The Fifth Wife Read online

It seemed that his rear end looked particularly tempting in the tight breeches. Not something he’d considered. He’d nearly wrenched his neck in his room trying to catch a glimpse what on earth it was that attracted Hannah.

  He just couldn’t see it.

  But all thoughts of such things vanished as they set off into the sunrise. It would be a long ride and they hoped to arrive late in the afternoon, so there was little chance of anything more than a brief rest for lunch. It was time to focus on the task ahead.

  When they arrived, they’d rendezvous with Dev, who was busy surveying the inn and its surroundings. He was going to stand guard as it were, concealed in some convenient place, ensuring that if anyone else arrived for this meeting, they would be observed and—if necessary—followed inside.

  Charles couldn’t imagine why Derby might do such a thing, but had no faith in him not doing it. His un-fatherly behavior had all but eliminated their confidence in any sort of gentlemanly code of honor.

  So Dev was their rear guard. And they, Hannah and himself, would be inside passing over the talisman. After that, neither knew what to expect.

  Derby would surely realize that there was little or no power to be gleaned from a chunk of metal, and thus he would be angry. Probably at Hannah. Which was why he was glad to be there and he promised that he’d get them both out of there as soon as possible. With Dev’s help, should a yell to that effect be necessary.

  He hoped not though, since once they left, the plan was to find another location and hide, to see if Smith was waiting as well. Or, if he didn’t appear, what Derby would do next.

  It sounded solid and it was certainly simple, but the nearer they got to their destination, the more impractical it seemed.

  Seeing Dev leaning against a large rock at the side of the road, his horse casually cropping grass beside him—well, it was a welcome sight indeed, and allayed a few of his fears.

  He dismounted, helped Hannah off her horse, and barely restrained himself from giving his old friend a hug.

  “Good to see you Dev.”

  “Nice breeches.” Dev grinned.

  “I’m very glad I didn’t hug you.”

  “What?”

  “Dev.” Hannah put an end to the exchange. “Did you find some suitable locations?”

  “I did.” He took the reins of her horse, and his own, and turned to lead them down the road toward Little Sparling. “Come and see.”

  They followed, an odd procession—a gentleman, a lady and a servant, and their horses. After about ten minutes, Dev called a halt and pointed over the tall hedge at the side of the road.

  “There’s a break in the hedge about fifteen feet from here, and hard to see. But it leads to the back of the inn. Your old house, Hannah, is on the far side. About a quarter of a mile.”

  “It’s changed quite a bit over the past couple of months.” She stared around her. “We didn’t come down this road very much, since it doesn’t lead anywhere useful. We went the other way toward the village.”

  “Convenient.” Charles stood on tiptoe and looked over the hedge, blessing his height. “Well, Hannah. Your father doesn’t seem to be much of a gardener. Lucky for us there are a lot of untrimmed bushes.” He looked at Dev. “Let’s hope they aren’t brambles.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Charles, it’s nearing three o’clock.” Hannah tugged on his arm. “Time for us to go or we’ll miss the appointment. Or be late. Either will anger my father, and I’d rather not start that way.”

  “You’re right.” He turned to Dev. “We’re relying on you, lad. You’ll be able to hear everything?”

  “I’ll make sure of it. Any trouble and I’ll give the old whistle. Do your remember it?”

  Charles grinned. “I do.”

  “Off you go then. Give me hug for good luck, Hannah.”

  Hannah obeyed with alacrity. “You’re a wonderful friend. We’re lucky to have you.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  His answer made her laugh and she let Charles toss her into the saddle. “Don’t shilly-shally around now.”

  Dev looked at Charles with a raised eyebrow.

  Charles understood the question. “I think it means what it sounds like. A different way of saying do not bugger this up.”

  “Picturesque.” Dev smiled and disappeared through the hedge, leaving Charles and Hannah to ride on up the road toward the conclusion of their Machiavellian plan.

  “What’s the old whistle?” Hannah asked him as they rode away.

  “First time I met Dev he was having a bit of a bother with some bullies. I was already close to my full height so dispatching them, or I should say giving him a hand to dispatch them, was no trouble. I suppose that’s when we became friends. Anyway, after that, the next bit of bother he got into, he whistled. And I whistled back.”

  “What a lovely story.”

  “Don’t let him know you said that. It will bring back a time when he wasn’t as well-built as he is now.” He leaned toward her and whispered, “He doesn’t like to be reminded.”

  It made her smile, and that had been his goal. He knew she was tense, as tense as he was, if not more. This was her father they were going up against, not some stranger. The situation was difficult enough, but he was going to have to trust that Hannah could stand firm, defy the man if she had to, and set aside any and all familial emotions.

  The inn soon came into sight and beyond it the chimneys of Hannah’s home. He glanced at her, wondering what she was thinking at this moment. But her face was set, calm and expressionless. Whatever was going through her mind, she was keeping to herself.

  He helped her dismount and gave her a gentle squeeze, then took her reins and tied both their horses to the ring in a post outside.

  “Here we are, Ma’am.”

  “Very well.” She handed him a package. He was now her servant, just in case curious eyes were observing them.

  Charles turned as a man came up the path toward the door, and then frowned. “Good God. Tothill…?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hannah looked over her shoulder to see Charles grabbing the arm of an older man. She didn’t recognize the face, but she did catch the name. And she knew who it was, since she’d heard that name often enough through the years.

  Fortunately they’d never met, so there was no look of recognition on his face other than for Charles, who was—at that moment—pulling him quickly away from the inn.

  She had to be the Lady now. Charles would come to her when he could, she knew. But his first task was to stop the lawyer from revealing everything. She needed to keep her father in the dark about Charles’s identity for the time being. He’d not care what he said to his daughter, but he’d be very careful around Lord Penvale.

  It was dark inside, and slightly musty with the smell of old beer and pipe smoke. But she knew it well enough to walk to the back of the large tap room. And sure enough, there he was.

  “Good afternoon, Father.” She dusted off a chair and sat before him, spine straight, head erect. “These are slightly more appropriate surroundings than when last we met.”

  “Where is it?” Mr. Derby stared at her with ice in his gaze. “And don’t prevaricate. You know damn well what I want.”

  “Ah yes. The taufr, I believe it’s called?”

  “Been doing some research, girl?” The sneer was evident.

  “What sort of power can you imagine it has, Father? You are not given to fanciful notions. I cannot believe you to be the sort of man taken in by folk tales and myths of any kind.”

  “Where is it?” He repeated the question, his hand making a fist on the table.

  “My servant has it. He will be bringing it in shortly.” She waved toward the door. “I asked him to secure our mounts.”

  “Your servant? Come up in the world, then, did you?”

  “You know, I might have already sold the talisman. Did you think of that? Such an item is worth much to the right collector. Indeed, I hear museums are also i
n the business of acquiring ancient artifacts for considerable sums.”

  The fist thumped hard on the table, and she barely managed to refrain from jumping in surprise. Where the hell was Charles?

  “Don’t play games, you stupid chit. Or give yourself airs you’ve no right to claim. Now I’ll ask you one last time. Where’s the taufr?”

  “I have it, my Lady. You’ll be wantin’ the package now, I take it?”

  She held the sigh of relief inside her, but it was there just the same. “Yes please, Charles. I’d like it here on the table if you would be so kind.”

  Seeing his strong arm come from behind her to lay the small bundle between her and her father—the warmth and strength roared through her. It would work, this plan of theirs. She couldn’t look at him, but her muttered “Thank you” was a little more breathless than she’d intended.

  She felt the slightest brush of his hand on her back and took comfort from that as well. Where Tothill was, she had no idea, but clearly Charles had taken care of that little problem. For now, anyway.

  In front of her, her Father was touching the bundle with reverence, finally untying the string securing the soft wrappings.

  It slid from its covers with a small thud and rested on the old wood, catching a late ray of sunshine on its aged surface. If she hadn’t known better, Hannah would have believed in its authenticity beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  “At last.” Her father ran a finger over the decorations. “And about time.”

  “Indeed.”

  A new voice sounded, drawing everyone’s attention to the door opening from the storage room into the tap. “I’ll be taking that, Derby.”

  Hannah’s father gulped. “It’s yours. A deal’s a deal.”

  The stranger was not tall, nor distinctive in any way at all. Had he been in the tap room, Hannah wouldn’t have picked him out for his smile, or a wart on his nose. He was so average as to probably disappear in a crowd.

  Except for one thing. The malice in his gaze made her shiver.

  “Thank you, Miss Derby. You’ve just saved your father’s life and the reputation of the Derby family.” He picked up the talisman with a gentle touch, looking at it as if it were the finest jewel in the world. “So long. I’ve waited so long for this.”

  “I don’t understand. This piece belongs by right to the Derby family. Explain yourself.”

  He smiled. “I don’t need to. But your demand is fair, I suppose.” He put the talisman in his pocket and withdrew his hand. In it was a pistol.

  Charles moved instinctively, but the man’s gaze was on Derby.

  “I’m the man who discovered your father’s source of extra income. All those whorehouses, my dear. Who would have thought it?”

  “Blackmail?” Hannah hazarded a guess.

  “Very bright of you. I liked to refer to it as coercion. But it worked, of course. The threat of revelation would have shut off that revenue and blackened the Derby name forever. Then there was the talisman. I wanted that more than anything. It’s part of my family’s heritage too, you know. I have Penvale blood in me, so it’s right that it come to me. I shall use it…” His face hardened. “Never mind.”

  “Hannah, forgive me.” Her father’s head drooped and he looked at the table. “I’ve been a fool.”

  She would liked to have been generous enough to agree. But she was a bit too honest for that. “Too late. Yes, you are a fool. Especially if you think I’ll overlook the brothels, being kidnapped, having my reputation put on a very fine line, and now this…”

  The stranger chuckled. “That’s a feisty bitch you sired, Derby. She’s right, you know. You’re more stupid than I could have imagined.” His chin lifted as he turned to Hannah. “You may call me Black Claw.”

  She blinked. Somewhere she’d heard that name.

  There was an indrawn breath behind her, so she turned, praying Charles would follow her lead. “Charles?” She poured a large helping of haughty into her voice. “Does that name mean anything to you? I do not believe I can recall hearing it, but perhaps you have from some of your friends?”

  “I have, my Lady. Black Claw is a notorious outlaw, and he has a very big gang, so they tell me.” He managed to sound apprehensive.

  The man called Black Claw smiled. “I see word of my exploits is getting around. Good. That will keep the people I wish to deal with in line. And also ready to contribute to our needs.” He casually pointed the gun at Derby’s head. “And I certainly won’t need the pittance you’ve been providing from your whorehouses.”

  The man shook his head and whimpered as the barrel came nearer and nearer.

  “Stop.” Hannah stood, her chair scraping the floor loudly.

  “Why?” Black Claw looked at her in surprise. “You really mean his life is worth something to you after everything he’s done? You just told him you’d never forgive him.”

  She raised her chin once more and stared him right in the eyes. She would never show fear to this man. That might be fatal. “I won’t forgive him. But that doesn’t mean I wish you to end his existence. Far from it. I believe allowing him to live with the knowledge of what has occurred, not to mention the fear of exposure…well, as far as I’m concerned that’s punishment enough.”

  “Hmm.”

  There was a moment when Hannah could have sworn she heard her own heart thundering within her breast.

  “He’s a waste of time. Besides, he knows too much.” Black Claw raised the gun again—and Hannah shrieked.

  “Noooo…”

  She hit the table as she flew past it, knocking her father off his chair and catching Black Claw’s arm.

  “Hannah—look out…” Charles’s voice rang out as he caught her by the waist and pulled her up toward him, but not in time to stop Black Claw’s finger from pulling the trigger.

  There was a deafening explosion and all of a sudden the door to the inn burst open and the room filled with men. There was a lot of yelling and shouting and they seized both Black Claw and her father…

  It was total chaos—beyond belief…

  *~~*~~*

  “And that’s when you got shot in the arse, was it?”

  Lucius Gordon and his wife, Lady Julia, were spellbound as they listened to Hannah’s story in the Gordonstone parlor after dinner. Lucius threw the question at Charles who looked…pained.

  “I did not get shot in the arse, as you so elegantly phrase it. The bullet ricocheted off one of the beams and just grazed me at the top of one thigh, tearing my breeches and leaving a miniscule scratch.”

  Hannah grinned and patted his hand. “Let’s be brave, dear. It was your arse. However, it’s all better now— and there’ll be just a tiny scar.”

  Julia chuckled. “That’ll be a nice memento.” She shot Hannah a wicked look.

  “Indeed it will.” The look was returned.

  Charles sighed. He was never going to live this down, he knew. His moment of ultimate bravery had turned into the time he got shot in the arse. Life was unfair sometimes. He’d been fussed over, washed, dusted with basilicum powder, refused stitches for a mere scratch, and given fresh breeches, which—given his size—were a tad snug. However, he was now quite comfortable and prayed this was the last he’d hear about his arse.

  “So who were all the men?” Lucius looked puzzled. “Dev, where were you in all this?”

  “Obviously not guarding his arse,” quipped Dev. “I was manning my post when Charles pushed this man at me, said he was a lawyer and I needed to find out what he was doing there.”

  “Well that makes sense.” Julia nodded.

  “I’m glad it does to you, because I hadn’t a damn clue. It wasn’t part of anyone’s plan, I don’t particularly care for lawyers and he was stuttering for at least a minute or so.”

  “Actually Dev, I need to hear this bit as well. Sort of get it all straight in my head,” said Hannah. “Now I’ve got my hearing back, I want to make sure I have all the details.”

  “All right.” He put his
brandy glass down beside him. “Listen well, children. I don’t think we need tell this tale again. Best to keep it here, between us.”

  There was a murmur of agreement. Charles trusted his friends with his life and knew that from tonight on, their adventures would remain theirs alone.

  Dev picked up the story. “Tothill, once he’d stopped stuttering, told me that he’d been contacted by a man from Bow Street. He was stunned to hear that his clerk, one Mr. Arthur Smith, was suspected in a series of brutal robberies. It was rumored that he might be the leader of the notorious Black Claw gang.”

  Julia’s eyes widened. “Good God. I’ve heard of them.”

  “Nasty bunch, that’s for certain.” Lucius looked somber.

  “No argument there. And Tothill, bless his legal heart, allowed the Runners to start a surveillance program which centered around Smith. They watched him at work, at home, and presumably in between.”

  “Lot of effort,” mused Lucius.

  “They told Tothill why,” answered Dev. “The Black Claw gang had claimed responsibility for a burglary in Somerset at the country home of the Earl of Ridgemont. His son was killed trying to intercept the crime.”

  “Oh dear God.” This was new to Hannah and she looked horrified.

  “It goes a long way to explaining why Bow Street was all over this particular man, and how much work they put into catching him.” Charles couldn’t imagine what the Earl and his family had suffered.

  “Indeed.” Dev agreed. “But to continue, they amassed a large amount of information about the gang during their enquiries, and learned that the leader fancied himself to be a psychically powerful man. He liked to boast of his ‘special gifts’ and how he could recruit anyone he wished into his gang of cutthroats.”

  “More likely lured ‘em with guineas,” said Lucius, a sour look on his face. “There are always those ready for quick money, and they don’t care what they have to do to get it.”

  “So all that set the scene for Black Claw, alias Mr. Smith, to learn of the Penvale talisman, and you, Hannah. He was a clerk for the lawyer who was handling all the Penvale affairs and as soon as he discovered the legend, he became obsessed with it.”