Page 63 of The Hired Hero
“Why?” he repeated. “Are you daft? Do you think I plan to live the rest of my life accepting my station as a’ ill-paid younger son, having to bow and scrape in front of dolts like your father, who have had the damnable luck of birth rather than brains, like me? I think not! Unfortunately, I shall have to leave a tad sooner than I planned, but my last delivery will set me up quite nicely—I shall live very well on the Continent.”
She tried to twist out of his grasp as she let out a loud cry for help.
“Go ahead and scream all you wish,” he sneered. “There is no one to hear you. I’ve sent the rest of the servants to their quarters. And don’t expect that rakehell Davenport this time around. If he’s not lying foxed in some gaming hell, he’s lying with some lightskirt, now that he’s finished with you.”
His face took on an ugly leer. “Always prancing around in front of me, with your hoydenish ways. I always knew you were no better than you should be. Gave the earl a good ride, did you? Perhaps I’ll see for myself before I leave.”
Her fist caught him smack on the nose.
Farrington let out a scream of rage as blood spurted onto his snowy shirtfront.
“You bitch!” he roared again as he struck her hard across the temple.
Dazed, Caroline would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t had such a tight hold of her jacket. As she hung limply in his grasp, his free hand pawed the inside of the garment, ripping at its lining. With a grunt of triumph, he came away with the oilskin packet.
It was her turn to feel a wave of fury. She had fought so hard to keep the precious documents safe—to see them now in the possession of the enemy gave her new strength to fight back. Rather than struggling to break free, she launched herself straight at him, her nails raking down his cheeks. Both of them stumbled backward, colliding with an ornate mahogany case clock set near the curved staircase. A corner of it caught Caroline’s brow, knocking her farther off balance. It gave Farrington just the time he needed to recover and knock her to the floor with another ringing blow. He stood over her, a harsh laugh escaping from him as he drew a dagger from the depths of his pocket.
“Step away from the lady!” The click of the pistol being cocked punctuated Davenport’s command. “Unless you want your guts spilling onto your shirt as well.”
Caroline managed to raise her head a few inches off the Aubusson carpet. “Still having to scrape me out of the mud, I’m afraid,” she croaked before falling into a dead faint.
Seventeen
Davenport took another step into the entrance hall and slowly closed the front door. “Lay the documents on the side table, then step away from Lady Caroline.”
Farrington hesitated, his eyes darting up from the floor to all of the avenues of escape from the hallway.
A grim smile touched the earl’s lips. “Go ahead, you cowardly cur! I should welcome an excuse to pull the trigger, for unfortunately, my honor as a gentleman prevents me from shooting you in cold blood—though it is all you deserve.”
The other man ground his teeth, then reluctantly tossed the packet onto the polished wood. With a murderous look in his eye, he fell back a few paces from Caroline’s prostrate form.
Davenport slowly moved to the side table, his gaze riveted on the duke’s traitorous secretary. He took up the slim oilskin square and tucked it into the bosom of his shirt. Another few strides brought him to Caroline’s side. Crouching down, he gently slipped an arm under her shoulder and raised her head, his pistol never wavering in its aim at the other man’s chest.
“What a charming pair,” sneered Farrington. “Thetonshall no doubt find the acquaintance a fascinating topic for gossip. But for now, let us be done with the touching charade. How much do you want?”
His face relaxed slightly as he began to feel on familiar ground. “I imagine you’re here because it suddenly occurred to you that the possibilities for blackmail are rather limitless.” An evil grin. “How much has she paid you already? I assure you, I’m in a position to offer you more—much more.”
He patted a hand to his pocket. “Think on it—you will have plenty of blunt right away, with none of the wait or the tedium of extracting regular payments. But you must decide quickly.”
A muscle twitched on the earl’s face as he made no effort to hide his contempt. “On second thought, perhaps you’ve given me more than ample reason for ridding the world of your scurvy presence.”
Farrington blinked in confusion, as if wondering whether he was dealing with a madman. A slight sheen of sweat began to form at his temples.
Brows furrowing, he tried another tack. “Ah, a canny bargainer, I see. You impress me, sir. Your reputation would not lead one to think you so clever.” There was an exaggerated pause to let the compliment sink in. “I admit it, you hold the upper hand. What else do you want?”
Davenport merely stared at him.
“Come, man! Name your price!” There was a note of rising panic in the man’s voice, as well as disbelief.
Still no answer, just lips curled in loathing. When finally Davenport did speak, it was in a low, gentle murmur, too soft for any ears but Caroline’s to hear, as he sought to bring her around. Though his words were for her only, his eyes still remained riveted on the traitor.
Farrington had by now worked himself into a veritable rage. To Davenport, it seemed that the traitor’s face was now the spitting image of the Devil incarnate.
Sputtering foul invectives, Farrington fisted his hand and took a convulsive step toward the earl.
A gesture of the pistol caused him to reconsider. But even standing still, he remained quivering with impotent fury.
Davenport found himself wondering whether the man’s next move would cause him to pull the trigger and whether he would truly feel as little compunction at ending a human life as he did now.
