A Treacherous Engagement

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  Guido stared up at the lighted window, then at Robert, grinning. “It’ll be just like Venice.”

  “Yes, Guido, just like Venice. Good man. Now go.”

  The Italian made not a sound as he swam off. Robert could just make out his shadowy form as he himself trod water, waiting for the escapees to enter the house. As soon as the door creaked shut behind them, Guido leapt over the low wall of the moat and raced across the grass like a speeding hare.

  Robert tipped his head back and stared up at the tiny square of light that seemed to get further away and higher up the longer he looked at it. Phoebe was up there, unprotected, in a house full of men who were hoping for freedom. Anything that interfered with that hope would turn them into cold-blooded murderers. He should never have told her anything of his mission, never have allowed her to remain a second longer in this place. If anything happened to her, he’d cut out Addyman’s heart and feed it to the carp.

  Fumbling for a handhold in the ivy, he heaved himself up the wall. At least he’d have a soft landing if he fell, but the splash would probably alert the household, and he’d be taken prisoner. At best.

  So, he’d have to make sure he didn’t fall. He would damn well reach Phoebe and rescue her, or die in the attempt.

  Chapter 14

  Locked in an attic room with her aunt, Phoebe felt like a character in a Horace Walpole novel. Addyman had told them the arrangement was only temporary, as he had some important business to deal with. Fearing that business was their forthcoming marriage, she was battling not to give in to despair.

  If only she’d taken notice of Robert, and left when she had the chance. Now she was not only likely to hand her inheritance over to a criminal but would be leg-shackled to him for the rest of her days. And what would become of Aunt Molly? Addyman would have no interest in keeping her around, would he? She was just another mouth to feed.

  Molly, mercifully, had taken the new development in her stride. She’d already told Phoebe she was confident they could escape and was currently knotting bedsheets together. Unfortunately, the attic windows were so small there looked to be little chance of getting through. The only aperture large enough through which to escape was a lichen-covered skylight.

  Hearing a sound that seemed to come from that very place, Phoebe stared up and saw a face peering down at her through the murky glass. Her hands flew to her mouth, but she managed not to scream, and almost immediately, the face resolved itself into a familiar one.

  “Look, Aunt, see who’s here!”

  Molly looked up. “There’s a man on the roof? Whatever is he doing up there?”

  “It’s Mr Goodrich, although that’s not his real name. He’ll soon have us out of here.”

  “It doesn’t look like Mr Goodrich,” observed her aunt, staring astonished at the skylight. “Where’s his silly hat?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  How Robert had got onto the roof, Phoebe couldn’t imagine, but his cheery smile told her all was well. He gestured her to move away from the spot beneath the skylight, then balanced on one leg and, with a splinter of wood and crash of glass, his booted foot came through. It was just as well he wasn’t rescuing them in the guise of Mr Goodrich, macaroni. That Mr Goodrich would never have been seen dead in such serviceable boots.

  Phoebe hurriedly collected a blanket and threw it under the opening, deadening the sound of more falling glass as Robert kicked himself a hole big enough to jump through. He landed in a crouch, then stood, beaming. “I did it,” he proclaimed, tapping at his chest. “My climbing ability has not deserted me.”

  “Vain turkey-cock,” she scolded, but her eyes were moist. He’d risked everything to come here. Thank heaven he’d talked her into taking that handkerchief, and she’d had the wit to use it.

  “Don’t you want to be rescued?” His voice was soft, amused. She looked at him and discovered he was soaking wet, his shirt and breeches sticking to him like a second skin. She stifled a gasp. She’d often tried to imagine what he looked like shirtless, but her imaginings came nowhere near the splendid reality.

  Mentally shaking herself, she asked, “Are you all right? You haven’t cut yourself? However did you get up there?” She indicated the skylight.

  “Climbed as I said, dear lady, climbed. Right up the wall, with the help of ivy, guttering and inset windows.” He was still grinning as he took a step towards her, then stopped himself. The look in his eyes told her something very pleasurable would have happened had they not had an audience.

  He turned to Aunt Molly. “I trust you are unharmed, ma’am”? She nodded, and he looked down at the knotted sheets by her feet. “Clearly, you have not been brought here willingly.”

  His face was shadowed as he turned back to Phoebe. “I fear this is all my fault.”

  “No, no.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Nothing’s been said about you. Addyman found out about Papa. And he found something else out too, that I’m ashamed to admit to.”

  “Let’s worry about that later. In a little while, all hell is going to break loose downstairs, and I need to get you ladies out of here.”

  Now a feasible opportunity to escape had presented itself, the enormity of her situation hit her. If she left now, with Robert, what would become of Papa, if he were truly still alive, but subject to Addyman’s whim? A wash of uncertainty made her shiver.

  She chewed on her lip. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go now. Please take Molly. I must stay.”

  Robert’s eyebrows shot up. “Of course, you’re not staying. I’ve got a picklock in my pocket. Not much use on the massive keyhole in the main doors, but I’m sure it’ll work on this one. If not, I’ll kick it down. The doors to these servants’ quarters are made with very inferior wood.”

  He seemed very familiar with a place he had, as far as she knew, only visited on one occasion. “You speak as if you know the castle well.”

  “I do. Very well.” He took an implement out of his pocket and inserted it in the lock. After a few false starts, a satisfying clunk was heard, and he withdrew the picklock. Opening the door a fraction, he looked out, then retreated and pulled it to.

  Phoebe’s mind had snagged on something. What did he mean by ‘very well’?

  He waved them forward. “We’ll try and make it out through the main doors. All the men in the house will be concentrating on the kitchen and the stores, making sure the prisoners have enough food, and whatever weaponry they need to get them safely to the coast.”

  “More Frenchmen?” She was struggling to understand.

  “Yes. A new batch is being taken through the escape route this evening. As I suspected, that’s where all your extra supplies have been going—to feed the former captives. But don’t worry—I’ve sent for assistance from the military. They’ll surround the castle and round up all those villains. Now, we need to go.”

  Observing him there, tense, alert and determined, about to risk his life on her behalf, Phoebe felt a void open in her chest. Robert Goodrich Bligh had stolen her heart. Lest disaster should overtake them, she would commit this moment to memory—him standing there with his damp, golden hair in disarray, his shirt plastered to his well-muscled chest, his shoulders broad, his hands capable. He was fearless, utterly fearless. Totally confident that he could effect a rescue. It was bitter gall that she couldn’t do what he wanted.

  “I cannot leave.” She backed away.

  His incredulity turned to anger. “Foolish chit. You can’t stay here, in the midst of traitors and enemies.”

  “I must.” The words tore her apart.

  “Tell him the reason, Phoebe. If you don’t, I will.” Her aunt, standing with her hand on the latch, had never sounded so determined.

  Phoebe felt limp, lifeless, as all hope of happiness drained out of her. “I must stay here because Addyman knows where my father is and has the power of life and death over him.”

  Robert’s anger was replaced by a look of deep solicitude. He strode back and took her hands in his, submitting
her to the blue intensity of his gaze. A flame of pity flickered in his eyes.

  “I, too, have made enquiries about your father. Addyman’s lying to you. I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but everything indicates your father is dead.”

  There was a gasp from Molly. Phoebe shook off Robert’s hands and went to her. “Oh, Aunt.”

  Molly took her hand in a surprisingly firm grip. “Don’t fear for me, child. I made the assumption he was dead long ago, and despite what Addyman said to you, I still feel in my bones that Benjamin has gone. The man has no trump card to play.”

  Phoebe dug her nails into the palms of her hands. Who to believe? Neither Addyman nor Robert had given her actual proof concerning Papa, one way or the other.

  “I can’t risk it,” she decided. “I must stand my ground. What if your men failed to take this place? It was a castle once, and nigh impregnable.”

  “It is possible to breach when I’m inside it.” The stern look returned to Robert’s face. “I promise you I will find out the truth of your father’s fate. I also swear on my mother’s grave I won’t let Addyman escape. He’ll be held for questioning, and we’ll soon find out if he was bluffing.” He gazed at her, his head tilted. “But why was Addyman so keen to imprison you? Surely he doesn’t see you as that much of a threat.”

  “Does it matter? You’re wasting time, Robert. Take Aunt with you now, and go.”

  “Not without you. I’ll throw you over my shoulder if I have to. Now tell me how Addyman has coerced you. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but if you’re going to be so stubborn, I have no choice but to speak up.” Molly turned to Robert. “Addyman intends to marry her. That’s why he imprisoned us here.”

  “The hell he will!” Robert sounded furious. “Blackmailing you over a man most likely dead, using that to force you into wedlock—his wickedness knows no bounds. I presume he was after your dowry, or some kind of inheritance?”

  “He was. There’s a trust fund.” Now her aunt had let the cat out of the bag, there was little point in demurring.

  He ran a hand through his damp hair and let out a slow breath. “I can see I came not a moment too soon. Forgive me. I should never have left you unguarded. How did Addyman know about this inheritance?”

  “He took my father’s box of letters, and his will.” If only she’d had the sense to keep the thing hidden.

  Robert smote himself on the forehead. “Fool that I am. I should have looked at that box when I had the chance. Do you know where it is?”

  “I assume it’s still in the house. It might be anywhere.”

  “That doesn’t matter now. It’s you and your aunt I’m concerned about. Let’s see if we can get out of here before the troops arrive.”

  She held back, her gaze locked with his in a battle of wills.

  His jaw relaxed. “Look, I promise you that as soon as we’ve taken all the traitors, I’ll set the army’s bloodhounds on the trail of your father. And I’ll ensure no word of tonight’s haul gets out. That should keep him protected long enough for us to free him if he is, indeed, still alive. I swear on my life.”

  The earnestness in his voice, his handsome face, undid her resistance. If she could trust this man with her heart, she could trust him with anything. Muttering, “Forgive me, Papa,” she followed Robert and her aunt through the door and out into the passageway.

  Chapter 15

  Phoebe followed her rescuer and her aunt down the servants’ staircase. Fortune was on their side—none of Addyman’s staff was about. Robert must be right about them being in conclave together, thinking themselves safe behind these high walls.

  When they reached the ground floor, there was a choice of two ways—one into the main hallway, the other towards the kitchens. There were noises coming from the latter. As Robert had surmised, that was where the main activity currently was. He turned and signalled them to follow him in the opposite direction.

  Creeping out into the hallway, Phoebe felt as if she was out on an open plain in broad daylight, visible from miles around. How could one feel so exposed when indoors? Her knees started to shake as the enormity of their situation hit her. She barely had time to rally before a loud report split the air. A pistol shot, a rifle? Her legs almost gave way, but Robert was there, catching her and pulling her bodily through a door into a dimly-lit room.

  As soon as Molly had hurried through after them, Robert closed the door quietly and locked it. “I think we may have run out of time.” He turned to them with a rueful grin. “Guido must be a faster rider than I thought him. Don’t worry,” he added, pressing Phoebe’s hand with his. “You’ll be safe enough here. Just stay away from the windows and doors. You can always barricade yourselves under the desk, as I used to when I was young.”

  When he was young? What cause had he to be at Donhead Castle as a child? And why was this the first she’d heard about it?

  At her stare, his expression changed. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about my connection to this place. But I didn’t know if I could trust you with my secret.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, her mind dizzy with questions, but Aunt Molly was there before her. “You are forgiven, Mr Goodrich. Clearly, your heart is in the right place, and you’ve performed a most heroic rescue. Thus far, at least. Anyway, we all have secrets, don’t we, Phoebe?”

  Phoebe snapped her mouth shut and gave her aunt a quelling look—which was entirely wasted. Robert’s gaze was on her, and her cheeks heated. “Now is not the time to bring that up, Aunt.”

  “I think perhaps now is the perfect time.” His eyes scoured her face, and she read an unexpected vulnerability there. “I don’t like secrets, especially when in the middle of a life or death situation.”

  “My secret has no bearing on anything. Aunt had no right to mention it.” She covered her dismay with irritation.

  “Very well.” Molly’s voice had an edge to it. “I’ll tell him myself. That trust fund Phoebe mentioned—we have recently discovered it can only go to her husband. She is running out of time to secure one before the fund matures. Neither of us wants to see it all go to her odious cousin Josephine and her brats.”

  “Aunt!” She’d never felt so close to wanting to strangle someone. Why had Molly brought that up now, when they had far more urgent matters to settle?

  Another shot sounded—closer this time—followed by shouts and the sound of rapid conversation in French. Robert swore under his breath. “Under the desk, please, ladies. I’ll pile some books and chairs around you. Apologies, Miss Duvall—I hope it won’t prove too uncomfortable. Now, I must go. I have to open the back door for the soldiers, and it’s best to do so while our enemies are distracted by the shooting.”

  He locked gazes with Phoebe. “Don’t worry about your inheritance. If you can’t find anyone suitable in the time allotted, you may marry me. And I’m not saying that because I’m after your money, I swear.” He gave her a look that melted her insides, unlocked the study door and slipped out.

  She listened to the sound of the key turning in the lock with a sinking heart. They were imprisoned yet again, even if this time it was by a friend. After an awkward scramble under the desk, she pulled a tottering pile of tomes in front to conceal their presence, then crouched uncomfortably against the back of the desk, listening to the erratic thumping of her heart.

  After a moment, her aunt touched her elbow. “Mr Goodrich said he’d marry you. There now. That’s one problem solved at least. I’d far rather you wed him than that snake Mr Addyman.”

  She sucked in a shocked breath. “You told him on purpose, Aunt, to make him offer! How could you? I barely know the man.”

  “But we both know he’s on the right side. And he’s very handsome. And, apparently, available. You may as well emerge from this disaster with something positive—he’ll make a fine husband.”

  Phoebe was peering out between the stacks of books at the study, never having been in the room befor
e. “Oh!” she exclaimed. Then, “I’m not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed at a portrait hanging over the fireplace. The subject was the spitting image of Mr Robert Goodrich-Bligh, like enough to be a close relative. Her blood chilled, and she couldn’t keep the quaver from her voice as she said, “This is a secret I think Mr Goodrich should have shared with us.”

  He hadn’t just visited this house as a child—his family had lived here. Why had he deceived her—were his interests entirely selfish after all? Yet another betrayal of her trust. How much more pain could she endure?

  Her aunt’s exclamation as she looked at the portrait was swallowed up by a violent cacophony of noise—the crack of gunfire, the thunder of many feet, and furious masculine grunts and yells, intermingled with loud barks of command.

  Phoebe withdrew her head quickly. Her feelings about Robert’s deceit would have to be resolved later—what mattered now was whether or not he had made it to the rear door to let the soldiers in. She shuddered, battling the panic. If the soldiers hadn’t managed to storm the castle, how long could she and her aunt defend themselves with no ammunition but books?

  There was an ear-splitting crash. The door splintered, and a man burst into the room.

  Chapter 16

  “Phoebe?”

  No answer. For one ghastly moment, Robert feared she was gone. The thought stole his breath.

  “Phoebe?” His voice quaked. Surely, he couldn’t be so close to achieving his dream, only to have it ripped away from him. But she’d never been part of the original dream, had she? So how was it that, in such a short space of time, she had become essential to his happiness? He didn’t want to live without her. Was this what true love felt like?