More Than a Stranger: A Sealed With a Kiss Novel (36 page)

“I’m sorry, Henry, but I no longer have any secrets from Richard. And Richard, I wish I had more time to explain, but Renault will be here soon, and I have no doubt he will happily execute me where I stand if we don’t come up with a plan. While I appreciate your presence here more than you can imagine, you must leave quickly if you are to be gone before he arrives.”

Richard raised an eyebrow. “After waking at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, riding halfway to London at speeds that I really don’t recommend, and only just reuniting with your illustrious self, you can’t possibly think I am going to turn tail and run
now
,
for God’s sake.” He strode past them into the lodge. “Offer me a drink, and let’s get down to business.”

Despite everything, Benedict cracked a smile. He’d be indebted to his friend for the rest of his life. Still, he couldn’t just let the man walk blindly into the face of danger. “Richard, these men are not your average rum bibbers. They have killed men for far less than the things I have done to them. They will not hesitate to slit your throat.”

“Even better—I won’t have to worry about my pesky conscience when things get uncivilized.” Richard’s words were glib, but the determination in his eyes was unmistakable.

Benedict nodded once and knew his gratitude showed in his gaze. “Well then, let’s adjourn to the study. Hopefully inspiration will strike and we’ll actually come up with a viable plan.” He headed down the corridor without waiting for the other men’s agreement. The whole way, his mind was spinning, furiously trying to come up with a strategy. Renault was coming here to collect him. The Frenchman would have two to four men, armed and fully capable of combat. Benedict had no intention of killing or even wounding anyone if he could avoid it. He wanted them captured so he could deliver them to the home office himself, if possible.

The three men entered the room and fanned out, Richard and Henry taking the two chairs in front of the desk while Benedict took a seat behind it. The room was cool and silent as he looked both men in the eye.

“I first want to say that my choices in life, and the deceptions thereafter, have led to this moment. Henry, I should have trusted you as my brother, my only sibling, with the truth about my career. Those choices resulted in a rather evil man showing up on your doorstep and pulling both you and the entire Dennington estate into the whole debacle. Your choices in the matter aside, it was ultimately his desire to retaliate against me that brought us to this moment.”

At Henry’s solemn nod, Benedict turned his attention to Richard. His friend had been part of his life for so many years; almost every school memory involved him. “Richard.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “Richard, I cannot express my sorrow for bringing this fight to your doorstep. I shall never forgive myself for Evie’s pain. And there is simply no way for me to express my gratitude for your presence here. Your support, both physically and emotionally, is—well, just let me say thank you. From the absolute soul of my person, thank you.”

He took a deep breath and moved on to the business at hand. “Now, I have dealt with Renault in the past. He is ruthless and dangerous, and we must be very careful how we handle him.” Benedict turned to face Richard.

“Henry has sent for Renault, and he will be expecting to see me under Henry’s control. Henry originally was holding me in the cellar, located a few paces down the hill behind the lodge. Here is what I have in mind.” Benedict filled them in on the plan forming in his head. If they were exceedingly lucky, no one would be hurt and, by nightfall, they would have the Frenchmen en route to London. All they could do at this point was stick to the plan and pray that everything worked out.

* * *

Three hours later, everyone was in place when the thunder of horses’ hooves announced Renault’s arrival. Richard, who would be acting as one of Dennington’s servants alongside Nigel, eyed Benedict’s brother from his station by the front door.

It really was a pity this was deadly real and not an encounter at Gentleman Jackson’s. After the chaos Dennington had put his family through, however unintentionally, Richard would dearly love the opportunity to thrash the man. But this
was
real, and they were allies with their common enemy fast approaching.

Dennington wiped a shaky hand across his forehead, smearing the sweat that dampened his brow. He looked like a frightened rabbit, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. Damn it, if Dennington didn’t get over his blasted nervousness, he would blow the whole thing. Their plan was thin at best, but they were committed now, and Richard, for one, was going to do everything in his power to see it through.

“Deep breath, man,” Richard said in a low voice. “Trust the plan.”

Dennington looked up and met Richard’s eyes. He drew in a sharp breath and nodded jerkily.

Richard suppressed the urge to give the man a quick throttle. Nothing serious—just enough to loosen him up a bit. “Dennington, trust your brother. He knows what he’s doing.”

A wry smile cracked Dennington’s stiff facade. “I suppose it’s about time I started trusting him. If I’d done so in the first place, none of this would be happening.”

“Exactly,” Richard said, nodding approvingly. A bit of the fear eased from the earl’s face. Now he merely looked constipated. It was a slight improvement, at least. “And he’s lying in wait in the cellar, ready to strike when the moment is right. Renault and his men won’t stand a chance.”

William was standing guard outside the cellar, keeping up the appearance that Benedict was a prisoner. In order for the plan to work, Renault had to believe all was in order. If he was put on the offensive, things would turn bad in a heartbeat.

Footsteps approached the front door, and Richard took one last, calming breath. This was it. Nigel nodded once to him before pulling the door open before Renault could knock, and he ushered the Frenchman and his three men into the room where Richard and Dennington waited. The man in front was undoubtedly Renault. His great, slightly crooked nose was exactly as Benedict had described. His black hair was slicked back from his face, and his dark gaze settled unerringly on Dennington, ignoring Richard completely.

The tall, stick-thin man behind him looked to be the man Dennington had described as Armand, and the white-haired crony had to be Charles. The third man, whose thick, muscular build and sandy blond hair didn’t match any of Benedict’s or Dennington’s descriptions, hung nearest the doorway.

Without prelude, Renault asked, “He is here?”

Dennington paled visibly under Renault’s scrutiny. “Y-yes,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “He is in the cellar down the hill.”

Richard bit the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes at the earl.
Get it together, Dennington.

“I wish to see him.” Renault’s French accent seemed exceptionally pronounced within the confines of the English hunting lodge.

Dennington nodded and gestured to the doorway. “Of course. We’ve been keeping him in the old cellar behind the house. If you will follow me, I will take you to him.”

Renault’s face contorted at the suggestion. “I have no wish to slosh through the mud to your cellar. Bring him here, if you please. It is much more civilized.”

Dennington’s face betrayed a hint of panic, and Richard ground his teeth to keep from intervening. Already things were veering from their plan—and they had no real contingency plan.

“Is there a problem, Dennington?” The calm in Renault’s gravelly voice was chilling. Was he beginning to suspect things were not as they should be? The weight of the gun tucked in Richard’s waistband was little comfort if the four Frenchmen turned on them now.

“No! Of course not. Nigel,” Dennington barked, and his servant immediately appeared in the doorway. “Please escort my brother from the cellar. Take care that he is . . . properly restrained. Please.”

“Yes, m’lord.” Nigel turned and strode from the room.

Renault nodded to one of his men. “Lawrence, perhaps you would accompany Monsieur Nigel. Another set of hands may prove useful.” The man named Lawrence nodded and trotted out of the room.

As the minutes ticked by, Richard could do nothing but watch the sweat beading on Dennington’s forehead. Each tick of the grandfather clock was like the clapping of hands, and the earl grew more and more agitated with each swing of the pendulum.

Richard willed the earl to stay calm, to sit it out and wait for his brother to adapt to the new plan. His heart dropped when Dennington took a step for the door.

“I will just see what is keeping them.”

“Sit!”

At Renault’s command, Dennington promptly dropped back into the chair like a trained dog.

Renault put a heavy hand on the earl’s shoulder. “We are in no hurry. Please, do not trouble yourself.”

A shuffling noise in the corridor caught Richard’s attention, and he turned in time to see William appear in the doorway, his eyes trained on Dennington. One look at his master, and William sprang forward, lashing out at the nearest of Renault’s men, Charles. Richard barely took a single step before William landed a punch square on the man’s temple.

No!

“Sacré bleu!”
The curse rang over the ensuing chaos as Renault swung around, dropping his hand from Dennington’s shoulder. The earl bolted from his seat, stumbling backward. In front of him, Charles shook his head like a dog and turned on William. Bloody hell, there was no going back now. Richard rushed into the melee, headed for Armand.

“Armand,
en garde
!” Renault shouted, brandishing a pistol that seemed to have materialized out of thin air. Immediately Armand responded, knocking over his chair in his rush to stand and draw his pistol.

Richard came to a dead stop, thrusting his hands in the air. Damn it, he should have drawn his own bloody pistol, but his first instinct had been to fight. William backed up as well, panting as he raised his palms face out. Charles, looking furious when he wiped his cheek and came away with blood, quickly drew his own weapon. Moving so rapidly the motion almost seemed like a blur, he lashed out at William with the butt of the pistol, connecting with the footman’s forehead. Blood flowed down William’s face before he even dropped to his knees.

Dennington uttered a strangled sound, horror plain in his widened eyes as he gaped at his servant’s injuries. Richard started to react, but Armand immediately waved his gun at him.

“Go ahead, monsieur. I will be only too pleased to kill you.”

Richard stilled, grinding his teeth with impotent fury. The smile on the Frenchman’s face showed how happy the man would be to put a bullet in Richard’s chest. William groaned, pressing a hand to his bleeding head.

“Here, allow me help you with that.” Charles’s polite tone, with its melodic French accent, was chilling. When William turned to look at him dazedly, Charles swung at him again, this time nailing him directly in the right temple. Like a felled tree, William pitched forward, hitting the dusty wood floor face-first.

Richard would feel worse for the man if the fool hadn’t started the whole thing. A soft sound drew his attention to the earl, who had gone as white as a sheet. He sat heavily on the sofa, visibly swallowing. When his eyes met Richard’s, Richard could almost hear his thoughts.
First William—who was next?

“What is the meaning of this? Do you dare to try to deceive me, you stupid, stupid man?” Renault spat furiously, his knuckles white as he gripped the pistol.

Dennington raised his hands, his eyes snapping back and forth between the barrels of Renault’s and Charles’s pistols. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out but a moan.

Richard took advantage of the Frenchmen’s attention being on the earl and reached slowly behind his back. The warm metal was digging into his back, taunting him with its nearness.

“Let’s go,” Renault snapped, motioning to the door. “Both of you, outside. Hands up!”

Richard froze at the command as Renault’s black gaze landed on him. If he moved now, Richard had no doubt he’d be joining William on the floor. Angrily, he thrust his hands back into the air and moved toward the foyer and out the front door. As he passed Armand, the Frenchman lifted Richard’s jacket and snatched the pistol from where it was tucked at his back. Richard’s whole body tensed, but Armand just laughed as he thrust the gun into his own waistband and pushed him forward.

Bloody. Bloody. Bloody. Hell.

Once outside, they fanned out and faced one another once more. Dennington swayed on his feet, staring fixedly at the end of Renault’s pistol. As his gaze flicked back and forth between the three enemies, Richard’s mind whirled with possible scenarios of attack. Unfortunately, each avenue led to a dead end, possibly literally.

“On your knees—both of you,” Renault said, fairly spitting the words.

Henry and Richard exchanged glances before doing as they were told. Things were far outside any possibility of this going to plan.

Renault stalked over to Dennington. “Where is your brother?”

“I don’t know,” the earl exclaimed, his voice much higher than usual.

Viciously, Renault slapped his face with the shiny metal barrel of the pistol, sending him flying sideways into the gravel. Blood poured to the ground in a red river, shockingly stark against the white gravel of the drive. Richard’s hands fisted at his side. If he moved now, one of the blasted idiots holding a gun on him would surely pull the trigger.

“Do not lie to me! Where is he?”

Dennington, lying prone in the sharp gravel, remained silent and covered his face with his hands. Richard couldn’t fault the man for his reaction. However angry Renault was, the truth would only make things worse. Blood stained the once-white cuffs of his shirt, and Richard had the sudden image of an injured bull emboldening its bloodthirsty matador.

After a few seconds of silence, Renault lashed out with his foot, clipping the earl soundly in his right kidney. Dennington cried out in pain and curled into a protective ball.

“Where is your brother? You sent for me so that I could collect him, so where is he?”