Page 17 of A Wicked Business (Wicked Sons #10)
Dear Mama,
Please do not get excited, but on the off chance that such gossip reached your ears, I am not marrying Lady Belinda Madox-Brown.
―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton to his mother, The Most Hon’ble Matilda Barrington, The Marchioness of Montagu.
7 th August 1850, Keston House, Grosvenor Square, London.
“I still can’t believe he laughed,” Doris said sceptically the next morning as she arranged Belinda’s thick hair in a sleek chignon before covering it in a corded silk snood.
“I know,” Belinda said, catching Doris’ eye in the looking glass. “I felt I saw a glimpse of the man he might have been if my mother hadn’t died. My old nanny always said he was devastated by the loss of her, but I admit I had begun to think her an old romantic, that he could never have had any warm feelings. Yet when he spoke of her last night, I felt it, the echo of something powerful and longed for.”
“Tragic is what it is,” Doris said with her usual candour. “Stupid, too. Him broken-hearted for his wife and you broken-hearted for a father that didn’t see you. What a different life you both might have had.”
Belinda shrugged. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
Doris opened a neat leather box and handed it to Belinda, who took out the pearl earbobs within whilst Doris picked up the matching necklace. “I don’t know about that, but I do know your pa is a stubborn old goat. He’s determined you wed Ashburton and he’ll be mad as fire when he discovers you’ve thwarted him.”
“I know,” Belinda replied sadly. “It pains me to deceive him so dreadfully; to know he may never forgive me. For just a moment last night, I felt we were truly family, united against a common foe. Papa defended me, Doris, and it felt so wonderful to know he cared enough to do so. I… I had not dared to hope for such a thing after so many years,” she admitted.
“There, there, pet. You’ve your whole life ahead of you, and I reckon you and Mr Knight are well suited. He’ll not be an easy husband, I’ll wager, but that’s not what you want or need. You’d walk all over a weaker man and rail against one who didn’t give you your freedom. He’s the right mix of strength and understanding, if you ask me. Charlie says he’s the best man he knows, and he’s no fool.”
“Indeed, he is not, and I think you are right, Doris. I wish we’d had more time, and he had been able to court me in the usual way, with my father’s blessing, but I feel fortunate indeed to have found him at all. I shall not repine that things are not perfect, and if my father truly cares for me, I suppose he will forgive me in time,” Belinda said, but they both heard the doubt behind her words.
Doris laid a hand on her shoulder in a silent show of understanding. A knock sounded at the door. Doris went to answer it, then returned to Belinda with a rueful smile.
“Well, your pa is asking for you. So, you’d best go down and face whatever bee is in his bonnet now.”
Belinda sighed and got to her feet, smoothing down her dress, which was one of her favourites. The shot silk appeared a glorious lilac in some lights and a silver grey in others. The three-quarter length sleeves fell open to show a loose muslin undersleeve trimmed with rows of lace. It was a very becoming outfit and Belinda hoped seeing her look so well might put her father in a good mood, for she knew he enjoyed the reflected good fortune of having a beautiful daughter.
She found him still in the breakfast parlour, where he was reading a newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee.
“Ah, Belinda, there you are. I hope you are recovered after last night’s unpleasant scene. A nasty little man, that Mr Flint, though I must admit he proved helpful while it lasted.”
“I am quite well, Papa, but if you will forgive my impertinence, I cannot like that you used the man so. Unpleasant he might be, but he was within his rights to be furious at your deception.”
Belinda braced herself for a scolding which didn’t come; her father only made a scoffing sound and shook his head.
“Foolish child. You do not understand yet how the world works. This is why women are ill-suited to business. If you want to succeed in life, you must be ruthless. You must take what you want, not ask for it to be given to you. Determine what it is you wish for and do not let anyone stand in your way.”
Belinda listened to her father’s words and smiled. At least when the time came, and he learned she had married Felix Knight, she could say with honesty that she had only done what he himself had advised her to do.
“Now then,” the earl said, setting his paper aside and picking up what appeared to be the latest volume of His Grace and Disfavour. “This is a remarkable piece of work. Tell me, child, who wrote it?”
“I don’t know, sir. No, truly, I do not,” she said urgently as his eyes narrowed. “The author wishes to remain anonymous. It came to me via a circuitous route, and I do not know who wrote it.”
“A pity,” the earl said with a sigh. “It’s obviously someone close to Sefton’s family. Just think how many other skeletons he must have rattling around, eager to be let out. Things they are no doubt privy to.”
“Papa!” Belinda said, rather shocked. She knew well enough that her father could be ruthless, but all the same, to hear him speak so about a man who was supposed to be his friend was outrageous.
Her father laughed and then his keen gaze settled upon her, a curious light in his eyes that gave her pause. “Tell me, Belinda, how did you manage it?”
“M-Manage it, sir?” she repeated, her heart picking up speed.
“Yes, daughter. How did you buy this property? How did you know to create a company to buy it on your behalf, hiding your involvement?”
“Well, I got advice, naturally, sir,” she said, avoiding his gaze and pouring herself a cup of coffee despite not wanting one. She needed to do something, though. Her hands shook, and she set the coffeepot down with a clatter.
“What kind of advice, Belinda? From whom?”
Belinda stared down into her cup, her heart beating in her ears, before making her decision. She lifted her head and looked into her father’s eyes. “I contacted Felix Knight. He is said to be the most successful young man of our generation already. I thought if anyone could show me how to proceed, he ought to know.”
She watched her father’s face segue from white through scarlet to a mottled purple shade that she feared might be the end of him. He surged to his feet and strode to the window, apparently too angry to speak. Belinda swallowed, keeping her hands clasped in her lap so he could not see how she trembled.
“Why him? Was that deliberate? Did you do it to defy me?” he asked in a terrible voice that made her feel rather ill.
“Not entirely. He is simply the best man of business I could contact, for most people consider him to be a gentleman, but I cannot deny that it gave me satisfaction to do so.”
He swung around, staring at her as though he’d never seen her before. “You admit it?” he exclaimed, stunned.
Belinda nodded, finding she was calm now. She had always known there would be a confrontation eventually, though she had not expected it to be over the print shop, but rather her marriage.
“You have spent your life pretending I do not exist, sir. You were content to do so until I was of an age where I could marry and be useful to you by bringing a powerful alliance with another family. It is hard to love a father who is little more than a stranger, and so defying you gave me some satisfaction, when the rest of my life was so far from my control.”
“I bet he laughed, the blackguard, to know he was dealing with you behind my back,” he said bitterly, and Belinda admitted herself dismayed that this was his only reaction to her words.
“No. He did not,” she said coolly. “You may not like to acknowledge it, but Felix Knight is a gentleman. I do not believe he took any pleasure in deceiving you. Indeed, I can promise you he thought me a blessed nuisance and could not wait to be rid of me.”
Her father snorted and sat back down at the table. “The sooner you are married to Ashburton, the better. He will see you behave as you ought.”
“No, he won’t,” Belinda replied, finding she was growing in confidence. She had never dared speak so to her father. Oh, she had been pert and bold and defied him in a dozen small ways, but they had never had a real conversation about her feelings, about the way he treated her and what she thought of it. “I have spoken to Ashburton, and he agrees we may go our own ways. That is the nature of such marriages, I believe. He will allow me to continue my print shop, or whatever other interests I decide upon.”
Her father gaped, stunned.
“Papa, I am not a fool,” she told him, the words filled with pride and a growing confidence in her own abilities. “You and any other man may do what you please to control me, to bend me to your will, but do not think because I do not stamp my foot and weep that I accede to your wishes. I will not be manipulated if there is something I can do to stop it.”
“Is that so?” he said, his voice a growl of displeasure.
Belinda put up her chin. “Yes, sir.”
He swung back to stare out of the window, his expression daunting, but he made a dismissive move with his hand and Belinda did not need asking twice to leave the room. She ran back upstairs to find Doris.
“We’re going out,” she said, gesturing for Doris to hurry.
Without another word, Doris found bonnets and gloves and, a few minutes later, they were outside, walking through the square. The day was humid and rather overcast.
Doris puffed out a breath. “Where’s the fire?” she protested, red with effort at the hectic pace Belinda had set.
“I beg your pardon,” Belinda said, slowing her steps. “I am in a stew, and I need to cool off.”
“Well, this ain’t— isn’t very cooling, if you ask me,” Doris remarked.
Belinda laughed, shaking her head. “No, indeed, but I am only vexed and frustrated. I had to tell Papa it was Mr Knight who helped me set up the print shop, and he’s mad as fire. It’s so frustrating to me that there is no way to prove Felix is a gentleman. Papa is prejudiced against him and his family, and there is no way of talking him around or proving him wrong. It’s too ingrained. I fear he will sever all ties to me when he discovers we are wed.”
“One thing at a time, pet,” Doris said, taking Belinda’s arm. “There’s no use in borrowing trouble. All will work out, you’ll see. Look, why don’t we go to Hatchard’s? You know a nice bookshop always makes you feel better, and we could go to Gunter’s too. Then, this afternoon, we’ll see Charlie and your Mr Knight.”
Belinda smiled and nodded. They had arranged to meet the men accidentally in Hyde Park, and the thought eased her mind, though she must warn Felix she had told her father of his involvement. She only hoped the earl would not immediately set his sights on punishing Felix for helping her. Belinda had always known her father could be callous, but what she had learned last night had given her new insight into a man who would stop at nothing to have his own way.
The bookshop and ices at Gunter’s did indeed make Belinda feel a little less agitated and by the time they returned home she had reassured herself that Felix could well look after himself. Her father, if he ever wanted to see his grandchildren, he would simply have to accept her marriage to a man he despised. If not, well, then he obviously did not care enough for her to make the effort and, in that case, his affection was hardly a loss. Whilst this rather prosaic outlook did not entirely ease her misgivings, it allowed her to look forward to the afternoon’s outing.
Belinda dressed for their afternoon promenade in a dark blue walking dress and a charming bonnet that framed her face with blue velvet ribbons and Brussels lace. Excitement rushed through her as she and Doris made their way down the stairs.
“Oh, drat and bother!” Doris muttered. “I left my gloves upstairs.”
“Hurry, Doris, we’re already late. They’ll think we’re not coming!” Belinda said in exasperation.
“I’ll be two shakes of a lamb’s tail, pet,” she said cheerfully, and made her way laboriously back up the grand staircase.
As Belinda waited in the entrance hall, Kimble appeared from the parlour door and hurried towards her. “My lady, I beg your pardon, but Mr Flint is here and is demanding to see you. I have told him you are leaving the house shortly, but he insists upon waiting.”
Kimble’s kindly face was creased with worry and Belinda felt a rush of anger towards Flint; the horrid man was intent on causing mischief. No doubt he wanted her to intercede with her father on his behalf to be certain his gambling debts were not called in. Well, he’d have to ensure he stayed well away from her and anyone she cared about before she would lift a finger to help him. The sooner he realised that, the better.
“Don’t fret, Kimmy. I’ll see to it,” she said, pulling on her gloves and striding purposefully towards the parlour.
Now her father had put Flint in a tight spot, she no longer feared the wretched man. Whilst she did not for one moment condone her father’s behaviour, in this instance she could not regret it.
“Mr Flint,” she said as she walked into the room, and then gasped as a hand smothered her mouth and something cold and hard pressed into the back of her neck.
The door closed behind her.
“You will be silent,” Flint said, his voice low and hard. “We are going to leave the house together now and, if you do not want you or one of your servants to come to any harm, you’ll come quietly and willingly. Nod your head if you understand.”
Belinda’s heart was hammering so hard and so fast she felt dizzy, but she nodded obediently.
“I’m going to let go now. Don’t be a fool, Belinda. Your father holds all the cards, and I’ve little left to lose. Remember that.”
He let go his hold on her and Belinda sucked in a breath, stumbling away from him. She turned to see Mr Flint, his eyes colder and greyer than she had ever seen them before, his jaw set. He pointed the pistol directly at her, and Belinda gazed at it in astonishment. Surely she was dreaming. But Mr Flint moved towards her, gesturing for her to leave the room.
“You cannot believe you will get away with this,” Belinda said, dismayed to discover her voice so weak and thready.
“I will. You’re of age and I have a licence. We’ll be married in the chapel on my estate in Derbyshire. Once the thing is done, there will be no way out.”
“I will never agree to that, and my father will never let that happen!” she said, careful not to raise her voice as his expression grew increasingly enraged. “He’ll certainly never give you my dowry.”
“He’ll have no choice if he doesn’t want to drag his precious name through the dirt. Come on. No more delays.”
He used the gun to motion to her and Belinda moved reluctantly towards the door, her mind racing to find ways for escape. Yet how could she attempt anything that might get Kimble or someone else hurt?
“I shall put the pistol out of sight, my lady, but do not be foolish enough to believe I cannot or will not use it. You will tell your butler we are going out to meet your father and not to worry, we’ll be back soon—and make it convincing. Obey me, and no one will be hurt.”
“I never liked you, Mr Flint, but I never realised quite how vile a character you really are,” Belinda said furiously, reaching for the door, but his hand covered hers, stilling the movement as he leaned in. His warm breath, stale with the scent of cigars and coffee, wafted over her face, making her flinch in disgust.
“Hate me as much as you wish, beautiful Belinda. You’ll share my bed as my wife soon enough, like it or not.”
Belinda’s stomach twisted at his words, but he released her, and she turned the handle and hurried out.
Kimble looked up, having been waiting not far from the parlour door, clearly agitated by her being alone with Mr Flint. Belinda affection for the old man and his care for her made her heart ache. Dear Kimble, how kind he was, and how could she possibly risk his getting hurt.
“It’s all right, Mr Kimble,” she said, belatedly realising she never referred to him so formally and hoping he might realise she was in difficulty. “Mr Flint and I are going to meet with my father. Don’t worry. We’ll be back soon.”
“You’ll be wanting to take Doris, then, my lady,” Kimble said, eyeing Mr Flint with suspicion.
Belinda shook her head urgently. “N-No, please don’t—”
“Miss Bodrott,” Kimble called, just as Doris appeared upon the staircase.
“Devil take it,” Mr Flint muttered and gave Belinda a hard shove in the small of the back. “Go!”
Belinda hurried forward as Kimble gasped and Doris let out a cry of horror as Mr Flint brandished the pistol.
“Stay back,” he warned them, and pushed Belinda out of the door.
“Derbyshire!” she shouted as he pushed her so hard she stumbled down the steps, falling heavily to her knees.
Flint grasped her arm and hauled her into a waiting carriage. He barked at the driver to get a move on, and the carriage jerked into motion.
To her dismay, Belinda saw Doris appear outside the carriage.
“Let her go!” Doris yelled, pounding on the carriage door and trying desperately to open it as the carriage picked up speed. “You let her go, you bloody bastard!”
Mr Flint pulled down the window and leaned out, brandishing the gun. Belinda shouted in terror and leapt at him, pulling him back, but not before he had struck Doris hard on the head with the butt of the pistol. Belinda saw her fall as the carriage turned the corner and Doris’ crumpled form slipped out of sight.
“No!” she screamed, lunging at Flint.
For all she knew, he’d killed Doris. She clawed at his face and pulled his hair, punching and kicking with all her might as he struggled to subdue her. A mighty slap across her cheek stole the air from her lungs and she fell to the floor of the carriage, cradling her face as her eyes watered and tears clogged her throat.
“Be still,” Mr Flint said, his voice implacable. “This is all your fault, you snooty bitch. If you and your father weren’t so high in the instep, you’d have married me months since and none of this would have needed to happen.”
“He’ll kill you,” Belinda said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, determined not to cry in front of the hateful man. She would not be cowed by him, and she would escape, somehow.
“Your father?” Mr Flint sneered. “I hardly think so.”
“I’m not talking about my father,” Belinda said, allowing herself a small smile as she stared back at Mr Flint.
He laughed and shook her words off. “Ashburton is a chivalrous type, I grant you, but he won’t be in time to save you. He’s gone out with his daughter today. I was very careful to arrange a time when your father was from home and Ashburton out of reach, I’m afraid, my dear.”
“Ah, yes. You like to catch females at their most defenceless, I know,” Belinda said in disgust. “But I’m afraid I’m not talking about Ashburton either.”
Mr Flint frowned at her. “Who, then?”
Belinda shook her head. She knew Felix would not stop until he found her and so she must give him the time he needed and cause as many delays as she was able.
“I do not know what romantic daydreams you are spinning, Belinda, but there is no knight in shining armour coming to rescue you,” Flint said with a smirk.
Despite the situation, Belinda laughed as the words struck her.
Mr Flint scowled, annoyed, which only made her laugh all the harder.
“Stop that,” he snapped.
Belinda noted the glint in his eyes and knew he was not beyond striking her again if she did not comply. The thought sobered her, and her laughter subsided, but she took heart from what she did know. The man she loved might not wear shining armour, but he was a Knight in every sense of the word.
“Something is wrong.”
Felix paced up and down past the park bench where they had arranged to meet Belinda and Doris. The women were twenty minutes late already and Grosvenor Square was barely a five-minute walk from the park.
“I’ll go to the house,” Charles said. “Mr Kimble is a decent sort, and he knows I’m courting Doris. If they’ve been delayed, he’ll let me know.”
Felix nodded. It frustrated him not to be able to call upon the woman he intended to marry, but there was no help for it. “I’ll come with you and wait out of sight.”
Charles nodded and the two of them hurried back to Keston House to discover a scene of chaos outside, with onlookers milling about and gossiping.
“Something’s wrong,” Felix said, his heart stuttering.
He hurried up to the front door and hammered on it, not caring whether the earl would have him thrown out on his ear or not, just as long as he could find out what was going on. A footman opened the door. Not waiting for an answer, Felix barged in, Charles close on his heels.
“Doris!” Charles cried, horrified, as he saw his beloved slumped in a chair, holding a bloodstained cloth to her head.
The Earl of Keston stood beside her, his face ashen with shock.
“Oh, Charlie!” Doris said, pushing to her feet. “That wicked man, he’s got Belinda.”
She flew into his arms, sobbing, and Charles stared at Felix, open-mouthed.
“What, man? What’s happened?” Felix demanded, turning to the earl.
Keston appeared to have aged ten years since Felix had seen him last. “Ernest Flint,” said he murmured, staring at Felix, unseeing.
“Flint?” Felix exclaimed, though any accusations he might have thrown at the earl died as he saw the devastated look in his eyes.
“This is all my fault,” Keston whispered, shaking his head.
Felix stepped closer. “There’s no time for recriminations, not for either of us. Tell me what you know. Where would he take her?”
“Derbyshire, sir.”
Felix looked up as the butler, Kimble, of whom Belinda had spoken so fondly, stepped forward.
“She shouted the words as he forced her from the house. He—He had a pistol, sir or I should never have—”
The old butler’s words faltered, his eyes swimming with tears.
“This is not your doing, Kimble, but mine,” Keston said, his voice heavy with self-loathing. “I enraged the man and drove him to it.”
“I don’t give a damn whose fault it is!” Felix raged, losing what remained of his wits as terror for Belinda drove him on. “Where exactly would he take her?”
“He’s got an estate in Derbyshire, close to Matlock Bath,” the earl said, and seemed to crumple, sitting heavily in the chair Doris had just vacated, clutching at his chest and breathing hard.
A commotion at the door had everyone turning and Felix let out a breath as his father strode in.
“I saw you come in,” he told Felix. “There’s the most ridiculous rumour about Lady Belinda—” He broke off as he saw the anguish in his son’s face. “Devil take it,” he growled.
“That blackguard Flint has abducted her. He’s got a property in Derbyshire, outside Matlock Bath,” Felix said, struggling to keep his voice even.
His father’s expression hardened. “The bloody swine! Damn him for his impudence. Don’t worry, we’ll find her. If he’s taken the train, I’ll have him stopped. If he’s going by carriage, we’ll be there hours before he is.”
“Knight.”
Both Felix and his father turned as the earl spoke and he looked from one to the other of them.
“I know you owe me nothing, but my daughter—”
His voice broke, such pain on his face that Felix wondered if he had only now realised how precious Belinda was to him.
Gabriel Knight reached out a hand, the enmity between the two men forgotten. He clasped Keston’s shoulder. “We’ll get her back.”
“I took the liberty of having the carriage readied,” Kimble said, gesturing outside.
“Good man,” Felix said, hurrying to the door, his father following.
“Wait!” the earl staggered to his feet. “I’m coming too.”
Felix didn’t wait, not caring what the earl did, but his father nodded as Doris rushed forward. “Me too! My lady will need me.”
Felix muttered curses of impatience as his father, the earl, Charles, and Doris all piled into the carriage, which made it quite close quarters.
“We’ll go directly to the station first,” said Gabriel. “If there’s no sign of them there, at least I’ll have trustworthy men to help us. We’ll leave some there on watch and take the first available train.”
Felix nodded absently. The carriage picked up speed as the traffic cleared but it still seemed a snail’s pace to Felix, who endured the passing minutes in an agony of impotent rage and misery. Visions of what Belinda must be suffering, of how frightened she must be, paraded behind his eyes until he thought he’d run mad. He sat on the edge of his seat, gazing out of the window, his fists clenched upon his knees.
“I’ll kill him,” he said softly.
“Calm yourself,” his father said, his voice stern, which was more than Felix could stand.
“Calm myself?” he repeated, outraged. “This, from you? The man who would tear the world apart at the seams if Mama was taken away?”
Gabriel squeezed his arm. “Yes, I would. I’d be out of my damned mind, and I would need to rely on those who were more clear-headed to keep me on the right path. Felix, if you don’t get a hold of yourself, you’ll end up doing something stupid.”
Felix glared at his father and let out a breath, returning a swift nod of understanding.
“There’s a good fellow. From what I can gather, we’re not far behind them and the traffic has lessened a little since we set out. There’s a good chance it was bad enough to delay them and we’ve gained some time. If they’re going to the station, I’d say we’re close on their heels.”
“You care for her.”
Felix glanced up at the earl’s words. He looked grey with fatigue and worry but his eyes were still sharp and there was a faint trace of accusation behind the words.
“I do,” Felix said, his voice hard. “And I mean to marry her, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
“Felix,” his father said sternly. “There’s a time and a place.”
Felix did not wait to see the earl’s response. The carriage drew up outside the station and he leapt down at once and ran inside, his father and Charles close behind.
Belinda walked as slowly as she dared, knowing Mr Flint did not wish to draw attention to them. The station was busy, the smell of coal smoke and hot metal drifting on the humid air. Overhead, the clouds were growing darker, another summer storm rolling in. A shrill whistle rang out, announcing a departure, and the low rumble and chug of a steam engine underscored the chatter and chaos as people bustled back and forth.
Despite the sticky heat, Mr Flint had shrugged on a voluminous coat with large pockets, allowing him to keep hold of the pistol but keep it out of sight.
“Get a move on, damn you. I’ll not miss that train, and don’t even think about making a scene,” he muttered, shoving her in the back.
“Yes, yes, you’ll shoot an undefended woman in full view of the crowd should I so much as blink,” Belinda said, not hiding her revulsion even as she wondered how likely that really was. There was no way on earth she was getting onto a train with him, but how to evade him, at least long enough for help to arrive, was another matter.
“Don’t try me,” he warned her. “You have no idea what a desperate man will do when driven too hard.”
“Or a desperate woman,” she murmured, too low for him to hear.
What would a heroine in a novel do, she wondered, racking her brain for inspiration. Faint, probably, she thought in disgust, and then almost laughed out loud as she realised just how perfect a solution that was.
Belinda waited until they were in the heart of the station, men and women and children hurrying to and fro on all sides. She dragged her feet, purposely walking slower and making her breathing laboured.
“You’re hurting me,” she complained, tugging at her arm which he held in a bruising grip.
Flint let her go but scowled, muttering under his breath. “Don’t try anything,” he began, but Belinda was determined to take this precious chance.
“Oh,” she said, raising a hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear. I—I feel terribly—”
Belinda spotted a group of three young men, dressed up fine as fivepence, as though they’d just arrived back in town after a jaunt to the country. Staggering, she evaded Flint as he realised her intend and reached for her. Belinda ploughed directly into one of the men, gazing up with wide eyes as she collapsed against him.
“Oh, I’m s-so sorry…!” Much to her relief, the young man’s chivalrous instincts kicked in and he caught her. Being quite a slender fellow and having been taken by surprise, her weight bore him down, but he held her carefully, her head cradled against his arm.
“Good lord!” the young man exclaimed, taking her hand and chafing it a moment before patting her cheek.
“Is she dead?” enquired a curious voice.
“’Course she ain’t dead, you great lummox. Is she, Daffy?” asked another of the hero’s companions.
“Dash it, Freddie,” the young man holding her said impatiently. “Of course she’s not dead, she’s fainted!”
“Lawks! Is she sick?”
“No, no. She’s not the least bit sick, just a little tired is all.”
Belinda recognised this last as Mr Flint’s steely tone and stiffened despite herself.
“She’s my wife,” he added firmly. “So, if you’ll be so good as to leave her to—”
Belinda decided it was time to take an active role in the drama before Mr Flint carried her off unhindered. She fluttered her eyes open, took one look at Mr Flint and cringed away, grasping at the young man’s lapels.
“No!” she screamed, not having to act in the least to make herself appear in the grip of terror. “Oh, save me, please, sir! The devil is trying to kidnap me!”
The three men all turned accusing gazes upon Mr Flint.
“My wife is unwell,” he said doggedly. “She’s prone to fits of hysteria, I’m afraid. We’ve been in town consulting a specialist but there’s nothing to be done. I’m taking her to a local asylum. They’ll know how to look after her there, the poor creature.”
Whilst Flint didn’t look or sound the least bit sorry, the men appeared uneasy, and Belinda glared at Mr Flint. He was clever indeed, for anything resembling madness or insanity would have most people recoiling in horror. Getting involved in a scene between husband and wife was even worse and she could well understand the men’s obvious reluctance to help her.
“My betrothed will come after me, Mr Flint,” Belinda said calmly, trying to look as far from hysterical as she could, though it became increasingly difficult as her panic rose. “Gentlemen, I am Lady Belinda Madox-Brown, my father is the Earl of Keston, and this man is abducting me, hoping to get his hands on my dowry.”
“A fairy story, I’m afraid,” Mr Flint said coldly. “She’s fantasising. She’s Mrs Rogers from a small village in Derbyshire, not an earl’s daughter. What a taradiddle, my dear,” he added, and the kindly tone he adopted was by far the most alarming thing he’d yet done.
“Goodness, what a shame. And such a lovely girl, too,” the one called Daffy said, helping Mr Flint get her to her feet.
Belinda struggled, trying to squirm away, but Mr Flint’s fingers closed around her wrist like a vice.
“Wait a minute,” one of the young men said, his eyes widening. “I know her.”
“Come my dear, before we miss our train,” Flint said tugging her arm so hard she thought it would pull from its socket as she dug in her heels.
“Help me, you great idiots!” Belinda shouted at the young men.
“Dash it all!” one of them exclaimed. “That is Lady Belinda! She’s the one that rejected Spoony Spencer and had him telling everyone he was going to join the Foreign Legion! He always was the dramatic sort, though,” he added thoughtfully.
“Will you help me?” Belinda yelled in fury, deciding her only hope now was to make the biggest scene possible.
She lunged at Mr Flint, her hand balled into a fist as Doris had shown her how to do and hit him square on the nose.
He yelled as Belinda experienced a disquieting scrunching sensation, and pain shot through her hand and up her arm. He let go of her hand, though, and stumbled back, clutching his nose. Blood dripped between his fingers, but Belinda was not about to hang around and congratulate herself.
She turned to flee and ran headlong into a hard chest.
“Belinda! Belinda, darling! Are you well? Are you hurt?”
Belinda staggered back a step and stared up, momentarily startled to discover terrified green eyes gazing down at her.
“Felix!” she squealed and threw herself back into his arms.
“Here, he’s getting away!” Daffy exclaimed helpfully.
Felix looked around to see Flint taking to his heels.
“Look after her,” he shouted to his father, before giving chase.
Felix dodged an old lady carrying a fat pug; she yelled after him, lamenting the terrible behaviour of young men. He skidded around a large man dragging a hefty trunk, leapt over a pile of suitcases and careened into a wall before running on, desperate to keep Flint in sight. There was no way on earth the devil was going to get away with what he’d done. He’d been a thorn in both Felix’s and his father’s side for years and now he’d had the temerity to lay hands on Belinda, his card had been well and truly marked. Felix was going to murder him.
As they exploded out of the station, with Flint running pell mell ahead of him, it seemed Felix was not the only one intend on revenge. The earl’s carriage with its distinctive crest on the side in gold and blue paint was before them, the old man climbing unsteadily down with Doris helping him. Felix saw Flint withdraw the pistol from the pocket of his greatcoat a look of such loathing on his face that his intention was unmistakeable.
“No!” Felix yelled as people screamed and scattered in all directions.
Time seemed to stand still. The fact he loathed the earl and had many times wished the world rid of him did not seem to matter. Murdering a man in cold blood was a heinous crime and even the Earl of Keston could not deserve such a fate. Besides all that, this man was Belinda’s father, and he might be the devil himself, but Felix would not allow anyone to take him from her. His death in such a way would devastate Belinda, despite their difficult relationship. These thoughts seemed to race through his mind at a mile a minute, yet he was running through treacle as he forced his body on faster and faster to stop the inevitable.
As he threw himself at Flint, the sound of a gunshot exploded in his ears and the two men crashed to the ground.