The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake Read online

  The flaming red hair had warned Adair, and he dodged the blow deftly, caught the enraged man’s wrist and with a supple twist sent him sprawling.

  “Rufus? Who is it?” A tall young woman hurried from the house. Adair had a fleeting impression of fair windblown curls, a superbly cut riding habit that enclosed a superbly shaped female, and eyes somewhere between blue and grey that widened as they rested on Prior. “What … on earth…?” She crossed quickly to help him up. “Did you fall?”

  “Aye. With the aid of his fist,” snapped Prior, his face almost as red as his hair. “Keep clear, Cecily. This is the slimy varmint who assaulted poor Alice!”

  The girl gave a sort of leap and turned on Adair, her eyes narrowed with rage. “And you let him knock you down? Have you no pistol about you? Shoot the monster!”

  Prior’s hand darted to his coat pocket, but Adair’s pistol was levelled before he could withdraw the weapon.

  “Easy,” cautioned Adair. The girl, who was quite remarkably attractive, started to back away. He added, “And if you’ve any affection for this fire-eater, ma’am, I’d suggest you stand still. I’d not wish to feel obliged to put a ball through his foot.”

  She glared at him, but halted. “You wretched creature,” she said, her voice low but ringing with fury. “You must be stark raving mad to come here. My uncle will return at any moment and he’ll know how to deal with you!”

  “Somebody already has,” jeered Prior. “Look at his face. A horsewhip, applied by some public-spirited citizen, unless I mistake it.”

  “Then it was well done, but a small payment. Hanging is what the revolting libertine needs!”

  “A kindly lass, aren’t you,” said Adair. “I did not come here to listen to your nonsense. All I want, Prior, is a few words with your sister. I mean no harm, but—”

  “Oh, do you not?” The girl’s lip curled contemptuously. “Did you mean poor Alice ‘no harm’ when you—”

  Prior had climbed to his feet and now interrupted sharply, “What makes you think my sister is here?”

  “He thinks no such thing,” said the girl. “He knows perfectly well she is not!”

  The snow was getting heavier, great flakes floating down to cling to their hair and garments, and it was very cold, but the chill Adair felt now had nothing to do with the weather. He said desperately, “Don’t fence with me. Everyone knows she’s here.” He paused, for it seemed to him that they exchanged a tense look, but neither spoke, and he went on: “If she had been well enough to testify at my trial she could have cleared me. I demand to see her, and I warn you I’ll not be fobbed off with a lot of fustian!”

  “Rubbish!” the girl exclaimed. “If I scream our servants will come, and—”

  “And find Prior with a smashed foot,” said Adair. The fact that the door was still wide open and no servants or other family members had appeared was odd, and he’d begun to suspect that the house was empty. “All I ask is five minutes with the lady. Five minutes only. You can stay with her. She must have told you by now what really happened, and—”

  Made reckless by anger, Prior sprang at him. Adair had no wish to shoot the boy. He leapt aside and flailed his pistol in a hard swipe which landed just below Prior’s ear. The redhead went down and stayed down.

  “Stand clear, Cecily!”

  A new arrival entered the scene: a frail-appearing lady of advanced years, whose elaborate gown had the tiny waist and full panniered skirts fashionable thirty years earlier. Adair stared in astonishment as she tottered onto the terrace. Snowflakes fell on her powdered hair but she advanced with erratic determination, the heavy blunderbuss she held in both thin hands pointing more or less at him.

  He lowered his own weapon. One did not, after all, threaten an old lady. “Have a care with that, ma’am,” he warned, stepping back a pace.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, you black-hearted toad! Not content with ruining my beloved granddaughter, you dare to come here and render my grandson sense——Lud!” She gave a little yelp as her high-heeled and buckled slipper slid on the thickening carpet of snow.

  The girl, who had started forward, uttered a shriek and sat down abruptly as Adair shoved her aside.

  The blunderbuss exploded with a deafening roar.

  Adair had ducked just in time to hear the familiar and wicked whine of shot flying over his head. Straightening, he returned the pistol to his pocket. The old lady had fallen. “Oh, Jupiter!” he groaned, hurrying to lift her.

  Confused, she gasped, “Thank you, dear boy,” and clung to him gratefully.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, steadying her.

  “Quite all right, but—but I’ll confess I had never—never realized how those horrid guns work in both—directions at once! There. You are most kind, sir, and—Oh! Oh, my goodness! No, you’re not! You’re the rogue who has ruined my darling Alice! Where is my naughty horse-pistol? Why they call them that I cannot fathom, for if anyone fired it, one would bring down a whole herd of horses!”

  “Just so, ma’am,” he said, a twinkle creeping into his eyes. “But actually, it is a blunderbuss.”

  “Is that the case? Oh. Well, give it me at once! At once, I say!”

  “It’s empty now, ma’am,” he pointed out, handing it over obediently. “Please believe that I did not harm your granddaughter. And you should not be out in the snow. If I were—” He broke off as the blunderbuss whizzed at his head.

  “Roué!” shrilled the old lady. And wielding the weapon ferociously, sliding on the snow with each word, went on, “Evil … viperous … murdering … libertine!”

  Adair drew back. Outraged gentlemen he could face. Angry termagants he could deal with—to a point. Hysterically vengeful old ladies reduced him to a craven.

  The girl was tugging at Rufus Prior’s pockets, searching for his pistol, no doubt.

  A fine pickle he would be in, thought Adair, to have to wrestle with two women.

  He bowed and retreated, their enraged cries gradually muffled by the snow and a rising wind.

  4

  Although it was not yet four o’clock, the light was failing as Adair turned Toreador back down the drivepath. The snow was becoming ever more dense, the flakes so large as to limit visibility, and he had to strain his eyes to distinguish the gates. He held Toreador to a walk on the rutted drive, but when they reached the improved paving of the lane, urged him to a trot. The White Ram Inn was no more than three miles to the east, but in this snowstorm he’d have his work cut out to find it once darkness fell.

  His thoughts lingered on his encounter at Singletree. During the course of his Army career he’d had to deal with some decidedly odd people, but deuce take him if he’d ever laid eyes on a more peculiar group than the one he’d just left! Young Rufus Prior was so hot-at-hand, it was a wonder that red thatch of his did not ignite all by itself; the old lady was a spirited creature also. She had probably been a beauty in her day, but clearly some of her wits were wilted. As for that lanky shrew named “Cecily Somebody,” she had a pretty face, but her temper was uncontrolled; if she’d found Prior’s pistol he had no doubt that only the thick screen of snow had prevented her from putting a bullet in his back as he’d ridden out.

  They’d all lied like troopers, confound them! Pretending poor Miss Alice wasn’t in the house. She was there, all right! The tense glance that had passed between Prior and the Cecily chit had convinced him they meant to try and gull him. It was downright evil that although Miss Alice must have told them long since what had really happened on that fateful night, they’d been willing to let him be executed rather than make the true facts known and risk sullying their family name. Never mind the tragedy to his own family! Never mind that his career was wrecked and his honour in shreds! He scowled at the snowflakes. They’d won this round, he acknowledged grimly, but, by God, they wouldn’t defeat him! He’d get into Singletree and search the place from cellars to attics even if he had to hire a pack of vagrants to help him! And once he found Miss Alice Prior
, Lord help the man—or woman—who tried to keep him from questioning her and—

  At this point a dark shape loomed up directly ahead. His heart leapt and his hand darted for his pistol but he gave a faintly embarrassed grin when he realized that he was confronted by nothing more menacing than a tall holly bush. “I yield the right-of-way, Sir Holly,” he muttered, reining Toreador aside. The big grey snorted at the sound of his voice and Adair nodded. “You’re right, my dappled friend. What the deuce is a holly bush doing in the middle of the road?”

  The answer was all too obvious. Dismounting, chilled by the icy breath of the wind, he drew his warm scarf higher. The light was almost gone now but it was sufficient to show him that he was off the road and in lightly wooded country. He swore softly. This was no night to be lost in the open. If he didn’t find the White Ram or an obliging farmer soon, he must contrive some sort of shelter or both he and Toreador could be frozen stiff by daylight.

  He caressed the grey’s neck and promised that they’d search for a few more minutes and then he’d find a likely tree and start collecting branches. Toreador nuzzled at his neck and blew small clouds of steam to mingle with the snowflakes. “Never doubt my ability,” said Adair. “I’ve built a shelter often enough in Spain. We’ll have a roof over our heads one way or—”

  “You will need no roof, Colonel!” The feminine voice came clear and contemptuous through the gloom. “A shroud, more like!”

  Adair whipped around.

  Miss Cecily stepped closer, the reins of a fine chestnut mare in one gloved hand, a long-barrelled duelling pistol in the other, and snowflakes on the hood of her pelisse and collecting on her brows.

  “Well, well,” said Adair mockingly. “Come to play executioner, have you? I wonder you found me in this blizzard.”

  “Your tracks were easy enough to follow.”

  “They’ll be gone when you turn back. I wish you joy of finding your way home after you’ve murdered me.”

  “I don’t have to murder you now, Adair. A ball through one of your knees and the storm will do the rest.”

  He stared at her. “Lord, but you’re a cold-blooded chit!”

  “I’ve no doubt you are an expert on cold-bloodedness, whereas Alice Prior is the most gentle, kind-hearted, truly good person I have ever known. She was—” Her voice shredded slightly and Adair stepped back a pace as she waved the pistol to emphasize her remarks. “She was my dearest friend from our childhood days. The one person I could always turn to when—” The sentence went unfinished, then she said harshly, “And you—you, a man trained to kill, and with a reputation as—as, what do they call creatures like you? a Bond Street Beau?”

  “The devil! That’s not so! I’m seldom in England and—”

  “You dared—you dared to lure away and—and violate that pure angel, and—”

  “Again—untrue! I never even met the girl until that night!”

  “Liar!” she hissed. “Did you think she would confide in no one? She told me she was deep in love with you!”

  Adair gasped, “She named me?”

  “She loved and trusted you. And you destroyed her—just as I shall now avenge her!”

  Watching her narrowly, he asked, “Am I your first victim?”

  “My last, I pray.” She aimed the pistol carefully. “I might grant you a quicker death if you tell me what you have done with Alice.”

  “If I am to die, madam, I’ve a right to be told the truth first. No need for you to persist in this rubbishing stuff about Miss Prior being lost. At least allow me to know what this is all about, and why you are preparing to kill a man who you must be aware is innocent of any wrongdoing.”

  There came the sound of the hammer being drawn back. Adair tensed. This crazy woman really meant to shoot him!

  “I will count to three,” she said, her voice steady and merciless. “One … Where is Alice?”

  “Do you really think I would come here seeking her if I knew?”

  “Two … She’s dead, isn’t she? You evil, evil man—you killed her so that she could not speak against you!”

  “But of course. And then I came here, risking your righteous indignation—”

  “Indignation!”

  “—to enquire after the poor lady I had already buried.”

  “Three … God forgive me, but—”

  Adair flung himself to the side but there was no pistol shot. Instead the girl stood there, fumbling with the trigger and half-weeping with frustration.

  He sprang to seize the pistol. “Couldn’t bring yourself to shoot an unarmed man, eh? Give it here!”

  “How may I give it to you,” she demanded furiously, “when the wretched thing is caught on my glove?”

  He peered at the trigger. “So it is,” he said, standing well clear of the wavering muzzle. “Now if you will just keep still, my foiled assassin—”

  Instead, she jerked free, then jumped back.

  “For heaven’s sake, have a care!” exclaimed Adair. “That Manton likely has a hair-trigger, and—”

  “I should have known it would fail me,” she cried bitterly. “I hate guns!”

  “Yet were prepared to fire one.”

  She gave him a contemptuous glance. “Oh, I would not have, of course. Even for my dearest friend. You counted on that weakness, didn’t you?”

  “I’d count on it with less apprehension if you would stop waving the pistol about.”

  For a moment she stood watching him, irresolute, then she said, “I suppose I had as well. My dear little Alice—I have failed you abominably!” She flung the weapon away from her with loathing.

  “Hey!” shouted Adair, ducking.

  The pistol vanished into the swirling snow, but through that white curtain came a flash and a sharp retort.

  “Of all the shatter-brained things to do,” said Adair angrily. “Did no one ever tell you—” He stopped abruptly. Miss Cecily Somebody looked odd. In fact, she looked very odd indeed. She appeared to be shrinking even as she stared at him, her eyes huge in a suddenly dead-white face.

  He leapt forward and caught her as she crumpled.

  “Oh, dear,” she whispered, and fainted.

  * * *

  “If you dare lay one finger on me,” panted Miss Cecily, her right hand holding the collar of her blouse tightly closed, “I pr-promise you will … regret it!”

  Adair set down the pan of melted snow he had managed to heat on the fire. When he’d attempted to carry the girl into the bedchamber of this isolated two-room cottage she had set up a screech that would have wakened the dead and had insisted on being laid on the sofa.

  “You will be more like to regret it if I do not,” he answered coolly.

  “That is the—the thanks I get for g-guiding you to this cottage.”

  “Which will protect us from freezing, I hope. But I’ve done no more than wind my handkerchief about your arm. The wound must be cleansed and properly bandaged.” He stepped purposefully towards the shabby sofa.

  “Stay back!” She shrank away, her eyes—a blue-grey which he thought quite beautiful when they were not hurling hatred—were very wide and betraying fear as well as pain. “Much you care for my needs! You left me to bleed to death for—for hours, and now pretend to—”

  “It was a few minutes only. I had to get the horses into the lean-to. Thank the Lord there is one! I value my grey.”

  “Whereas my life counts for nought! Charming! And it did not take that long to tend the horses!”

  “No, but we needed firewood. Whoever lives here has not kept up the woodpile.”

  “It was a gardener’s cottage. But—but my cousin stays here some—often.”

  “Does he. Well, I am here at your disposal now, if you will stop wasting more time with this nonsense.”

  She muttered something fretfully, and he felt a pang of sympathy. It must have been a strain for her to decide to murder him, and now she had been painfully injured. He took off his cloak and flung it over a straight-backed chair. �
��Be sensible, Miss Cecily, or whatever your name is, and let me—”

  “I am Miss Hall. And—and I have brothers. Five. And all—very fine sh-shots.”

  “I wonder they did not teach you more about duelling pistols and hair-triggers.” He smiled and said gently, “Yes, I understand that I am a monster and naturally you do not want a monster to tend you. To say truth, this monster would be very glad to let someone else do the business. But there is no one else at hand, and we must count our blessings, Miss Hall. Another half-hour out in that blizzard, and neither of us would have seen tomorrow. Providentially, here we are, with a roof over our heads and a fire on the hearth. And your cousin was so good as to leave these few sticks of furniture, which are better than nought, eh?” While talking easily, he had put aside her pelisse and started to unbutton her blouse. “You have managed to take a pistol ball across your arm, and unless you wish to bleed to death I must—”

  “Let be,” she half-sobbed. “Just—just cut the sleeve off. Please.”

  “I wish I might. But I need the blouse for bandages, since I fancy you do not wear petticoats under that very fine riding habit.”

  “Of course I don’t!” she said impatiently, “How on earth could—Oh, I collect you are trying to reassure me, but—Now what are you doing? Ow!”

  He had bent closer to slide an arm under her. “You see? You’re hurting yourself.” She was warm and fragrant against him as he raised her, and fumbling at her back, his cheek came into contact with soft, satiny skin. He muttered, “Now—if I can just—”

  “Oh, heavens above! Close your eyes! Don’t look!”

  Furiously embarrassed, he snapped, “For heaven’s sake, don’t be so missish! I have no designs upon your virtue, I promise you!”

  She said faintly, “You likely said the same to … to poor Alice!”

  Despite the brave words there were tears on her long lashes. She was certainly in pain, and she really was a courageous chit. He reached for his cloak and handed it to her, closing his eyes obediently. “Here. Cover yourself, Lady Modesty, but I must be free to come at your arm.” He waited while she strove and muttered to herself, then asked, “Are you respectable at last?”