Lord Fool To The Rescue Part 4

The servant's door stood ajar-hopefully left that way by a fleeing Miss MacIntyre-so he walked inside. The only weapon he had on his person was his walking stick with a concealed blade, and that mostly to help him keep his balance. If he imbibed as often as his peers, he'd likely not be foxed at all. But there it was. And there he was, swaying his way toward the activity of the house, which at present seemed to originate at the head of the stairs.

He climbed those stairs quietly, and since his knees never actually touched the steps, no one could claim he crawled up them, though it probably appeared so.

Once at the top, he realized the voices were coming from further down the hall, inside the open doorway at the end.

"'At's right now, govna. 'And it over easy-like."

A man whimpered.

"Let go, ye blimey b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

The man whimpered louder.

Leland couldn't think of anything more clever at the moment, so he walked into the middle of the room before he stopped to look about him. It wasn't as if the room would be filled with guns pointing at him.

Only it was. And there were.

The surprise of the situation hit him as humorous-so humorous in fact, he started laughing.

Sitting in the bed, exactly as the rat had described him, sat Baron Ledford in all his bandaged glory. No less than three empty flagons sat on the table beside him and it appeared as though the man might actually be deeper in his cups than Leland himself!

The baron clasped a leather satchel as if his very life depended upon it-the last reachable bit of rope dangling from a s.h.i.+p, and he drowning and being followed closely by sharks. He looked to Leland and whimpered. Then he looked to the masked man pulling on the opposite side of the satchel and whimpered. It became readily apparent that the man was whimpering each and every time he exhaled.

Leland laughed anew.

As did the gang of black-cloaked and masked thieves surrounding him.

The thought of Miss MacIntyre at the mercy of those thieves sobered him instantly. Well...partially. But looking about, he saw only three women, all on their knees with their hands behind their backs. Next to them knelt that John Cosgrove fellow. A small thief stood nervously by with a pistol aimed at the man's head.

Clever, thought Leland. Shooting a b.u.g.g.e.r that size in the chest might not slow the man a'tall.

Finally the tug of war ended with the baron flying back against his pillows and crying like a spoiled child. The winner quickly tucked the satchel inside his vest, which was temporarily visible beneath his long black cloak.

Leland had seen that vest before.

"You, sir." The man had suddenly lost his c.o.c.kney accent. He pointed no gun but commanded just the same. "Down on your knees if you please. Right where you are will do nicely."

"My knees?" That sounded like trouble. What if he couldn't get to his knees? "What if I can't manage it?" Leland looked down and was surprised to find he was already slipping to the floor. He couldn't maneuver his knees beneath him, so his derriere would have to do. He crossed his ankles and folded his arms. No need to be a hero if the damsel was not around the save, eh?

He nodded at his own reasoning.

In his current position, he had a clear view of that bossy thief's boots. He'd seen them before as well. He studied them, committed them to memory, and by G.o.d when morning came, he'd remember, so help him.

Boots. Vest. Good.

A taller, thinner thief whispered in the leader's ear. He nodded and addressed Leland.

"Your Grace, we have need of your carriage. Is it at the front of the house?"

"No, sir," he said firmly.

"I'm afraid I must insist, Your Grace. I swear upon my honor we'll return it."

"You may borrow my carriage," he clarified. "But it is out behind the garden. But you must do me a favor sir, as I am currently inebriated and unavailable for heroism."

"What might I do for you, Your Grace?"

"If you see Lady Aphrodite, would you make certain she is safe?"

"Lady Aphrodite?"

"Yes, sir. If you would, sir."

"Of course, Your Grace. I'll see she is safe."

"Thank you, sir. You are a thief and a gentleman."

"I'll remind you of that one day, Your Grace."

"I look forward to it." And with that, Leland Wescott, Lord Fool, fell to his side and found the wood floor not as hard as he'd imagined.

Leland woke with a broken neck and a ringing in his ears unlike anything he'd previously experienced. A moment later he realized the ringing was actually the sound of a man screaming nearby.

He pushed himself off a wood floor and made his way over to the man, to explain why he should stop screaming.

There before him was Baron Ledford wreathing in agony. Bandages on both his leg and his hand had come loose and the burns beneath looked horribly painful.

Leland did the only humane thing he could think of to put them both out their misery.

He coldc.o.c.ked the man. The ensuing silence was Heaven on Earth.

To escape the smells of alcohol and burned flesh, he descended the stairs and searched out a dark room and some servants. He found only the first and was happy for it. After he lowered himself into the overstuffed chair and prayed some blood out of his overstuffed head, the events of the previous evening began a parade behind his closed eyelids.

Backward.

Good Lord, he was a poor drunk.

He'd done nothing whatsoever to help Miss MacIntyre escape the wicked man upstairs, although if a certain thief ran into a woman named Aphrodite, he'd be sure to check on the woman's safety.

What a stupid a.r.s.e.

But not quite as stupid as one Baron Ledford.

If the stories were true, the man had caught himself on fire. If one could discount the evil scheme of his auction, he was more the fool for demanding that payment be made in the middle of the night. In cash. At his home. The fact that a half-dozen thieves showed up soon after the hour of payment should have been no surprise.

But they'd all been dressed alike. They'd come together.

There was something tickling Leland's brain. Something he needed to remember from the night before. Something about the way they were dressed.

And where were the servants?

Why had they needed his carriage?

Someone pounded on the front door. Since there was no sign of a butler, it was up to Leland to stop the offender. He hoped he wouldn't have to hit this one.

He pulled the door open and Robbie, his own driver stood before him, fist raised, slack-jawed.

"Praise be, you're all right, Your Grace!"

"Where have you been?"

"The old gentleman, he said you'd agreed he could take your carriage, sir. After we got clean out of London, they stopped and told me to go home. Took your carriage. Shall I call for the authorities, Your Grace?"

"No, Robby. I told him he could borrow the carriage. I need you to find me a hack then find Doctor Morris and get him back here as soon as possible. Then get yourself home." His conscience prodded him. "There's a patient upstairs who has been abandoned. And he's in pain."

It was d.a.m.ned Christian of him to add the last.

Hangover or no, he would find Miss MacIntyre and Lord Anonymous. And to accomplish it, he needed only to find a certain vest and an odd pair of boots.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Leland had listened closely to his driver, to the route he'd taken the night before. Unfortunately, the location where the Lord X's man had abandoned the younger man had been very near a crossroads. There were three directions they could have gone. For all he knew they could have wound their way back into London as well. There was just no way of knowing.

If he could just remember where he'd seen that man before...

As night approached, he couldn't get Miss MacIntyre out of his mind, or what might be happening to her. It was driving him mad enough to wish someone would coldc.o.c.k him. At least he would wake in the morning and the nightmare would be over. For a while.

But none took such pity on him, and into the wee hours, he finally slept.

Lord Anonymous was due to return Miss MacIntyre by noon. Leland and half a dozen people with morbid curiosities sat in parked carriages outside Ledford's house before by quarter of ten.

One carriage belonged to the Duke of Redmond, of course. The rest were unmarked. At least the man had the decency to come in a closed carriage and not make a picnic of it with his friends. How mortifying for any woman to descend from a carriage into a leering crowd.

Leland was different. He was there to keep her from going inside her stepfather's house.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was back on his feet already. Leland had seen him peering out half a dozen windows, on two different levels of the house, in the short time since he'd arrived.

As time wore on, Leland swung like a pendulum, thrilling one minute at the chance she'd gotten away, and despairing the next when he considered the possible reasons why Lord X would not return her.

He tried to imagine a fairytale ending for her, but found he had a tendency to murder each Prince Charming that came to mind.

Quarter of twelve.

The street was silent as if the ticking of a watch were the most precious of all sounds.

Finally, a black carriage made its way down the street, slowly. Necks of the growing crowd craned through open windows. When the conveyance slowed near the baron's home, Leland's stomach plummeted. No matter what had happened, her reputation was destroyed. Only the bleakest future awaited her if he allowed her to enter that house. And as against heroism as he was, he couldn't let that happen.

He descended from his carriage to find Redmond a step ahead of him. Neither ran, but it was a less-than-dignified foot race. Only as they were nearing the carriage did they both slow.

How had he not noticed? The crest on the carriage was his own!

Redmond had murder in his eyes.

Shouting erupted all along the street as the wagering from the previous day came into question. Not many would know what had transpired when Leland had arrived at the townhouse early the previous morning. That would include the detail of his carriage having been 'borrowed' from him.

Leland wanted to laugh.

Redmond marched to the closest side of the carriage and wrenched open the door.

She wasn't inside.

She wasn't inside!

Redmond turned to him, obviously preparing to call him out.

Leland explained as briefly as possible, leaving out the more embarra.s.sing details.

Redmond took it rather well, only nodding, then turning to go. But he paused. "Any idea who he was?"

"None."

Redmond dusted his gloved hands and looked down the street.

"Pity. I would have liked a taste of that."

Leland smiled. Then he laughed. And when Redmond's guard was down, Leland threw his fist at the other duke's jaw as if he were trying to put an end to another man's pain. And it worked. Leland felt nothing at all.

He'd even had the satisfaction of seeing the Duke's twisted lips. .h.i.t the filthy road before his liveried drivers could break his fall.

"Taste that, old boy."

A week had pa.s.sed since Aphrodite disappeared. It was the only way Leland thought of her now. Something of a myth. If he didn't hear a whisper, here and there, as he entered a drawing room, he'd have thought he'd imagined her...that she was a memory for no one but him.

At Lady Chestwick's gala, he indulged his melancholia and made his way to the pianoforte where a plain girl with a beautiful voice was singing something less than cheerful. If she wasn't careful, Lady Chestwick would see that she was punished for the rest of the season. He determined to compliment the hostess on her choice of entertainments, just in case. It would likely be the most heroic deed he'd manage all year.

Lord Fool was now something he called himself.

Glorious peach roses had been arranged in a white marble urn that sat atop the large instrument. Lord Fool leaned forward to appreciate their fragrance and their reflection in the polished surface.