Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (27 page)

“But, sir, I have done nothing wrong.”

“Get out! Get back to the Crown, and I will see you in a few days.”

That had been several hours ago. Now Reece was sitting in the taproom at the Crown, nursing his grievances and a tankard of ale. Whichever way he came at the problem, things did not look good for Reece, and it was time to consider his own skin. What concerned him most was Mayfield’s obvious anxiety about facing his masters in London. The man was always composed, always so sure of himself. If he was scared, Reece had good reason to be even more so because the ultimate blame would be placed squarely on his shoulders.

He took a sip of his ale, not as enthusiastic about the local brew as was usually the case. Besides, it had a bitter taste to it tonight. It wasn’t the best barrel, but Reece was too preoccupied to complain. The handsome payday he had been anticipating would not now happen, that much was abundantly clear, and it was all the Brooke girl’s fault. What a fool he had been to accept her explanation at face value and not more closely examine the possibility of their having switched the diamond. In actual fact, he hadn’t understood one word in ten about the means of telling a fake stone from the genuine article. Miss Brooke had a happy knack for making him feel stupid at the best of times, and so he hadn’t asked for a clearer explanation, or paused to properly consider the alternatives.

Damn it, he was a fool! She and her uncle had worked in tandem to deliberately confuse him. Now he was thinking more rationally, that much was obvious. The little slut could easily have slipped the real stone inside her clothing. Reece bashed his tankard against the table, causing several people to glance in his direction. He glowered at them, discouraging them from approaching him. Not that many people tried to engage him in conversation. He had nothing to say to them, did not desire company and the local populace had long since given up on attempting to befriend him.

It was as clear as day to him now, and he called himself all sorts of a fool for not being more suspicious. They had bamboozled him with talk about how to tell a real diamond from a fake, taken him by surprise, and made it hard for him to think straight. But he was thinking straight enough now. The girl and her uncle had somehow contrived this business, probably with the help of her fancy lover.

Jealousy and rage gripped Reece in a vicious hold. He had assumed she would not confide in Lord Amos, but if she had done so, then the game was definitely up. He needed to leave Shawford, and he needed to do so tonight so he could get well away from the district before Mayfield returned. But he was damned if he would leave without revenging himself against the Brooke girl. He would help himself to a few baubles from that workshop of her uncle’s, to compensate for his lost payday, and would help himself to a few other things from Miss Brooke while he was about it. If she was so free with her favours with Sheridan, she could damned well show him the same consideration.

Leaving his ale unfinished, Reece pushed himself to his feet, shoving bodies out of his way so he could reach the stairs. He felt a bit light-headed, and once he reached his room he was obliged to lean against the wall until his head stopped spinning. When he felt a little better, he threw his few possessions into a valise, still wondering why he felt so woozy. He had consumed less than half his usual quota of ale, and it didn’t normally affect him very much at all. Putting his reaction down to the strain of his circumstances, Reece slipped down the servants’ stairway and out the back door. No point in wasting blunt by settling his account, since he had no intention of ever returning to this rat-infested hovel. He patted his pocket, double checking he had everything he would require close at hand, waited until the coast was clear and then let himself out of the back door that led directly to the mews.

There was a livery stable across the street, and Reece made his way to it. He hired a saddle horse, arranged to leave it at the first posting inn on the Winchester Road, and mounted up. Anyone asking questions about him would assume that was where he had gone. Not that he anticipated being missed, but it paid to be cautious. Indeed, he had every intention of riding to that inn and catching the next public coach to London, but he had unfinished business to attend to in Shawford first.

He rode to the end of the village and left the horse in Mayfield’s stable. As expected, it was empty, Mayfield having taken his carriage and horses to London, and no permanent grooms lived on the premises. The cool evening air helped to clear his befuddled head, and by the time he had walked back to the village, he felt a great deal better. More importantly, he was in control of his anger, ready to make it work in his favour.

He came to a halt at the rear of Chesney’s shop without encountering another living soul. They had closed for business for the day, but Reece could see lights coming from the apartment above. The door leading directly to the living quarters was locked, but that was no impediment to a man of Reece’s skill. It took him less than a minute to fix a long implement into the lock, carefully turn the tumblers from the outside, and slip into the entrance vestibule. The hinges squeaked as he opened the door, sounding unnaturally loud. Cursing, Reece concealed himself in the shadows, clutching the cosh he had brought with him tightly in case anyone came to see what the noise was about.

After several minutes, no one had come down the stairs, and Reece considered it safe to make his next move. He could hear voices coming from above. Damnation, he had forgotten Chesney employed a maid of all work, and she would still be on duty at this hour. Well, there was no help for that. In his uncompromising mood, Reece could handle an old man and two helpless women, especially since he didn’t especially mind if they lived or died. He took the stairs cautiously, expecting at any moment to be challenged—almost hoping he would be, because he needed an outlet for his growing rage.

Luck was with him. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found the maid with her back to him, carrying dishes from the parlour to the scullery. He followed behind her on silent feet, waited for her to put the dishes down, and then grabbed her from behind, clapping a hand over her mouth to prevent her from crying out.

“Make a sound, and you will not live to see another day,” he whispered. “Nod if you understand.”

The girl nodded, her eyes round with fear as her struggles subsided. Satisfied she was too frightened to move a muscle, Reece produced a kerchief from his pocket and tied it securely around her mouth. He found a length of rope, one of several he had placed in another pocket, and tied her hands behind her back.

“Good girl.”

He patted her ample rear, opened the door to the pantry, threw her roughly inside, and locked the door on her.

Buoyed by his success, Reece crept towards the parlour and peered around the open door. Chesney was seated in a chair beside the fire, smoking a pipe. Crista was sitting across from him, a book open on her lap. It would be impossible for him to reach either of them without being seen, but that hardly signified. He only needed to subdue the old man, threaten him, and the girl would do whatever he asked of her.

“Good evening,” he said, straightening his shoulders and strolling casually into the room.

“You!” Crista leapt from her chair.

“How the devil did you get in here?” Chesney asked, blinking up at him like an owl from behind his glasses.

“Sit down!” Reece bellowed at Crista. At the same time he grabbed the old man and pulled him from his chair. Chesney was stronger than he appeared and fought back, but Reece was easily able to subdue him. “Move a muscle, Miss Brooke, and it will be the worse for your uncle. Do as I say, and you will both survive.”

Storm clouds gathered behind her eyes. She was clearly about to launch an attack of her own, but thought better of it and backed off.

“What do you want?” she asked instead, her voice insolent, scathing. She ought to be scared, show him some respect. Instead, she looked at him as though he was something she had just scraped from the bottom of her shoe. Well, that situation would change before this night was out. Any thoughts of treating her gently had been eradicated by her attitude, and she only had herself to blame for what she was about to experience. Thoughts of her begging him for mercy fired his lust. “You will never get away with this, you oaf.”

“It seems I already have.” Reece was surprised at how calm, how in control he felt, as he pushed the old man back into his chair and bound his arms firmly to it with more of his rope. “Come along, Miss Brooke,” he said politely. “You and I have matters to attend to.”

She tossed her head and sent him another damning look. “If you think I will go anywhere with you then you really are deluded.”

He raked her body with a hard, merciless gaze. “I don’t think you fully appreciate your situation. Thanks to your deception with the diamonds, I really have nothing to lose. The people I work for do not tolerate failure, you see, but then, given what happened to your father, you already know that.”

“You…” She pointed a finger at him, no longer quite so composed. “You killed him?”

“Unfortunately, that privilege did not fall to my lot. But, just so we are clear, I would have done so without a second’s regret.” He fixed her with an indolent smile. “Now perhaps we understand one another better.”

“You are despicable!”

“I am a survivor and, under the circumstances, I have no intention of remaining here, waiting to be blamed for what you two did. But first, I need to understand how you managed it?”

“Did what?” she replied insolently.

“Come along, my dear, I don’t have all night. I know you swapped the real diamond for a fake, and I would like to know how you did it.”

“We did not,” Chesney replied. He looked pale yet defiant, as though he didn’t believe Reece would actually resort to violence. Reece curled his upper lip, thinking if he didn’t soon talk he would have occasion to know otherwise. Unfortunately, Reece couldn’t afford the luxury of dallying all night with the delectable Miss Brooke. There was no telling how quickly Mayfield and his masters might return, and Reece needed to be well away before they did. He lifted his cosh above the old man’s head, but it had no discernable effect. “You may beat me to death, if you like, but it will change nothing.”

“You may not mind dying, but I think Miss Brooke’s conscience would be troubled if she allowed that to happen.”

Reece glanced at her as he spoke and noticed her chewing the inside of her lip with indecision. It was then that he knew he was right. They really
had
duped him. In which case, perhaps all was not lost. If they swapped the diamonds, they could return the real one to him and he could, just possibly, regain favour with his masters. She saw uncle and niece exchange a speaking look, after which Chesney shook his head.

“If you have the real stone, it might very well keep you alive,” Reece told them casually. “Without it, you are no use to me or my masters.”

“But we do not have it,” Crista said, spreading her hands.

“Your rich lover engineered all of this.” Reece pointed an accusing finger at Crista. “Sheridan said pretty words to you, pretended to admire you, kissed you a time or two, and you did everything he asked of you,” Reece snarled. “Just as you will for me before the night is out. It no longer matters how you swapped the diamond. It was simply a matter of idle curiosity, because I have decided not to wait for my masters to return.”

“Then don’t let us keep you,” Crista replied with an arrogant toss of her head.

“Nor do I intend to leave empty-handed. I must be compensated for the income I have lost, thanks to you two.” He beckoned to Crista. “Come along, Miss Brooke, you and I have an engagement to keep in private.”

“Never!” she spat at him.

“Oh, I think you will do as you’re told.” He slapped his cosh against his palm and sent a significant look her uncle’s way. “As I keep trying to tell you, I have absolutely nothing to lose now, and desperate men are always unpredictable. You and I are going to go down to the shop, and I shall help myself to a few trinkets.”

“Fine,” Chesney said. “Take whatever you want. Just leave Crista alone.”

“I am terribly sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I have a score to settle with your meddlesome niece.”

He reached out to grab her arm. She responded by bringing a poker down across his hand with considerable force. Reece howled, swore voraciously, and let her go. How the devil had she picked up the poker without him noticing? First a seamless swap of diamonds, and now this. The wretched girl had broken his hand, or so it felt. No matter. He ignored the pain, determined to control her before she inflicted further damage on him, and to make her pay an even higher price for her rebelliousness. She raised the poker a second time, a murderous look in her eye.

“Drop it!”

He raised the cosh over her uncle’s head, gave him a tap with it, and she immediately let the poker go. It clattered against the marble hearth and rolled to a halt. Her eyes shot daggers at him, her breath coming in short, angry spurts. But when blood gushed from her uncle’s temple she gasped and tried to run to him.

“Now see what you have made me do,” Reece said, smiling as he admired his handiwork.

“Are you all right, Uncle?” Crista asked anxiously.

“Yes, my dear. I have a very hard head. It’s nothing but a scratch.” Blood trickled into one of his eyes and he blinked it away. “Just have a care for yourself.”

Reece picked up a cloak that was draped across a chair and threw it at Crista. “Put that on.”

She took her time, throwing him looks of intense dislike, but eventually did as he asked.

“Now come over here. Hold your hands out in front of you where I can see them.”

She hesitated, but eventually complied. As soon as she was close, Reece bound her hands tighter than was strictly necessary, just to teach her a lesson. He was clumsy because the fingers of one hand were swollen where she had struck them with the poker, but finally he got it done to his satisfaction.

“Now, downstairs we go. If you are a good girl and are nice to me, then you will see your uncle again. If you are not…well, I shall have no use for either of you.”