Page 38 of Courting Scandal With The Duke

The moment Lady Wells closed the door behind her, Barbara ran to the window and quietly pulled back the curtain.

Aha! Not a window. A French door leading out to a balcony. She pushed the handle down. The door did not budge and there was no key in the lock.

She glanced at the door out to the hallway. She would have to be very quiet if she did not want to arouse her guard’s suspicions and have him poking his nose in here.

She glanced around. Would the key be in the room, or would it be with the housekeeper? In her experience, because maids had to sweep down the balcony when they cleaned the room, the key was likely to be somewhere handy for the maid as well as for any guest using the chamber.

She opened the drawers in the dressing table. Nothing.

Then she checked the mantel above the fireplace. And there was a key sitting in the drip tray of a candle holder.

It fit the lock.

Quietly, she unlocked the balcony door and crept outside. Blast! It was still raining. She went back inside and covered her head with her shawl. It wasn’t much but it would help.

She stared down over the balustrade. It was a long drop. But one didn’t live most of one’s life at boarding school without learning the make-a-rope-from-bedsheets trick in order to leave by way of a window.

Not something Father would think of, since he never had a ha’p’orth of interest in anything Barbara had ever done.

One thing she did know, she would not have long, and she would need to get as far from here as possible before they noticed her missing.

She stripped the bed, used the nail scissors in her reticule to snip the hem, and tore both top and bottom sheet into three lengths that she tied together.

She secured the end to one of the stone balusters and tossed the rest of the linen over the top of the rail. It didn’t quite reach the flower bed below but was not far off.

Climbing in skirts was never easy, and already the sheets were becoming sodden, but she carefully balanced on the railing and eased herself over. Having lowered herself down hand over hand, she dropped the last little bit.

The thump of her landing sounded shockingly loud in the quiet of the night. Hopefully the patter of raindrops would hide the noise.

She stood still listening but could hardly hear much more than the pounding of her heart.

She was at the side of the house.

Which way to go?

If she went around the front and tried to walk down the road, they would likely catch up to her very quickly.

She headed for the back of the house.

As she rounded the corner, she could see a large terrace and beyond that darkness. Hopefully lawns, not a maze of formal gardens.

The sound of voices wafted out of a window. Not voices. A voice. A particularly well-known deep voice. Xavier?

‘Explanation?’ he said. ‘Or an excuse?’

Was he also part of her father’s plot? Her heart sank.

‘Where is the Countess? I shall not be pleased if she has come to any harm.’

Had he actually come for her ? It wasn’t possible.

‘My dear Xavier, do not be fooled by a pretty face,’ Charles was saying. ‘Think. You will make yourself a laughing stock.’

Barbara wished he was wrong. She dashed raindrops out of her face and looked longingly at the darkness. Within a very few minutes she could be far from the house, and they would never ever find her. But Xavier…

‘I want to hear Barbara say she is here of her own volition. That marrying you is what she wants.’

No one before had ever cared enough to ask what she wanted.

Her eyes blurred.

No one but Xavier. She took a deep breath and slowly mounted the steps to the terrace. Silence had fallen in the room.

Xavier was facing her direction, looking extraordinarily handsome with his rain-soaked hair sticking to his face. He seemed bored. And yet… No, there was anger in that bright blue gaze. Fury.

She altered her position until she could see the other occupant of the room. Charles. Sitting with his back to the window. All she could see of him was the back of his head and a pistol in his hand.

Pointed at Xavier.

Xavier gave him one of those dark looks of his. ‘You do know that kidnapping a peer of the realm is a hanging offence, don’t you?’

‘Then perhaps I really would be better off getting rid of you,’ Charles said with one of his charming little chuckles. ‘After you sign the wedding lines.’

Barbara swallowed a gasp of shock.

Why would Xavier stand as a witness to her marriage?

The sound of wheels on the gravel drive caused her heart to rise higher in her throat.

The vicar. It must be.

Any moment Lady Wells would come to fetch her down. If she remained here another minute, she would be caught.

Xavier could look after himself. Couldn’t he? Charles wouldn’t dare kill him.

She wished she could be sure. Her mind went back to the day Helmut died. The way Charles had shouted a warning, distracting her husband at the worst possible moment.

She had always thought it strange. Now…she wondered if it might have been deliberate.

Had he meant for Helmut to die that day?

She glanced around wildly. A gardener’s rake leaned against the wall.

It wasn’t much of a weapon, but there was nothing else.

A ball of anger sat in the middle of Xavier’s chest, hot and ready to explode.

Every word out of the Count’s mouth fed the furnace. The mask of affability was a complete lie. The man was as ruthless as they came. The thought of him having power over Barbara, turned anger to fury.

He forced himself to remain still, outwardly calm, ready to spring when the opportunity arose .

It would have to be when Barbara arrived in the room. Once he knew for certain that she had no wish to marry this man.

Somehow, he would have to get her away, but the odds were not good. He would be facing at least three or four men, including the Count. March he could discount. He was elderly and unfit. Unless he also was armed.

The curtain behind the Count moved. Not as if blown by the wind, but as if edged aside by someone looking in.

One of the grooms?

It hardly seemed likely.

Had Dirk decided to follow him? Xavier couldn’t think why he would.

The curtains parted. The bedraggled, bejewelled figure of Barbara dashed in and struck at the pistol with a stick.

Xavier leaped from his chair to tackle the Count who had risen with a curse. Xavier grabbed for the pistol, which went off with a loud bang.

Plaster sprayed down from the ceiling.

Barbara shrieked.

The Count cursed.

Xavier landed a punch flush on the other man’s jaw. He collapsed. The gun slid across the floor.

Barbara made a dive for it and stood up with it in her hand, flushed and triumphant.

Xavier stood looking down at the Count, who was feeling his jaw and slowly coming to his senses. He groaned.

March burst into the room with Lady Wells.

‘What the devil is going on?’ March said. He looked at the Count on the floor and at Xavier and Barbara standing side by side. ‘Good God.’

‘The jig is up,’ Xavier said dryly. ‘It is my guess that Lady Barbara has no wish to wed the Count here and I intend to see that her wishes are observed.’

Barbara looked at him, her gaze misty. She blinked as if to clear her vision and dipped a curtsey. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’

Her formality chilled him. Well, it was no more than he deserved.

He hauled the Count to his feet and thrust him into the nearest chair. ‘Sit there, until I decide what to do with you.’ He glared at March and Lady Wells. ‘You also.’

They sank down onto the nearest sofa.

Xavier took the pistol from Barbara. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

She met his gaze, her expression impossible to read. ‘Why are you here?’

Puzzled, he shook his head. ‘I apologise for interfering. Something just smelled wrong. I had to make sure you were all right.’

‘You came. For me.’ Her voice broke slightly.

She looked away. ‘I—I didn’t deserve that you should.

After all I have done.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

She looked lost somehow. And something painful dug at his heart.

‘And my father and his schemes—’ She gave a wry little laugh.

‘So embarrassing, but I thank you for coming to my aid.’

He glanced at the wary-looking Count and the sheepish Ambassador and grimaced. ‘It’s a pretty kettle of fish, but I am sure we will come about.’

‘You will,’ she said softly.

He rubbed his knuckles, bruised from where he had hit the Count. ‘We need to talk, but first I have to deal with them.’

‘What will you do with them?’

‘Pack them off where they came from, I suppose. After they sign a confession regarding kidnapping and other felonies. That should keep them both in line.’

She nodded. ‘And it won’t cause another scandal.’

‘Exactly. We will stay here tonight, while I get it all sorted out, and then we will talk in the morning.’

The door opened to admit a small dark-coated fellow wearing a starched white collar at his throat.

‘Ah,’ Xavier said. ‘The vicar.’

The vicar put on a pair of pince-nez and glanced around. ‘Where are the bride and groom?’ he asked.

Xavier stepped forward. ‘Your services are no longer required.’

‘What? You get me out on a night like tonight for no reason? I demand to be compensated for my time.’

‘So you shall be,’ Xavier said. He handed the man his calling card. ‘Write me a note and I shall see to it when I return to London.’

The burly groom who had captured Xavier came in through the French doors. He looked startled.

Xavier rolled his eyes upward. How many more people was he going to have to deal with?

When the groom’s gaze fell on the gun Xavier still held in his hand, his eyebrows shot up.

‘Like that, is it? Well, guv, let me know what you want to do. I’m your man.’

Charles glared at him.

Xavier laughed. ‘No honour among thieves, I see. You can go and fetch my curricle and my tiger, Dirk, and see that they are looked after. Make sure you do exactly as Dirk says and all will be well.’

The man touched his cap and left.

‘If you don’t mind, Xavier, I shall retire,’ Barbara said.