Page 20 of The Rum and The Fox

Chapter 9

A smell-powder - a duellist, whether a good shot or not

- The 1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, by Francis Grose.

“What the devil …” came a familiar voice from the stairs and Keziah looked up to see the dawning horror on Ash’s face as he recognised the shabby bundle on the floor of his home.

“Lady Todd!”

He was beside her in an instant and a strong arm helped her up while the butler roused himself to help poor Molly, obviously realising she’s spoken truthfully of his master’s instructions.

Once she was standing, Ash just stared at her, the horror in his eyes giving her a perfect picture of how she must look. To her horror, her eyes began to fill and a sob tore at her throat.

“Oh, my dear,” Ash said, such tenderness in his voice that she was quite undone. Before she knew what had happened, she was swept from her feet and was being carried up the stairs. This was startling for many reasons, not least of which being that she’d had no idea he was strong enough to do so. The realisation was somehow reassuring, and she allowed herself to relax against him as exhaustion swept over her in a heavy wave. Behind her, she saw the butler, Grant, bearing Molly in much the same fashion, though his expression was rather less tender. Relieved that they were safe, for now, at least, she laid her head on Ash’s shoulder as he barked instructions to his staff, from sending for a doctor, drawing her a hot bath, and bringing brandy immediately.

He kicked open a bedroom door and carried her in, laying her on the bed with such care she thought she might well begin to cry again. Sitting down beside her, he took her hand; she realised he was white faced, though what emotion lay behind it, she was not entirely sure.

“You are quite safe now,” he said, reaching out and touching her face with such reverence that she felt her lip tremble. “No one will ever harm you again, you have my word. I won’t allow it.”

She nodded, trying to smile at the assurance in his voice, but finding her lip was cut and swollen and it hurt to do so.

“Can you tell me, who did this?” The words were soft and quietly spoken as was usual for the duke, yet there was such restrained anger behind them that she looked at him with more care, and realised he was trembling also.

“M-my father,” she said, staring at him and feeling suddenly afraid for what he meant to do. She watched him nod, his lips compressed into a thin, grim line.

“My people will take care of you,” he said, holding her hand between both of his and then raising it to his lips. He kissed the fingers, not looking at her. “There is a doctor coming to tend you, and then I beg that you will rest and recover your strength. I will take care of everything, so there is I no need to worry.”

Quite naturally, these words had the opposite effect, and Keziah sat up, clutching at his hand as fear for him squeezed at her heart.

“What do you mean to do?” she demanded, but at that moment there was a knock at the door, and on Ash’s instruction, an army of servants bustled in, bearing a copper bath and containers of hot water.

“Don’t worry,” he said, nodding at the doctor as he too entered the room, and Keziah was stopped from saying anything further.

“My Lord,” she cried, agitation at what his intentions were making her breathing too fast and her heart beat erratically. She got to her feet in a rush, and this, it seemed, was too much for her abused body, as the world spun and tilted, and she knew no more.

***

Ash leapt forward and caught Lady Todd as she fainted. Lifting her, he noted once again how little she weighed, how slender her limbs were. The idea that her father had half-starved her for months while he played at deception, and then compounded his cruelty with such violence, made rage such as he had never known explode in his chest.

He had never known real anger, nor hatred, but now those emotions flooded him, the white hot heat of his fury seething in his blood. Once he was satisfied that his lady was in good hands and there was nothing further that he could do, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

He hardly knew what he was doing as he went to his study and sought out the pistols that they’d practised with just earlier that day. He cursed himself as he opened the box and set about loading them. He should have insisted that she be placed under his protection the moment he’d heard her story. He should not have taken no for an answer, and this was the result of him not having the backbone to insist on what he knew to be right. Well, no more. The lady was under his protection, and God help anyone who tried to hurt her or in any way damage her reputation because of it.

But first, he must face Lord Todd.

Ash felt strangely calm about the prospect all at once, and his hands were steady as he shrugged into his greatcoat with help from Grant before returning to his study to conceal the pistols, one in each of the coat’s deep pockets.

He set off into the evening, puddles glinting in the lamplight reflected at his feet. The storm had passed, at least, leaving the cobbles slick, and those glittering pools of water were studding the dirty streets, soaking you to your ankles if you didn’t watch your step. The sky was full dark now and the fashionable people abroad, those who were attending the various assemblies and routs and any other number of amusements to be found in Bath.

Ash pulled his hat down low over his head and huddled into the collar of his coat, not wanting to be delayed by anyone recognising him. His strode out, pushing past people in his determination to deal with the vermin who had hurt Lady Todd, a young lady who had been occupying his mind rather too much of late.

Though he knew he was not the kind of man she desired - her impatience at his poor skills in most manly arenas were illustration enough of that fact - his poor heart was deaf to his mind’s instructions. No matter how he told himself that she was nothing but a friend, and that she’d only come to him out of a sense of honour and fear for his safety, he could not help but spend his time away from her daydreaming like some lovesick moon calf. Too many hours had been spent remembering the elegant curve of her neck, the profound blue of her eyes, and the way her face lit up on those rare occasions that he caused a smile to dawn on those sweet, soft lips.

Now, however, he remembered how bloody and swollen those lips had been tonight, how her cheek was red with the imprint of a violent hand that should have only been raised in her defence, how battered and bruised she’d been, but more than that, the fear in her eyes. It had torn at his heart to see her forthright and indomitable spirit so very afraid that even his inadequate presence had reassured her.

The blind fury that had swallowed him whole on hearing her father’s hand was responsible glittered like a flare behind his eyes and he strode on, night-blind to everything around him, but determined.

He might not be the hero she wanted or needed, but he was all she had, and so he’d do everything in his power to live up to that role.