Chapter Sixteen
Dax woke the instant the outer door opened.
Tucked around Willa’s soft, sleeping body, he found it something of a wrench to ease back from her and slide out of bed. She slept on, her face quiet and contented. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate her like that, a peaceful contrast to the wild, passionate woman he’d aroused last night.
He’d have liked to stay, to wake up naturally with her and talk about all the things he couldn’t say last night. He’d just needed Willa in his arms, and though he couldn’t find the words, he’d known she needed him, too. First, though, he had to clear up this mess and keep her safe.
So, naked, he padded from her chamber and crossed the sitting room to his own bedchamber, where Carson awaited him.
“No wonder people call you insane,” his valet said. “Look at you, dressing to fight two more duels while you’re still injured from the last one.”
“I could take the sling off,” Dax said. “But I feel it makes me look more dashing. And less dangerous.”
Carson cast him a sour glance.
“There’s a letter under my pillow for her ladyship. You’ll give it to her if anything goes wrong.”
“’Course I will,” Carson muttered, hooking the coat over his still injured shoulder. “Just pay attention to what you’re doing and don’t die on us. Where else would I get a job where I get to hit the master?”
Dax scowled at him. “When did you last have to hit me?” he demanded.
“Few weeks ago,” Carson admitted. “Mind you, her ladyship might say I should be hitting you now.”
Dax grunted and picked up his hat and his pistol case. He hoped she would understand.
*
Leigh was already at the Cove with a lantern when Dax made his way down to the beach alone. Which was good. It meant the whole thing should be over quickly before Tamar made his appearance. Unless he was completely wrong about his old friend and the culprit had been Tamar all along. Dax couldn’t believe that. For one thing, Tamar had no motive that he could think of—unless the impoverished marquis had set his sights on Willa. Who would, thanks to Daxton’s efforts last night, be an independently wealthy woman if he died today.
Dax was aware that if he could choose a culprit trying to kill him, it would be Leigh. The man had dared to put Willa in danger, had intended worse, and Dax was eager for an excuse to kill him. There was also the less important and yet nagging knowledge that Leigh had shared no part of his childhood. For some reason, that made his guilt much more desirable than either of the other two alternatives.
And Leigh had, Dax realized, someone with him. Hairs prickled on the back of Daxton’s neck. His fingers curled around the small pistol he’d hidden in his sling, and he kept walking steadily.
“We agreed no seconds,” Dax pointed out.
The third man turned to face him with a glare of disapproval, and in spite of himself, Dax let out a crack of laughter.
“I brought the doctor,” Leigh said abruptly. “Hope you don’t mind. He is a gentleman after all, as well as possessing those professional skills we might need.”
“Actually, he promised to shoot me himself,” Dax said.
“Next time, my lord,” Dr. Lampton promised.
“I hope not,” Dax said fervently, since his next time was likely to be in about an hour. “Shall we?” he said, setting down his dueling pistol case and opening it. “One of these, Leigh, or do you prefer your own?”
“I brought my own, but yours are prettier. Are they well matched?”
“I’ve always found them so,” Dax replied. “Help yourself. They’re loaded already, though, so take care.”
Dr. Lampton swore at this amiable interchange, but Leigh seemed to see nothing wrong with it, carefully lifting one of the pistols and turning his back on Dax. Dax took the other, straightened and turned to face the shore, scanning it as he had the morning of his duel with Shelby. Now, of course, he knew where to look, but he saw no sign of any movement at all.
“One,” Dax began, pacing away from Leigh, his eyes constantly searching the shore for any sign of movement. But even the birds were still. “Twenty,” he said finally, and with huge reluctance, turned to face his enemy, stretching out his pistol arm and taking aim.
Leigh stood opposite, pointing his pistol deliberately into the air. And then suddenly, Leigh’s face changed. “Get down, Dax!” he yelled, hurling the pistol away and rushing at Dax in almost the same moment.
The crack of the gunshot exploded before Leigh had finished speaking, before his thrown pistol hit the ground. But Dax was already flat on the sand, hitting it on Leigh’s first word. The woosh of his stomach came from excitement, from plain fear, not from injury…he hoped.
Leaping to his feet, just as Leigh got to him, he demanded, “Are you hit?” even as he swung around to see three men wrestling on the shore line, more or less where Dax had expected the trouble to be. One man went down under the other two. Dax could only pray, grimly, that it was the right way around, for he couldn’t see who was who.
“I’m fine,” Leigh said shakily. “What the devil is going on?”
“Let’s go and see,” Dax suggested, running up the sand.
The instantly recognizable figure of Carson stood up among the bushes, his thumb pointing upward.
“Got him,” he said laconically as Dax scrambled up the rocks, Leigh and Dr. Lampton at his heels.
“Got who?” Leigh demanded.
Dax reached the top and gazed down at Daniel Doone, who sat with some satisfaction on the back of another man who, when he angrily wrenched his head up, looked vaguely familiar.
“This is Jem Brown,” Dan said. “The bastard who abducted my Clara.”
“And shot his lordship,” Carson growled. “During his last duel.”
“With Shelby,” Lampton said slowly. “So that was you who shot him? What the devil for?”
“Money, I expect.” Dax said, crouching down to search the culprit’s pockets. “I’m pretty sure it was he tried to knife me the other week, too. Did you try to shoot me over by Haven Hall, as well?”
“You’re a lucky bastard,” Jem snarled bitterly.
“Either that or you’re a shockingly poor assassin.” Dax pulled a purse from Jem’s coat pocket and held it up to the rising sunlight. It felt a little lighter than the last time he’d held it, but it was instantly recognizable. “Which I suspect is more likely. I wonder who would have hired someone as incompetent as you?”
“Shelby,” Lord Tamar’s voice said, causing Dax to swing around.
The marquis had appeared silently on the ridge of the cliff, carrying something large and wrapped in canvas over his shoulder. Beside him, her eyes wide with fear, stood Willa.
For an instant, Dax was completely thrown. She looked so sweet and vulnerable and cold, her cloak clutched around herself with trembling fingers as she stared at him. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight forever. He wanted to send her back to the hotel immediately, only he knew she wouldn’t go. She’d followed him.
If she’d been any earlier, she’d have been in acute danger and it would all have been Daxton’s fault. If anything happened to her…ever… His throat closed up with sudden, rushing realization.
Which he couldn’t reveal, not here.
“God damn it, Rags!” Dax exploded. “You brought my wife to a duel?”
“Of course I didn’t bring her,” Tamar retorted. “I’ve been chasing her along the road for the last ten minutes!”
“I woke up and you’d gone,” Willa said unsteadily. “I knew—” She broke off to point at Jem, now pulled onto his front although Dan still sat on him. “That’s him! The man I kept seeing. I’m sure he’s been watching us.”
“Jem Brown,” Dan said again.
Willa frowned. “Clara’s Jem? Then he’s nothing to do with Dax? Where did Ralph’s purse come from, then?”
“Because he’s everything to do with me. Shelby hired him.”
Willa regarded the fallen man without favor. “Is it sensible of him to repeat his failure of last time?”
“Not very,” Tamar agreed. “But then again, he never knew we were onto him. We never revealed who really shot Dax, and Shelby’s been telling everyone it was him.”
“I think we need to go and see Shelby,” Dax said grimly. “Right after our duel. What have you got there, Rags? A blunderbuss?”
“No.” Tamar bent and deposited his bundle on the grass, unwrapping it to reveal two simply carved wooden swords.
Daxton’s lips twitched as he raised his gaze from them to Tamar’s face.
“My choice of weapons,” Tamar reminded him.
“True. Are they blunt?”
“Of course they are. I don’t want to kill you, Dax, and I’ve nothing to apologize for. Your wife is lovely, far lovelier than you deserve, but I’d never touch her. For one thing, she’d never let me. And for another, she’s yours. And if you can’t see that, you’ll probably die of stupidity.”
“Nice speech, Tamar,” Leigh said admiringly.
“I thought so.”
Dax picked up one of the swords. “So did I. Except the bit about stupidity. You shall answer for that right now. To the beach!” Pointing the wooden sword ahead of him, he began to charge along the ridge of the cliff to the path. He didn’t bother to glance back. He knew that Tamar would grab the other sword and follow him, grinning, and that Leigh and Lampton and Willa would come to see the fun.
While Carson and Dan would guard the prisoner.
*
To Willa, it was reminiscent of childhood, everyone trooping after Dax, gleeful for the next piece of fun. Perhaps it had something to do with relief at the capture of Jem, or the release of tension between Dax and Tamar, but the whole duel with wooden swords was hilarious.
Dax and Tamar leapt around, almost like ballet dancers, having at each other, spinning, bounding, rolling, and dodging, screaming with dramatic pain when a blunt blade touched them, and shouting with triumph when they scored a hit. Each of them died several times, according to Lampton’s pronouncements, only to leap up and begin again. By the end, they were chasing each other over the rocks, and a small group of townspeople had gathered to watch.
Beside Willa, Leigh was in stitches. Somehow, she hadn’t expected the morning’s adventure to end quite like this, and the laughter seemed to be bubbling inside and out as she finally walked up the path to join Dax and Tamar who had declared a temporary truce, much to the disappointment of the towns people.
Carson and Dan joined them, dragging Jem between them.
“So, where now?” Tamar inquired. “The magistrate?”
Dax didn’t even think about it. “Shelby.” He glanced around Tamar, Leigh, Lampton, Willa, and the prisoner’s escort. “But you don’t all need to come.”
“Yes, we do,” Lampton said at once. “I want to know how this all ends, having patched you both up.”
“Please yourself,” Dax said, offering his arm to Willa. “Lady Daxton.”
“Lord Daxton,” she said gravely, although she still wanted to laugh.
They trooped back along the road and into the hotel.
“Oh dear,” Dax said, spotting Lady Romford at almost exactly the same moment Willa did. But he didn’t stop, merely pointed his wooden sword toward the stairs and kept walking.
“Daxton!” his mother called, hurrying after them all. “These stupid people have been denying you and Willa!”
“Well, we were out and now we’re back. Clara will let you into our rooms, and we’ll join you in a few minutes.”
But of course, there was no way that would happen. Lady Romford followed them up the next flight of stairs, too, to the door Willa knew to be to be Ralph’s. It was directly across the passage from Lady Shelby and Elvira.
Daxton’s sharp knock was answered by his alarmed-looking valet who, on catching sight of Dax, merely pointed across the hall to Lady Shelby’s rooms.
It was Haines, Lady Shelby’s abigail who opened the door, her eyes widening in outrage and horror when she saw Willa, and then everyone else.
“Good morning, Haines,” Willa said briskly. “Is my aunt receiving?”
“Mama! It’s Willa!” Elvira squeaked. “And Lord Daxton! And, oh my goodness, Lady Romford and—”
“Oh good,” Willa interrupted, catching sight of the back of a lady’s head she recognized only too well. “I see that she has company already.”
The lady didn’t move, though Willa could have sworn her whole posture stiffened. Aunt Shelby, however, jumped to her feet as Willa walked into the room on her husband’s arm. She blinked several times.
“Willa? What is the meaning of this…I do not wish to be rude, but the word invasion springs to mind! Lady Romford, how do you do?” she added incongruously.
Ralph sat by the fireplace, scowling. He looked as if he was considering being too wounded to rise for his guests, though in the end, he sprang to his feet quite spryly. It may have been the realization that he couldn’t have properly won his duel if the other wounded protagonist—Dax—fared better than he. Or he might have just caught sight of Jem, still held between Dan and Carson, although he’d stopped struggling.
“Please sit, Aunt,” Willa said. “And don’t put yourself out, we aren’t staying. We came only to set a few matters straight.” She looked her aunt in the eye. “You’ve been accusing me of stealing.”
Two bright spots of anger appeared on Lady Shelby’s cheeks. “You took my purse and my money. Haines saw you.”
“This purse?” Dax asked, dragging it from his pocket.
Aunt Shelby’s eyes widened. “That’s it!” she said triumphantly. “I knew you’d taken it!”
“I did,” Willa agreed, “on Ralph’s instructions, delivered to me by Haines. I took it to him in the back room of the hotel where some kind of low gaming party appears to take place every month.”
Lady Shelby was gazing at her, perplexed. “Liar,” she uttered at last, while behind her Ralph glared at Willa so fiercely she wanted to laugh.
“Oh no. There were many witnesses. Including Lord Wickenden. They saw Daxton win this purse from Ralph. Daxton elected to return it when I told him it was yours. It was returned to Haines—and then stolen by this man.”
Jem was dragged forward by his captors.
“Then take him to the damned magistrate,” Ralph growled. “Not my mother.”
It was what Dax had been waiting for. “With pleasure.” He reached out and tugged Jem back toward the door.
“Wait!” Ralph commanded, nervously. “What lies has he been telling you?”
“Not lies,” Tamar put in. “Verifiable testimony that you—at Miss Pinkie’s, no less—paid him to kill Dax, which he chose to try with or without your knowledge when Dax was fighting a duel with you.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Ralph scoffed.
“Well, the ball went in the back of his shoulder,” Dr, Lampton put in. “When you, sir, were standing and shooting in front of him. Your pistol hadn’t been fired and yet Lord Daxton was shot.”
“You think I’m Daxton’s only enemy?” Ralph demanded, his eyes lashing Mrs. Holt.
“No,” Sir Jeremy said quietly. “But Mrs. Holt would not kill Dax.”
She’d kill me, though, Willa thought, intercepting that lady’s contemptuous glance.
“No but you might,” Ralph retorted. It had been one of Willa’s suspicions, until this morning.
“And then save my life from your man’s next attempt?” Dax said mildly. “It doesn’t make much sense. You paid Jem Brown, Shelby. Jem admits it and there are people who saw him with the purse and with you.”
“Not people of repute,” Ralph blustered.
Dax stared at him. “Ralph. We know. We all know.”
Perhaps it was the use of his Christian name, the reminder of shared childhood experience, but Ralph subsided abruptly, dropping back into his chair with one hand across his eyes.
“You must stop this,” Aunt Shelby whispered to Willa. “Do you really hate us so much?”
A sudden lump rose to Willa’s throat. “I never hated you.” Her lips twisted. “For one spark of affection from any of you I would probably even have taken the blame for the wretched purse.”
Aunt Shelby clearly saw nothing in Willa’s remarks that would help her, so appealed to Lady Romford instead. “Please, Lady Romford. You must stop your son saying such things about mine.”
Lady Romford drew herself up to her full, regal height. “Lady Shelby. You must grasp that it is your son who will be stopped from murdering mine. The question is, do we let justice take its course and hang the scandal—which I own will be many times worse for you. Or is there some other way to deal with this?”
“How about a duel?” Tamar suggested, and Sir Jeremy laughed.
Willa glared at both of them. Dax only grinned but said nothing.
Lady Romford ignored them all. She spoke only to Lady Shelby. “Your son is an unpleasant man who steals, hurts women of all classes, and feels entitled to murder in return for any perceived slights. He should hang.”
The room seemed to echo with silence. No one disputed Lady Romford’s words. No one could.
“Or,” Dax said unexpectedly. “He could find himself a purpose. Go home. Look after his estates as a way of reviving his fortunes rather than trying to win heiresses or fortunes at the gaming tables.”
Everyone except Willa stared at Dax with varying degrees of astonishment.
Mrs. Holt actually laughed. “As you will, Dax?” she mocked.
He barely spared her a glance. “As I will. Hell, marry that little fortune hunter who is so devoted to you. She’ll probably help. But this life, spilling out from London, can be poison. Something has certainly poisoned you, Shelby and it needs to stop, or I will lay everything before a magistrate. Even if the law won’t move against you, the scandal will.”
A faint frown formed between Ralph’s brows as he gazed at Dax, as though trying to grasp this possible reprieve had come from his enemy himself.
“Well,” Dax said. “I’m starving. Shall we go and have breakfast?”
“Excellent plan,” Mrs. Holt drawled, rising from her chair. Perhaps she thought to place herself on the right side of the divide once more. Perhaps she really thought it would work and Willa would just sit and watch in silent misery.
“Oh, you’re not invited,” Willa said before she could help herself. “You are part of the poison as your presence here proves. And you’ll stay out of my life and my husband’s.”
Mrs. Holt met her gaze with surprise, and then a tinkling, mocking laugh. “Really?”
“Really,” Dax said. “For your benefit and everyone else’s, let me say for once and for all, that whatever the beginnings of this marriage, Willa is my wife and will remain so.”
His instant defense warmed her, but this was something she had to say for herself. “You might not have tried to kill Dax or even known about it, but your alliance with these people is clear. And known,” she added warningly.
This could easily be one scandal too many, even for Helena Holt.
Helena’s eyes spat venom, for she clearly recognized the truth and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Holt,” Willa said firmly. “Aunt Shelby. Elvira.” And she turned on her husband’s arm and walked out of the room, pausing only to give her mother-in-law precedence as they departed.