The Heir

Chapter Forty-four

It all happened too quickly, Raphael putting his shoulder to the door when it wasn't answered soon enough, breaking the lock on it—he had a strong shoulder—then muttering, "What the hell?" just before he slumped to the floor.

With the lantern they had set on the back porch, Duncan saw him falling, saw the weapon in the hand of the man who'd clubbed him over the head with it, and dove at the fellow. A shot was fired.

Shrieks of startlement were heard from in front of the house, from somewhere upstairs in the house, from the next block. The shot had echoed loudly through the quiet neighborhood at that hour of the night. The

stench of gun smoke filled the air. The bullet had passed near Duncan's neck, and had been heard clearly, which was probably why he was angry enough to seriously bloody the man's face before he was done with him.

They should have approached this with more caution, rather than the impatience they were both feeling. But after two days of searching, having doors slammed in their faces, being chased by dogs, and finally being led to this place by an urchin through backyards and over fences, rather than down the front street, then finding that the house looked deserted . . . well, that hadn't inspired calm emotions.

He spared a moment to wonder who he had beat unconscious. He didn't think it was John Newbolt. One of his servants, perhaps, who had understandably come armed to investigate what most likely sounded like someone breaking into the house. Bedamned. They'd have some explaining to do now. The authorities would no doubt be arriving soon, after all those shrieks he'd heard.

He spared another moment to make sure Raphael wasn't dead. He wasn't, was even starting to groan a little. He went to fetch the lantern from the porch. The urchin had disappeared, not surprising.

Coming back into the kitchen where the two bodies were sprawled, Duncan had only enough time to set the lantern down on a table before two more men appeared in the open doorway that led farther into the house. One had a pistol trained on him. He hadn't thought to pick up the gun on the floor that had been used on Raphael's head.

"Wot the 'ell?"

"What happened here?"

"A wee misunderstanding, I'm thinking," Duncan explained. "I'm here tae see John Newbolt, or rather, his cousin. You work for him?"

An exchanged look between the two men, before one said, "Shore we do, but this ain't the hour to come visitin'. Come back in the morning, gent."

"I'll stay and see tae my business, if it's all the same tae you."

"You'll be leaving if you know wot's good for you," the one with the weapon said, and just in case Duncan hadn't noticed it, he waved it about in front of him now.

But the other intervened and said cordially, "That's fine, we'll take you to Mr. Newbolt. He'll likely be glad o' the company."

That it was said with somewhat of a snicker wasn't Duncan's first warning that something wasn't right here. It was that they would call Newbolt ‘Mister’ when the man held a minor title, according to Rafe, title enough for his servants to refer to him as Lord Newbolt.

The lantern Duncan had brought into the kitchen illuminated the short hallway and into the larger entry hall, though by then the light was extremely dim and there was no other to be had. He should have brought it with him. One of the two men should have thought to do so as well. It seemed strange to have no light inside the house unless everyone in it had been asleep, and yet the men had all been fully dressed, so apparently hadn't come straight from their beds to investigate the noises at the back of the house.

Those noises, though, had obviously woken the whole house, including those upstairs. At least that was

what he figured when from the corner of his eye he saw the ripple of a skirt at the top of the stairs. He started to turn that way but felt the pistol poke into his back, insisting he continue on where they were leading him.

That was pretty much the last bit of warning he needed that something was definitely not right here. He'd explain later if he was wrong, but right then he turned on the man behind him, knocked aside the arm with the gun, and slammed his fist against his nose. The fellow flew backward, toppled over a hall table, and didn't move any further.

The other man, who had been in the lead and was now behind him, growled and jumped on his back, wrapped his arms around Duncan's throat and tried to choke him. He wasn't succeeding, not even a little, though he probably thought he was, because he laughed triumphantly. Duncan, thoroughly annoyed by then, dragged the skinny little fellow around to the front of him, held him there as he drew his fist back, then watched him scream and faint before he could hit him. Disgusted, he let him drop to the floor.

And then he was incredulous to hear a voice he had no trouble recognizing, despite the anger in it. "How could you just ignore his weapon like that?"

He didn't answer that, demanded instead, "What the hell are you doing here?"

She didn't answer either, still intent on her original question. In a furious tone, she said, "You could have been killed just then!"

Duncan realized then what was the cause of her anger and tried to shrug it off. "When you've a bleak-looking future, lass, the threat o' danger just doesna hold the same meaning as it might when all is right wi' your life."

"Reckless, no matter how you put it," she pointed out stiffly. He wasn't going to argue the point. "You'll be answering my question now." "Yes, certainly—if you've taken care of all of them," she replied. "All of who?"

"The poor wretches who broke in here and foolishly held Mavis and John captive all week. There were four of them in all."

"I've only encountered three—"

"Then we'll lock ourselves in up here until you're done. But do be careful. At least three of them had guns and—" She paused when a new pounding began, at the front door. "That will probably be Mickie, our coachman. Let him in. He'll help you look for the last fellow. And John's in the cellar. Please make sure he's all right."

He stood there for a moment after she disappeared back into the dark of the upper hall, still incredulous that she was there, even more incredulous at how bossy she'd just been. But then he smiled, remembering her angry upset over his wee brush with danger.