Whirlwind Affair

Chapter 22

A very proper butler swung open the door for Michael. The servant sniffed with obvious distaste at his bedraggled appearance, but Michael didn't give a good damn. He'd suffered worse looks from uppity servants before.

"May I help you… sir?"

"I need to see Lord Robert. Immediately."

The butler raised his brows. "If you'll give me your card, I'll see if-"

The haughty words were cut off when Michael picked up the man by his perfectly pressed lapels, then stalked into the foyer with him. Kicking the door shut with his boot, he brought the wide-eyed man nose to nose with him.

"I don't have a bloody card," he said in a deadly soft voice. "My name's Michael Evers. He is expecting me, and let me assure you, it will be your head that he'll have if you don't get him for me now. Do you understand?"

The man jerked his head in a nod. As Michael lowered him to his feet, he asked, "Where is Mrs. Brown? Is she safe?"

The man swallowed, his eyes filled with a combination of fear and confusion. "Safe? Yes. Mrs. Brown is upstairs with the duchess, in the nursery."

"You're positive?"

The servant took several hasty steps backward the instant his feet hit the polished marble floor. "Yes. I directed her there myself."

A breath of relief escaped him. "Excellent. Now go get-"

"Michael?"

He turned toward Robert's questioning voice coming from the corridor. Before he could say a word, the butler blurted out, "Lord Robert, this… person who claims to know you burst in the doorway, and-"

"It's all right, Fenton," Robert said, waving aside the words. "I've been expecting him." His gaze locked on Michael's. "You have news?"

"I do. We need to talk. Now. Privately."

"Follow me," Robert said, and started swiftly down the corridor.

Michael pinned a glare on the butler, and said in a low voice, "Make certain Mrs. Brown remains in the house. The others as well. Don't allow anyone out. Or anyone else in. Do you understand?"

The man nodded.

Satisfied, Michael strode down the hall after Robert.

Fenton watched the stranger's broad back disappear around the corner. Removing his handkerchief, he mopped his brow, while indignation filled him. Uncouth, unkempt ruffian! Fenton looked down at his clothing and gasped. Good heavens, his jacket was wrinkled, his shirt askew… why, he was completely undone. He did not know who this Michael Evers was, but he was clearly not proper company to be entertained at Bradford Hall. Who on earth did that brute think he was, pushing his way into the foyer, manhandling him, then giving him orders?

An elegant sniff escaped Fenton. He would not take orders from that man. Certainly not. He took his orders from the duke! Due to this Evers person, Fenton now needed to retire to his room to repair his appearance. He could not oversee the staff in his present disheveled state, nor allow the duke to see him as such.

He summoned a footman to man the foyer, and managed to ignore the young man's stunned expression at his appearance. Heavens, he must look worse than he'd suspected. After explaining the proper procedure for opening the door, Fenton headed for his rooms. This was most irregular. The moment he'd put himself back to rights, he would certainly locate His Grace and inform him about that abominable Evers person.

Robert closed the library door behind Michael, who was clearly in a very agitated state. "What did you learn? Was your mother able to translate the note?"

Michael plunged his hands through his already untidy hair. "Aye. You're bloody not going to believe it. I barely do myself." He looked at Robert with an expression that appeared bewildered and bitter at the same time. "I’ve raced like the devil himself pursued me to get here, and now I’m not even certain where to begin."

"Tell me about the note. Did it have something to do with Allie's husband?"

"Only indirectly." His dark eyes bored into Robert's. "When I showed the letter to my mum, she got pale as a sheet and damn near swooned."

Confusion washed over Robert. "Why?"

A humorless laugh escaped him. "The bloody thing was written to her."

"What? By whom?"

"By the priest who married her to my father." Michael began pacing in front of the hearth, and Robert forced himself not to fire a barrage of questions at him, to let him gather himself.

"When Mum saw the note, she went all to pieces, crying and asking me to forgive her. I had no bloody idea what she was talking about. When she finally calmed down, she told me this story… this story that was documented in the note." He paused in his pacing and briefly squeezed his eyes shut. "Christ, I still can't believe it."

Alarmed by his normally unflappable friend's distress, Robert crossed to him and laid a supporting hand on his shoulder. "Michael. Tell me."

Michael looked at him through tired eyes. "I've no memory of my father," he said, his voice gruff. "He died when I was a baby… or so I'd always thought. Until this visit with my mum. She confessed that the man she'd married wasn't named Evers. It was just a random name she chose."

A frown pulled down Robert's brows. "Then who the hell did she marry?"

Michael's dark eyes met his. "That's the part you're not going to believe."

Allie breathed in the rose-scented air, and tipped her face up to the sun in order to capture more of the bright, warming rays.

"You're going to freckle," Caroline warned with a smile.

"I don't care. It just feels so wonderful to be outdoors."

"I agree. Four solid days in the house was about to drive me mad."

They strolled along for several minutes, the silence broken only by the chirping birds. Allie savored every second, committing to memory the beautiful gardens, the pastoral setting, and Caroline-a woman she genuinely liked and would miss. As she would miss so many things about this lovely place.

They paused at a fork in the pathway, and Caroline pointed to the right, toward the woods. "This path leads to the ruins of a centuries-old stone fortress. It was a favorite childhood place for all of us. Would you like to see it? The walk through the forest is lovely."

Allie glanced over her shoulder and noted that they were well within sight of the house. "Is it far?"

"No. Just a few minutes ahead."

"All right."

The instant they entered the forest, the temperature dropped, cooled by the shade from the soaring elms and oaks. Allie continued along the path in silence, waiting for Caroline to broach the subject she sensed uppermost in the woman's mind.

Several more minutes passed before Caroline finally said softly, "Allie, a blind person could see that you and Robert care for each other deeply. And that you're both miserable. I do not want to pry-" A tiny laugh broke off her words. "Actually I want nothing more than to pry, but I promised Miles I would not. So I shall simply ask you… Is there anything I can do to help? I thought… perhaps if I arranged a picnic for the two of you for tomorrow, you could talk to each other privately and solve whatever has come between you?"

A wave of desolation washed over Allie. By this time tomorrow, Bradford Hall and all its occupants would be no more than a memory. It was time to inform Caroline of her decision to leave. And to disabuse her of any notions that she and Robert could resolve their differences. "I'm afraid I won't be-"

Her words chopped off as she and Caroline rounded a sharp turn in the path. Both women halted as if they'd walked into a wall.

Less than ten feet in front of them, a man lay prostrate on the ground, another man crouching over him. A brown gelding stood to the side of the path, nervously pawing the dirt. Someone gasped-Allie wasn't certain if it was herself or Caroline-perhaps both of them. The crouching man jumped to his feet and swiveled to face them.

Allie's eyes widened in surprise, but before she could say a word, Caroline exclaimed, "Lord Shelbourne! What on earth has happened?"

His dark eyes shifted between them for several seconds, then he said in a breathless voice, "I… I don't know. I was on my way to Bradford Hall to extend my congratulations to the duke and duchess on the birth of their daughter, when just a moment ago I happened upon this man lying in the path. I heard a crashing in the underbrush, and I saw a man dashing that way through the trees." He pointed in the direction leading away from the house. "No doubt the scoundrel attempted to rob this poor man. I had just dismounted and was checking his injuries when you arrived."

"Is he alive?" Caroline asked, her eyes huge.

"Yes. But he needs help. He's bleeding, and it looks as if he sustained quite a bump on the head." Again his gaze darted between them. "Lady Eddington, would you be so kind as to go for assistance? And Mrs. Brown, would you assist me in administering aid while she returns to the house for bandages and help?"

Caroline hesitated. "I don't want to leave Allie alone-"

"She won't be alone," Lord Shelbourne broke in, looking affronted. "She'll be with me. Now be off, we must hurry."

"Of course," Caroline said, crimson rushing into her cheeks. "I'll return as quickly as possible." She turned and raced around the corner toward the house.

Allie dashed to the fallen man, lowering herself to her knees beside him. His face was turned away from her, and she gently turned his head toward her. "Sir? Can you hear me?"

Warm stickiness oozed over her fingers, and his head turned limply toward her. She froze and stared at the man's face in stunned disbelief.

"Good heavens, I know this man," she said. "His name is Mr. Redfern. He sailed with me on board the Seaward Lady from America." Questions bounced frantically through her mind. What on earth was Mr. Redfern doing here? And how serious were his injuries? Reaching out, she pressed her fingertips to his neck.

Geoffrey looked down at her, bending over Redfern's prone form, and fought to regain his composure. Damn her cursed timing! Because of her arrival, his plans were now in a shambles. He could only thank God she and Lady Eddington had not arrived upon the scene even one minute earlier, as they would have seen him thrusting his knife into Redfern's back.

He glanced downward. The hilt of his knife, just visible over the top of his boot, was stained with blood. He hastily rubbed his hand over it, only to notice the dark red streaks marring his fawn jacket sleeve and white cuffs. His heart slapped painfully against his ribs. Had Lady Eddington noticed? No, clearly she had not. And even if she had, she'd obviously assumed he'd ruined his attire attempting to help the bleeding man.

His gaze shifted to Redfern, and he recalled the man's reaction to coming upon him in the woods. Redfern's face had been the personification of stunned amazement. Geoffrey had generously given him an opportunity to produce the note, but alas, poor Redfern had not yet retrieved it. It was the last mistake he would ever make.

But now he needed to work quickly, before Lady Eddington returned with half a dozen people in tow. He needed to find out where the note was, then escape from here. And unfortunately for Alberta, she would have to accompany him.

" Alberta. There was a note in the ring box. Did you see it?"

Crouching over Mr. Redfern's body, frantically trying to find a pulse, Allie did not bother to even turn at Lord Shelbourne's question. Where was the pulse? There had to be a pulse. "Note? Um, yes. Yes, I saw it."

"Where is it?"

"It's-" Her hands suddenly stilled, and she frowned. Clearly Lord Shelbourne had known about the note. Yet he had not made any mention of it when she'd returned the empty ring box to him at his town house-but she recalled his odd behavior at dinner that evening.

"Tell me where the note is, Alberta. Now."

The urgency and menace in his command slowly sank into her brain. Something was not right. As if in a daze, she gently settled her palm over Mr. Redfern's chest, then slowly withdrew it, a sense of horror washing over her.

"He's dead," she whispered. She rose on shaky knees, then turned around to face Lord Shelbourne. "He's…" Her voice trailed off as her gaze riveted on his bloodstained sleeve, then rose to his face. The look of pure desperation blazing from his eyes shivered a chill of fear down her spine.

"Dead. Yes, I know." He erased the short distance between them in three quick strides. Reaching out, he grasped her upper arms in a viselike grip. He lowered his face to within inches of hers, and she involuntarily recoiled. "Where is the note, Alberta?"

She stared into his ebony eyes that suddenly reminded her of a serpent's. Everything inside her stilled, then shifted as realization clicked into place. Redfern… the accidents on the ship… the abduction and robberies in London… the note… Lord Shelbourne… they were all connected. And while she did not know all the details, instinct told her she was now facing the danger that Elizabeth had warned her against. And based on Mr. Redfern's condition and the desperate look in Lord Shelbourne's eyes, the danger was deadly.

She tried to break free of his grip, but his fingers tightened painfully on her arms. She considered screaming, but realized they were too far away from the house for anyone to hear her. Perhaps Caroline would hear her cries, but that would only bring her running back-without help-and place her in danger as well. Besides, screaming might only anger him, give him cause to knock her out or stuff a rag in her mouth. Tie her up. Best to keep him as calm as possible.

And stall for time. Until Caroline returned with help. Swallowing to wet her dry throat, she said, "I know where the note is."

"Where?"

She debated the wisdom of claiming she'd burned it, but decided a story would take longer to tell him. And she needed time. "I gave it to someone."

His hands tightened, and she gasped against the pain shooting up into her shoulders. "Who, damn it?"

"A… gentleman in London. A language translator. The letter was written in a foreign language I could not read."

Clear surprise washed over his taut features. "Foreign language? What nonsense is this?"

"It's true. I think the language might have been Gaelic."

He frowned, then nodded. "Gaelic. Yes, I suppose that is possible." His eyes narrowed sharply. "When did you give it to him?"

"The day before I left London."

"His name?"

"Smythe. Edward Smythe."

"His direction?"

"I'm not certain."

He shook her and her teeth rattled. "I don't know," she insisted. "I’d asked the butler to recommend a translator and he gave me Mr. Smythe's name. I simply wrote a letter of introduction, enclosed the note, then gave the entire affair to a servant to be delivered. I do not know where it went."

Dark eyes bored into hers for several seconds. Then a growl of pure frustration burst from him. "I have more questions, but they'll have to wait. We must get away from here."

She lifted her chin. "I am not going anywhere with you."

In a blink, he released one of her arms and withdrew a small pistol from inside his jacket. He pressed the metal under her chin, his expression fierce. "You're going to leave here with me, and you're going to do so quietly. If you scream, I swear it will be the last sound you ever utter."

She swallowed painfully. "You would have a difficult time explaining away two dead bodies."

"Not at all. I shall claim the same ruffian who attacked poor Redfern returned and we were forced to flee. He grabbed you, and although I tried to save you, he absconded with you-to God only knows where. I'll wipe a bit of mud on my face, adopt a horrified countenance, and say, 'Indeed, I barely escaped the scoundrel myself " He shoved her in front of him toward the horse. Mounting swiftly, he nearly pulled her bruised arm from the socket yanking her up and settling her in front of him. She noted he tucked his pistol back in his jacket. If only she could get it away from him…

One strong, muscular arm encircled her waist, nearly cutting off her air, and he applied his heels to the horse's flanks.

Robert sat on the settee, his forearms resting on his knees, and watched Michael pace before the fireplace.

"The man my mum married was named Nigel Hadmore. He was the second son of the earl of Shelbourne."

Stunned, Robert simply stared at him.

Michael continued, "This Nigel bloke came to Ireland as part of his Grand Tour, and he and Mum fell passionately in love. Of course, Mum wasn't a fancy lady, just the daughter of a tavern keep. Nigel decided to remain in Ireland with her, but, according to Mum, his father, a very controlling man, ordered him home. Nigel refused, and his father cut off his fancy allowance until he came to his senses and returned to England." He paused, staring into the flames.

"Did he return?" Robert asked.

"No. He'd apparently saved a decent sum and therefore wasn't worried about being cut off. Mum said that for the first time, he felt free of his father's suffocating control, and he joyously embraced life. He asked her to marry him, and she accepted. They married in Ireland without informing his family."

He turned toward Robert, his dark eyes stormy. "After the wedding-that's when the bastard showed what sort of man he truly was. Oh, at first he was happy in Ireland with his bride, even happier when Mum told him a baby was on the way. But after several months, his savings ran out. He quickly wearied of working in the tavern, and started to miss the life of luxury he'd left behind. By the time his son was six months old, poor Nigel couldn't stand it any longer."

Michael's upper lip curled with obvious disgust. "Where he'd once felt free, he now felt shackled. He couldn't understand how Mum was perfectly content with their tiny house out in the middle of nowhere, working day in and day out to earn only a pittance. Couldn't fathom why Mum didn't want more for herself or their son. He claimed to still love Mum and his child, but he just wasn't cut out to be a working man and live in such rustic conditions." Michael's tone turned more scathing. "He missed his clubs and glittering social gatherings. His fine clothes. Gourmet meals. Servants. He decided he would have to somehow make peace with his father and get his generous allowance reinstated."

"Was he able to do so?" Robert asked.

A look akin to hatred flared in Michael's eyes. "As it turned out, when he contacted his father, his father summoned him home. Seems Nigel's older brother had died, and Nigel was now the heir to the earldom. When Nigel arrived back in England, his father informed him that just before his brother's death, a marriage had been arranged between his brother and the daughter of a wealthy duke. The Hadmore family was facing financial ruin and desperately needed the duke's daughter's huge dowry. Nigel's father demanded that Nigel, as the new heir, honor the agreement and marry the duke's daughter in order to save the family name and the estate."

"Well, he couldn't very well do that," Robert mused. "He was already married."

Michael shot him an undecipherable look. "Yes, most men would be quite stymied by that, but not Nigel. No, he decided that he did indeed have an option. He realized that this marriage with the duke's daughter would have to take place quickly-before her father entertained other offers for her. There would be no time to arrange an annulment of his marriage to Brianne, and even if there was time, he had no grounds. And of course, divorce was out of the question. But…" Michael paused, his expression harsh. "No one in England knew he was already married."

They stared at each other in utter silence for several seconds. Robert shook his head. "You cannot mean-no, it's impossible."

"If only it were, my friend."

Geoffrey forced himself to take deep, calming breaths to stem the panic threatening to overwhelm him. Blinding pain thumped behind his eyes, and it took every ounce of his will to concentrate on guiding the horse through the woods.

Her words beat through his mind. I gave the note to a language translator. Relief surged through him. If the note was indeed written in a foreign language, the chances of other people being able to read it were lessened. But was Alberta telling the truth? Or just attempting to save herself? His jaw clenched. He'd find out soon enough.

They moved swiftly, deeper into the woods, farther away from the house. After a quarter hour, he spied a clearing surrounding a small lake. An outcropping of large rocks surrounded the area. Perfect. Just the sort of place he could claim the same ruffian who'd killed Redfern had set upon them in their attempt to escape the scoundrel. Far enough from the house to do what he had to do. Drawing the horse to a halt, he slid from the saddle.

"Get down," he said.

She silently complied, and the gelding immediately moved toward the water to drink. Alberta faced him squarely. "What do you intend to do now?" she asked.

He considered for a moment. How to best determine if she'd lied? How to get what he wanted from her? An idea popped into his mind and he inwardly smiled. Ah, yes… appeal to her feminine sympathies.

Feigning a sheepish expression, he said, "Actually, I want to apologize for brandishing a firearm in your presence. It was imperative we departed, and I sensed I would not have had your quick cooperation without… incentive. However, I want to assure you I have no wish to harm you. All I want is the note from the ring box. It belongs to me."

Wariness crossed her features. He could almost see her brain working inside her pretty head, trying to figure out how to escape him. Grudging admiration filled him. There was no doubt she was brave. And clever. Indeed, under other circumstances, Alberta and her quick mind and luscious form could have appealed to him very much.

"I've told you, I do not have it."

"Tell me, Alberta, what sort of man is your father?"

A mixture of surprise and suspicion filled her eyes at the abrupt question. "A very fine man. Kind. Hardworking."

"Do you have siblings?"

"Two brothers and a sister."

He nodded. "I grew up an only child. Many people ask me if my lack of siblings proved lonely, but I always enjoyed not having to share my possessions, or my father's affection, with anyone. I worshipped my father as a boy. Of course, I did not see him often. Mother and I lived on the Cornwall estate, while Father spent most of his time in London. Those precious few weeks every summer when he visited were the highlights of my childhood."

A flicker of what might have been pity flashed in her eyes, filling him with unexpected warmth. Perhaps he really could make her understand. What his life had been like… until that day. He quickly continued, "As the heir to the earldom, my life, my existence, my identity was defined from the day of my birth. Every lesson, every thought, was focused on preparing me for my future role, which I would step into upon my father's death. It was a role for which I was well prepared. It was his death that I could not accept."

He paused to draw a breath, and hatred, hot and fierce, rippled through him, for the man he'd worshipped. The man who'd betrayed him in the most unforgivable of ways.

"Actually, it was more his deathbed confession that I could not accept," he said in a voice he could not quite keep steady. Reaching out, he grasped her hands, his gaze intent upon hers, willing her to see the depth of his pain. The magnitude of his need for that note. "Do you know what my father told me on his deathbed, Alberta?"

"How could I possibly know such a thing?"

"So you haven't read the note?"

"No. I told you, it was written in a foreign language." She tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. "Please let go of my hands. You're hurting me."

He ignored her plea. "He confessed to me that he had another son. An older son. By another woman. Another wife." A bitter laugh escaped him. "My noble, proper father had married some trollop he'd met in Ireland on his Grand Tour. He was a bigamist, which meant, of course, that I was not legally his heir. Then, to add insult to this grievous injury, Father had the gall, the temerity, to request that I find this missing half brother and make certain he was financially taken care of." A bark of outraged incredulity pushed past his lips. "I could not fathom that my father would ask such a thing. I'd worshipped him my entire life, believing him to be the epitome of strength, but he was nothing but a weak fool. And if there is one thing I cannot abide, it is a fool."

He looked deep into her eyes. "Do you understand what this man's existence means? If word of this got out, he could legally lay claim to everything that is mine. Take everything away from me. My home. My title. My birthright. My very existence. According to my father, the note contains proof that this other marriage took place-and that a son was born from the union. Do you not see that I must have that note, Alberta? I must. My very life depends upon it."

She licked her lips. "I understand. And given the circumstances you've described, I would gladly give it to you if I had it. But as I already told you, it is not in my possession. I swear it."

He studied her. It appeared that she was telling the truth. A roar of frustration boiled up inside him, and he clenched his jaw to keep it contained. Damn it, now he was going to have to find this bloody Edward Smythe person. And kill him, too. Would this nightmare never end?

"That man, Mr. Redfern," she said. "He caused the accidents on board the Seaward Lady. He was the person who abducted me and robbed the Bradford town house. All to get that note and ring… for you."

"It was the note that was most important, but I wanted my father's ring as well. As a physical reminder to never become the weak fool he was. Unfortunately, circumstances continually thwarted Redfern, who sadly did not prove as clever as I'd hoped. Certainly he was not as clever as your husband, whose intelligence and lack of morals I sadly underestimated." He made a tsking noise. "You just cannot trust anyone anymore."

"So that is how David had the ring. I was certain he'd stolen it. That was why I came to England -to return the ring to its rightful owner."

"He stole it from the Irish whore my father married. I hired David to find her and her son. Unfortunately, when he located her, the son did not live with her. Still, being the clever crook, David took it upon himself to relieve her of several pieces of jewelry, one of which was my father's coat-of-arms ring. David found the note hidden in the box's false bottom. He demanded an outrageous sum in exchange for the ring, the note, and his silence. I agreed to his terms, but he did not keep his end of the bargain. He escaped with the money and the ring." A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"After years of searching," he continued, "I finally learned David had escaped to America. I hired Redfern-whom I believed smart enough to do the job, but not clever enough to cross me as David had-and sent him to America to retrieve the ring. By the time Redfern found out where David lived, your husband was dead, and all his belongings gone. Redfern discovered that David had left a wife, but she'd moved away." He shook his head. "Such inconveniences. It took Redfern almost two years to find you, Alberta, and when he did, you were about to sail for England."

"So he sailed on the same ship," she whispered.

"Yes. And that brings us to where we are now, which, I'm sad to say, is quite an unhappy place." He released her, and she stumbled back several steps. Reaching into his jacket, he slipped out his pistol and pointed it at her chest.