The Officer and the Proper Lady (23 page)

As Julia stared, the man bending over it dropped something into a crucible and a cloud of evil-smelling vapour puffed up. She choked, fanning herself with her hand.

‘My dear Julia!' Hebden strode out of the cloud of smoke, put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a high stool by the part-open window.

‘Let go.' She coughed and batted at him with her hands, but he laughed, stooped and kissed her right on her parted lips.

The shock took what little breath she had left. Pressed against the high back of the stool, Julia fought her instinctive response. She was on the verge of kissing him back, she realized, outraged. His mouth was firm and he tasted spicy. Something in the smoke, she thought hazily, then found the
strength to raise her right knee sharply, even as she jerked her head back.

He dodged with a fencer's agility, laughing at her as he stepped out of range. ‘I thought you had come to say
thank you
for my gift of Byron's verse,' he said, dark eyes soulful. ‘I am wounded.'

‘But not wounded enough,' she snapped. ‘Listen, Mr Hebden or Beshaley or whatever your name is—'

‘I have so many.' He was still smiling. ‘Call me Stephano. If you have not come for my lovemaking, then how may I be of service?'

‘You can listen to the truth for once and stop these attacks on my family and their friends,' she said, ignoring his question. If she took exception to all his outrageous remarks, she would never get through this.

He spread his hands in a gesture inviting her to proceed, hooked a foot through another stool, and pulled it close so that when he sat his knees were within six inches of her own. ‘I listen, beautiful Julia. And then we will go somewhere more…comfortable.'

H
al rode slowly up Whitehall, his uniform uncomfortable after weeks in civilian clothes, the rigid stock chafing under his chin. So, report back in a month and they would tell him their decision. The West Indies, India or an English garrison.

He realized he had no appetite for an English posting. What would it be? Endless drills—or subduing rioting factory workers? That was not why he had joined up. And India or the West Indies were a hell of a long way away. A long way from Julia.

He did not notice the tall grey stone buildings as he passed, or the busy traffic. Max knew where he was going and walked steadily on.

Hal's imagination was full of lush green Buckinghamshire meadows with soft-eyed brood mares nudging their spindly-legged foals into their first steps. And a small child laughing in a woman's arms. Julia's arms.

He could not take her with him as she asked: not to the heat and the disease. She was too precious to risk like that. And too precious to leave behind. But he had to choose. Somehow.

He was still deep in thought as he reached the house in Albemarle Street and dismounted. A shout and the clatter of hooves roused him.

‘Carlow!'

‘Monty?' His old comrade reined in the team of chest nuts pulling his high-perch phaeton. ‘What's up?'

‘Your wife,' Mil den hall said urgently. ‘Is she home?'

‘Of course she's home.' The front door opened. ‘Wellow, where is Mrs Carlow?'

‘She went to visit Lady Mil den hall at about two, Major. She took the small town coach and Richards. She has not yet returned.'

Hal pulled out his watch. ‘And it is just past three. Not so long for a call, Monty.'

‘But she left our house almost at once; she came to ask Midge for Hebden's address.'

‘What?'
Hal felt the blood drain from his face. ‘And Midge gave it to her?'

‘Yes. Apparently your wife told Midge that she had something to tell Hebden that would stop his campaign of vengeance.'

‘Hell and damnation—the man is here, in town?'

‘Yes, Bloomsbury Square.' Monty began to turn his team. ‘North side.' He gave the number as Hal swung back into the saddle. ‘Don't try the main street, there's a brewer's dray over turned at the bottom of Tot ten ham Court Road—chaos. I'll follow, fast as I can.'

Hal set his spurs to Max's sides and the big grey took off at the gallop towards Oxford Street. His sabre bumped his leg as he made the turn into Bond Street, and he checked the saddle holster. Yes, his pistols were there. He was going to need those.

 

Nell took the old, much-folded paper from her pocket and held it up. ‘This is the last letter that William Wardale, Earl
of Leybourne, wrote, minutes before he was hanged. If ever a man is going to tell the truth, surely it is on the verge of death.' The beautiful brown eyes watching her sharpened, lost their mocking, sensual smile. ‘Listen, he swears on his children's souls that he is innocent.' She read that impassioned statement, then watched as the colour leached from under Stephen Hebden's golden skin. His eyes widened.

‘I believe him—so do Hal and Marcus. Wardale was not your father's killer, Stephano, and neither was—' Julia broke off as he swayed, his hands coming up to clutch at his temples. Staring into his wide eyes, she saw the pupils contract to pin pricks. ‘What is it? You are ill, let me call for help.' She began to scramble down from the stool, bumping into his legs as she did so.

‘He swore on his children's souls. He swore as he was about to die?' Stephano seized her by the forearms so she was trapped between his thighs. ‘And now they prosper, they thrive. They are happy, all of them.' He was talking to himself, she realized, not to her.

‘Let me go, Stephano, I do not under stand.'

‘The curse,' he muttered. ‘
The children will pay for the sins of their fathers.
He did not sin.
He
did not.'

‘You are frightening me, and you are not well.' Julia tried to free a hand. ‘Let me get help.'

‘No.' He was on his feet now, pulling her tight against him, her face pressed to his shirt, his own cheek against her hair. He needed someone—something—to hold onto, she realized. She doubted he even realized who he was holding.

Distantly there was a crash, then shouting. ‘Stephano,' she said softly. ‘Stephano!' He winced as though she had struck him. The workshop door banged open. ‘Julia!'

The man holding her jerked round, one hand still circling her arm.

‘Hal!' He was in uniform, she realised. His sabre was in his hand and murder in his eyes. ‘Hal, he has not hurt me. He isn't well.'

‘He'll be dead in a minute, that will cure him,' her husband said, slamming the door. He spun a chair towards him and jammed it under the handle. ‘What has he done to you?'

‘
Nothing.
Hal, I came to tell him about the letter because you could not, that is all. And then he became ill. I was supporting him.'

Hebden pushed her back a little. His eyes were focused again, although the planes of his face were sharp and drawn as though he was in pain. ‘So sweet, your wife's mouth, Carlow, so generous her kisses.'

‘You fool,' she snapped at him. ‘Do you want him to kill you?'

‘He can try.' And suddenly there was a knife in his hand, a slim, wicked, curving blade.

Hal edged forward, his own weapon up,
en garde.
He had pushed his pistol into his uniform sash and his eyes were locked with Stephano's as the men faced each other, the glitter of lethal metal stained red by the light from the glowing brazier. Julia backed away, her skirts swinging, and something fluttered, the brazier flared up, and Stephano lunged.

As the sabre deflected the knife with a scream of steel on steel, she saw what had burned—the letter, her evidence. Gone. The writing stood out clearly on the blackened paper for a moment
On my children's souls…
Then Hal lunged again and the wisp of ash whirled and fell apart.

There was shouting from the kitchen, banging on the door. Distracted, Julia glanced away. When she looked again, Stephano had a sword in one hand, the knife in the other. Whatever had made him so ill before had vanished and he was fighting with a vicious grace.

They seemed evenly matched. Julia thought of Hal's
wounds, barely healed, and prayed as the two men fought up and down the crowded workshop, sending jars crashing, stumbling against packing cases as they went. At the door the thudding got louder. And then another voice, one she did not recognize, was out there, barking orders. Suddenly, it all went quiet and she could hear the duellists' breaths rasping as they sweated, lunged and parried in the centre of the room.

Stephano reached out with his left hand, seized one of the tall stools and swung it. Hal jumped back; it hit the brazier, and the whole thing toppled, spilling burning coals out across the floor at Julia's feet. The kitchen door burst open bringing with it a rush of air. A sheet of flame shot up in front of her and she staggered back, unable to see a way through it.

‘Julia!' Hal came through the flames, sabre in hand, his face smoke-blackened, his teeth bared. Like Lucifer from hell, she thought wildly.
My fallen angel.
He took hold of the bench, heaved it across the fire, picked her up and took her across the make shift bridge to safety.

‘Are you hurt?' he demanded, looking down into her face with fierce intensity.

‘No, no Hal, I…' Her voice broke as she began to cough. The smoke swirled around them.

‘Get your wife away,' the voice she had heard giving orders shouted. ‘I'll help them put out the fire.'

‘Let him burn,' Hal snarled back.

‘He's my brother in law,' the other man retorted.
Milden hall? So that is how Hal found me,
Julia thought, struggling to try and stand. Hal simply tossed her over his shoulder and went through the door, pistol in hand. Julia twisted her head to try and see. The kitchen was full of servants, the Indian grasping a curving knife. As Hal passed, they ran for the workshop where Midge's husband was yelling for water.

‘Are you hurt?' Hal asked again as they emerged onto the street.

‘No. Hal, put me down.' In reply he simply tossed her up in the air and she found herself perched on a saddle, her hands clutching wildly at a long grey mane. ‘Max! Hal,' she pro tested as he swung up behind her, shifting her in his arms until she was sitting across his thighs. ‘You cannot ride back through the street with me like this.'

‘Watch me,' he said. ‘Unless you want me to stop here and shake you until your teeth rattle?'

‘You are angry with me?' she ventured, as Max made his way along Great Russell Street. With her face pressed against Hal's uniform jacket and its painful rows of braid and buttons, she could not see his expression. But she could smell the smoke and sweat on him and feel his heart thudding against her cheek as the rate slowed back to normal. They were both safe. And behind them, with so many helpers, the fire would be out soon. She was not, thank God, responsible for Midge losing her half-brother.

‘Livid,' Hal said tersely, then did not speak again. Julia closed her eyes, clung on and found she really did not care what sight they presented as the big grey charger trotted through the crowded streets, its smoke-stained rider clasping her safe in his arms.

 

‘Max is outside,' Hal said to Wellow as he strode into the hall at Albemarle Street, Julia in his arms. ‘Have a groom take him round to the mews and send hot water up. And Wellow—'

‘Yes, Major?' the butler said calmly.

‘There is no need to tell anyone that we have arrived home somewhat…dishevelled. I do not wish to be disturbed: have dinner sent up.'

‘Certainly, sir.'

‘Oh, and Wellow. Please send to my brother and ask him to come round and take over the night watch with my father.'

‘There is no need, Major. The staff have expressed a desire to assist. Felling and Langham will take the first part of the night, Mrs Hoby and I, the second. His lordship is resting quietly, I foresee no cause to expect alarms in the night.'

‘That is damned decent of you, Wellow.'

‘A privilege, Major. I will organise the hot water now.'

Hal swept upstairs, kicked open the door and dumped Julia unceremoniously in the middle of her bed. ‘Get un dressed.'

‘Why?' she demanded. He was still blazing with anger, his eyes vividly blue as he faced her, his hands clenched.

‘Because when I have washed this soot off I am going to remind you who you are married to.'

‘Like some Turkish sultan dragging an unwilling slave back to the harem?' She scram bled up until she was sitting, the better to glare at him as he started wrenching off his uniform.

‘You are unwilling?' He paused, his fingers stilled on his sword belt.

‘I—'

There were sounds from the dressing room. Hal swore under his breath and went into the room, banging the door behind him. Julia sat where she was, staring rather blankly at the sabre in its scabbard leaning against the dressing table.

Hal remerged, shirt less, his hair wet, scrubbing at his face with a towel. ‘Now. Talk to me.'

‘I went because you cannot,' she said, her hands knotted in the sheet as he stood there watching her. ‘I went to convince him that Wardale was innocent, and he believes it. I want help to find out who tried to kill you. But you arrived before
I could talk to him about that, or your father, and the letter fell into the fire and is gone.

‘He kissed me,' she said, talking doggedly on in the face of Hal's lack of response. ‘He kissed me because he can no more help himself than a cat can stop teasing a mouse it has caught. He did not hurt me and he did not frighten me. I told Richards that if I had not come out in an hour, he was to go and fetch you.'

Hal turned his back and walked to the window. ‘I thought he had taken you. That he would…harm you. And then, I thought the fire…that you…Julia, have you any idea the hell it is, loving someone and knowing they are in danger? Perhaps dead? And feeling so powerless. I love you so much, and I saw his hands on you, saw the fire—' He laughed, a short, harsh sound with no amusement in it.

For a moment, she hardly under stood the words or their meaning. Then, when he stayed with his hands braced against the window frame, head bowed, she climbed off the bed and walked to him, laying her hands, and then her cheek, against his naked back.

‘Yes, I know what it feels like,' she said, schooling her voice so it would not shake. ‘I fell in love with a soldier and I saw him go to war. And then he did not come back and I thought he was dead. So I went to find him, and I watched over him, thinking he would die and that my love would not be enough to save him. Yes, it is hell, and I am sorry I put you through it.'

Under her palms, she felt the muscles tense, and then Hal turned, catching her by the shoulders so he could look down into her face. ‘You love me? I thought…I knew you wanted to marry
someone
and you liked me, perhaps wanted me—a little. But I knew you should not marry a man like me, a man with my past, my reputation. I wanted you to stay innocent,
to find someone worthy of you. I knew I should go and never see you again. And then you were compromised—'

Hal closed his eyes, a man confessing. He was unable, she realized, to believe this would be all right. ‘I felt guilty. I had what I wanted, what I desired, although I did not realize then that I loved you. I have never been in love before,' he added ruefully, opening his eyes to smile at her. ‘The one thing I wanted and should not have and yet I was forced by honour to take it.'

‘I've loved you for so long. I realized at the Review,' Julia said, putting up her hands to frame his face, rubbing with her thumb at a last smudge of soot on one sharp cheek bone. ‘And I love you now, with all my heart. And I like you very much, when you aren't cross with me. And I want you all the time, cross or not. And I cannot imagine what I have ever done to be worthy of a husband like you.'