Grace Burrowes - The Heir

“You are a well-dressed gentleman on the streets when few are about,” Stull said. “No doubt you attract attention, as I do myself. I want to know why you’re back in dear old London town, where you don’t fit in and you do depend on my coin.”

Helmsley rolled his eyes. “Because I am being followed. Big, dark chap, rough-looking, like a drover returning north without his flock.”

“And what would a drover be doing staying at the better inns, when they have their own establishments for that purpose?” Stull replied, draining his own tankard.

“You take my point.” Helmsley nodded, glad he didn’t have to explain everything. “I thought you should know.”

“You thought I should know.” Stull frowned. “But you’ve been gone nigh a week, which means you probably made it halfway to York before turning about and deciding to tell me.”

Helmsley studied his ale. “I had a delay on the way out of Town. Horse tossed a shoe, then it was too late to travel. He came up lame the next day, and rather than buy another horse, I had to wait for him to come right.”

“And you waited for how long before realizing you had company?”

“A few days,” the earl improvised. “I was traveling slowly to spare the horse.”

“Of course you were.” Stull scowled. “You’re up to something, Helmsley, and you’d best not be up to crossing me.”

“I am up to nothing.” Helmsley sighed dramatically. “Except imposing further on your hospitality. Now, why haven’t we collected my sisters yet?”

Stull banged his empty tankard in a demand for more ale and launched into a convoluted tale of arrests, accusations, and indignities. From his ramblings, the earl concluded Stull had yet to locate Morgan but tried at least once to abduct Anna almost literally from the Earl of Westhaven’s arms.

“So where does this leave us?” Helmsley asked.

He had been followed, but he’d also been struck with an idea: Dead, Anna was worth more to him than alive. The difficulty was, she had to die—or at least appear to die—before she wed Stull, or all her lovely money would fall into the hands of the baron. The thought that the baron might procure a special license and start his connubial bliss with Anna before Helmsley even saw her again had sent Helmsley right back down the road.

Of course, he should offer Anna the option of faking her own death and disappearing with a tidy sum, but working in concert with Stull for the past two years had left a bad taste in Helmsley’s mouth. Partners in crime were tedious and a liability.

Once Anna had been dealt with, Morgan could be used to appease Stull. It would then be easy to arrange an accident for Stull—ingested poison seemed the appropriate remedy—and then as Stull’s widow, Morgan would inherit a goodly portion of the baron’s wealth, as well.

A tidy, altogether pleasing plan, Helmsley congratulated himself, but one that would require his presence in London, where the gaming was better, criminals for hire abounded, and Stull could be closely monitored.

“So how do you propose we retrieve dear Anna?” Helmsley asked. “I gather snatching her from the market did not go as planned.”

“Hah,” Stull snorted then paused for a moment to leer at the young serving maid. “That damned Westhaven got to throwing his weight around and had me arrested for arson. The charges will be dropped, of course, and it gives me the perfect excuse to malinger in Town. The plan remains simply to snatch the girl. She’s helpless when it comes to her flowers, and I have it on good authority she’s out in the back gardens several times a day. We’ll just seize our moment and seize your sister.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that.” The baron nodded. “Trying to nab her in the market, I admit, was poorly thought out. Too many people around. This time, however, I’m prepared.”

“What does that mean?” Helmsley made his tone casual.

“If that damned earl makes a ruckus”—Stull wiped his lips on his handkerchief—“I’ll wave the betrothal contract at him. And for good measure, I’ll wave your guardianship papers, as well.”

“Hadn’t thought of that,” Helmsley said slowly, though of course he had. “Why not simply send a solicitor ’round to the earl with the documents? If he’s a gentleman, as you say, he should send Anna along smartly, and Morgan with her, assuming she’s nearby?”

“You don’t understand your peers, Helmsley.” Stull leaned forward. “I’ll wave that document around, but I’m not turning the earl’s solicitors loose on it. The Quality don’t engage in trade, and anything that smacks of business befuddles ’em to the point where they must bring in the lawyers. That will take weeks, at least, and I am damned tired of waiting for my bride.”

“I’m sure you are,” Helmsley said, as he was damned tired of waiting for Stull to pay off his debts. He also silently allowed as how any solicitor of suitable talent to serve a future duke would likely find holes the size of bull elephants in the contracts. “Your plan sounds worthy to me, so what are we waiting for?”

The baron smiled, an ugly grimace of an expression. “We are waiting for Anna to go pick her bedamned flowers.”

“WHY THE FROWN?” Val asked, helping himself to the lemonade provided for the earl and Mr. Tolliver each morning.

“Note from Hazlit.” The earl handed the missive to his brother, Tolliver having been excused for the day. “He began the journey north to track down Helmsley, and lo, the fellow was not more than a day’s ride from Town, supposedly waiting for his horse to come sound. He rode right back into Town and connected with Stull at the Pig.”

“So you have your miscreants reunited.” Val scanned the note. “I wonder what the foray north was about in the first place?”

“Who knows?” The earl sipped at his drink. “They don’t strike me as a particularly cunning pair.”

“Maybe not cunning,” Val conceded, “but ruthless. They were going to torch an entire property, for reasons we still don’t know. That’s a hanging offense, Westhaven, and so far, they’ve gotten away with it.”

“The charges are pending, and I suspect if we catch one of them, the other will be implicated in very short order.”

Val sat on the arm of the sofa. “Stull hasn’t implicated Helmsley yet.”

“The arson charges are not likely to stick,” the earl said, “though they do create leverage.”

“Or unpredictability,” Val suggested.

“Possibly.” The earl noted that Val was being contrary, which wasn’t like him. “How is Miss Morgan?”

“Thriving,” Val said glumly. “She’s blooming, Westhaven. When I call upon her, she is giggling, laughing, and carrying on at a great rate with our sisters, the duke, the duchess…”

“The footmen?” the earl guessed.

“The butler, the grooms, the gardeners,” Val went on, nodding. “She charms everybody.”

“It could be worse.” The earl got up and went to the window, from which he could see Anna taking cuttings for her bouquets. “You could have proposed to her, oh, say a half-dozen times and been turned down each time. Quite lowering, the third and fourth rejections. One gets used to it after that. Or tries to.”

“Gads.” Val’s eyebrows shot up. “I hadn’t realized it had reached that stage. What on earth is wrong with the woman?”

“Nothing. She simply believes we would not suit, so I leave her in relative peace.”

“Except you tuck her in each night?”

“I do.” The earl’s eyes stayed fixed on the garden. “She is fond of me; she permits it. She is quite alone, Val, so I try not to take advantage of the liberties I’m granted. I comprehend, though, when a woman doesn’t even try to kiss me, that I have lost a substantial part of my allure in her eyes.”

“And have you talked to her about this?”

“I have.” The earl smiled faintly. “She confronted me quite clearly and asked how we were to go on. She wants comforting but nothing more. I can provide that.”

Comforting and cosseting and cuddling.

“You are a better man than I am.” Val smiled in sympathy.

“Not better.” The earl shook his head. “Just… What the hell is going on out there?!”

A pair of beefy-looking thugs had climbed over the garden wall and thrown a sack over Anna’s head. She was still struggling mightily when the earl, both brothers, and two footmen pounded onto the scene and wrestled Anna from her attackers.

“Oh, no you don’t,” St. Just snarled as he hauled the larger man off the wall. “You stay right here, my man, and await the King’s justice. You, too, Shorty.” He cocked a pistol and leveled a deadly look at the two intruders.

Baron Stull let himself in through the gate. “I say, none of that now. Westhaven, call off your man.”

“Stull.” Westhaven grimaced. “You are trespassing. Leave, unless you’d like the constable to take you up now rather than when these worthies implicate you in kidnapping.”

“I ain’t kidnapping,” Stull huffed. “You want proof this lady is my fiancée, well here it is.” He thrust a beribboned document at the earl, who merely lifted an eyebrow. On cue, Val stepped forward, retrieved the document, and handed it to a footman.

“Take it to His Grace,” the earl ordered. “Tell him I want the validity of the thing reviewed, and it’s urgent.”

“Now see here.” The Earl of Helmsley sauntered in through the gate, and Westhaven felt Anna go tense. “There will be no need for that. Anna, come along. Tell the man I’m your brother and the guardian appointed by our grandpapa to see to you and our sister. Grandmama has been missing you both.”

“You are not and never were my guardian,” Anna said. “I was of age when Grandpapa died, and while you may control some of my funds, you never had legal control of me.”