The Perils of Pleasure (31 page)

Behind him, Marcus gave his head a half-rueful shake and arched a brow:
three
men?
Two
might have been
enough. Ah, but not for Colin. Marcus was conserva
tive, for an Eversea, but he wouldn’t be Colin Eversea if he didn’t take that risk. Or give it a bit of fl are.

It was good to be an Eversea.

And with that thought, in came a rush of confi dence, fresh as oxygen.

Three pairs of resentful, furious, cautious eyes stared back at Colin above spotless red coats. Three soldiers thwarted in their mission, and all breathing hard now in fear or anger; the youngest-looking one, who had doubtless never seen war, had gone so pale the spots on his face were as vivid as his coat.

“
Are
we understood?” Colin snapped.

A hesitation. Then a curt nod from the sergeant, an indication for all of them.

“Lock your weapons, lower them, and put your hands up over your heads,” Colin ordered. “
Now
. Again, any untoward movements will see one of your body parts summarily removed by a musket ball. Nei
ther I nor the lady have any compunction about using our pistols, and if anything, she’s a better shot than I, and
damned
quick. I would hate to prove it, then again I’ve never been adverse to showing off a bit. I won’t need to do either, as long as you do as I say. So do it, gentlemen. Keep your movements slow, broad, and obvious.”

Horace, for his part, had gone mute, and his eyes were nearly the size of billiard balls. Snap observed the proceedings with impartial, doggie eyes, rooted by some instinct to Horace’s side, not inclined either to lick or gum a soldier. And apart from the steady
huhuhuh
of Snap’s panting and all those warbling birds, a taut quiet ensued, distinctly at odds with the bucolic surroundings.

At last, taking their cue from the sergeant, the soldiers did as told. Gingerly, slowly, and with a reluctance so pronounced it nearly rayed out from them, they locked and then lowered their weapons. Their three muskets lay in a row on the ground like fallen comrades.

Then they all straightened and slowly lifted their hands above their heads. It was a peculiar, languid ballet.

“Very good,” Colin approved. “Now, keeping your hands up where I can see them, you will take fi ve large steps backward as I count.”

Bloody hell, but Colin hoped a day came when he would never need to count
anything
off again. Then again, he supposed it was a good thing to be in
charge
of the count.

“I got the idea for the count from you,” he whispered almost cheerily, as an aside to Madeleine.

She stared at him, her mouth quirked up at the edge, and shook her head a little, rather like Marcus had. She was getting used to his perverse impulse toward whimsy when guns were being pointed at them.

And so Colin counted to fi ve. And this time, instead of shuffling past soldiers on his way to be hung by the neck until dead, he watched soldiers taking wide steps
back
from him.

At five, they were halfway between Marcus Eversea’s aimed musket and too far away from their own weap
ons to risk a lunge for them.

“Don’t move a hair,” Colin reminded them politely. “Now, if you would gather up the muskets, Mad?”

Madeleine strode forward, deftly, swiftly, grace-fully—the way she did everything—locked each musket—so she
did
know how to handle a musket— then gathered them up and carried the cord of weapons
back to where she’d been standing, as though Colin, Horace, and Snap constituted a fortress of safety.

He even enjoyed watching her do
that
. He wondered if he would ever tire of watching her do anything at all.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to lie facedown on the ground?” Colin made it sound like a suggestion, but the tone implied no choice was involved. “All of you. Then fold your hands on the backs of your heads where we can see them. And again, do all of this very, very slowly, and make certain we can see your gestures, because I might shoot if I’m startled.”

Colin glanced up then, some impulse, perhaps, for approval from his brother. The line of Marcus’s musket aim never wavered. He was watching Colin with a pe
culiar, indecipherable expression. Pride? Amusement? Uncertainty? Perhaps wondering when he’d next have to pull his brother, metaphorically speaking, out of a raging stream? Perhaps surprised to find how well Colin had managed to pull
himself
out of the stream this time, despite the fact that redcoats had fi nally tracked him down?

How in God’s name had Marcus found him?

And as following orders was what soldiers did best, they followed Colin’s orders. Soon three soldiers had their chins planted in the grass, their boot heels in the air, their hands folded behind their tricorns.

“Now, Sergeant . . . your name, sir?”

“Sergeant Sutton, Mr. Eversea.”

“Sergeant Sutton. You can answer my questions. Why are you here?”

“We were alerted to the fact that you would be here, and we had orders to bring you in.”

Colin sighed. “Oh, Sergeant. I don’t want to hear
any more answers like that. You are not a politician.”

“Yes, Mr. Eversea.”

“All right, then. Alerted when and by
whom
?”

“Yesterday, by a very credible gentleman. He’s a member of the Mercury Club, and he’s employed by—”

“Isaiah Redmond,” Marcus interrupted tersely.

For some reason, it was stunning to hear it said aloud. For a moment Colin couldn’t speak. He stared back at Marcus.

Whose eyes, and silence, spoke worlds.

“That
is
what I was going to say,” the soldier groused from the ground. “And who the devil
are
you back there? Why do you know this, too?”

“I do apologize,” Colin interjected, “but perhaps I should have told you that the fact that you’re weapon
less and on the ground means you haven’t the right to ask questions.”

“I beg your pardon,” Sergeant Sutton said hurriedly.

Colin met his brother’s eyes. “Do you have this man’s name?”

Marcus gave a short nod. “And more.”

Colin paused. Something about Marcus’s response made him believe he should question his brother rather than the soldiers, and that it might be a conversation he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

“Are there any other redcoats on the road, Sergeant? Or were just the three of you sent?”

The sergeant was stubbornly silent.

Colin sighed. “I was a soldier, too, Sergeant. I do know you’re doing your job. But I didn’t kill Roland Tarbell. And I’m not going to allow you or anyone else to take me until I can prove it. You may as well answer my question.”

“Our orders were to take you, Mr. Eversea. But I wasn’t ordered to
believe
in your guilt. I don’t think I ever did believe in your guilt.”

“I appreciate that, Sergeant Sutton, and I’m quite touched, truly. But I still won’t let you up off the ground until you answer my questions.”

“Worth a try,” the sergeant muttered.

“
I
saw no other soldiers, Col,” Marcus volunteered. “I rode in from London, and I followed these three here. I wonder if they’re here because they’re interested in the reward.”

“If that’s the case, I’ll feel less chagrin about what I’m about to do,” Colin said. “Horace . . . have you any rope in the house? I used the rope I had to tie up Mr. Hunt.”

“You did
what
?” This came from Marcus.

“We’ll have a talk,” Colin promised him.

So Horace fetched twine, and Colin and Madeleine bound the wrists of each soldier behind their backs, but not too tightly.

“It’s a bit of a long walk to the inn, but I warrant they’ll untie you there,” Colin told them reassuringly. “It’s that way.” He pointed vaguely down the road.

This next bit was going to be fun. He helped each one to his feet in turn.

“Now turn around, gentlemen.”

They slowly turned around and saw Marcus, who was whistling through his teeth as he locked his musket. He looked up as if just noticing them and gave them a little wave.

The soldiers pivoted their heads wildly about look
ing for other men. Then swiveled to glare at Colin.

The youngest had his mouth dropped.

“There’s a reason, gentlemen, that Everseas have
gotten away with everything over the centuries,” Colin

told them mildly.

The sergeant swore so colorfully that Colin winced.

“There’s a lady present, soldier. But you’ve been very helpful, Sergeant Sutton. When this story is repeated, feel free to make yourself and your men sound as heroic as you wish. People will believe just about anything about me now. And when my innocence is proven, I shall make you into a hero, too. You’ll even be in the broadsheets.”

Sergeant Sutton actually brightened a bit at this.

“You aren’t free to go yet, however. Horace, get your things, and bring the soldiers a drink of water, if you would.”

nm

nd that left Colin and Marcus and Madeleine to have a little conversation in the road, after Marcus brought his horse around from where he’d tethered it toward the back of the house.

A moment of staring passed.

“You look like bloody hell, Col,” Marcus said fi
nally, easily.

Brothers.

“You don’t like my beard?” Colin rubbed at his chin.

“Oh. Is that a beard? I thought you just needed a good scrubbing.”

“That, too. Don’t get any closer. I can scarcely toler
ate the smell of myself.”

More silence.

“It’s awfully good to see you, Col.”

“You, too.”

No hugging would take place. Marcus didn’t typi
cally do things like that. Emotion might spill over into a shoulder punch in a moment, however, or a hearty back slap, if they weren’t careful.

“How the devil did you
fi nd
me?” Colin asked.

“Well, I wasn’t precisely looking for
you
, Colin. But I discovered Horace was here, and I do know that generally all I have do to fi nd
you
is look for the trouble. If I found Horace, I thought I’d bring him back before anyone else could find him or harm him. And hope that somehow word got to you that Horace had been found.”

Marcus told Colin how he’d come to be there: the Mercury Club books, the deductions he’d made, the confrontation with Mr. Bell.

It boggled Colin. “You didn’t encounter doctors, countesses, or body snatchers?”

Marcus frowned at him, but only mildly, because he was used to Colin. “What on earth are you running on about? No, as I said, I looked at the books at the Mer
cury Club, and from there deduced things.”

“Looking at the books” would of course be how
Marcus
deduced things.

“All I can say, Marcus, is that you didn’t have nearly as much fun as we did.”

“It must be exhausting to be you, Colin.” He glanced at Madeleine. And the glance became a curious stare.

“Particularly lately,” Colin agreed fervently, then noticed the direction of his brother’s gaze. “Marcus, I’ve been remiss. This is . . . Mrs. Green.”

Madeleine curtsied, and Marcus bowed, and then he took a very good long look at Madeleine, and his face transformed into an appreciative question mark.

He looked from Madeleine to Colin to Madeleine again, and lifted a brow.

Colin recognized the question inherent in the lifted brow and pointedly left it unanswered.

“Do you think Redmond is behind it, Marcus? That perhaps Baxter was just the person who carried out orders?”