The Duke's Tattoo: A Regency Romance of Love and Revenge, Though Not in That Order (25 page)

If retribution was his object, his revenge on her was complete indeed! He exacted his price for the tattoo in every possible currency. He owned her home, herbal gardens and business premises. He seduced her, and like a gullible fool, she handed him her heart as well as her virtue. (Trust the great potent looby to get her with child on the first few tries, too.) Then he cleverly manipulated her disapproving relatives to deliver his
coup de grâce
for him. He must be laughing up and down Mayfair.

But why did he write her a letter?

What she once took for endearing brevity now appeared darker. There was ‘no escaping’ him, he wrote. Well. It certainly had a menacing tone…

Stop!

Ruminating endlessly served no practical purpose, Prudence decided. One could only conclude the nobility — especially the long-established peerage — had been disastrously inbred for generations and was therefore subject to distempered freaks and violent mood swings.

Let him gloat about his revenge at his leisure with his new wife! Prudence would leave Bath before exhibiting any evidence of her ruin; she’d only be obviously
enceinte
many months from now. When she returned, Lady Dabney would doubtless be unpleasant in private but she would never risk poisoning general opinion of her in Bath for fear that a splash of scandal might besmirch the baronet’s reputation, too.

All in all, Prudence consoled herself, things could be far worse. It wasn’t as though the duke was in Bath to amuse himself while her life fell apart.

B
eing men, Baron Clun, Lord Percy and Lord Seelye could not resist making their rescue mission an entertainment for themselves as well.

They hit upon undertaking a race on horseback to Bath and timed it so they might arrive there a day or two after The Great Ainsworth Carriage Cavalcade. The three lords duly noted their wagers in the book at White’s and prepared for the contest. Each sent valet, wardrobe and fresh mount to a hostel in Newbury midway down the Bath Road.

Outside White’s on the morning of the race, the former cavalrymen spurred their horses to the cheers of club members hanging out the first floor bow window and galloped away as they rode into battle, charging headlong with little regard for life or limb. Out of sight of White’s, they slowed to a brisk trot to spare their horses while dodging carriage traffic. Beyond London, they set a fast but judicious pace. With periodic stops for rest, pints of ale and sustenance, the seasoned campaigners covered the first 60-odd miles.

The post road was lined with gracious estates and villas. Clun, Seelye and Percy paid them no mind. It was a broad enough thoroughfare in places to allow horsemen riding neck or nothing to pass between carriages going in opposite directions, not that any sane rider would attempt it. But whenever two coaches were about to pass by each other and there was room, the Horsemen flew between them without hesitation. Just for fun.

As they neared Newbury, each sought to use strategy and distracting insults to jockey into position and, in a final galloping sprint, arrive first at the White Horse Inn.

The first to arrive timed the arrivals of second and third and earned that time as a head start the following day. Lord Percy won the day with Seelye hard on his heels and Clun close behind. In the inn’s tavern parlor, they ate and drank with gusto, recounting with shouts of laughter the vapors they caused among mail coach passengers as they flew by one-two-three just outside Newbury.

The second day was much the same until they reached the outskirts of Bath. From there, they rollicked into town at a clattering gallop. They raced past the Morford Street intersection and barreled down George, up Gay, around The Circus twice to get their bearings before they finally headed back to Lansdown on to Morford and thence into the courtyard of the duke’s hired residence.

Seelye won by several lengths, giving rise to a lively argument about the need to handicap the riders properly on the return trip up to London. To this Seelye agreed, pointing out that Lord Clun was already sadly handicapped by the lame oxen he rode and that something must be done to compensate for Lord Percy’s tragic shortcomings as an equestrian and so forth.

In high spirits and invigorated by their contest, the three Horsemen continued to needle one another good-naturedly.

“Seelye nearly rode down an old lady in a Bath chair. It was infamous. Wish you’d seen it, Ainsworth!” Clun called out.

“Didn’t come close to her!”

“She petted your nag as you passed, you idiot,” Clun retorted. “If she hadn’t been well into her dotage…”

“And insensible to danger,” Percy interjected.

“She’d have collapsed in spasms,” Clun concluded with a bark of laughter. They handed off their horses to the footmen and sprang up the stairs to the front door to crowd Ainsworth, who stood on the top step, drawn outdoors by their noisome finish.

The duke greeted them but remained unusually subdued. He escorted them to his study where they collapsed into chairs and the sofa, smelling strongly of sweat, human and equine.

“We’ll clean up and then we’re off to the Pump Room to sign the registry and take the waters. Join us Ainsworth?” Seelye asked.

“I think not,” was his vague response.

The three men left Ainsworth sitting bemused in the study. His abstraction only made his friends more determined to save him.

A short time later, the Horsemen were presentable. Thatcher had their hats, gloves and canes arrayed on the foyer pier table and handed each his accoutrements.

“Thatcher, your master appears out of sorts,” Percy said.

“I hadn’t noticed, m’lord. But I’m sure it’s naught to worry on.”

“You wouldn’t allow anything untoward, would you, Thatcher.” Clun said.

“No, m’lord,” the butler replied.

“Good man.” Seelye added, “Nor shall we.”

Once outside, the men agreed things were worse than they’d suspected.

“If he marries the Succubus, it’s only because he feels he must,” Seelye declared.

“Grasping virago!” Clun fumed.

Once greeted and seated at a table in the Pump Room, the lords scarcely noticed the ladies strolling by in their summer finery. They interrupted their conversation only to return perfunctory greetings.

Under other circumstances, this mouthwatering display of delicate femininity would have pleased them to distraction but only Lord Percy took notice of the dainties parading past. They vowed to free Ainsworth before he could be leg shackled and argued how best to pry loose the Succubus who’d sunk her fangs in their hapless friend.

The next morning, Ainsworth picked at his breakfast and muttered about ring re-sizing and the urgent need for a younger, less senile jeweler in Bath. He soon disappeared to ‘see to some things’ and left Percy, Seelye and Clun to make their own mischief.

They bickered for hours while strolling along Milsom Street, through Lansdown Grove and continued in the same vein after they returned to Morford Street to lounge on the diminutive furnishings in the front parlor. They argued over everything, most particularly about how best to wrest their friend from the slavering jaws of a marriage-minded Succubus. Seelye suggested threatening her with social ostracism; Percy argued for offering a quiet settlement short of marriage. Clun muttered darkly about terrorizing the chit till she fled for her life. All of them, however, marveled at Ainsworth’s apathy.

“He seems resigned to his fate,” Percy said finally. “There’s no helping Jem if he’s…”

“He’s what?” Ainsworth asked as he entered the room and flopped into a chair.

Percy looked at Seelye who lamely supplied, “Here.”

“That makes no sense, Seelye. One would think you could manage a ride from London without scrambling your brains en route.”

“Just so,” Percy concurred. “Scrambled. Speaking of which, are you feeding us tea here or would you rather visit the Pump Room?”

“To take the waters?” Clun shuddered, “Not again.”

“Clun drank the water,” Seelye sniggered and stood.

“We’ll go for the view. It’s lovely,” Percy smiled and got to his feet. “Come on, Ainsworth. Join us.”

Seelye, Percy and the duke soon set out but only two of them intended to ogle young women at the Pump Room. The third man in their party had only one woman on his mind and she occupied his thoughts completely.

The day, though hot, was clear and the streets were filled with pedestrians enjoying the fine weather. Walking south, they neared the bridge. Approaching them from the opposite direction came a lively, slight brunette with a brilliant smile on the arm of a naval officer in dress uniform.

“See? So many lovely distractions, there’s no need to wear that cursed grimace all day long. Enjoy the scenery, will you!” Percy encouraged.

But the duke’s grimace remained firmly fixed in place. The couple approached until the woman turned from her companion and spotted Ainsworth. Her smile dimmed and her steps faltered. The two parties drew abreast of one another.

“Good afternoon, Miss Haversham,” Ainsworth said and bowed slightly. “Would you introduce me?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied with a slight dip of the knees. “May I present Captain Dorset? Captain Dorset, the Duke of Ainsworth.”

“Pleasure,” the duke lied and inclined his head, “sir.”

“Your servant,” the captain bowed crisply. He was well made, if a bit stunted, Ainsworth thought. Wore the uniform well. Too tanned. Made his blue eyes look ridiculously bright, like some goggle-eyed china doll.

He turned his gaze to his intended. “Miss Haversham, Captain Dorset, may I present Lords Seelye and Percy?”

The lords executed elegant bows to her and acknowledged the captain politely. Prudence wore a grim expression every bit as forbidding as Ainsworth’s.

Lord Percy, the habitual peacemaker, tried to ease the awkwardness, “Bath is lovely this summer, is it not? The air is so much clearer than London.”

The captain agreed but did not elaborate. The company fell silent.

“Well, we mustn’t keep you from exploring the beauties of Bath, Your Grace. Good day,” she said and gave him the slightest curtsey.

The Horsemen waited till the couple strolled well away before speaking to their friend about Miss Prudence Haversham.

“She didn’t look particularly happy to see you, Ainsworth,” Percy said tactfully.

“Hadn’t sent word I was here. Wanted to surprise her,” Ainsworth muttered and strode away, looking over his shoulder now and again. Finally, he spun around to watch her turn onto the bridge. He stood with a hand on his hip, his other hand scraped over his face slowly from brow to chin.

“Come to think of it, you didn’t look happy to see her either,” Seelye added.

“Who’s the naval sort?” Percy asked.

“Captain bloody Dorset,” Ainsworth spat out. “Weren’t you listening when she introduced him?”

“Hardly the thing to parade about on another man’s arm in front of your betrothed,” Seelye sniffed.

“Well,” Ainsworth mumbled, “she doesn’t think we’re going to be married.”

“How’s that?” Seelye quizzed.

“She hasn’t agreed to it yet, Seelye. Not explicitly,” the duke barked and scraped down his face again. “Wanted to show her that I’m in earnest. Surprise her. With my actions.”

His friends stared at him in silence for moment.

“Seems not to like your surprises,” Percy pointed out.

“I had the banns read at St. George’s last month.”

“Daresay that will surprise her, too,” Percy replied without inflection.

P
rudence resisted the temptation to peek over her shoulder as Captain Dorset led her away from the duke and his burly friends. At the bridge, she took her leave after thanking the captain for his company. Prudence ran over Pulteney Bridge on shaking legs in full view of people shopping along the bridge. Those who recognized her worried an emergency at the cottage caused her haste. And those who didn’t considered her shockingly hoydenish.

She slowed to a fast walk when the stitch in her side grew more painful than her breaking heart. She gasped for breath and maintained her pace till she hurried out of sight.

Lords Seelye and Percy were two of the famous Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. She recognized their names the moment she heard them. They looked like cavalrymen, tall, muscular, dashing, though the duke was bigger than both.

Oh no!
She stumbled to a stop. She recalled his family name: Maubrey. Her gut cramped sharply. By all accounts, Lord Maubrey — Major Maubrey then — was the fiercest of the famed Horseman of the Apocalypse.

In one hair-raising newspaper account, the major cut through French infantry ‘like a hot knife through butter’ to kill a Comte in a saber duel on horseback. This Comte had wounded the major’s unarmed batman weeks before in a surprise attack on their encampment. His batman remembered the villain had an ostentatious red and white horsehair helmet plume. So, when Ainsworth spotted him in battle, he charged through the French line, struck him down and hacked his way back to safety with only ‘superficial scratches’ to show for it. (More than scratches, as Prudence had seen, but the papers routinely exaggerated the Horsemen’s invincibility.) That exploit established Maubrey’s implacable reputation. ‘Maubrey neither forgot nor forgave the dastardly attack on his man.’

Oh dear.

Her thoughts were hard to sort. How could she reconcile tender, teasing Jem with Major Maubrey the Merciless? Or the man who forgave her mistake, even delighted in teasing her about it, with the Horseman who didn’t forgive or forget. Which was the duke?

Of one thing she was certain: the Duke of Ainsworth befuddled her, either unintentionally or as part of a diabolical plan to stupefy then destroy her. In either case, she was rudderless at the worst possible moment.