‘There’s no sense in having a fit of the blue devils,’ the Reverend declared to the widow bluntly. ‘It’s not your fault you’ve got a deuced blackguard for a brother. And nobody could be expected to remember word for word what someone has to say when they’re about to cock up their toes.’
‘Sir!’ protested Percy, dismayed at his superior’s insensitive comments.
‘Well, it’s not like old Charlie had been much of a husband to you is it?’ the Reverend continued unrepentantly. ‘I mean take Percy here. How much more agreeable to be wed to a sensitive, caring fellow like him.’ He ignored his curate’s frantic hand signals and bright red face. ‘Not that he’s got much backbone. In fact I’d go so far as to say he’s a trifle chuckleheaded. But his heart’s the right place and believe me, you could do a lot worse.’ He paused slightly before adding, ‘which of course you already know.’
With a dark chuckle, Augustus Shackleford climbed to his feet. ‘Right then, I’ll leave you to it. I reckon I’ve given the lovebirds enough of a head start. Time to have a bit of a nose.’ He pushed open the door before turning back to his speechless curate, muttering, ‘Don’t make a deuced mull of it, Percy lad,’ accompanied by a lewd wink.
Clambering down, the Reverend gave a nod to the coach driver who was stamping about in an effort to keep warm. After a sudden thought, the clergyman rummaged around in his cassock, eventually fishing out his small flask of brandy. ‘Here you go lad,’ he declared, holding the small bottle out to the coachman. ‘This’ll chase away the cold.’
Leaving the flask with the grateful coach driver, the Reverend wandered round the side of the house, keeping an eye out for Freddy. Arriving at the back, he stood for a second appreciating the view and thinking to himself that despite the small problem of his daughter’s betrothed being wanted by a murderous ex sailor, things had turned out rather well.
Stepping towards the house, he peered in through the first window but there was nothing of interest to see. He wondered where the Earl had taken Chastity. The scoundrel had better not be looking for an undamaged bedchamber. Naturally Reverend Shackleford had completely forgotten that only last evening he’d happily allowed the same daughter to be escorted into a dark secluded garden by said scoundrel.
Hurrying a little now and berating himself for his earlier selflessness, the Reverend went towards a large door, noting as he got closer, that it was slightly ajar. Grunting, he pulled it open the rest of the way and tiptoed inside. Unsure why he was being so quiet, he followed the shadowy hall, peeping into each empty room, until he came to a narrow staircase.
Reasoning that as very little remained of the front of the house, the Earl and Chastity must have gone up this way, he began to climb, his knees protesting with every step. He gave a pained grimace. Truly, it was time he stopped gallivanting round the deuced country.
The stairs turned, and he could see another door open slightly at the top. He was just about to continue up when there was a sudden scuffle behind him. He froze in place, not daring to move, until abruptly a cold nose thrust into his hand. Only just managing to stifle an instinctive yell, he sat down abruptly as Freddy clambered all over him. ‘Thunder an’ turf, you nearly gave me a deuced apoplexy,’ he muttered, pushing the foxhound off. He was just about to get back to his feet when the sound of voices drifted down the stairs.
Freddy gave a low warning growl. ‘It’s only Chastity, you beef-witted dog,’ Augustus Shackleford murmured. The foxhound continued to grumble, and the Reverend frowned, glancing up the stairs. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered, holding onto the dog’s muzzle.
‘…Not that you’re likely to live long enough to decide between either.’
Reverend Shackleford felt his stomach churn. The voice was arrogant, amused and the clergyman was certain he’d never heard it before. Carefully, he climbed to his feet, frantically searching his pockets for the foxhound’s lead before remembering it was round his neck. With a mumbled epithet, he clipped the lead back on. ‘Let’s go and see who it is,’ he whispered in Freddy’s ear, receiving a low whine in return.
Carefully, the Reverend crept up the remaining steps, his heart beating a tattoo on the inside of his chest. Hardly daring to breathe, he put his eye to the crack in the door. He could see Christian with Chastity behind him. They were watching someone, and the fear on both their faces told him the owner of the voice wasn’t making a social call. Slowly, he eased the door open a little more–enough to give him a view of the other end of the landing.
Sure enough, a man stood facing them. His clothes proclaimed him a gentleman, but the Reverend gave them only a cursory glance before his attention was drawn to the pistol in the stranger’s hand.
‘You’re Witherspoon’s partner,’ the Earl stated matter-of-factly.
‘The Honourable Josiah Winters, at your service,’ the man sneered with a parody of a bow.
‘How did you know I’d be here?’
Winters laughed. ‘Servants are notoriously easy to bribe,’ he chuckled. ‘And yours easier than most. You’re not well regarded by your staff, my lord.’ He winked and leaned forward slightly as if imparting a secret. ‘I think they believe you an upstart bastard.’ His unconscious use of the same words spoken by Mercy told Christian all he needed to know.
‘She’s a very pretty child, your daughter,’ Winters went on, his voice chillingly conversational. ‘Her name is Mercy, I’m told. Ironic really as we’d originally intended to steal her from you until things came to a head rather more quickly than we’d anticipated.’ He gave a low chuckle. ‘To be fair, it was my idea really. Witherspoon was content to see you dead. No deuced imagination.’
‘If you so much as touch a hair on my daughter’s head, I’ll kill you,’ Christian commented through gritted teeth.
‘Well, the poor darling’s hardly going to be able to live without her papa, now is she?’ Winters shook his head sadly. ‘Such a cruel world for orphans.’
Christian took an involuntary step forward, his face white with fury.
In answer, Winters raised the pistol and extended his arm. ‘Anyway, as enriching as this littletête-à-têtehas been, I must be getting on. Our biggest fight is merely days away, and I’d like to see my associate released before then. He’d be devastated if he missed it.’
Augustus Shackleford knew he had but seconds to act. As he listened to the intruder’s chilling words, he bent down and quietly unclipped Freddy’s lead, making sure to keep hold of his collar. The foxhound’s hackles were raised, his lips curling away from his teeth. Heart thudding, the Reverend held the dog back, but as soon as the blackguard raised his pistol, he took his hand from Freddy’s collar with a whispered, ‘Get him, Fred.’
The hound needed no further urging. Bursting through the door with a loud snarl, he took Winters completely by surprise. Eyes wide with horror as the foxhound leapt up at him, teeth bared, the man tried to redirect the pistol towards the attacking dog, but instead, accidently fired it into the air. The deafening sound of the gunshot ricocheted around the empty room as the Earl took advantage of the distraction, immediately jumping forward and launching himself at their attacker.
As the two men grappled, Freddy barked and growled, darting in to snap at the intruder’s breeches.
Chastity stood fixated with terror as she watched them get closer to the gaping hole where the balustrade should have been. The pistol skidded across the floor, and Chastity darted forward to pick it up, only to stare down at it in bewilderment. She had no idea how to use it. And anyway, she’d just as likely hit the Earl as their attacker if she tried.
She sent a panicked glance towards her father who was hovering as close to the men as he dared, though quite what he intended to do was unclear. She had no idea how he’d known they were in the suds.
Then everything appeared to happen at once. As Christian threw up his hand to block a punch, he connected with the assailant’s shoulder, spinning him to one side. At the same time, Freddy finally succeeded in sinking his teeth through the man’s breeches. With a yell, Winters kicked out viciously, but the foxhound had already darted out of the way, and his leg met with fresh air. With a panicked cry, he overbalanced, falling backwards. His hands flailed towards Christian and managed to snag the edge of the Earl’s jacket. Frantically, Christian tried to prize the fingers off, but just as he thought he’d succeed in freeing himself, Winters went over the edge, the momentum dragging Lord Cottesmore with him.
