Authors: Brenda Novak
There was the click of a trigger, then a deafening roar.
Jeannette screamed in horror, fearing the worst as a ball went through the window, shattering one of its diamond-shaped panes.
Shoving her to the floor, Treynor whirled around for his gun. Another boom rent the air as the lieutenant shot the man coming toward him.
The brute collapsed, howling, clutching at the blood spurting from his thigh.
Treynor dropped his pistol and wielded his sword instead, forcing the other brawny hireling and the baron to step back. “That could just as easily have been you,” he told St. Ives. “Now get out.”
The uninjured man the baron had brought took one look at the shiny steel of Treynor’s blade and ventured forth just long enough to help his wounded comrade to stand. “I only wanted enough coin for a drink or two,” he complained, lugging his groaning burden toward the door. “I’m not willin’ ter ’ave me arse carved up for it, nor me brother’s neither, be ye baron or the bleedin’ King ’imself!”
Ralston Moore looked ready to flee, too. He glanced after the men as they staggered off. Then his eyes widened, and he tapped the baron’s shoulder to draw his attention to something in the hall.
Irritated by the distraction, Lord St. Ives scowled in the direction indicated. But when he turned back, his weathered face wore a glacial smile. “Ah. We shall have that audience with Lord Darby a little sooner than we anticipated,” he said and stepped aside so the earl and Jeannette’s parents could enter.
“Jeannette!” Rose Marie started across the room, arms outstretched to enfold her daughter. But then she saw Treynor and stopped dead. Red suffused her cheeks as she eyed his near-naked state and Jeannette’s disheveled hair and gown. “
Mon Dieu!
We have been so worried about you,
ma petite
. But there must be some mistake. Tell me this is not what it appears.”
Jeannette’s mother turned to her husband, who looked as stunned as she did.
“You see, my lord?” The baron’s voice turned shrill as he addressed Darby. “This is why your pretty cousin fled my house. And this is how she has thanked you for your efforts on her behalf, by accepting a young, virile man in her bed.”
The earl’s jaw sagged as he looked from Jeannette to Treynor. “She did not strike me as...I mean, you have me at quite a disadvantage, sir. I apologize profusely, of course. And from this moment, I will support whatever is required to help you obtain an annulment.”
The baron drew himself up straighter. “I dare say you have been too forgiving in your opinions of the chit, but I remain enamored of her, even after this. If she will but return with me this night to Hawthorne House—”
“The baron is in error,” Treynor interrupted. “Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but Jeannette’s maidenhead is intact. And she did not run away with me.”
Rose Marie’s eyelids fluttered; Jeannette thought she might faint. “Who is this man?” Her gaze latched onto the jacket of Treynor’s uniform, slung over one of the bedposts. “A navy rat? Jacques, tell me our daughter is not such a fool as that!”
Jeannette’s father struggled for a moment to find the right words. “
C’est impossible!
How would she have met him? And where?”
“I met him only after I left Hawthorne House,” Jeannette said. “Did Henri not tell you what he heard?”
“Indeed he did.” The count reached out to calm his flustered wife. “I can understand that you were frightened,
ma
petite,
but the outlandish tales Henri carried to you are completely false. We are convinced of that.”
“Just as your parents are in agreement with Lord Darby that you should honor your vows and return to Hawthorne House with me,” St. Ives added.
“Indeed.” The earl cleared his throat. “It is most kind of Lord St. Ives to take you back, my girl, and that he means to...to say nothing of this unfortunate event is gallant beyond measure. Your father and I have spoken to the man Henri overheard that night. Mr. Manville assures me that your beauty, combined with too much drink, prompted him toward such nonsense.”
Jeannette separated herself from the others. Considering all that had occurred, Darby would never believe in her innocence. And her parents would, very possibly, fear the damage to her reputation enough to turn a deaf ear to her pleas. What had she done?
Treynor’s hand closed over her own, somehow lending her the strength she lacked.
“No, Lord Darby,” she said. “My brother told the truth. I know it in my soul. I can still remember the way those men looked at me.” She shuddered, glaring at St. Ives from her position halfway behind Treynor. “Trust me, I beg you. I must obtain an annulment—”
“I am afraid I cannot ignore what I have seen with my own eyes,” Darby said. “How could I support an annulment? It would take months, possibly years. And the scandal would be all over London! We could never get you another husband—”
“But I won’t go back. Nothing anyone says will convince me.
Mon père,
please!”
“I know not what to do,” her father admitted. “Right now I am just glad to have you back safe.”
Feeling some hope, she turned her attention his way. “How did you find me, Papa?”
“Mr. Moore sent us word not more than an hour ago.”
St. Ives’s solicitor squirmed near the door. “It was only right to relieve their anxiety as soon as possible,” he explained when the baron sent him a dammning look.
Maybe St. Ives was upset with him, but Jeannette was eternally grateful. “Maman, Papa, this is Lieutenant Crawford Treynor, of His Majesty’s frigate the
Tempest
. I do not know how I would have survived the past few weeks without him.”
Treynor bowed. “I am sorry we meet under such unfortunate circumstances.”
“What have you done to my daughter?” Rose Marie asked. “She is ruined.” Tears ran down her cheeks, but she wiped them away. “You are no one. You have nothing to offer her.”
Jeannette’s heart gave a painful squeeze. She was about to defend him when her father stepped forward.
“Forgive my wife. She is upset and does not mean what she says,” he said. “We know not what role you have played, Lieutenant Treynor, but if you have indeed been our daughter’s champion, we owe you a great debt.” His eyes lingered on the rumpled bed before settling again on Treynor’s face. “We cannot undo what has been done. But I beg you to let us take Jeannette away from this place without further incident. My wife has been through enough already.”
“Indeed, sir.” Treynor tilted his head to indicate the red-faced baron. “I will make no move to stop you, as long as you and Lord Darby promise me one thing.”
Her father’s surprise that he would make any stipulation was evident. “And that is?”
“That you will not send her back to Hawthorne House under any circumstances.”
“How dare you involve yourself—” Lord Darby began, but the baron interrupted.
“Jeannette is my wife!” he thundered. “No matter what liberties you have taken with her body, she bears my name. I will not be denied that which is mine!”
“You will not practice your debauchery on her,” Treynor responded, his voice low. “Not as long as I am here to stop you.”
“I assure you that can be remedied.” The baron bowed stiffly. “I extend a challenge to you, sir. A duel between gentlemen, although you are no gentleman. Three days hence, just beyond the city by a quarter mile, at Lambsdell. There’s an old beech tree there that is unmistakable. Meet me at dawn, and bring your second.”
Treynor gaped at him. “My lord, I am half your age and you have just seen me wield both pistol and sword. Though you may choose your weapon, you have little chance of besting me.”
“I choose pistols. Perhaps your confidence will be your undoing. I have no intention of being beaten by anyone. You least of all.” He appealed to the earl. “Do you support me in this, Lord Darby?”
Ill at ease, Darby shifted. “Can we not settle this without violence?”
“This is the quickest way to bring the situation to a decisive end,” the baron insisted.
Darby fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with the idea, but then he sighed. “I am also anxious for a resolution, so allow me to state the terms. Should Lord St. Ives come out the victor, Jeannette will go back with him to Hawthorne House. Should Lieutenant Treynor prevail and Lord St. Ives survive, he will not seek to prevent the annulment. Do you both agree?”
They each nodded assent.
“May I have your word as gentlemen that you will fight fairly and fulfill your end of the bargain?”
Treynor bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
“No!” Jeannette tried to move forward but Treynor held her back. “The lieutenant is injured, and he has nothing to do with this,” she said. “I ran away on my own. He has merely kept me safe.”
Lord St. Ives gazed at her, eyes gleaming with righteous indignation. “And you have, no doubt, repaid him generously.” He tapped his cane on the floor as if to emphasize his words. “I give my word,
as a gentleman,
” he said to Darby.
Then, with Ralston Moore dogging his footsteps, he left.
Snowflakes twirled lazily past the window as Treynor gazed out, watching the sunrise on another cold day. He had slept little. After the baron left, Jeannette had departed with her parents and Lord Darby, throwing him a last look of regret and apprehension.
Then the inn’s proprietor had stormed up the stairs to demand an explanation for gunfire in his establishment. The man had wanted to throw Treynor out-reminding him of his stay at the Stag the first night he met Jeannette-but after a sincere apology and some fast talking to convince him that he had every intention of paying for the broken window, Treynor had been left to sleep in peace.
Only he hadn’t closed his eyes. The night had dragged by like a ship snagged in a narrow channel until Treynor thought he would go mad, especially because his thoughts seemed to make one continuous round.
He should feel relieved, he told himself. Jeannette was back with her family, her future dependent on a fight he knew he could win. What more could he ask for? Why did he feel so dissatisfied?
Because he wanted Jeannette for himself.
He knew he should walk away and never see her again. It was the kindest thing he could do for her. The wife of a naval officer was lonely indeed. He would return to sea in a few weeks and remain away for months at a time, even if the war ended soon. And should she be free to wed again, her family would certainly discourage a match to a bastard with no name and no inheritance. Jeannette had once been accustomed to the wealth and status his mother enjoyed. Whether the king knighted him or not, he could provide her with neither.
She was better off with someone else.
But that thought brought him no comfort.
Gingerly, he pulled the jacket of his uniform over his injured arm and buttoned it. Regardless of what he could or could not have, he hoped to rid England, and Jeannette, of one worthless baron. But first he had a promise to keep.
After a day and a half of riding in the drizzling rain, Treynor arrived at his mother’s estate. He’d almost turned back time and again, except he owed his mother an apology. And he had decided while on the
Superbe
that if he ever had the chance, he would deliver it in person.
A stablehand spied him through the rain and came out to hold the reins while he dismounted, then led the horse away with a tip of his hat.
Treynor watched him before approaching the grand columns of the front entrance.
He rang the bell, wondering as he waited how his mother would receive him. Would she rebuff him? Mock his sudden change of heart? For how could she not think it sudden after all these years?