Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) (31 page)

“I want you to tell me why you seek me.” Bettina tried to muffle the shrillness from her voice. He was here, which was what she’d hoped for. But his presence still intimated her. She backed up and against the far wall, wishing she could bore through to the other side to reach her pistol. In her rush into the cottage, she’d left it in her saddlebag. “Who are you, besides a
… a hunter of lost people?”

“Pardon, how rude of me.” He made a sweeping gesture, incongruous for a man of his girth. “I am Gaspar.”

“You said you wanted information, to do with my father.” She struggled to take a normal breath, the muscles along her ribcage clenching. “How did you find me?”

“I prevailed in my search for you, because I am the most clever.” He raised his hand. “You have noticed my ring. It stands for red, like a fox. Of course, that simpering
duc
I took it from wouldn’t have thought it amusing.”

“What do you know of my father? And what do you want with me?” The moist wall soaked into her back, chilling her.

Gaspar stepped closer. The wind seemed to rock the little cottage. “I know that Monsieur Jonquiere was another member of the blood-sucking French nobility.”

“Don’t disgrace my father that way. He’s been dead since—”

“Since just before the Bastille was torn down. And you are his only child. My people are anxious to uncover what you know about his business interests, the dealing of rare antiques. An aristos dirtying his hands, now that is very amusing.” His gravelly voice brimmed with contempt, his face almost completely in shadow.

“What people? I had nothing to do with my father’s business concerns.” Bettina scraped her fingers along the rough wall behind her.

“You do not need to know who. That old fool Armand was supposed to have taken care of this.”

“Armand?” She couldn’t suppress a shudder. Her arms rippled with goose bumps. “My family’s majordomo? What does he have to do with it?”

“A sentimental ass.” Gaspar snickered and his belly quaked. “He worked for us in the end, so we thought. But he lost his nerve and put you on a ship, hoping you would … perhaps perish somewhere in England. He told us before he died. He could not bring himself to betray you.”

“He is dead?
Ma foi
.” Bettina’s throat tightened, the taste of pears and cheese bubbling up. “In what way was Armand involved with you?” She thought of how the old servant had tricked her.

“It does not matter. I have you now, Mademoiselle Jonquiere.”

“But you have made a mistake.” The pulse in her neck throbbed. She frantically tried to reason with him. “My father was a respectable man, and never involved me in his business affairs. I am only a woman, after all.”

“My people do not believe that. They have evidence to the contrary, don't you see? Now you must tell me the truth. If you do not cooperate, I shall be forced to take distasteful measures.” He spoke with a sluggish calm as he inspected a rash on his left hand.

Bettina stiffened against the wall, praying for a way to her horse and pistol. “If you hurt me, they will know it was you. I have been to the constable and described you to him.”

Gaspar waddled nearer, reached out and caressed her cheek with his calloused fingers. “I will be gone before they ever know, and you with me. Perhaps I keep you to myself for a while, non? They said you were pretty, and I do agree.” His belly pushed against her skirt.

“You do not dare to touch me.” Bettina shoved his hand away. She wrinkled her nose at his rancid breath and felt like an insect pinned to the wall. Her dress sopped up the water still trickling in and she shivered. “Tell me what this evidence is.”

“Eh bien, you must come with me, then we will talk of it.” Gaspar shrugged and stepped back. “Do you think I will wait here until your skinny friend brings others?”

“What am I supposed to know? Maybe I can help … maybe….” She hated the tremor in her voice and swallowed it down. “If you just—”

“I said we will talk,
ma cherie
, but not here.” His beady eyes narrowed to slits.

“Fine, I will go. Let me catch my breath.” Somehow, she needed to trick him. She moved from the wall and pressed a hand to her throat.

“Don’t be foolish again. Or belligerent like that one with the fiery hair. He too watched you. But he was such an amateur, he was in my way.” Gaspar shrugged once more as if this was but a small issue.

At first, Bettina didn’t understand. “Who
… you mean Stephen Tremayne?”

At Gaspar’s leering smile, her whole body trembled. She bit down on her lip. Her head began to swim. She would never go anywhere with this man.

“
Sur l’heure
, we will go now.” Bettina smiled, snatched up her skirt, stepped forward and rammed her knee into his groin. It made a sick, squishing sound.

“Argggg!
Merde
!” Gaspar grabbed his crotch and doubled over.

Bettina darted around him, but he snagged the ends of her hair. She painfully sacrificed a fistful and kept running. Dashing to Shevall, she jerked on the reins tied to the awning post. But the soaked leather knot had tightened and her fingers fumbled.

Gaspar lumbered out of the cottage, wincing in pain. She abandoned the knot and tore open her saddlebag. She snatched out her loaded pistol, surprised to find it still there.

“You will not shoot me, little girl.” He groaned and shifted the crotch of his breeches as he walked toward her.

She ran a few steps in the opposite direction, in a drizzle that felt freezing on her hot cheeks. Her soaked dress stuck to her legs. The pistol wavered in her unsteady hands. Aiming at a live person was far different than at a stump. “I will fire if I have to.”

The man chuckled and waddled forward. “Give me that weapon before you injure yourself.”

“Do not come any closer.” Bettina gripped the wooden handle. “You are a poor hunter, you did not even bother to search my horse for weapons.”

“Touché, mademoiselle. I’m a little hung over. A weakness I have.” He stopped, his scarred face a picture of disappointment. Rain dripped off the brim of his round hat. “We do not need to go through all this, you only have to cooperate. Why be so contrary?”

“Tell me what you have come for. What should I know about my father’s business?” Her teeth started to chatter.

Gaspar grunted and shook his broad head.

“Then step over there, away from my horse, and I will not have to shoot.” She pointed the pistol that way, then back on him. “Go on … now.”

The scoundrel moved toward her again, leaving Bettina no choice. She squinted, raindrops heavy on her eyelashes. Pointing at his large belly, she squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, wafting the smell of powder to her nostrils. A red stain formed on his dirty breeches on the outside of his right thigh. The fact that she’d hit him at all shocked her.

“Now you have made Gaspar furious!” Staring disgruntled at his leg, he turned and stumbled toward his horse tethered a few feet from the cottage. He dragged out a cloth from his saddlebag and blotted at his thigh.

Bettina had no time to reload. She squelched through the mud to her horse and jerked again at the knot. Twisting at the leather, she panted in frustration and bruised her fingertips.

Gaspar pulled a small pistol from his breeches and lumbered back toward her. A shot fired and she crouched behind Shevall. Bettina shut her eyes and pressed her forehead into the horse’s warm, smelly flank. But she felt no pain, and guessed his shot went wild. She prayed he hadn’t hit her horse. Peeking over the top of her saddle, she saw Gaspar stagger, clutching his throat. Blood spewed from between his fingers.

He wobbled two steps, his face contorted, then crumpled to his knees and collapsed backward into a heap. The hunter’s large head lolled back, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. Blood spread down his neck, drenching his shirt in crimson.

Her heart in her throat, Bettina pushed sopping hair from her face. Someone grabbed her from behind. She struck out with her pistol.

“You’re all right, darling. It’s me. Did he hurt you?” Everett restrained her in his arms.

“Everett!
Grâce à dieu
!” She dropped the weapon and clung to his shoulders. Then she buried her face into the damp wool of his coat, trying to calm her breath. Everett squeezed her close. “I am not hurt … he said horrible things … I do not know what to believe.” She raised her head and stared at the body, afraid it might erupt and begin to move. “Is he dead?”

Everett left her to kneel beside Gaspar and check the pulse on the side of his neck. “He’s quite dead. I hit his jugular. A fortunate shot.” He walked back and embraced her. “I never should have let you out of my sight. What were you thinking going off like this?”

“A foolish risk, I know. But what will we do … about him?” Her hat fell back and she leaned her cheek against his chest.

“We definitely have a problem.” He lifted her chin, his gaze full of worry. “If we inform Trethewy
… well, you’re aware of how he feels about me. If he knows I killed this man, he’ll be suspicious. You’re a foreigner here. I doubt if either of us will receive impartial treatment.”

Bettina nodded. There would be too many questions asked, too many people delving into their respective pasts. “There is an abandoned well beyond those trees.”

* * * *

When they arrived at Bronnmargh, Kerra fidgeted in the dining room as Mrs. Pollard watched with a perplexed air. Mr. Slate took Everett’s wet coat and handed him a dry one.

“Thank gawd, you’re safe.” Kerra rushed up to Bettina and threw her arms around her. “I come here to Mr. Camborne, I knew he'd be the one to help you.”

“Bless you both, such a pother. Master Frederick’s playing nice in his room. I’ll just go an’ put on some tea.” Mrs. Pollard nodded her head and pranced toward the kitchen.

“I didn’t tell her much, just like you said, Mr. Camborne,” Kerra whispered. “Now what happened with that awful man?”

Everett and Bettina exchanged glances. “We frightened him off. He won't be back, I shouldn't think.” He walked over to the mahogany chest sideboard beneath the scowling portrait of his great-great-great-grandfather.

“How can we be sure o’ that? Are you telling the Justice?”

Bettina squeezed an arm around her. They both smelled like soggy clothing. “No, we will not inform the Justice. The man is gone, Kerra. Leave it with that, please.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do not mention this to anyone, not even Maddie. It must be our secret.”

Kerra scrunched up her impish features. “Well, it be … you kept my secret, s’pose I can keep yours. Fie, ’course I can. Why not? Justice ain’t worth nothing.” She hugged Bettina again and Bettina shivered at their sodden contact.

“Now please, go see Ann right away, and make certain Morley made it back safe.” Bettina changed the subject, but had a real concern for the boy after learning of Stephen’s fate.

“Drog maw. A bad boy he be. I'll check, an’ tell his mamm how he deserted us. Give him a good scoldin’. Long as you’re safe.” Kerra adjusted the pins in her damp hair and strutted out through the kitchen.

Everett handed Bettina a glass of brandy, pulling out a chair at the table. “Drink this, it will calm you.”

She dropped into the chair with a smack and took a sip of the strong liquid. “I cannot believe any of what has happened.”

“You should change out of those wet clothes. I can find something for you to put on.”

“No, I will return to my room at the inn.” Her cold skirt was pressed beneath her and she shivered again, though the brandy began to warm her inside.

“Nonsense, stay here for awhile. I’d like you to. You must tell me everything.” Everett’s words sounded almost awkward. He clasped her hand for a moment, then hurried up the stairs.

She’d consumed most of her brandy by the time he returned. He handed her a velvet dressing gown with a slight musty smell. “Let’s go to the parlor, you can change there.”

Everett started the fire and left her to undress. Bettina put on the soft burgundy gown, which must have been Miriam’s—a thought that didn’t warm her soul or even her skin at first. Spreading her damp clothes across a chair in front of the fire, she sat on the hearth stool and raked fingers through her hair. She winced at the sore spot on her scalp.

After a few minutes, Everett returned and pulled up a chair beside her. He clasped her hand. “Are you certain you’re all right? Do you want some tea?”

“Thank you, no.” Bettina relayed the details of her confrontation with Gaspar. “I am conflicted by what he said about Armand. He served our family for years, but I began not to trust him in Boulogne. Then he sent me off. Those blank papers, I never understood. Nor his sending me to the wrong address of his supposed friend in Bath, Bernard Little.”

Everett squeezed her hand. “I’m concerned there’ll be others coming after you.”

“Gaspar mentioned ‘his people’, and certainly he had time to inform them of where I am. This is all a mistake. They think I know something, but I do not.” Tears threatened to spill, but she fought them down. The increasing heat of the fire on her back thawed out her frigid bones.