The Dutiful Duke Page 12

  Nia remained frozen in place, fear and stunned disbelief holding her fast. She could see the madness in the man's eyes, feel the hatred emanating from him as he dashed toward her, but she could not move. It was like watching a pantomime, she thought dazedly; it wasn't real. It couldn't be real. The knife flashed in the thin, gray light as the man brought his arm down, and Nia closed her eyes, waiting for the hot pain she was sure would follow.

  Wyatt saw the man rushing forward and knew what he had to do. Without thinking he shoved her to one side, stepping in front of her and pulling the trigger in the same instant. The pistol roared and the man jerked backwards, the knife flying from his hand. He was dead before he hit the wet pavement.

  There was a short charged silence, and then everything started happening at once. Women began screaming, and he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps as several men burst around the corner of the stone Tower. Ambrose was stepping over the still form of the man who had attacked him, moving toward Amanda lying on the ground. Wyatt bent to Miss Pringle.

  "Are you all right?" he asked worriedly, his eyes skimming her for any sign of injury. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

  Nia batted his hands away. "Never mind me!" she snapped, straightening her glasses with a shaking hand. "See to Amanda!" When he hesitated, she gave him a none-too-gentle prod. "Go!"

  Wyatt needed no further urging, and hurried over to join Ambrose. "Is she alive?" he demanded, his voice harsh with fear as he hunched over the crumpled form lying so still on the ground.

  "I think so," Ambrose replied, laying a gentle finger against Amanda's neck. "Her pulse is steady, thank God, and she seems to be breathing without difficulty. Perhaps she has just fainted."

  As if in response, Amanda's lashes fluttered, and she peered up at her uncle through eyes that weren't quite focused. "I did not faint!" she denied in a thready voice. "Miss Pringle says only silly chits faint."

  "Our apologies then, poppet," Wyatt murmured, his throat painfully tight. "We didn't mean to insult you." He reached out to stroke the hair from her face, then froze at the feel of the wet blood beneath his fingertips. He drew back his hand, staring at the bright blood staining them.

  "Are you all right, my darling?" Miss Pringle had joined them.

  Amanda's blue eyes filled with tears. "My head hurts," she said fretfully. "And that bad man muddied my new cloak!"

  "You may have a new one," Wyatt vowed in a wooden voice, rising to his feet and staring down at her with eyes that burned like black fire.

  His promise brought a speculative smile to Amanda's pale white lips. "And a kitty?" she pressed, her eyelids beginning to droop. "May I have a kitty as well?"

  Wyatt had been unaware she wanted a cat, but he was ready to give her anything if only she would be all right. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Amanda's eyes drifted closed. She was unconscious.

  Chapter 8

  "Please, Your Grace, you must get some rest,"

  Dr. Carlysle's voice was filled with concern as he peered at Wyatt over the rims of his spectacles. "You'll do the wee lass no good if you fret yourself like this. Get on with you, now," he added.

  Wyatt gave the little girl lying on the bed an anguished look, torn between the desire to stay and the knowledge that two men were waiting for him in his study. Here there was little he could do to help Amanda, but downstairs . . .

  "You'll send for me the moment she awakens?" he asked, laying a trembling hand on Amanda's cheek.

  "The very moment," the physician promised solemnly. "But I warn you, it may not be until very late tonight. That was a bad knock she took to her head."

  Wyatt closed his eyes, knowing he would never forget the sight of Amanda being hurled to the ground. Nothing had ever frightened him more—unless it was the sight of the madman rushing at Nia with the knife still in his hand, he added, his eyes flicking toward the white-faced woman sitting on the other side of the bed.

  "Very well, Doctor," he said, straightening to his full height, his eyes still resting on Nia. "Should you require anything, you have only to notify one of the servants and they will fetch it for you. Also, if there is any change at all, I wish to be informed at once."

  "Of course, Your Grace." Dr. Carlysle inclined his head.

  Wyatt held out a commanding hand to Miss Pringle. "Ma'am, if you would be so good as to step out into the hall for a moment, there are some things I need to discuss with you."

  Nia opened her lips to protest, but quickly closed them at the weariness and pain evident in the harsh lines of his face. She gave Amanda's hand a reassuring squeeze, then followed him out into the hall. The door had scarcely closed behind them than he took her hands in his.

  "I know you won't leave Amanda," he said, his thumbs drawing small circles on her knuckles, "but if I send up a tray, do you promise you will eat?"

  That he could think of her comfort when she knew he was worried to distraction over Amanda touched Nia's heart. "That would be very considerate, Your Grace," she said, lowering her eyes to hide their suspicious brightness. "Thank you."

  Wyatt stared at her bent head, fighting the sudden urge to draw her into his arms. She'd been so brave, he thought, his fingers tightening on hers. How many women would have possessed the courage to face an armed man like that? he wondered. How many men? She'd kept the man distracted long enough not to use his knife on Amanda, and he knew he would never be able to repay her. She had restored his niece to him not once, but twice.

  "You still haven't given me your word," he teased, his voice light to hide the emotion burgeoning in him. "You see? I am becoming familiar with your ways. It is only when I have your most solemn vow that I know you'll do as you are ordered."

  That made Nia laugh, and she raised her head to meet his eyes. "Ordered, Your Grace?"

  "Earnestly implored," he amended, his smile softening. "You haven't eaten since luncheon, and I know you must be hungry."

  She wasn't, but she supposed she could manage a few mouthfuls if it would please him. Suddenly she was aware that he was still holding both of her hands. She could only imagine the eyebrows that would be raised should anyone see them, but she didn't care. Instead she allowed herself the luxury of his touch, revelling in the feel of his hard, warm flesh pressed to hers. It made her feel safe and cherished, and she held the sensation close to her chest, like a miser hoarding gold.

  "I promise I shall do my best, Your Grace," she said, knowing it was time to end this foolishness. "Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to get back before Amanda awakens."

  He felt her attempts to free her hand, and knew he should release her. It was the wise thing to do, he told himself, but suddenly he had had his fill of doing the wise thing. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he raised both of her hands to his lips.

  "Thank you," he said, his voice deep as their eyes met and held. "You've given me more than I can tell you, more than I deserve, and I thank you. With all that I am, I thank you."

  The earnest light shining in the ebony depths of his eyes unnerved Nia almost as much as the touch of his mouth against her flesh. All coherent thought fled and she could only stare up at him, lost in a maze of emotion. She nervously wet her lips. "Your Grace, that is very good of you, but—"

  "No," he interrupted, his fingers tightening on hers, "don't do that. Don't brush aside my gratitude as if you had no right to it. Accept my thanks as I offer them, simply but with all my heart."

  His quiet eloquence melted her reluctance, and feeling greatly daring, she freed her hand and reached up to touch his cheek.

  "In that case, I accept," she said softly, her hand trembling as she traced the hard planes of his face with her fingertips. Then, as if abruptly aware of what she was doing, she blushed brightly and took a hasty step backwards.

  "I . . . I really must be getting back to Amanda," she stammered, her hand dropping awkwardly to her side. "Good day, my lord." And she hurried away, conscious of his dark gaze following her.

  Ambro
se and Hemsley were waiting when Wyatt walked into his study, and he wasted no time in getting to the matter at hand. "Well? What have you learned?" he demanded, seating himself behind his desk. "Who hired the men to attack my niece?"

  Hemsley spoke first, his rough voice filled with disgust. "What we have learned, Your Grace, is that the man you shot was named Quiggs, and he hired Trulow, the man Mr. Royston here knocked to the ground. But that is all we know."

  "But how can that be?" Wyatt exclaimed furiously. "This man tried to kidnap my niece! He must know something!"

  "Why?"

  The calm question made Wyatt frown. "Why?" he repeated in rising agitation. "Because he is facing the gibbet! He must know who hired him, if not why!"

  Hemsley gave him a pitying look. "You don't understand this world, my lord," he said bluntly. "Names and reasons don't matter to men like these. Quiggs offered Trulow fifty quid to help him snatch Lady Amanda, and that's all he cared to know. He didn't even know who you were until we told him, and he was right put out about it. Said he'd have held out for one hundred if he'd known you were a duke."

  Wyatt's jaw clenched in frustration. "I want to see this Trulow," he said, his words clipped. "There are several questions I want to ask him."

  "As you like." Hemsley inclined his head, his pale eyes fixing Wyatt with a measuring stare. "And now, sir, there are some questions I would be asking of you."

  Ambrose stirred uneasily in his seat, shooting Wyatt a worried look. "Hemsley, I do not think—"

  "No." Wyatt held up his hand to still Ambrose's protest. "Let him ask what he pleases. I am willing to do whatever it takes, if it will put an end to this madness." He met Hemsley's gaze. "What is it you want to know?"

  "Have you made Lady Amanda your heiress?" Hemsley asked, folding his arms across his massive chest.

  The question took Wyatt by surprise. "I have ordered my solicitor to draw up papers to that effect," he confessed carefully, wondering what the runner was thinking. "But I haven't yet signed anything."

  "And who will suffer most by this new arrangement?"

  Wyatt gave the question thorough consideration before answering. "The title is entailed," he began, "and in the event I should die without male issue, it would then pass to my cousin, Lord Amberstroke. But that won't change because of Amanda. If she was a boy it would be different, but as a female she cannot hope to inherit."

  Hemsley merely grunted. "But what of your personal fortune? Tilton by itself is a sweet enough morsel, I'll grant you, but you are also quite wealthy in your own right. How much of your blunt do you intend leaving the little girl?"

  "All of it," Wyatt told him. "Or at least, the greater part of it. I have no children of my own, and I want to be sure Amanda will be provided for in the event of my death. God knows this family hasn't done its best by her until now," he added, his lips twisting in a bitter smile.

  "Aye, there is that, isn't there?" Hemsley scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "But back to your money. Who knows you have changed your will?"

  "Well, my solicitor, of course." Wyatt's brows met in thought. "And I did inform Amberstroke I was adopting Amanda as a matter of formality, but I . . ." His voice trailed off as understanding dawned.

  "My God, you don't think he is behind this, do you?" he demanded, pushing to his feet. "The bastard! I will kill him!"

  "Mayhap." The threat of violence did not seem to perturb the other man unduly. "But you'll have to be proving it first, and that may not be easy, as the only possible link is now dead."

  Wyatt lowered himself back onto his chair. "Quiggs, you mean," he said, running a hand through his thick hair.

  "You mustn't blame yourself, Wyatt," Ambrose said, quick to leap to his defense. "The blackguard was attacking Miss Pringle! What other choice did you have?"

  "None, but that doesn't make things easier," Wyatt said with a heavy sigh. He glanced up to find Hemsley watching him. "What do we do now?" he asked wearily.

  "Get Lady Amanda out of London," Hemsley replied at once. "I'll send some men down with you, but it will be up to you to keep a sharp eye on her."

  "I won't let her out of my sight," Wyatt promised. "What of Amberstroke? How will you proceed against him?"

  "Cautiously, Your Grace, cautiously. And in any case, there's no saying he is the man we're after. It could be someone else entirely."

  "Who?" Ambrose asked.

  Hemsley shrugged his beefy shoulders. "No way of knowing, sir. But 'tis my experience that these things are caused by one of two things, greed or revenge. Greed is our best possibility, so that is where we shall start. But if greed isn't behind all of this, then everything changes, including our suspect."

  An uneasy silence filled the room as the three men considered the implications. Greed would be easy to pin down, they knew, but revenge was a different matter. Wyatt and Ambrose exchanged a long look before Wyatt rose slowly to his feet.

  "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hemsley," he said, offering him his hand. "Will you be returning to Bow Street now?"

  "For now, my lord." Hemsley accepted his dismissal with good grace. "I'll need to check my prisoner, and arrange for you to see him. He is being transferred to the Bailey tomorrow, so we'd best be quick about it."

  After Hemsley had taken his leave, Wyatt swung around to face Ambrose. "What do you think?" he demanded. "Do you believe Amberstroke is after Amanda?"

  Ambrose shook his head. "I know he is the most likely suspect at this point," he said, his expression troubled, "but there is something about the notion that simply will not wash. He's not even in London, for one thing, and for another he is so timid, he wouldn't say boo to a goose. You heard Quiggs. He was terrified of whoever had hired him."

  "That is so," Wyatt agreed, remembering the wild glitter in the ruffian's eyes when he'd spoken of his mysterious master. "But that doesn't mean Amber-stroke didn't use an intermediary, someone who would have no difficulty terrorizing a rat like Quiggs. It's done all the time."

  "But can you see Harold having such foresight?" Ambrose pressed, warming to his theme. "I know the man is your heir, Wyatt, and I've no wish to be cruel, but there is no denying he is the biggest cloth-head in England! Even if he wanted to dispose of Amanda, he'd only make a cake of it."

  A reluctant smile softened the grim lines bracketing Wyatt's mouth. "Undoubtedly," he agreed. "But damn it, Ambrose, if it's not Harold, then who the devil is it? Who else would benefit from Amanda's death?"

  "I don't know," Ambrose replied. "But we had best find out, and soon. Next time we may not be so lucky."

  Amanda slept through the rest of the afternoon, awakening shortly before dinner. She was subdued and inclined to be fretful, but Nia soon jollied her into better spirits. She even managed to get the little girl to look upon the whole event as a sort of grand adventure. Amanda was regaling Nancy with her version of the attack when the door opened and the duke, hastily summoned by Nia, strode into the room.

  "Uncle Wyatt!" Amanda exclaimed, holding both arms out for her uncle. "Where have you been? I have been waiting and waiting for you!"

  The sight of Amanda, alive and well, was almost Wyatt's undoing. He felt his eyes burning as he crossed the rug to join her. "Hello, little one," he murmured, bending to accept her exuberant hug. At the feel of her slight arms closing around his neck, he shut his eyes and sent a heartfelt prayer winging toward heaven.

  "Miss Pringle said you shot that bad man," Amanda said, drawing back to give her uncle an admiring look. "Is he dead?"

  Worried that she might be afraid, Wyatt took her hand in his and lowered himself onto the bed beside her. "Yes, Amanda, the man is dead," he said quietly, "and the other man is in prison. You needn't be afraid of either of them ever again."

  "Good." Amanda gave a satisfied nod. "You were very brave, Uncle Wyatt. Just like the hero who stabbed Count Divicchio. Isn't that right, Miss Pringle?" she added, casting Nia an imploring look over her shoulder.

  "Very brave," Nia agreed, her heart pounding as sh
e sent the duke a quick smile.

  How lovely she looked, Wyatt mused. Even with her spectacles and that blasted cap sitting slightly askew on her dark hair, she was enchanting, and he longed to take her into his arms. He pushed the tempting thought aside and turned his attention to his niece.

  "I thought the count was walled up," he drawled, giving her nose a playful tweak.

  "He escaped. Villains are nothing if not inventive," Nia answered for Amanda, wondering if she ought to leave. She'd done her best to calm the child, but it was really her uncle she needed most. Nia reached her decision and rose to her feet.

  "I'm sure you would prefer to speak with Amanda privately, Your Grace," she said briskly, including both in her low curtsey. "I'll be in my rooms should you have need of me."

  "Just one moment, Miss Pringle." Wyatt also stood." I have something to say to you . . . to both of you," he added, sending Amanda a reassuring look.

  "Yes, Uncle?" Amanda folded her hands in her lap and gazed solemnly up at him.

  "I have decided it would be best if we returned to the country at once," he said. "I know it is hardly your duty, but can you have everything packed and ready to go for the day after tomorrow?"

  Nia thought of the visit to the menagerie she had been planning and gave a silent sigh. "Certainly, sir," she replied, her shoulders straightening with determination. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

  "You might speak with Mrs. Mayton," he said, grateful for her offer. "I am sure she would appreciate any help you could give her. There is a great deal to be done, I am afraid."

  "I shall see to it at once," she said, welcoming the chance to lose herself in hard work. She excused herself, and slipped quietly from the room.

  After she left, Wyatt and Amanda discussed what her new life would be like at Perryvale Manor. To his relief she seemed eager for the move, her eyes bright as she quizzed him on every detail.

  "And I shall have a pony?" she pressed, head tilted to one side. "A real one?"

  "A real one," he assured her, unable to resist the urge to press a kiss to her cheek. The cold terror he'd felt when he'd seen her helpless in Quiggs's arms remained with him, and it was only by touching her that he was able to hold it at bay.