How to Beguile a Beauty (27 page)

“I said, no. A year ago, a month ago, I would have done just as you said, Tanner. But not now. I'm coming with you. And if I slow you down, I'm sure I can find my way. After all, I just have to keep going downhill, don't I?”

“Lydia, I—oh, all right. We're wasting time.” He reached back, took her hand, and they began their descent, the way not steep but made easier because of
the incline they had to travel on their way up to the hunting blind.

Halfway down, they could see Roswell and two footmen coming across the scythed lawns, and Tanner changed direction, taking an intersecting path that led, not back to the gardens, but more toward the front of the large building.

Lydia, her skirts hiked high in one hand, fought breathlessness as Tanner picked up their pace, feeling almost giddy as he only barely held himself back from an all-out run.

“Roswell, I'm here!” he called out as they neared the bottom of the last small rolling stretch of hillside. “What the bloody blazes is going on?”

“Oh, Your Grace,” Roswell said, holding on to his periwig, his thin cheeks flushed nearly scarlet from his exertion. “It's that man, the one you conked on the noggin the other night. He's…he's here. He's got Miss Harburton. And…and he's shot the baron.”

“Sweet Jesus! Is he—”

“I don't think so, Your Grace, no. They're all in your study, Your Grace. Locked up tight inside. The man…he said to fetch you, so I—”

“Stay here,” Tanner told Lydia, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a single shake, as if to put emphasis to his words. He turned to one of the footmen. “You, go to the stables. Have one of the grooms take my horse and ride for the doctor. Send another one for the Squire. Now! Roswell, where are my pistols?”

“I've got Jeremy loading them up for you, Your
Grace. He said what he knew how. He's…he's waiting on you just inside the Great Hall, Your Grace!” he called after Tanner, who had already begun running toward the front doors.

“Roswell, what happened?” Lydia asked the butler, her eyes following Tanner. “The man was in gaol.”

“Yes, my lady. But, you see, it isn't really much of a gaol, being as how we don't need one much. And Rodney Sykes, who stays there when there's a prisoner? Well, he drinks a bit, and sleeps even more. I can't say more than that, my lady, because I don't know. There…there was a knock on the door and this fool boy here,” the butler threw a quick glance at the young footman who was still standing with them, “he just opened it, and the man came strolling in bold as brass, holding a brace of pistols and demanding Miss Harburton be brought to him at once.”

“Yes, you already said he's got Jasmine. Where does he have her?”

“In the master's study, my lady. She was unfortunate enough as to come down the stairs just then, and he pointed one of the pistols at her and said she needed to come with him. To the study, my lady. The baron was in there, pulling all the books off the shelves even after I asked him kindly not to, and we all heard a shot and Miss Harburton screamed and said he'd killed him and I heard the baron tell her to stop screaming, because he wasn't dead.”

Lydia pressed a hand to her mouth, trying very hard not to scream herself.

“So that's when Jeremy ran to the stables and got His Grace's pistols from his coach and shot them off, hoping His Grace would hear. Jeremy was in the war, my lady, and knows just how to shoot.”

Lydia looked toward the house again, to see that Tanner was gone, already inside. “What will he do? Mr. Flanagan probably thinks we have the Malvern Pride, and we don't. How will Tanner convince him?”

“I'm sure I wouldn't know. My lady, where are you going? His Grace said for you not to—”

But Lydia wasn't to be dissuaded. Not if Tanner was in danger. And Justin, as well. Why, the man might be bleeding to death even as she stood safely outside with a butler and a footman,
observing
life again, and not being a part of it.

When she entered the house one of the kitchen boys greeted her, a nasty-looking cleaver in his hand, and pointed her toward the hallway leading to Tanner's study.

“Lydia, for the love of Heaven,” Tanner said when she turned the last corner, to see him standing just outside the closed doors to his study.

“What does he want?” she asked, deciding not to argue with Tanner, because she wasn't leaving, no matter what. “Surely he knows he can't just leave here again, not without everyone chasing him down. So why did he come back?”

“A good question! Why did I come back?”

Tanner and Lydia both turned their heads to look at the closed double doors.

Brice Flanagan spoke again, his Irish lilt more evident
than ever. “Come in and join us, why don't you. The door is unlocked. We're having us a small party in here. Aren't we, Jasmine, darlin'? Although, now that I'm thinking on the thing, I probably could have planned better.”

“Stay out here,” Tanner ordered. He stood with his back against the wall, and then reached out and opened the door closest to her. “I'm coming in, Flanagan.”

“He always states the unnecessary,” Lydia heard Justin say, his tone light, but not without strain. “Come on in, Tanner. Your uninvited guest is standing behind your desk, your cousin is neatly trussed to one of the chairs in front of that same desk, and I seem to be bleeding all over the other one. One saving grace, though. He's gagged dearest Jasmine. In addition, he's only got the one shot left, and if he had his druthers, I believe he'd rather shoot dear Jasmine than you anyway. Isn't that right, Flanagan?”

Lydia heard whimpering, and assumed Jasmine was trying to speak, or cry, around her gag.

She watched as Tanner disappeared into the room, and then inched as close to the door as she dared, to hear what would happen next.

“Let them go,” Tanner said, and even Lydia rolled her eyes at that statement, as Flanagan laughed.

“Oh, yes, I'm sure he'll do just that,” Justin drawled. “Good to see you, Tanner. Brice here has been entertaining me with the most interesting story. Do you want to tell His Grace, or shall I?”

Flanagan didn't speak, so Lydia could only imagine that he'd nodded to Justin, because the baron began to speak once more.

“'Tis a sad tale, my friend, one born of love gone very wrong, promises not kept, and, in general, things and even people not being what they were thought to be. Could you put down one of those pistols for a moment, and hand over your handkerchief? I seem to have bled all over this one. The wound isn't deep, I don't believe, but it's damnably bloody. Ah, thank you. Now, where was I?”

“Justin, for the love of Heaven…”

“Yes, that's it. For love. It was all for love. And for the Malvern jewels, of course. Even true love can't live on air, can it? Brice, you won't mind if I keep this short, will you? I seem to be feeling a tad…fuzzy.”

Lydia inched closer to the open door, until she was able to push against it, slowly opening it enough that she could see Tanner's back. But she couldn't see anything else.

“Again, where was I? Ah. I suppose I should begin by telling you that your cousin, the late, lamented Thomas, was a party to absolutely nothing save wanting his daughter to marry a duke and then live off his son-in-law's largesse. He did not gamble. He did not pry stones out of the Malvern jewelry from time to time in order to pay his debts. He did, however, discover upon arriving here that his daughter, naughty puss, had taken a lover, thanks to a note delivered to him the moment he alit from his coach.

“Imagine his horror, believing you'd brought Jasmine back to Malvern in order to propose, only to learn that this lover planned to present himself to you
and confess
all
, as they say in the Pennypress novels. Unless, of course, Thomas could purchase the lover's silence by meeting him in the woods with the Malvern jewels. Which he did, an act of desperation that proved to be his last act on this earth. I've come to the conclusion that the sapphires were placed on the man's body to prove he was the thief, one who'd had a falling-out with his partner in crime. Nice to have that settled in my head.”

“So you're a blackmailer as well as a murderer, Flanagan,” Tanner said tightly. “But you have the jewels. Why keep coming back here?”

“Fakes,” Justin said, sighing. “I thought you'd have figured that out by now, my friend. There was not a genuine gem in the entire lot. Isn't that right, Brice? You'd done murder, and for what? Some bits of pretty glass. We wondered why the jewelry wasn't better protected, remember? I imagine the stones were replaced long ago. Oh, except for the Malvern Pride, which, I'm afraid, is still among the missing. Brice is certain that is real.”

“My mother must have known. She rarely wore any of it. Just the Malvern Pride.”

“A stone so large it would be difficult to sell and not have word get out that the Duke of Malvern was pockets-to-let. Everyone must know about the Malvern Pride,” Justin said. “Who would buy such a recognizable stone? How were you going to get around that, Jasmine?”

“Jasmine?”

Lydia had said the name at the same time as Tanner.

“She said she loved me, and fool that I am, I believed her. But all she wanted was those damn stones.”

“No,” Lydia said, stepping into the room. Tanner grabbed her and put her behind him. But she pushed her way further into the room. “I'm fine, Tanner. As Justin said, the man only has one shot left, and I doubt he'd waste it on me. You're wrong, Mr. Flanagan. Jasmine couldn't have wanted the stones. She knew they were fakes. She told me so. Tanner? That's why she always gave them back to you after she wore them. She said they burned against her skin because she knew they weren't real, that her father had been stealing the real stones.”

The look on Brice Flanagan's face was almost amusing. “Then…then why did she have me steal them?”

“A very good question, Mr. Flanagan. Perhaps we should ask her. Although I'll first warn you that she's already spun three very plausible if outrageous stories, and has even juggled bits and pieces of each so that she is at once the loving daughter, the reluctant fiancée, the betrayed innocent tricked into giving up her virginity and, lastly, a woman in fear of her life. I wouldn't be surprised if we're now to hear yet another marvelous tale.”

So saying, Lydia grabbed the cloth gag and pulled it loose.

“He's lying, he's lying! I never asked him to steal anything! He made me give him the key.” Jasmine
twisted about as best she could, to look up at Lydia. “He hit me. You saw it, you saw how he hit me.”

“I saw a mark on your cheek,” Lydia said, thoughts of blue skies and sugared buns suddenly making her doubt even the things she had seen with her own eyes. “You
told
me he'd struck you. I suppose, if you were pushed to it, you could have hit yourself.”

“Hit her? I never laid a hand on her,” Flanagan said. “She could lie her way through the bottom of an iron pot, damn her.”

“Yes, I won't disagree with you there, sir,” Lydia agreed, not uncharitably. And then she considered the only other thing she had believed true. “I saw the note you wrote to her.”

If Flanagan had looked confused before, he now looked totally at sea. “Note? I never wrote her any notes.”

“But you asked her to remember the key. The key to your shared happiness.”

“Who talks like that?” the Irishman asked, grimacing. “Lies, she tells nothing but lies! And I loved her? More fool I, that's what I say. I'm leaving. The bloody hell with the damn stone.”

“I'm afraid I can't allow you to do that, Flanagan,” Tanner said, raising both pistols. “You murdered my cousin.”

“I worried you might remember that. He also shot me, but I think I've already forgiven him,” Justin said, holding the blood-soaked handkerchief to his side. “If I might finish my little story? The man is guilty, there's no
denying that. But, according to him, he only did the dirty deed so that he and Jasmine could be together. If he didn't, her father would demand that she marry you. You're madly in love with Jasmine, you know. Besotted. Our Mr. Flanagan here was equally besotted himself—what did he see in you, Jasmine? I, for one, can't imagine.”

But, for once, Jasmine wasn't saying anything. She was too busy straining against the drapery cords that held her firmly in the chair.

Justin seemed to sway in his chair, and Lydia quickly went to him, taking hold of his shoulders.

“Thank you, my dear. But, as Tanner won't say it, never again cross in between two men holding pistols aimed at each other. Such moves often don't end well. Let me finish, shall we? The plan had been formulated before you took Jasmine to London, Tanner, and set into motion the moment Thomas returned to the estate. The note was delivered, the jewels were carried to the meeting place, Thomas was dispatched—Brice is very sorry for that, by the way—and Jasmine was to then beg to be sent to her aunt in Wales to recover from her bereavement. But, instead of going to Wales, she would flee whatever inn the coach stopped at, board a public coach, and rendezvous with our anxiously awaiting Romeo in Brighton. At which time, true love winning out and all of that, they would fly off to Paris on love's golden wings and begin their long-awaited happily ever after. With the Malvern Pride and all the rest of the jewelry in the collection to keep them warm.”

Tanner, who had been very quiet, finally spoke. “We don't even know where the Pride is, you know. And you killed a man for glass and paste. You really are a sad case, aren't you, Flanagan?”

“I'm fairly well ashamed, yes. But I couldn't live without her. She sprinkled fairy dust all around me, blinding me to her deceitful ways.”

“He's lying! Nothing happened that way!” Jasmine shouted as everyone looked at her. “It was all his idea, not mine. I tried to talk him out of killing Papa, but he wouldn't listen. He never wanted me. He wanted the jewels. He threatened to kill me, too! To hear him, you'd think all I wanted was the Malvern Pride and a way to be shed of this place.”