The Duke's Challenge (8 page)

‘Leave it!’

She froze at
his command, her hand poised over the handle. She heard him kick his chair back
and then he was beside her. He took her hovering hand and drew it back

‘Charlotte, you
ninny, you have no protection. Your hand would have been burnt and the kettle
dropped.’ She stared at her hand lost in his and found she could not withdraw
it. Her breathing was erratic and she trembled. ‘Are you afraid of me,
sweetheart? Is that why you shake like a
blancmanger
?’

Instantly she
snatched her hand back. Her voice was commendably composed.
‘Of
course not.
Why ever should I be frightened of a giant ex-soldier with a
penchant
for brandy and distressing
habit of manhandling me?’

‘
Touché
!
I am
indeed all you say, I can assure you that at this precise moment it is not
brandy I’ve a desire for.’

There was no
mistaking his meaning. Her cheeks turned crimson and she hastily returned to
her tea making. ‘Well, are you going to tip the water on the leaves or not, Cousin?
I would like dish of tea to go with my bread and butter.’

He swung the
kettle over and tipped the boiling water, one-handed, into the china pot. Then
without a word he replaced it by the fire.

‘I have my tea
weak, is that acceptable?’

‘Perfectly.’

Charlotte found
the strainer and tipped the tea into the waiting cups. Jack was moving about
behind her. Whatever was he doing? She expelled her breath with a relieved sigh
as she heard him leave the room. Carefully she carried the tea over to the
table and put it down. Then she noticed the two plates which had contained the
eggs were gone, as had the bread and butter. Botheration! She had been looking
forward to eating that.

She didn’t look
round when he came back from the direction of the pantry. She held her breath
as he stopped behind her. He leant forward and his face brushed hers as he
dropped a plate in front of her.

‘Here you are
,
sweetheart, not as good as your delicious omelette, but
hopefully it will be enough to satisfy you.’

On a clean
white plate was the errant bread-and-butter, crusts removed, accompanied by a
large wedge of cheese and a spoonful of chutney. Her mouth curved in delight.
‘Thank you. That looks wonderful.’ She picked up a fork and prodded hopefully
at the relish. She raised an eyebrow.

‘I know; it
must be over two years old, but I can vouch for the fact it tastes none the
worse for that.’

Charlotte set
to with enthusiasm. She interspersed mouthfuls of bread, chutney and cheese with
swallows of tea. She was aware he had sat down opposite and was watching her
wolf down her food.

‘I do like a
female with a healthy appetite,’ he announced to the ceiling.

She choked on
her tea. ‘It is impolite to comment on such things. Have you no manners?’

He chuckled.
‘None at all, sweetheart.
I am merely an uncouth soldier so
I shall have to rely on your superior knowledge of such matters to rectify my
failings.’

She grinned.
‘You are incorrigible and I’m glad to say t I am replete. I couldn’t eat
another morsel.’

‘Excellent.’ He
was about to place his boots on the table but seeing her frown, he pushed his
chair back and folded his arms instead. He half smiled at her. ‘Perhaps you can
explain why you found it necessary to sneak downstairs in the middle of the
night to find sustenance?’

She nodded. ‘I went to bed with a megrim yesterday afternoon. Usually I’m
too sick to eat for at least a day and so my maid didn’t bring me a supper
tray.’

‘And I was too
drunk to eat but now we are both well fed and I am sober.’ Charlotte shuddered
as she recalled the reason he was no longer in his cups. He openly smiled at
her look of disgust.
‘Quite so!
Did your maid tell you
what the lawyers said?’

‘She said there
is no money, that grandfather invested heavily in shipping and everything went
down in a storm.’

‘That is
correct. We are at an
impasse
. I can
give you the money to restore the Hall or employ new staff.’ He paused
assessing her reaction. ‘It seemed pointless asking them to draw up documents
if there were no funds for you to work with.’

She stilled.
What was he telling her their bargain was cancelled? That the challenge was no
longer valid? ‘You intend to turn us out because of this? We will manage
somehow. We don’t eat very much; you will hardly know we are here.’

He stared
pointedly at her empty plate. ‘If the bantlings eat as much as you I’ll be
bankrupt within a
se’night
.’ His face
was solemn but she knew he was funning.

‘And you drink
enough brandy to fill a bath so I consider we are equal on that score.’

He laughed.
‘But, my dear, I can stop drinking brandy but
you
cannot stop eating.’

‘Don’t be
ridiculous, Jack. This is a serious matter. Have you no funds of your own at
all?’

He was
instantly serious. ‘I have a major’s half pension and I believe there is
something from my grandfather, but altogether it doesn’t amount to very much.’

‘And I have a
tiny annuity. I’m afraid both pensions stopped on my mother’s death.’

‘Then, my dear
girl, shall we starve here together or part company?’

‘Together, if
you please. There’s a walled vegetable garden, it’s overgrown but it can easily
be brought round. We can purchase some chickens and a milk cow and perhaps a
hog or two. I believe we could easily provide most of our own food and it would
hardly cost anything.’

‘Good God!
You’re serious - do you really think we could succeed?’

She nodded,
beginning to believe their life at Thurston Hall could be viable.

‘And I can
shoot even with one working eye and there is game aplenty in the woods.’ He
stood up his expression animated, his enthusiasm making him appear younger,
less austere. ‘Miss Carstairs, you are a bloody marvel! There is no money, the
place is falling down around our ears, but together I think we might pull
things round.’ He held out his arms and she walked into them.

At first he
just held her; she felt safe, protected by his strength. His body heat seeped
through her thin wrapper and nightgown taking away the chill. Then a different
kind of heat started to flow around her limbs. His head was resting lightly on
the crown of her head, his hands moving gently up and down her spine. With a
sigh of pleasure she

relaxed
further into his embrace.

His arms tightened and his mouth nibbled at her hair; his hot breath sent
shock waves down her back. She moved but he raised a hand and tilted her head
allowing him free access to her mouth. She drowned in his kisses; she was
oblivious to all but the passion they were sharing. Then she felt him stiffen
and in one fluid movement he threw her down to the floor, landing on top of
her, crushing the breath from her body.

Furious at his
crude attack she was about to protest when there was a flash of light, a bang,
the sound of breaking glass and the room was full of smoke.

‘Lie still, we
are being shot at,’ he hissed in her ear.

Chapter Eight

Charlotte was
too frightened to answer. She closed her eyes and prayed fervently for
deliverance. Jack dropped a tender kiss on the back of her neck then his bulk
shifted and he was gone. Why had their attackers not spoken? Identified
themselves
? Come in search of them? After all they were
unarmed and helpless beneath the table, at least she was.

Where he had
gone she had no idea and dare not move her head to see. He was an experienced
soldier, well used to being ambushed; he would know what to do, she had to lie
still, keep praying and listen.

She thought she
heard a slight movement outside the kitchen window but couldn’t be sure. There
was a cool draught on her face and she guessed someone had opened the back
door. Was it the assassin coming in or Jack going out? Her heart was beating so
loudly she could hear it. Her legs were jutting out; they felt exposed,
vulnerable, easily seen in the flickering lamplight. Inch by inch she drew them
in until she was curled tight, hugging her knees. Somehow the smaller she made
herself the safer she felt.

She rolled into
the space that ran down the centre of the table and came up on all fours using
the chair legs as protection. She carefully turned her head. She could see no
sign of either an attacker or of Jack. The smoke had cleared but the smell of
cordite remained. From her hiding place she saw there were shards of broken
pottery on the floor under the huge dresser opposite.

Did this mean
the bullets had struck there? They must have been fired from the outside,
through the window. She considered the implications. The kitchen, unlike the
rest of the house, did not have tiny leaded panes; it had clear glass and
wooden frames. The ideal place, in fact the only place, a gun could be fired
with any hope of hitting a person inside. She folded her hands on the chair
seat, resting her head on them in contemplation. There was something odd about
the whole thing, but she couldn’t quite think what this was.

She sat up
abruptly, forgetting she was under the table and the sound of her head cracking
against the wood echoed round the room. She sank back with a startled cry
rubbing her bruised crown. She remained frozen, expecting to see a pair of
boots or a pistol jammed under the table, but all was quiet.

She waited for
the few moments then decided she was safe to emerge. As a precaution she
crawled out keeping the table between herself and the window. She didn’t attempt
to stand, merely rested her back against the dresser, brushing away the broken
china first. Then, stretching out her legs to ease the stiffness she waited for
the pain in her head to subside.

She returned to
the idea that had caused her to have the accident. The attackers must have been
watching the house and had seen the lights go on in the kitchen. She shivered
violently, recalling the feeling she had had that someone was in the passage
with her on her way to the kitchen. Was it possible an intruder had been
inside?

Surely this was
not possible - the doors were locked, the windows stout, the only way anyone
could have entered was through a secret passage and this would mean the person was
familiar with the building. The most horrific explanation was that a member of
their staff was attempting to kill them.

She shook her
head, regretting it as a searing pain shot between her eyes. She could not
believe Smith, the remaining footman, a pleasant middle-aged man, could be
involved. And the butler was above suspicion. The two grooms were accommodated
above the stables so they couldn’t have been involved either. She was being
fanciful.

She stopped,
shocked to the core. Could Jenkins have been killed because he had unmasked
Smith as a potential murderer? Perspiration trickled down her spine. Things
were too complicated, too outlandish for her to make sense of. Why should
anyone, especially a footman, wish to kill them?

Then she
remembered the unprovoked attack on herself; the three incidents had to be
connected. She shivered again and her teeth began to chatter. It was cold
sitting on the flagstones in her nightwear so far away from the fire and the
broken windows were letting in a steady stream of cold air.

She wished Jack
would come back. Beneath his dissolute facade he was a formidable man with a
lifetime of command behind him. She clenched her teeth to stop them rattling
her already aching head. She was freezing- attackers or not - she had to get up
and warm herself.

Cautiously she
pulled herself upright peeping over the table edge to ensure the room was
empty. If Jack was prowling about outside she was certain whoever had shot at
them would have vanished into the darkness.

She picked her
way carefully through the debris of broken crockery and glass. There was no
need to add lacerated feet to crushed toes, bruised head and a partially healed
cut. The kettle was warm and full enough to push back over the glowing coals.
She would make a second pot of tea; extravagant, but in the circumstances
allowable.

She sensibly kept as close to the fire as safety allowed by standing
inside the cavernous grate where, in olden days, a boy would have stood to turn
the spit. From her vantage point she surveyed the wreckage of the kitchen. The
floor was easily fixed; a good sweep and a scrub would put that right. The
window could be repaired, if there was glass to be found, otherwise the broken
panes would have to be replaced with wood.

She stared at
the dresser. Betty and the children had spent hours polishing the copper pans
and bowls that hung there and the majority of these were undamaged. She
realized that in the glow from the oil-lamps she could see a reflection of the
window. She smiled— so that was how Jack had known they were in danger. He must
have caught a glimpse of something in the surface of the pan and his instincts
had done the rest.

She blushed.
How could she have believed he was hurling her to the ground in order to ravish
her? She giggled. She had been reading too many romances. Mama had warned her
they were not suitable for a gently bred young woman. She blinked back tears as
she remembered her mother for she missed her so much and it was hard to keep to
her vow not to grieve.

Her mother had
been desperately unhappy after papa’s death and had made no effort to fight the
fever she had contracted. She had welcomed her demise, hurried towards her end,
happily abandoning her children. A flair of anger shot through Charlotte. She
would never pine away for a dead lover. She would put the needs of the living
first. No man was worth dying for, not even Jack.

Jack? What had
he to do with anything? Yes, she had allowed him to take liberties with her
person, behaved in a most unseemly manner, but that was all. This was just the
natural reaction of a woman to an attractive man, was it not? Her feelings were
not engaged, how could they be? She had only known him a few days and for most
of those he had been drunk and frequently unpleasant. In future she would be
more circumspect and keep a proper distance, behaving in the way she knew she
ought. She would inform him of her decision when he got back.

She was sitting
at the table sipping her tea when he returned. He called to her as he closed
and bolted the back door.

‘It’s quite
safe now, Charlotte. Whoever it was has vanished – there’s no one outside.’

She gestured to
the teapot and he nodded.

‘You should
wear your jacket; you look like a buccaneer in your shirt sleeves.’ She had
quite forgotten her determination to remain aloof.

‘No doubt you
would like me to wear a stock and a diamond fob as well?’

She smiled, he
sounded so affronted at the thought. ‘How you dress is none of my concern,
Cousin. I was jesting; you know I’d not presume to criticise your attire or
behaviour.’

He laughed out
loud. ‘You can say what you please, my dear, I’m immune to criticism. I live
purely to please myself.’

She snorted
inelegantly spraying tea across the table. ‘That is absurd? But, never fear, I
shall remind you of your words next time you fly into a rage because I have
inadvertently upset you.’

She became
serious as he sat down, tea cup too small for his hand, the saucer left
deliberately on the dresser. ‘Jack, are you certain that there’s no one hiding
inside? I thought there was someone following me when I came here earlier.’

‘In the Hall?’
He frowned. ‘No, I’m sure you were mistaken.
However I’ll search the place thoroughly as soon as I’m armed.’

‘Thank you.
I’ll sleep more soundly knowing we are, at least, safe indoors.’ She drank her
tea in silence. ‘Who do think was out there? Why would anyone want to kill
either of us?’ Her earlier considerations now seemed too far-fetched to
mention.

‘I’ve no idea,
but I aim to find out. I suspect that it’s disaffected locals inflamed by the
seditious literature being circulated in many parts of Suffolk.

‘They certainly
looked sullen and unfriendly and one threw a stone at me, did he not?’

‘He did indeed.
And Jenkins, he must have been a second victim. But I can assure you he will be
the last.’ He reached over the table to capture her hand but she removed it

Surprised he
raised his eyebrows. ‘Have I offended you? Are you upset with me, Charlotte?’

‘No, Cousin,
far from it. I like you exceedingly.’ That had been quite the wrong thing to say
for she watched his jaw clench and he began to push back his chair. ‘No, you
misunderstand me. I am trying to explain. I like you; you are a brave and
resourceful man, exactly the person to solve this mystery, but I don’t wish to
repeat what has happened between us.’ She stared at him, her expression severe.
‘I wish to remain a cousin to you, nothing else. Do I make myself clear?’

He nodded.
‘You’re right, as usual. And, as usual, I apologize for suggesting it could be
otherwise.’ He shrugged, as if indifferent. ‘You are a beautiful woman,
eminently beddable, and it has been far too long since
I
...’
he stopped and had the grace to blush. He had been about to say something
exceedingly indelicate. ‘Stay where you are until I come back for you.’ His
voice was gruff and he couldn’t meet her eyes.

It was a long,
lonely wait in the kitchen and it gave Charlotte too much time to think, to
consider her options, to decide what would be the best for Beth and Harry. The
promise to her mother to bring them to Thurston had been fulfilled. There had
been nothing said about staying permanently once they had arrived. She had done
as she had vowed, now she had to make her own decisions.

She remembered
the letter sent to her grandfather, the one that had been returned unread, that
had coloured her feelings about Lord Thurston. His rejection had almost
persuaded her not to come, despite having given her word. Grandfather, she
belatedly realized, had already been dead. So who had read the letter addressed
to him and sent it back? It could not have been
Jack,
he had not been in residence then.

Another
unpalatable thought occurred to her. Mama had been left nothing in the will,
Lord Thurston had never relented,
even
in death he had
rejected his only child. She swallowed the lump in her throat and got up to see
if she could squeeze a third cup of tea from the cooling pot.

Finally she
made her decision. There was no question of her seeking employment and leaving
the children, and Annie and Betty, to face the danger alone. Whatever she did
it would have to include all of them, but at that precise moment she could see
no fresh path to follow. She had no option; she was stuck at Thurston, for the
moment anyway.

There were
footsteps in the passageway. One thing she did know was that would-be assassins
were not the only danger she faced. The duke posed an even greater threat. For
some unaccountable reason her sense of propriety went out of the room when he
walked into it.

‘I’m sorry I’ve
been so long, Charlotte. I wished to be quite sure the house was secure. I
hadn’t realized just how big it is until I was obliged to poke and pry into
every room.’

She averted her
eyes from the pistol he held. ‘Goodness, I hope you haven’t disturbed the
children? The last thing I want is for them to know what happened here
tonight.’

‘Charlotte, be
sensible. How can you not tell them? They are bound to notice the damage to
this room.’

‘Oh! I hadn’t
thought. But, Jack, they were so upset about Jenkins, and remember, Harry is
only five.’

He started to
walk over, to offer comfort, but on observing her recoil, remained in the
doorway. ‘They will have to remain indoors anyway, until the militia come
tomorrow and flush the buggers out.’

‘Jack!’

Her shocked
exclamation made him laugh. ‘I am a rough soldier - profanities slip out. But I
apologize, again. In future I’ll endeavour to curb my tendency to pepper my
conversation with inappropriate words.’

‘Thank you, it
would be appreciated.’ She tightened the belt of her wrapper. ‘If it’s safe,
I’ll return to my rooms. I’m decidedly cold after sitting around in here.’

She reclaimed
the candlestick and kindled it from a taper pushed into the fire. ‘Listen, did
you hear that? I do believe it was a cock crowing somewhere in the village. It
will be full light soon.’ The blackness outside had slowly turned to grey
during her long vigil.

‘It’s five
o’clock; you’ve been up for far too long. Come along, I’ll escort you to your
room.’

She shook her
head making her plait dance down her back. ‘I am quite capable of finding my
way back. I shall bid you good night, Cousin, or should it be good morning?’

*

Jack allowed
her to ascend, but remained alert on the stairs until he heard her bedchamber
door close behind her. He didn’t return to his rooms but headed purposefully to
the library. He had thinking to do and plans to make. He was used to going
without sleep; he had done so many times before when fighting on the Peninsula.
He had a campaign to organize, a battle to win. He grinned; two battles in
fact, and he rather thought that disgruntled villagers were going to be easier
to overcome than Charlotte’s reservations.