Scandalous. Part 30

"No, Reverend Whiting. Do not put yourself in harm's way on my account. I believe him. I don't think he means to kill me, merely to use me to get away himself."

"Quite smart, Miss Hamilton. You obviously have a good head on your shoulders."

"Besides, you must stay here to tell my father what happened."

The vicar nodded. "You are right. I am a witness to what happened to you." He fixed his gaze on Rutherford. "Everyone will know that you have her. I will make sure of that. If you hurt her, you won't stand a chance of getting away."

Reluctantly he stepped aside, and Priscilla walked across the room to Rutherford. He took her elbow, placing the gun directly against her spine. "All right, Miss Hamilton. Let us go now."

They took the vicar's small trap, which was sitting in front of the house. Rutherford tied his horse to the back of the trap and climbed into the small seat beside Priscilla. Priscilla drove, and he held the gun to her waist the whole way, concealing it behind her back whenever they chanced to come upon anyone on the road.

Fear had left Priscilla sometime back in her father's house. She was certain that Rutherford would not harm her as long as he got what he wanted out of Ranleigh. But she burned inside with a determination to see that he would not get away with it. He had murdered that girl! Had seduced her and gotten her pregnant and then killed her when she confronted him with it. It made Priscilla see red just to think of it. As if that were not bad enough, he had implicated his own friend in the murder-no matter how much he protested that he had not intended for Damon to be blamed, the simple truth of the matter was that Damon had been blamed for it. The fact that he had given Damon an alibi did not relieve him of that guilt; it had been an alibi for himself, as well. Then he had lived among them all these years, accepting everyone's friendship and liking. He had fooled them all. He must have laughed at them secretly. He must have thought they were all fools for believing in him, trusting him, liking him-when all the time he was guilty of murder!

While Damon had been as good as exiled to another land, parted from the woman he loved...

Priscilla had to swallow back her rage. She could not let it cloud her thinking. She did not want this man to get away, and she must be clearheaded, so that she could seize whatever opportunity arose to escape from him.

Before long they pulled up in front of Ranleigh Court and got out of the trap. A groom ran to get the pony, and Priscilla walked to the front door with Rutherford following, carefully concealing his gun behind her. The footman who answered the door, used to seeing both of them, ushered them in and showed them to the informal drawing room. It was only a few minutes before the Duke entered the room, saying jovially, "Sebastian! Priscilla, my dear. It is so nice to see you."

He stopped short as the pair turned toward him. It was immediately apparent from their stiff demeanor that something was wrong. His eyes dropped to Priscilla's waist, and he saw the gun. His face seemed to age years in those seconds.

"So it was you." He shook his head in a dazed way. "When Bryan told me his suspicions, I couldn't believe it."

"Bryan knew?" Priscilla exclaimed in surprise.

Damon shook his head. "He didn't know. But he had suspicions. He was the only one who came into this from the outside, who didn't already have an opinion of Sebastian. He saw the holes, I guess, and he asked me questions that I could not ignore. I kept thinking about it. And then, Sebastian, you were a little clumsy about maneuvering us into going to Evesham's home. It made me wonder all the more. That is why I planted that seed yesterday, the little story about Rose having left something of her lover's behind."

"What?" Rutherford looked stunned. "You mean, there isn't any memento?"

"I know of none. I just made it up. I wanted to see if you would react to it, if it would make you do anything. Unfortunately, it never occurred to me that you would react by seizing Miss Hamilton." Damon sighed heavily. "Oh, G.o.d, Sebastian, why did you do this? I was always so certain that you were my friend."

"I was your friend, Damon. You have to believe that. I never intended to hurt you. I didn't know it would happen that way. I just-I saw Rose, and she was quite available, always flirting and smiling. It was obvious that she was experienced. Everyone acts as if she were some innocent child, but she knew what she was doing. I didn't realize that she would try to take advantage of the situation. When she told me that she was pregnant, I was flabbergasted. And she acted as if she expected me to marry her! A chambermaid! I a.s.sumed that she wanted money, but I hadn't much. You know the shape I was always in. I could barely stay in Oxford. I tried to give her what I had, but she was scornful of it. So I decided to take some jewels from your father's safe in the library. I had seen him open it. I knew where he kept the combination. It was dead easy. I grabbed the first thing I saw. I didn't know it was a special necklace, that everyone could identify it. I knew nothing about jewelry. I didn't even realize how valuable it was. It was wrong of me; I admit it. But, please, absolve me of malicious intent."

"Lord, man, why are you worrying about your thievery?" Ranleigh asked, amazed. "You killed a girl!"

"I didn't mean to! I keep telling you-I didn't mean to do anything terrible. I just wanted to give her a piece of jewelry that would be worth enough to keep her quiet, to get her to leave me alone. But when I gave it to her that night, she had a fit. She was screaming and crying, saying I had to marry her, that she would tell your father and everyone else. We struggled, and somehow the necklace got broken. She kept going on and on about it, and how I had to marry her, and then...I don't know how it happened. I wanted her to shut up, and I put my hands on her neck, and I shook her. And the next thing I knew, I was standing there, and she was lying on the ground. Dead. I didn't mean to."

"Things like that tend to happen when you're squeezing someone by the throat," Priscilla remarked dryly.

He jabbed her with the gun. "Keep quiet. I have no need for your opinion." He looked back at Ranleigh, appealing to him. "I didn't dream that they would think you had done it! I didn't know the silly chit had told her family she was seeing a 'gentleman.' Or that they would be able to trace those d.a.m.n rubies back to your family. It all...just happened."

Ranleigh nodded. "Things seem to do that with you."

Rutherford nodded eagerly, not noticing the sarcasm in the Duke's voice. "It's true! I don't know why. But when I realized that they were trying to put the blame on you, I came forward and said you were with me. So they wouldn't arrest you."

"And very conveniently providing an alibi for yourself, as well. One that I could not refute, if I wanted to save my own neck." Ranleigh made a disgusted noise. "I cannot believe I was so completely taken in. I really believed that you were acting as a friend. It never occurred to me to wonder whether your lie covered up something you needed hidden, too."

"I was thinking of you," Rutherford insisted. "You can believe what you want, but I acted as a friend. I could not let them accuse you of murder. I needn't have done anything, you know. No one suspected me."

"Yet. But what if the woman I had seen that night had come forward and revealed that I was with her and couldn't have committed the murders? Then what? They would have started looking around again. And how many other 'gentleman' would there have been around to lay the blame on? Evesham? Lord Chalcomb? You? The list is short."

"I did it for you, d.a.m.n you! Why do you persist in misjudging me?"

"Perhaps because I have already misjudged you so-in the opposite direction." Damon sighed. "All right, Sebastian. I believe that you did not mean to harm me. But-" Ranleigh spread his hands in a gesture of appeal "-what are you hoping to accomplish now? Do you think that killing another young woman will make anyone go easier on you?"

"No. I don't plan to kill her-not unless you give me no other choice."

"What can I do?"

"You know I'm not flush with money. I never have been. It has been easier, with that house your father gave me, but still, I haven't any money saved. And obviously I cannot stay here anymore. I have to get away-go to America, as you did. Or Australia. But I need money for that, for the ship fare and for getting started in a new land."

"G.o.d forbid that you should have to work," Priscilla put in scathingly, earning herself another jab in the back.

"Shut up, I said!"

"All right, Sebastian. I will give you money. Come into the library. It is where I keep it."

He started out the door, and Rutherford propelled Priscilla after him, staying a cautious distance behind the Duke and keeping his gun pressed into Priscilla's ribs. Priscilla glanced around but could see nothing out of place. Rutherford was twisting and turning nervously, checking out every nook and cranny.

"Where is your son?" he asked finally. It was something Priscilla had been wondering, also. She would have thought that Bryan would come down to see her, yet he had never come into the drawing room. Had he heard them talking? Hope began to rise in her. Perhaps he had heard them and had realized what was going on. He might have gone to get the authorities- No, not Bryan. He would more likely have decided to hide until they came out, then jump Rutherford himself. At any moment, he might come out of nowhere and- Her hopes were dashed by Ranleigh, who said, "He went out riding this morning. I am afraid I don't know where he is."

Rutherford nodded, obviously relieved at the news. The Duke opened the door to his library and walked in. It was a large, elegant room, not the jumbled study that her father's library was, but a well-proportioned chamber lined with gilt-lettered leatherbound books. One wall was all books from floor to ceiling, with a tall ladder on rollers that moved along a track. The wall adjacent to it faced the front of the house, its long cas.e.m.e.nt windows providing a view of the rolling green lawn that stretched out before it.

Ranleigh walked over to his desk, with Rutherford and Priscilla close behind him, and unlocked the center drawer. "Let's see." He pulled out a small flat metal box and opened it. "Here are some bills." He started to count them out, then paused, glancing over at the windows. "Trifle stuffy in here, isn't it?"

He turned and started toward the windows.

"What the devil are you doing?" Rutherford snarled. "I hope you don't think you can escape that easily."

"Of course not." Ranleigh turned back, looking affronted. "Do you think I would try to escape, leaving Miss Hamilton in your hands? It is warm. I thought I would open a window."

"Well, don't. Come back here."

Ranleigh shrugged and started back toward the desk, but Priscilla turned to Rutherford, saying, "Please, let him open one. I am feeling quite faint." She did not know why Ranleigh wanted to open a window, but because of its very oddness, she felt it must be part of some plan he was cooking up.

Rutherford frowned, looking undecided.

"For pity's sake, Sebastian," Ranleigh snapped. "You can come with me, if it bothers you. I give you my word of honor that I will not try to escape."

"Oh, all right. But I do wish you would get on with it. I need to leave."

Rutherford accompanied Ranleigh to the window, dragging Priscilla along with him, and he watched suspiciously as Ranleigh cranked out the window.

"There, that's better," the duke said, breathing in the cool air. "Are you all right, Miss Hamilton?"

"Oh, yes, I feel much better," Priscilla answered, taking a deep gulp of air, too. Ranleigh smiled at her, and there was a twinkle in his eye that made her wonder more than ever if he was planning to use the open window somehow.

Ranleigh returned to the desk, and Rutherford and Priscilla turned to follow him. As she did so, Priscilla caught a glimpse of the large bush to the left of the window. It trembled suddenly, and it wasn't until after she had turned and taken a step away that she realized that a few branches of the bush had moved and that there had been a hand, a human hand, on one of them. She nearly stopped, but she caught herself, turning it into a stumble.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I am afraid I felt a little dizzy for a moment."

Her mind was racing. There was someone out there, waiting for a chance to jump in and wrestle the gun away from Rutherford. It might be a servant who had overheard the conversation, but her heart told her it was Bryan. No doubt his father had been lying when he said he was out riding. He had known Bryan was in the house and would be maneuvering into position to take care of Rutherford.

"Be careful," Rutherford returned irritably. "You will make my finger twitch on the trigger."

"Yes. I know. I'm sorry."

Ranleigh began to count out the money in his cash box. Then he handed it to Rutherford. Rutherford grabbed it out of his hand, saying, "But that's not nearly enough! I cannot even get to America on this!"

"I'm sorry. I am not in the habit of keeping large sums of money around the house. I would have to go to the bank to withdraw a larger amount."

"d.a.m.n it, Damon, are you playing with me?"

"No! I swear it. It's the truth. Why would I keep enough money here for a man to go to the States and set up a new life? It would be foolhardy of me."

"Open the safe. There is bound to be some in there."

Ranleigh shrugged. "If you wish. But it's mostly jewelry and some stock and bonds, debentures."

"Just open it."

"All right." He went around the desk and over to the small safe in the wall.

Rutherford started to follow, but Priscilla sagged against the desk. She didn't want Rutherford going very far from the window, nor did she want him turning and perhaps catching a glimpse of Bryan climbing in. She grabbed Rutherford's arm, saying in a dying voice, "Please, I feel quite ill. This is too-too much excitement."

Rutherford let out a curse, struggling to hold her up as Priscilla let the full weight of her body sag against him. "b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, woman!" he began, bringing the arm that held the gun up to catch her under the shoulder.

At that instant, there was an earsplitting yell from behind them, and before Rutherford could even turn, a heavy weight thudded into him from the rear. He staggered forward, carrying Priscilla with him, and they crashed into the desk. Priscilla, as soon as she heard the noise, grabbed for Rutherford's gun hand with both her own hands, and she hung on even when they fell against the desk. Her breath was knocked out of her, but she clung to Rutherford's arm like a limpet.

She could see nothing but darkness as the three of them struggled. There were curses and grunts as the men grappled atop her, driving the last of the air from her lungs. The gun went off with a loud bang, and something crashed across the room. Sparks danced before Priscilla's eyes, and she was certain that she was about to faint when suddenly there was a loud crash much closer by, as a stick slammed into the desk, not far above her hands-and right across Rutherford's arm.

Rutherford let loose an inhuman yowl, and suddenly the two bodies were off her. Priscilla looked up to see Bryan lifting Rutherford from the floor and throwing him against the bookcase.

"Careful, Bryan. I may have broken the man's arm," the Duke said calmly behind her head.

He reached down and slipped an arm under Priscilla, lifting her up into a sitting position on the desk. Priscilla looked up at him. In the other hand he held a long stick with a clamp at the end, useful for getting down hard-to-reach books. Rutherford's gun was lying useless on the ground at his feet.

Bryan, who had just slammed his fist into Rutherford's gut, let out a growl to the effect that he really did not care about the other man's arm. He followed his words with an uppercut to Rutherford's chin. Rutherford's eyes rolled up in his head, and he slid to the floor in a heap. Bryan looked down at him, clenching and unclenching his fist.

"Don't," his father told him calmly, bending down and picking up Rutherford's gun. "It's unsportsmanlike."

Bryan cast him an expressive look. "You forget. I'm not English."

"True. But you are not entirely a savage, either."

Bryan sighed regretfully. "I suppose you're right."

He turned away, and his eyes went to Priscilla, who was sitting on the desk, still trying to recover her breath. He was at her side in one quick stride, pulling her off the desk and into his arms, burying his face against her neck.

"G.o.d, I was scared to death. I thought he would make a mistake and the gun would go off. Or I wouldn't hit him right and he would have enough time to shoot."

Priscilla smiled brilliantly, surprised to find tears suddenly coursing down her face. "You did it exactly right."

"No, it was you who made it work." He kissed her again and again as he spoke-quick, eager kisses. "You are so d.a.m.ned clever, getting him to open the window. And then to grab for the gun. You are a jewel. A woman in a million."

Priscilla giggled through her tears, returning his kisses.

"No, wait, sir, wait!" came the agitated voice of the Ranleigh Court butler.

A moment later Florian Hamilton burst into the room, brandishing the large dueling pistol that had belonged to his father. "d.a.m.n you!" he shouted. "Release my daughter."

Right behind him were Miss Pennybaker, clutching her parasol in a death grip and looking as if she were ready to dispatch a scoundrel or two with it, and the vicar, carrying no weapon and looking anxiety-stricken.

"Release her, I said!" Florian raised the old gun and pointed it straight at Bryan.

Bryan groaned. "Not that d.a.m.nable pistol again!"

"No, Florian, wait," the vicar exclaimed. "That isn't the one who dragged Priscilla off. It was Mr. Rutherford. Where is he?" He looked over at the person in question, who was lying on the floor, clutching his arm and groaning. "Oh. My. I-I guess the situation is in hand."

"Yes, Papa. I am fine. See?" Priscilla slid out of Bryan's embrace and went to kiss her father on the cheek. "Thank you for trying to rescue me, though. It was very sweet."

"Well, you are my daughter," Florian replied reasonably, setting the dueling pistol down on the nearest table. He peered across the room at Rutherford, adjusting his spectacles. "I say, what happened to him?"

"Bryan saved me from him," Priscilla explained.

"I see. Handy fellow with his fists, Bryan." He came over and shook Bryan's hand. "Good work, lad. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," Bryan returned. "I am glad to hear that, since I intend to marry your daughter."

"Do you, now?" Florian looked faintly surprised, but not concerned. "Lot of that going on these days, isn't there?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Marrying. Seems to be an epidemic of it."

"Papa and Miss Pennybaker have decided to tie the knot, also," Priscilla explained to Bryan.

"Ah, I see."

"Your father, too," Florian pointed out. "Well, that's good. Priscilla's a trifle bored at home, what with the boys gone and all. And now Isabelle can do my copying, so it will work out nicely." He nodded, satisfied.

"Wait." Priscilla turned to Bryan. "I...I'm...you must not go about telling everyone that we are getting married. Not until..."

"Yes? Until what?"

"Until I tell you my...the secret. The scandal. I cannot in good conscience marry you unless you are aware of it."

"All right." He looked unconcerned. "Then tell me."