LITMIR.BIZ

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there.’ He jerked his head at the open door of the inn.

      Eleanor strode into the taproom with Matthews close behind. The room was empty and Eleanor turned to him with raised brows, only to find the man holding a pistol. She stepped back. ‘What does this mean?’

      ‘It means, my lady,’ said a hoarse voice from behind her, ‘you have very kindly assisted me in my quest.’

      She turned slowly and took stock of the man who had entered the room through another door. He was old and so bent over he was forced to look sideways up at her. Deep lines etched his heavily jowelled face below a shock of pure white hair.

      Eleanor had never seen him before. ‘Where is the Marquess?’

      ‘Dead.’

      Eleanor’s knees weakened. The room seemed to spin. She clung to the back of a chair. ‘No! I received a note.’

      ‘Oh, yes. A note. Meet me tonight after Midnight at the corner of the Square.’ The old man cackled. The sound pierced her heart like knives.

      ‘Really, my lady, do you think my traitorous nephew would be foolish enough to walk into England for you, even if he lived? British spies watch you every minute in case he returns. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?’ He glanced at the other man. ‘Matthews, you are sure you were not followed?’

      ‘No, sir, nary a sign or a peep.’

      This twisted gnome was Duncan Le Clere. She recognised his cold eyes. Her heart beat became erratic. He’d tricked her. Garrick was dead. An ache spread through her chest. Cruel man to raise her hopes, then shatter them with a single word. She wanted to curl into a ball. To shut out the world. To let the darkness dancing at the edge of her vision descend. But she couldn’t, for the sake of the child. Garrick’s babe.

      ‘Why?’ she whispered, her voice breaking.

      ‘Please be seated, my lady.’ He waved towards one of the chairs. ‘You carry his child, do you not?’

      Eleanor put one hand protectively over her belly and held her ground. ‘What concern is it of yours?’

      ‘I want it. And I want a certain letter only you can get for me.’

      The whole thing became clear. What a fool she’d been. She should have guessed. ‘I see.’

      His piercing dark eyes glittered like the eyes of a snake laid out on a rock watching a rabbit. She felt very much like a rabbit. ‘You know, don’t you?’ he said.

      She would not show her fear. ‘That it proves you a murderer? Yes.’ He cocked his head on one side, his mouth twisting. Clearly the wrong thing to say. ‘You cannot keep me against my will.’

      ‘Can I not? You will be well looked after until the birth of the child. If you fail to produce an heir, there is a woman standing by with a male replacement. But you won’t. Le Cleres always beget boys.’

      His voice was so cold, so rational, she had no trouble believing he meant every word, mad as they sounded. She couldn’t breathe. It was as if something was wrapped around her chest and was slowly squeezing all the air from her lungs. She felt dizzy. What a fool to walk into his trap. She had to do something. Her hand clenched around the scabbard hidden in the folds of her cloak. What could a sword do against a pistol? Perhaps something, if the right moment came along. She’d have to be patient. The safety of her babe depended on not making another mistake.

      Le Clere grinned. ‘Do what I tell you and who knows, I might let you live.’ He withdrew a pistol from his pocket and cocked it. ‘Matthews, have one of the men take the hackney back to London. There must be no trace. Then bring the coach around and let me know when you are ready. I will not be thwarted this time. I will have the heir in my control and this time he will be obedient.’

      A shudder of horror crept down her back. Clenching the scabbard, she held herself rigid, aloof, waiting her moment.

      Matthews left to do his bidding and Le Clere grinned up at Eleanor. ‘You see, my lady, I amassed quite a fortune from Beauworth during the war, but Garrick managed to upset my plans.’ His laugh was harsh and sounded more than a little crazed. ‘I moved all my money to the Continent.’ The old man’s voice lowered to a mutter. ‘France is ruined. I am ruined.’

      The door opened with a soft click. He raised his voice, but didn’t turn around. ‘But what we did before, we can do again, isn’t that right, Matthews?’

      The door swung back. ‘I’m afraid, Le Clere, that Matthews is otherwise detained.’

      ‘Garrick.’ Eleanor reeled at the sound of her husband’s voice. It was really Garrick, looking like Dodds, without the patch and the limp. A sob of joy rose in her throat. She started forwards, wanting the feel of his arms around her, wanting to touch him to be certain it wasn’t her imagination playing tricks.

      ‘Hold,’ Le Clere said, grabbing her. He hooked an arm around her throat. He pressed his pistol against her temple.

      Garrick cursed.

      Eleanor could not take her gaze from his dear face. Garrick had come home. Tears ran down her face. He was alive.

      ‘Well, nephew,’ Le Clere said with a sneer, ‘I heard you were dead.’

      Garrick nodded, his face grim, the lines beside his mouth deepening. ‘I knew it would bring you out of whatever hole you had crawled into. I must say, though, I would never have recognised you.’

      ‘An unlucky bullet the day you betrayed me. It hit my spine. I have not walked upright since. I should never have let you take her across the field.’

      From the wild look in the old man’s eye, Garrick judged him capable of anything, even the murder of an innocent woman. There was no doubt in his mind. Le Clere was quite mad.

      ‘Drop your weapon and kneel down, Garrick.’

      He should have waited for Dan, but his fears for Ellie had scrambled his wits. ‘Go to hell.’

      Le Clere’s lips drew back in the grimace of a smile and he jammed the pistol harder against Eleanor’s temple. Her repressed gasp told Garrick he’d hurt her. No more. He’d done her far too much ill already. He threw the pistol to one side and, with one hand on the arm of the chair, sank to his knees, praying his men would arrive soon.

      ‘That’s so much better.’ Le Clere’s grin was sly. ‘I hate looking up at anyone.’

      ‘Let her go. Your quarrel is with me.’

      ‘But you don’t understand, Garrick, she is with child. Your heir.’

      He kept his face blank, despite the roar of blood in his ears. ‘I know. So?’

      ‘Sadly, you were spoiled by the time you came under my authority. I had thought that without your mother’s influence, you would settle down. Hence, I disposed of her. But you proved uncontrollable. This newest addition to the Beauworth family will learn obedience. This one will know his master.’

      By his own admission, this man had killed his mother. Anger raged inside him like a beast that refused to be chained. His vision narrowed. All he could see was Le Clere’s leering face. He clenched his fists, ready to launch himself forwards.

      Ellie. He was pointing the pistol at Ellie. Garrick took a deep breath. Then another until the beast subsided. He would not risk Ellie’s life to satisfy his lust for blood.

      Le Clere, watching him closely, nodded. ‘Thought better of it, eh, Garrick? You always were a coward.’ He shifted his aim to Garrick. ‘You always tried to save your own neck. Well, it won’t work this time, dear boy.’

      Garrick gritted his teeth and fought for control. If he could just get Le Clere further away from Ellie, he could give the signal to his men. ‘I’m not your dear boy. I never was.’

      ‘True.’ The old man grimaced. ‘I must say I was shocked when I heard of your activities in France.’

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