Eight for Losing, One for Loving (Wicked Sons #9)

Chapter 10

Dear Harry,

Leo is a great gun, but he’s not half so daft as he makes out. You’ve got no chance before you’re one and twenty. Believe me, I tried everything when I was your age. No dice. Just accept it, cuz. You may not like to hear it, but you’ve still got a deal of growing up to do. I didn’t appreciate hearing that any more than you will now when I was in your position, but I can see the truth of it with hindsight. I’m really not a stick in the mud, as I hope you know, but you’ll only cause yourself trouble if you keep on. Take it from one who knows.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Felix Knight (son of Mr Gabriel and Lady Helena Knight) to his cousin, The Lord Harry Adolphus (younger son of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin).

24 th June 1850, Mud Pightle, Wrestlingworth, the Bedfordshire-Cambridgeshire border.

“Is that it?” Vi asked, looking through the branches of a tree at the faint glow coming from the ramshackle building before them with a sense of foreboding. The foul stench of a midden close by drifted on the warm night air, making her wrinkle her nose in disgust.

“That’s it,” Jenny agreed. “And the fellas that live there ain't no cleaner nor tidier than the house, if you can call that pile of rotten wood a house. I always knew Edgar was no good, but I never thought he’d do something like this.”

“Don’t like it, Jen. You ought not be here.” Mick’s deep voice rumbled through the darkness, but Jenny just hushed him.

“Hold your tongue, Mick. We just need to make sure Mr Huntington gets his cat back and away safe, that’s all.”

“But Ma will be cross with me—” the big man protested.

As Jenny had indicated, her brother was built on gigantic proportions but was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She had explained several times already why they were here and that they wanted to stop any trouble, not make it.

“Edgar pinched my arse twice last week,” Jenny cut in, folding her arms over her skinny chest. It was curious how such a slight girl was related to a fellow the size of Mick, but Vi had seen the resemblance in their features when Jenny had introduced her at the inn.

Mick’s face darkened with rage at this information, and Jenny nodded with satisfaction.

“Now, Mick, there’s no need to break his head, but just help us make sure all goes as it should. You can leave Burt alone, he’s harmless enough. It was only Edgar. You got that?”

Mick grunted, cracking his knuckles in a way that made Vi wince.

“I’ll break his fingers,” Mick growled furiously. “Then we’ll see if he feels like pinching you again.”

Jenny patted her brother’s massive shoulder and made soothing noises, but did not seem to much mind this outcome. Vi shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness now and she could see a large shape to their left. It moved and let out a soft whicker.

Mick heard it too and gestured to Jenny. “That’s Nipper, Harbottle’s pony. They’re here all right.”

“Well, I told you they were, didn’t I?” Jenny said, shaking her head.

“Yes, but now what?” Vi asked, and then sucked in a sharp breath as something warm and furry rubbed against her legs. Trying hard not to scream, she leapt back and then looked down to see large round eyes blinking up at her, glittering brightly in the darkness.

“Mau!” she exclaimed, falling to her knees and hugging the cat to her. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right.”

She ran her hands over the cat’s head and sleek back, checking for injuries.

“Miaow!”

Vi stilled as Mau made a series of rather urgent sounds that ranged from sharp little miaows to quick barks to a plaintiff yowl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand all on end.

“Bleedin’ ’ell, it really is an Egyptian Water thingy,” Jenny said in wonder, staring at Mau in astonishment. “I admit, I thought you might have made that bit up.”

Vi let out a nervous laugh. “Mau is a very special cat,” she replied, evading the need to lie any further.

“He ain’t happy, whatever he is,” Mick pointed out, regarding Mau, who was flicking his tail irritably.

“No. I think Leo and the vicar must be inside. He gets terribly upset if he can’t be where Leo is,” Vi explained, trying to calm Mau so he didn’t draw attention to them.

“Well, what now?” Jenny asked, which was an excellent question.

Mick stood, rolling his huge shoulders. “Reckon I’ll go have a word with Edgar,” he said grimly, but before he could take a step or either woman could object and tell him to wait, the door to the building swung open and a man stepped out, hurrying towards a dilapidated shed some distance from the house.

“Mick, could you deal with that man? If you take him on his own, it might be easier and…” Vi didn’t get to finish the sentence as Mick was already moving.

“It’s Edgar,” Jenny hissed, which explained why the sound of knuckles cracking accompanied Mick’s soft footsteps as he followed the man in the darkness.

Vi nodded, almost feeling sorry for Edgar, as she turned back to the house to see a dark shadow moving to the front door. Whoever it was kicked the door open and strode inside.

“Leo!” Vi squeaked, and picked up her skirts, hurrying towards the building.

She did not know if Jenny followed her, and didn’t blame the girl if she stayed put. There was no need for her to put herself in harm’s way if she didn’t have to. Hurrying to the side of the building, Vi muttered silent curses as brambles caught at her skirts. The side of the building was overgrown, and it was difficult to get close, but she ignored the prickle of thorns as she pressed herself against the wall and peered in through a grimy window.

“I know you. Where do I know you from?” Leo’s voice reached her, but she could only see the edge of his sleeve. She wondered who the man was that Leo recognised. The Reverend Harbottle was sitting quietly in the corner of the room, but his eyes were alert as he watched the two men.

“You know, Mr Hunt. It occurs to me the ransom we can get for you will be a good deal fatter than the one I was going to ask for your cat. If you had only acted with a bit of sense, you’d have had your wretched pet back and I would have gained a couple of hundred quid you could easily do without. Where’s the harm in that? But I see now I was thinking too small. That amount of money won’t see me comfortably through all my days, now will it? But when I had the notion of ransoming the horrid creature, I had no idea his master would fall into my hands like a ripe plum.”

There was a snort from Leo, who shifted a little, moving out of her eye line completely. “Don’t count your chickens, sir. I’m in no mood to be held hostage.”

“Is that so?”

Vi smothered a gasp, her hand covering her mouth as she saw another figure move to stand before the window, a pistol clearly visible in his hand.

A crash from the shed and a bellow of rage caught her attention, and the attention of those inside the building.

“Stay there,” the man holding the pistol said, gesturing with it for Leo to move farther into the building.

He moved past the window to the door and Vi gasped as she too recognised the man, except she knew exactly who he was. That was Pembury, their new footman at Albany, the London house.

“Edgar! Burt!” the man shouted. “What the devil are you two idiots up to now?”

A wail sounded from the shed before the rickety building wobbled madly, then Mick smashed Edgar through a wall that disintegrated on impact, causing the entire structure to collapse in a heap. A smaller, stockier man belted away from the scene as fast as his short legs would carry him.

“Burt!” Edgar wailed, but Burt was moving with astonishing speed.

“Come back ’ere!” Mick bellowed at Edgar as he tried to crawl away on his hands and knees.

“’Elp!” Edgar shrieked, as Mick took hold of his ankles and began dragging him towards the woods. “Pembury, ’elp me!”

“Bloody hell,” Pembury muttered in fury. “Right, a change of plan. Mr Hunt, if you would be so good as to come along, we are going to relocate.”

“I don’t think so,” Leo said calmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Must I shoot you?” Pembury demanded, the question making Vi’s stomach clench with terror. What was Leo doing, arguing with the man when he had a pistol?

“If you do, you won’t get your ransom, now, will you?” Leo replied conversationally.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of aiming for your heart,” Pembury replied with a chuckle. “Perhaps I shall just ruin your chances for an heir.”

“I doubt that thing is even loaded. It looks ancient,” Leo said with a sneer of derision. “Is that the best you could do? Still, the state of the curricle outside answers that question, I suppose. I dread to think what kind of cattle were pulling it. Are they up to taking both our weights? Come to think of it, I’m not sure the curricle will make it over those ruts on the lane with both of us in it.”

Leo, shut up! Vi shrieked mentally, wondering what he was playing at, for he seemed to be deliberately goading the man.

“The pistol is loaded,” the man replied, though he sounded less sanguine now, and rather like he was gritting his teeth. “And once I have the ransom money, I’ll be able to buy myself a new tilbury, or perhaps I’ll just take yours.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t do that, sir,” the vicar said cheerfully, apparently joining the conversation. “A tilbury takes a good deal of skill. Needs a bigger horse, you see, one with a bit of spirit. Not the kind of thing an amateur should attempt.”

Good Lord! Vi thought in exasperation. Did they both want to get shot?

“Shut up, priest,” Pembury said, swinging the pistol towards Harbottle.

“I am rather concerned about your immortal soul,” Harbottle went on, apparently unperturbed by the gun pointing at his face. “You are not doing it a great deal of good, young man. Worldly goods are really not worth—”

“Shut up!”

Vi gasped as Pembury smacked Harbottle’s face, yelling in fury.

There was a blur of movement and terror thrilled through Vi as she saw Leo force the gun in Pembury’s hand up and shove him hard to the floor. Then she could see nothing more, but she heard the thuds and crashes that indicated a fight was in progress.

“Leo!” she cried, caring for nothing other than the fact Leo had put himself in harm’s way and she could not stand by and do nothing.

Vi yanked her skirts from the brambles they were caught on and ran for the door, hesitating as she passed a wood pile. She gave the pile a cursory glance, then picked up a log about two feet in length and as thick as her forearm. If she was to give Leo the best chance possible, she ought to cause as big a scene as she could to put Pembury off balance. Holding the log in both hands overhead, she took a deep breath and then ran through the door, shouting something she hoped resembled a battle cry as loudly as her lungs would allow.

Pembury and Leo were still standing, wrestling over the gun, and both men jolted in shock, gaping in disbelief as Vi came thundering into the room, bellowing like a small but enraged warrior queen. To her relief, the shock must have slackened Pembury’s grip on the pistol, for Leo rallied quicker. He smashed the man’s wrist against the wall, and the gun fell with a clatter. Vi ran on, beating Pembury around the head and shoulders with the log until the man drew his arm back hard, elbowing Vi in the head.

Vi saw stars, pain exploding in her temples as the room went dark and her knees gave out beneath her.

All the breath left Leo’s lungs as he saw Vi fall, her slender form collapsing in a tumble of pretty fabric on the filthy floor of the Hatts’ disgusting dwelling. For a moment terror held him immobile, the need to go to her stronger than anything else, but Harbottle was there, leaning over Vi and patting her cheek.

“She’s alive, just knocked out,” Harbottle shouted, giving Leo’s heart a reason to beat again as white-hot rage surged in his veins, erasing everything else but the desire to murder the man who had dared to hurt her.

The man Edgar had called Pembury had pushed clear of Leo during his distraction and the gun had been kicked under a moth-eaten armchair and out of sight during their scuffle. The two men circled each other now, fists raised. Pembury was a tall, well-built fellow, and the two of them evenly matched for weight. He was grim-faced, a look in his eyes that suggested he’d do whatever it took to get what he wanted, but Leo didn’t care. He needed to get to Vi, to take her in his arms and see for himself that she was unharmed, and he could not do that until the man responsible had been dealt with to his satisfaction.

Pembury lunged but Leo dodged out of range and Pembury came on again, swinging wildly. To Leo’s satisfaction, he saw the man had no actual skill, only a desire for violence and a willingness to use his fists. He stayed out of range, sizing him up as Pembury kept moving forward, overturning furniture as he went. Pembury swung again, a blow that might have broken Leo’s jaw if it had connected. As it was, it only grazed his cheek but reminded him to keep his wits about him. Pembury swung once more and Leo dodged, following up with a hard right that snapped Pembury’s head back.

“Oh, I say! Nicely done, sir!” Harbottle exclaimed.

Leo didn’t look at the vicar, his eyes firmly fixed on Pembury, who wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth, but he was aware the vicar had dragged Vi to the corner of the room and laid her head on a cushion. Was she really all right? How hard had Pembury’s elbow hit her?

“Look out, there!”

Leo cursed, realising he had been distracted and narrowly escaped a blow to the kidneys that might have doubled him up. This needed to be over so he could get to Vi. He delivered a right that Pembury evaded but followed up with a left that connected and a right to Pembury’s midsection that made the man gasp and stagger backwards.

“One, two, oh , a peg, good, good! Pay away, now, Hunt, pay away!”

Leo registered the advice from Harbottle, who was standing to the side, fists raised, commentating on the match and bobbing and weaving as Leo did. The boxing speak, suggesting he finish the job with a series of rapid blows, seem an excellent idea to Leo, who was quite happy to do as he suggested. He bore down on Pembury, whose fists came up to protect his face and Leo delivered several punishing blows to his guts and kidney. As his fists lowered to protect his battered body, Leo drew back his right and hit him with all he had.

“A facer!” Harbottle cried in delight, watching as Pembury swayed and then crashed to the floor. “Floored! I say, Mr Hunt, you are a Broughtonian and no mistake. Well, done, well done indeed!”

Leo ignored the praise, caring nothing for the battered man at his feet or for Harbottle’s admiration. He ran to Vi, falling to his knees beside her, and viewing the nasty lump rising on her forehead with anxiety.

“Vi? Vi, love?” he whispered, stroking her beautiful face as a fear held his heart in a vice.

Good God, this was why she didn’t want to marry him, because he brought chaos and disaster in his wake. One full day in his company and look where it had got her, unconscious on the filthy floor of a disgusting hovel in the company of men who ought never be allowed within ten miles of her. He lifted her carefully, pulling her into his lap and cradling her head against his shoulder.

Vi groaned, her hand lifting to her bruised head.

“Darling!” Leo exclaimed. “Sweetheart, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

Vi blinked dazedly, struggling to focus. Finally, her gaze settled upon him, her eyes fixing upon his.

“Vi, darling, are you all right?”

A small frown tugged at her brows.

“All right?” she repeated faintly, before she gathered herself, her expression darkening. “All right?” she repeated, a different tone to her voice now that boded ill.

“Love?” Leo said, stroking her cheek gently.

Vi smacked it away. “No, I am not all right, Leo,” she told him furiously. “How dare you! How dare you go off and leave me all by myself, coming here and getting yourself in God knows what trouble. He had a gun. A gun! Just like I told you he would, you great, ignorant, pig-headed, stupid, stupid, stupid, man!”

Leo stared at her, never having seen Vi roused to such heights of passionate fury before. But then her face crumpled, and she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly and sobbing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said, his voice unsteady with remorse. “Vi, I’m… I’m so very sorry.”

“Shut up!” she told him.

So Leo shut up, pressing a handkerchief into her hand and just holding her until the sobs became uneven gulps and finally subsided.

“A good cry always makes them feel better, Mr Hunt, don’t worry,” Harbottle whispered confidentially, whilst he made a surprisingly neat job of tying Pembury up. “My dear wife would always feel much calmer once she had shouted at me and then had a good cry, God rest her beloved soul. It clears the air.”

Leo nodded, hoping Harbottle was right, but miserably aware he’d likely messed up his last chance with Vi. Even if he’d had the nine lives he’d wished for, the events of the past day and night must have used up every one of them. She’d want nothing to do with him now, and he couldn’t blame her for it either. If he couldn’t keep her safe, what kind of husband would he make her? Perhaps she really was better off without him.

Then it occurred to him that Harbottle had called him Mr Hunt , not Mr Huntington.

Hell.