Wicked Wyckerly (34 page)

38

Abby saw Fitz crossing one of the unmowed fields in the direction of the woods and raced to catch up with him, shouting until he halted. When she said nothing but continued walking in the direction he’d chosen, Fitz grabbed her arm and jerked her back. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“With you.” She pulled her arm free and started out again. “You need me. You are prone to impulse and I am prone to dithering over decisions. We work better together.”

She knew he was staring at her in incredulity, but she hurried on. She was
not
prone to saying things she didn’t mean.

“I may be about to commit murder,” he growled, striding beside her again. “I don’t need you witnessing it.”

“And you think your daughter should? See, that’s one of those impulses you must learn to curb. Like giving me away.”

“I did not give you away. Respect my intelligence, remember?”

“Fine, and respect mine. We need to do this together.”

They walked silently after that, both too fraught with fear to continue the senseless bickering. Their silence made it easier to hear the shouting ahead.

“I need you to be cooming down from there, yih little monkey, bayfor yer after hurting yerself!” a man’s voice bellowed.

Without a word, Fitz took off running down a path through the woods.

“Can’t make me, you stupid tree stump!” Penny’s voice taunted from somewhere ahead.

Abby thought she’d expire of fear and relief. Picking up her skirt, she raced after Fitz.

“Harm my daughter, and I’ll blow your witless head from your neck,” she heard her husband roar.

Coming out of the woods, Abby saw Fitz raising his rifle to his shoulder.

“And it’s best if yih do!” a scrawny man shouted back. “After ye’ve taken my Damascus, Oi’ve nothing to be living for.”

“This is the trainer called Mick?” Abby asked, gazing in dismay at the roughly garbed countryman, before turning her attention to the dilapidated hunting box and locating the child on its roof. “Penny, come down here at once!”

Although quite dirty, Penny didn’t appear to be harmed. She crossed her arms and glared down, looking for all the world like her father in a snit. “I saw him in the garden. He threw a rock at you! So I threw one back at him.”

“A rock? You threw rocks at my
wife
?” Fitz thundered, priming his weapon.

“Jaysus, it’s not as if
yih
were paying attention to the lahks of me! Yer man did not hayre a word I said when Oi tried to see yih.”

“Unless you learn to speak the King’s English,
no one
will hear a word you say! We bloody well can’t understand you,” Fitz shouted in frustration.

Mick glared. “Oi was after standing in line with all ta tradesmen, but what with bailiffs on yer doorstep and yih raising that nasty cane or fists every time Oi be coming near, Oi couldn’t talk to yih. Oi can’t fight yih, much as Oi wanted to beat ta snot from yih.”

“So you nearly take my head off with slings and arrows?” Fitz asked in incredulity.

“Oi was just after getting yer attention to make yih feed my Damascus. But a fancy earl is too busy geeving parties and running about the countryside to listen to ta lahks of me.”

“How could I listen when you shouted gibberish and threw rocks instead of meeting me like a civilized man?” Fitz was torn between blowing the head off a madman and watching in trepidation as his daughter crawled down roof shingles while his bullheaded wife looked for a way to climb up. But Mick’s size didn’t allow Fitz to go after him with his fists.

“Look at may!” the horseman growled. “Yih treated may like a beggar. Oi sold my fancy clothes to pay fer ta stud’s feed, even after yih took his pappers. Otherwise, he’d be after starving because yih haven’t paid a farthing toward his upkeep! Do yih think horses feed and stable themselves? Renting that stall costs ta earth!”

“Why would you do that when the horse isn’t even yours?” Abby asked in what sounded like exasperation when she couldn’t find a foothold to reach the roof.

“Because Oi figured if nobody else wanted him, Oi’d keep him,” the would-be villain protested. “That horse would have proved Oi can win races, and yer man stole it from me! And then he mistreated a valuable stod by not paying his upkeep! Oi was that angry, Oi was thinking he desarved shooting. But mostly, Oi wanted to be heard.”

“Of all the babbling blockheads . . .” Fitz fired the gun into the air, hoping the others would come running to save him from the temptation to murder a midget. “So you meant to
threaten
me into paying for the feed?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yih could have found may at Tattersall’s if yih’d read ta bloody notes! Oi’m not after having fancy learning for sending long letters, and from what Oi hayre from them men at yer doors, Danecrofts don’t read their letters anyway. Oi had to do someting
different
than them.”

Apparently his family’s ignorance had become a matter of public knowledge. Charming.

“Are you such a self-centered lackwit that it never occurred to you that I might have other enemies breathing down my neck and little time for solving your silly puzzles?” Fitz demanded. Flinging the weapon into the shrubbery in disgust, he swung up on a tree branch, climbed to the next one, and crawled over to the roof. “Did that man hurt you?” he demanded of his daughter, who watched him with wide-eyed amazement while Abby voiced protests from below.

“He chased me when I threw stones at him,” Penny said indignantly.

Fitz needed to teach her not to throw stones like a little heathen. He needed to get them both off the roof. He needed to regain his sanity. Or maybe he was better off without it.

“The little brat followed may here,” Mick cried from below, apparently ready to spill all his grievances now that he had an audience. “Oi’ve been trying to bring her down. Now that yih’re finally hayre and listening, Oi challenge yih to a game of cards!”

The poor dolt had worse control of his impulses than he did, Fitz concluded.

From up on the roof, he could see riders responding to his signal, galloping across the fields in this direction. He had only to lie here and bask in the sun and wait for half the countryside to lynch the fellow. Fitz sprawled along the tiles, crossed his arms behind his head, and hoped the roof wouldn’t cave in. “Abby, why don’t you look inside the barn and see if you can create any miracle meals for the audience currently approaching. We should offer sustenance with the entertainment.”

“I’m a countess now,” she argued, responding to his sarcasm with impatience. “I let Cook create miracles. Do you have a list somewhere of people you’d like to invite to your funeral if the roof collapses with you on it?”

Fitz grinned. His wife’s bossiness was making a come-back. All would soon be right with the world.

“Ye’re both crazy as bedbugs!” Mick exclaimed.

“I’m a gambler,” Fitz called down to him. “I calculate odds. And the odds of you winning against me are pretty bad. I’m not a horseman, I admit. I didn’t think about who was taking care of the stud while I hocked it to Quent. But I’ve seen the list of races that horse has won. I calculate that the odds of Damascus winning regularly are pretty damned high.”

“If yih won’t be playing me fair and square, then Oi’ll be stealing him from where he’s stabled. Oi’ll hunt yih down to get his papers,” the clod threatened. “Oi need them papers before Oi can collect ta stud fees to feed him.”

No doubt tired and hungry, Penny crawled over Fitz’s knees and out on the tree limb. Fitz kept an eye on her, poised to leap if she seemed in danger of hurting herself. But he’d seen cats with less grace than his urchin daughter. He needed to stay here and imitate Abby by taking time to sort through this muddle.

Relieved that no one wanted him dead, Fitz was almost inclined to be reasonable. He truly was at fault for neglecting a valuable piece of horseflesh.

“I’ll see you hung if you endanger my wife or children again,” he shouted down, more or less thinking aloud. “If you love your horse more than life, then you’ll understand how I feel about protecting the ones I love.”

“What?” he heard Abby squeak from below.

Fitz had to run his careless words through his head before he realized what he’d said, and then he wanted to weep at her astonishment. She ought to know she was loved and worshipped and respected by everyone who knew her. But his silver tongue hadn’t learned phrases he’d seldom heard spoken. He needed practice. “How could I not love you?” he asked, knowing exactly what he’d said to startle her. “You’re my heart. You’re the reason I exist. Without you, I am a cockroach.”

He loved her giggles, too.

“You could never be a cockroach,” she assured him. “You are a true gentleman, and I am almost afraid to love you. But I am learning to be fearless.”

Before Fitz could catch his breath at that announcement—she might
love
him?
—
Abby’s affectionate words turned practical. “Neither of you will be able to race Damascus without entry fees, and neither of you can even pay his feed bill or stable rent.”

“Now is not the time to negotiate, my love,” Fitz protested.

But Mick lingered, listening to Abby as if he hadn’t just called her crazier than a bedbug.

“Let us buy your first stud fee,” she told the dolt.

“What?” Fitz sat up and scrubbed tree seeds out of his hair. “Where will we find a groat for more than hay? And we have no mares for breeding. Besides, I already own the damned horse!” He caught the tree branch and swung down. Once on the ground, he swatted Penny’s filthy skirts for good measure, sending her to cling to Abby. “No more climbing roofs and throwing stones at strangers without me, understood?”

Penny glared back at him, unharmed and undaunted. She had the wisdom to bite her tongue, which showed progress since their first meeting. He was aware that they now had an aristocratic audience surrounding them, halting their mounts to listen, but he no longer cared what the
ton
thought. He was a damned earl and didn’t have to toady to anyone anymore.

Fitz circled his wife’s waist with his arm, and Abby stood on her toes to kiss his jaw until it tingled. “I can sell all my crops,” she murmured in his ear, “and make my wedding gift to you a pretty mare. That is one of your dreams, isn’t it? A stable of your own? That’s why you took the stallion off a man who didn’t care for it.”

“Gambling on races is a fool’s or a rich man’s game,” Fitz said in scorn, although he thrilled at the amazing realization that Abby understood him so well. “I just wanted the income from the stud fees.”

“He’s a winner, my Damascus is.” The nodcock senselessly stood there quibbling. “Ye have all ta empty stables. House him between races, and yih can be putting him to yer mares in exchange. Yih’ll get good prices for ta foals, yih’ll see.”

Abby smiled up at Fitz with a confidence he loved seeing. “You can gamble that your mares will bring higher prices than the grain you feed them,” she suggested.

Fitz began calculating costs of grain and labor and actually saw profit signs for a change. “He’s insane,” he whispered for her ears alone. “We can’t deal with a madman.”

“Is he really?” she asked. “Or is he just desperate, as we were?”

“If desperate is what yih are,” the madman added, not in the least diplomatically, “then we’re in ta same boat. May name is Mick Black, m’lady, and Oi’m a damned fine trainer.”

Fitz sighed in exasperation. He was supposed to trust this scoundrel to be honest with his last remaining asset? As Abby had trusted him with hers. Well,
damn,
she was right. He was a gambler; he would always be a gambler. “I hope you’re a better trainer than speller,” he told Mick. “We’ve got rotten stables for housing the beast, the stud fees will have to feed him, and you’ll have to earn your keep from the winnings because I haven’t a bloody cent.”

In actuality, he was too relieved to have Abby’s forgiveness to care if he dealt with devils or sapskulls. He drew her fully into his arms until her lovely eyes could see only him. “I love you,” he repeated, thinking it was past time to let her know how he felt. “I love you when you’re being unreasonable. I love you even if you think I can’t defend myself.”

Abby snuggled closer and began kissing wherever she could reach. “Just as I love you even if you think I ought to be roped and tied just like Penny.”

“I heard that.” Lady Belden rode out of the trees. Behind her rode Lord Quentin, who appeared less concerned about the newlyweds and more interested in the belligerent villain.

“And misunderstood every word, I vow,” Fitz told her. “If you want to meddle in lives, meddle in his.” He jerked his head in Mick’s direction. The trainer appeared rightfully confused by the crowd. “But one of these days, I shall make you pay for trying to separate me from my Abby.”

“No, I meant I heard what you said a minute ago about gambling.” Lady Bell leaned down to shoo Penny away from her horse’s nipping teeth. “Quent has almost convinced me I was wrong about you. You really don’t wager on horses?”

Cradling Abby closer, Fitz favored the marchioness with a look of annoyance. “Do I look like an idiot? Have I done one damned foolish thing to make you think me stupid enough to risk the roof over my head on a wager that can only be won by an act of God, and only then if an animal isn’t crippled, its jockey isn’t drunk, or its owner hasn’t been bribed? I gamble only on what I can control.”

Abby leaned her head trustingly on his shoulder and gazed up at her benefactor. “I appreciate all you have done, Lady Belden,” she said, “and know you’ve only had my best interests in mind, but I’m not a silly young miss either, and I don’t appreciate that you’ve treated me as one. I’m not giving up my husband, no more than I gave up on getting the children back. And if Fitz wants to set his home to rights, then I shall do all within my ability to help him, even if we must do it from Oxfordshire to honor his promises.”

Stiffly, Lady Bell nodded. “I was mistaken. I often am, it seems. If you wish to slave away in this monstrosity to make a home of it, then I shall talk to the solicitors, and you shall have full access to your funds to use as you please. I apologize for doubting both of you.”