself. She did not feel in any personal danger. If need be, she would slap his cheek, certain that would bring him to a sense of his surroundings, if not the impropriety of his behavior. What she feared for was the secretary’s safety, should Major Lord Fitzstuart turn his shoulder from his conversation with Old Bert and catch the scene that presented itself. She was certain the nobleman would react first and deal with the consequences later.

If she had learned anything from her chair, as an enforced observer at functions, it was that gentlemen adhered to two fundamental types, to varying degrees. One was phlegmatic, given to drawling, and sauntering, and, no matter what the occasion, they appeared bored beyond tolerance. They were no doubt well-versed in sword play, but the preferred weapon of choice was the scathing verbal put-down, guaranteed to wither an opponent with maximum impact and minimum physical effort. The second type was not given to verbiage, and was far more tactile in every sense. Conversation in company was loud and uninhibited. Everything was done to excess—drinking, dancing, flirting, and no doubt whoring. Type Two relished every minute in the bright candlelight, and such was their infectious sense of fun that they attracted admirers as a flame did a moth. The Major most definitely belonged to this second group, and as actor and spy he had a knack of exaggerating these traits to his advantage. But there was no exaggeration in his physical size and agility. What made matters worse for Mr. William Watkins was that as well as being a warm-blooded vigorous male, the Major was fearless. He was also a trained killer.

Had Mr. William Watkins been any gentleman accosting her, she would not have hesitated to alert the Major to her situation and allow him to deal with him accordingly. But Mr. Watkins was her grandfather’s trusted secretary. He was also Silla’s brother, and that made him her brother’s brother-in-law, thus he was part of the family. She did not want this episode to come between them and make life uncomfortable. He would also continue to come in contact with her, if not daily, then several times a week. It would be awkward from now on since he had made known his intentions toward her. Having the Major involved would vastly complicate matters, and if she were honest with herself, not knowing his feelings for her, she felt inadequate to the task of answering her grandfather’s questions.

And so she tried one last time to reason with Mr. William Watkins.

“Mr. Watkins, please, I beg of you, release me and stand up.” Adding with a bright smile she hoped looked genuine, “If you do as I ask I will listen to what you have to say, but not today. Tomorrow. When you have had time to reflect upon your intentions. Agreed?”

“Miss Talbot, tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that one, will not change my determination. I must and will marry you.”

She did not doubt he was sincere, and for the barest of moments curiosity got the better of her. She put aside her anxiety, stopped struggling to tug her hand free, and allowed herself to engage with him.