Stephanie Laurens - A Gentleman's Honor

She looked down. Her eyes narrowed. “He told me he’d killed Ellicot, and he was going to kill me. I say we let him drown—poetic justice.”

“No!” The protest dissolved into a gurgle as Sir Freddie’s terror made his fingers slip. “No,” came again as he scrabbled back to the surface. “Torrington,” he gasped,

“you can’t leave me here. What will you tell your masters?”

Tony looked down at him. “That you’d sunk before I reached you?”

Folding her arms, Alicia scowled. “I say we leave him—a hemlocklike taste of his own medicine.”

“Hmm.” Tony glanced at her. “How about a trial for treason and murder?”

“Trials and executions cost money. Much better just to leave him to drown. We know he’s guilty, and just think— who forced him to come here from London? Did I make him spin me a tale about kidnapping Matthew?”

Tony stiffened. “He told you that?”

Lips tight, she nodded. “And just think of all the brave sailors he’s sent to watery graves! He’s a disgusting and debauched worm.” She tugged Tony’s arm. “Come on— let’s go.”

She didn’t mean it, but she was more than furious with Sir Freddie, and saw no reason not to torture him.

“Wait! Please…”Sir Freddie coughed water. “I know someone else.”

Tony stilled, then, releasing her, he stepped closer to the edge and crouched down to peer at Sir Freddie. “What did you say?”

“Someone else.” Sir Freddie was breathing shallowly; the water in the shaft would be freezing. “Another traitor.”

“Who?”

“Get me out of here, and we can talk.”

Tony rose; stepping back, he drew Alicia to him, pressed a kiss to her temple, whispered, “Play along.” More loudly, he said, “You’re right, let’s just leave him.” His arm around her, he turned them away.

“No!” Spluttering curses floated out of the shaft.

“Damm it—I’m not making this up. There is someone else.”

“Don’t listen,” Alicia advised. “He’s always making things up—just think of his tale about Matthew.”

“That was for a reason!”

She glanced over the edge. “And saving your life isn’t a reason? Huh!” She stepped back. “Come on, I’m getting cold.”

They started walking, taking tiny steps so Sir Freddie could hear.

“ Wait ! All right, damm it—it’s someone in the Foreign Office. I don’t know who—I tried to find out, but he’s wilier than I. He’s very careful, and he’s someone very senior.”

Tony sighed; he moved back to crouch at the edge. “Keep talking. I’m listening, but she’s not convinced.”

In gasps and pants, Sir Freddie talked, answering Tony’s questions, revealing how he’d stumbled on the other traitor’s trail. Eventually, Tony rose. He nodded at Alicia. “Stand back—I’m going to haul him out.”

Tony had to lie full length on the ground to do it, but eventually Sir Freddie lay like a beached whale, shivering, coughing, and convulsing. Neither Alicia nor Tony felt the least bit sympathetic. Yanking Sir Freddie’s cravat free, Tony used it to bind his hands before hauling him to his feet and, with a push, starting him back along the path.

Alicia’s hand in his, Tony followed his quarry back through the wood and out onto the road. Maggs was waiting beside Sir Freddie’s coach.

Alicia looked up at the box. “He had a coachman—he told him to wait.”

“Oh, aye. He’s waiting right enough, inside the coach.” Maggs held out Alicia’s cloak and reticule. “Found these when I shoved him in.”

“Thank you.”

Maggs nodded at Tony. “I was thinking we’d best leave ’em in the cellars at the George. I’ve had a word to Jim— he’s opening up the hatch.”

“Excellent idea.” Tony prodded Sir Freddie along the road toward the nearby inn. “Bring the coachman.”

Maggs had to lug him, for the coachman was unconscious. After a brief discussion with the landlord of the George, they left their prisoners in the cellars under lock and key.

Jim came out and led Sir Freddie’s carriage away. Alicia was on the seat of Tony’s curricle and he was about to join her when they heard the unmistakable rumble of a carriage heading their way.

Tony exchanged a glance with Maggs, then reached for Alicia. “Just in case, get back down here.”

He had her on the ground behind him when the carriage rocked around the corner. The driver saw them and slowed.

“Thank God!” Geoffrey pulled the horses to a halt beside them.

Tony caught the leader’s head, quieted the team. “What the devil—?”

In answer the doors of the carriage burst open and Adriana, David, Harry, and Matthew came tumbling out.

They rushed to Alicia, hugged her wildly, a cacophony of questions raining down. They waited for no answers, but danced and jigged, cavorted around Tony, too, but then returned to hug and hang on to their elder sister.

Geoffrey climbed down from the box; he stretched, then came to stand beside Tony. “Don’t say I should have stopped them—it was impossible. It’s my belief once they take an idea into their heads, Pevenseys are unstoppable.” He smiled. “At least Alicia’s a Carrington—she’s been tamed.”

“Hmm,” was all Tony said.

Both he and Geoffrey were only children. The performance enacted before them left them both bemused and a trifle envious. They exchanged a glance, for once had no doubt what each other was thinking… planning.

“Come on,” Tony said. “We’d better get them moving, or we’ll be here for the rest of the night.”

They rounded up their charges. With joy in their faces, still asking questions, the triumphant Pevenseys eventually climbed back into the carriage. Climbing up to the box, Geoffrey looked at Tony. “The Chase?”

Tony turned from handing Alicia into his curricle. “Where else?” Taking the reins, he climbed up. “It’s the only thing Sir Freddie got right.”

The comment puzzled Alicia. She waited until they were rolling along, heading farther up the road not back toward town with the heavy carriage rumbling behind. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Tony replied, and whipped up his horses.

She was determined to speak with him, to address the subject of marriage, but no opportunity came her way that night. They traveled for nearly an hour, steadily northward along the country road, then Tony checked the horses and turned in through a pair of tall gateposts with huge wrought-iron gates propped wide.

He’d refused to tell her more about where he was taking her, but she guessed when she saw the house. A large Palladian mansion in pale brown and grey stone with both double-and single-story wings, it sat peacefully in the moonlight, perfectly proportioned, comfortable, and settled within its park.

Tony drew the horses to a halt in the wide gravel forecourt. He leapt down, scanned the house with fond satisfaction, then turned and held out his hand. “Welcome to Torrington Chase.”

The next hour went in pleasurable chaos. Servants tumbled from their beds and came rushing, their eagerness a comment on how they viewed their master. Tony flung orders this way and that; in the midst of the flurry, a calm, feminine voice was heard inquiring what her son was up to now.

In the drawing room, Tony exchanged a glance with Geoffrey, then looked at Alicia. Briefly, he lifted her hand to his lips. “Don’t panic.”

Releasing her, he went out; a moment later, he reappeared with his mother on his arm.

There could never be any doubt of the relationship; the viscountess’s dark, dramatic, rather bold beauty was the feminine version of Tony’s. Before Alicia could do more than assimilate that, she was enveloped in a warm embrace, then the viscountess—“You will call me Marie, if you please”—was asking questions, meeting the boys, exclaiming over Adriana, all with an understanding that made it clear she was excellently well served by correspondents in London.