“Miss Lovelace!” Hunt called. He did not turn his head to watch his friend’s retreat. “Angelica? Are you within?” He dropped a second paver upon the offending lock. “Answer me, Angelica.”
A raspy squeak had him listening carefully for a sound. “Miss Lovelace?” He placed his mouth close to the narrow opening between the door and the framing. “Please answer me, Angelica.”
“Malvern?” A weak, but still melodic voice called in return.
“Yes!” He tugged at the door again. He wished to profess his happiness at finding her, but Remmington had returned to Hunt’s side. “The earl and I are here. We will have you out in a few minutes.”
“Stand back,” Remmington ordered. The earl expertly swung the ax above his head and brought it down hard upon the lock, splitting the wood around it.
“Again!” Hunt demanded.
The earl did not hesitate. Another powerful blow knocked the metal lose from the wood.
Hunt knelt beside the opening to catch the edge of the door.
“A root cellar,” he reasoned aloud. “Who would have thought?” He lifted the door upward, and the earl caught it to swing it from the way.
“Let me strike a flint,” Remmington cautioned, but Hunt scampered down the rotting steps to reach her. The sun was hidden behind a cloud, but the light was enough for him to see the tear tracks upon her cheeks and those mesmerizing eyes, which had bewitched him from the first moment he looked upon her.
“Thank God, you came.”
Chapter Twenty
Alas, a storm cloud chose that exact moment to steal away the light, sending the small space into hazy darkness. The odor of rotting flesh rushed in to claim Hunt’s breath, and the chill invaded his senses, while the memory of the cell upon the French border claimed his reason. He could not move—could not think of anything beyond the misery awaiting him. In his imagination, desperate souls reclined upon every inch of space available. Hunt could hear the moans—the different tongues and accents of those within. He was once more a young man in an old man’s world.
“What is amiss?” Remmington growled as he pushed Hunt from his way. On one level, Hunt knew the earl knelt beside Miss Lovelace and worked at her bindings, but he could do nothing but stare into the darkness.
* * *
Angelica had never known such happiness as she did when Lord Malvern charged into the cellar to free her, but he stalled in anguish, and her woes no longer took precedence. She wished to comfort the marquess.
“Miss Lovelace.” The earl knelt at her side, drawing her into a loose embrace, but Angelica kept her gaze upon the marquess. “Thank the Lord, you are safe.”
“Just exhausted,” she murmured.
Lord Remmington lit a stub of a candle, which he wedged between two heavy sacks for support. She stared hard in the marquess’s direction. The bit of light from the candle cast dark shadows across Lord Malvern’s handsome features, claiming sharp angles and lines.
“I have a knife,” the earl explained as he set her from him.
Angelica wished to express her gratitude, but she could not concentrate upon her own misery as long as Lord Malvern suffered.
“What happened to the marquess?” she whispered as Lord Remmington used a small penknife to saw at her bindings.
“I do not know,” he answered in irritation. “Malvern experienced several memories today, most associated with when the French rebels took him prisoner.” The earl ignored Malvern’s stony stance. “Once you are free, I will escort the marquess from this place.”
Angelica tugged at one of the loops of rope about her wrists.
“Could the marquess think he is under restraint?” she asked tentatively.
“I possess no knowledge of how Malvern’s mind operates,” he grumbled. “My only concern is your safety.” Lord Remmington nodded in the direction of the slumped over body. “Who is your cellmate?”
Angelica glanced to the now familiar form.
“I woke tied to this post. I am uncertain.”
The earl pulled the last of her bonds free before massaging Angelica’s wrists.
“Whoever he may be, I am thankful for his presence. He is what brought us to this place.” His lordship lifted her to her feet. “Can you walk or shall I carry you?”
She permitted the earl to brace her weight against his side. “I would like to walk if God is willing.” She took several awkward steps, feeling very much like a new colt in her father’s stables. When they reached where Lord Malvern stood silent, she said softly, “Come, my lord.” Angel caught his warm hand in her cold one.
* * *
The cool touch of her skin upon his drew Hunt’s eyes to the only countenance, which he could recall as ever bringing him peace.
“Come, my lord,” she whispered as she tugged upon his hand.
“Miss Lovelace?” Hunt’s lips curved upward into a wry smile. “I meant to rescue you.”
She returned his smile. “Lord Remmington’s determination is strong enough to lead us both to safety. Please follow me.”
He wished to tell her he would follow her to the ends of the world, but Hunt realized how foolishly he had acted. Regret rushed in for he had proven himself inferior to the earl, but there was no remorse at knowing the lady’s tender care once again.
“I am well, Miss Lovelace. Permit the earl to carry you above ground,” Hunt instructed.
Remmington lifted her before him as the earl climbed the damp wooden steps in the side of the cellar. The lady accepted Remmington’s kindness without protest, but Hunt noted how she watched him over the earl’s shoulder—urging him, with her eyes and an enticing smile, to follow her.
Within seconds, Remmington placed her safely upon the ground. “Will you be well, my dear, while I discover the identity of your cell mate?” The earl held her hand a little too long for Hunt’s comfort.
Hunt retrieved a small flask from an inside pocket. “Sip this, but easy. Brandy has a sharp effect on those unaccustomed to its spirits, but the drink will warm you.” He glanced at the earl. “Do you require my assistance?”
Remmington shook off the suggestion. “Just tend to the lady. I do not mean to bring the body up—simply determine if he is someone we know. Then we will recover those we captured earlier in the barn and turn our horses toward Devil’s Keep.”
“You captured my abductors?” she asked in quiet surprise.
“We did,” Hunt confirmed. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance. “We should hurry, Remmington.”
The earl nodded his agreement. “I shan’t be long.”
Hunt watched his friend’s return to the dark cellar. “The earl is an excellent man. A loyal friend.” Hunt did not wish to say the words, but he knew it would be best if Angelica accepted Lord Remmington’s proposal. He experienced a revelation today, but he still had a long recovery before him. His prospects as the lady’s husband dimmed in comparison to those of Lord Remmington.
“I am well aware of his lordship’s fine qualities. However, I would prefer—” Miss Lovelace whispered.
Hunt would never know what the lady would prefer for a shot rang out, and a bullet ripped through his jacket’s sleeve. Without considering the consequences, he covered her with his body, draping himself over Miss Lovelace’s fragility.
“I have you,” he rasped as a second shot whizzed over his head.
From the direction of the cellar, he heard Remmington’s shout and the sound of a counter attack, but Hunt did not move for several seconds.
“Tell me you are well,” he pleaded.
“I am,” she said against his skin, her warm breath caressing Hunt’s cheek.
“Malvern!” Remmington called, and Hunt became aware of how much he wished to remain where he was. “Come.” The earl tapped Hunt’s shoulder. “Miss Lovelace’s kidnappers have escaped. We must give pursuit.”
“What of Miss Lovelace?” Hunt protested as he rolled from the woman.
Remmington reached a hand to Angelica, but his concent
ration remained on the tree line. “I will take her up with me.” He looked to the girl. “Can you walk to the horses? They are tied before the house.”
“I have her,” Hunt assured. “Recapturing our attackers requires your expertise. They hold the reason to this chaos. Go!” he ordered. “We will be only a few steps behind.”
The earl nodded sharply before rushing off after the men, but the slant of Remmington’s shoulders said Hunt’s friend wished for a different alternative.
“We should know speed,” Angelica encouraged. “His lordship should not face danger alone. The man is not of the nature to ask for assistance, but he has us to defend him.”
Hunt wondered how she could so easily recognize the good and the bad in everyone she encountered. He caught her to him, half carrying and half dragging Angelica along beside him. With long demanding strides, he ate up the ground. Just as they reached the clearing, the earl was turning his horse about and heading off along the entrance road.
“Alibi will catch him,” Hunt declared as he left her by the horse to mount. If Angelica wished him to protect Lord Remmington, then Hunt would do his best to comply. “My horse is capable of carrying two.” He extended his hand, and she climbed into his arms.
“This noble beast would never fail us,” she countered. She wrapped her arms about Hunt’s waist in an all too familiar manner. “The last time we rode together, I held you,” she said baldly.
“That is because you are the epitome of the word incomparable, my dear.”
Hunt tugged upon the reins to set his horse into action. He realized, as Alibi gradually increased his pace, the lady was exactly what he had termed her. Incomparable. Angelica Lovelace had spent some sixteen hours in confinement, but she meant to see Lord Remmington safe. She would not be satisfied until they were all at Devil’s Keep. He knew no other female who would act without self-interest. Hunt could not believe how his life had changed. Just knowing her made him a better man. He could learn much from this particular woman.
He turned the stallion in the direction of a puff of dust in the distance.
“Our culprits foolishly took the road toward the village,” he explained close to her ear, as he pressed Alibi’s flanks with his thighs.
Her breath was warm against his shirtfront.
“Can you see Lord Remmington?”
Her delectable derriere rested upon his thigh, and the horse’s movement rocked her against him—an enticingly erotic feeling. “Not yet,” he groaned through the desire, which had no place in his response to her, but even when she was not so close, the woman had an effect upon his manhood. Nevertheless, before he could consider the idea further, two shots sent them ducking low in the saddle, while hurtling into the unknown. As they reached the first rise leading to the village road, Hunt pulled up on Alibi’s reins.
“What is amiss?” Angel turned in his arms to view the scene below.
Hunt dismounted and led the horse from sight. Below him, he could observe how Remmington had taken cover behind a rock out-cropping. To the earl’s left was one of the two men with whom they had tussled, but he saw nothing of the second culprit.
“Where is the man with the dark hair? He was the leader of the pair.” His eyes scanned every rock and tree bordering the common road leading to the coaching road.
“There!” Miss Lovelace declared. She pointed to a copse of trees on Lord Remmington’s right. The men had placed the earl in a handy trap.
“I see him,” Hunt confirmed. “Remmington has stumbled into peril.” He instructed, “I want you to take Alibi up and around the scene below.” He caught the horse’s reins and led the stallion to a steep path through the woods. “When you reach the other side, you are to ride for assistance.” He paused to look up into her sweet countenance. “No matter what occurs below, you are to reach the village’s safety.” He shook his finger at her in mild chastisement. “No turning back to discover how his lordship and I fare. Promise me, Angel.”
She frowned, the lines of her forehead contracting. “But, my lord—”
“No, Angelica!” he said firmly. “Neither the earl or I wish you to know harm.”
She dropped her eyes. “Please know care,” she pleaded. “I could not bear it if something—”
“I know.” His tone softened. “Now, go.” He handed her the reins.
“What of a weapon?” she asked as she shifted her position to sit astride his horse.
A low curse crossed Hunt’s lips. He had left his gun upon the ground when he covered her with his body. “I will manage,” he declared.
“Here.” The lady hiked her skirt tails high upon her legs. “I have a knife.” She fidgeted with a leather strap.
“Why do you carry a knife upon your person?” he asked, the amusement trickling into his tone.
“Someone shot at the duchess, Lady Gunnimore, and me,” she explained in a tone of pure logic, as she released the strap to hand him the knife.
Hunt shook his head in disbelief. “Why did I bother to ask?” In truth, he could not fault her logic. He, too, had begun carrying the long forgotten gun after the attack upon his mother. “You never cease to amaze me.” He took the knife with a nod of gratitude, but before he released her again, he lowered her skirt. Sitting astride Alibi, her trim legs still showed, and Hunt boldly caressed her calf. “I must go,” he murmured.
“My lord—” she said on a rasp. Her eyes spoke of a like desire.
“Not now,” he warned. “There is still much to do before we can speak properly.” With a gargantuan effort, Hunt turned from her. He held no doubt the lady would do as he asked. Making his way across the road, he entered the brush leading to the place where the stranger lay in wait for the earl’s retreat.
* * *
Angel watched the line of his shoulders as Lord Malvern walked into the unfamiliar. She knew the marquess, likely better than he knew himself. Despite all his doubts as to his eventual success, the man was built for responsibility. Passionate. Prideful, but without vanity. Possessing of a bit of humor. Intelligent.
“And exceeding fine of countenance,” she whispered as she turned the horse toward a trail through the upper tree line. He made it her duty to bring the authorities, and she would not fail him. Although the task would be difficult, Angel trusted in the marquess’s and the earl’s ability to thwart the interlopers who likely murdered Lord Newsome and the unknown man in the root cellar.
* * *
Hunt concentrated on placing each step. He circled above the man with the dark hair who hunched down behind a large elderberry bush. It appeared the tow-headed stranger meant to drive Lord Remmington toward the man Hunt trailed. Hunt dared not permit his eyes to seek the place where Angelica moved away from danger. Such a distraction would not be wise. When the madness knew an end, Hunt would be required to reexamine his wishes regarding the lady. Despite his admiration for the earl, the thought of Lord Remmington bedding Miss Lovelace rubbed Hunt’s resolve raw.
He eased his way from behind a tree to view what transpired below him. From his perspective, he could identify the earl’s wariness and Remmington’s growing impatience. The two attackers signaled across the space, and the man who Hunt flanked started forward, gun in hand. Clutching the small dagger, Hunt followed the culprit. He must overtake the interloper before the dark-haired man joined his partner in an orchestrated assault upon the earl.
* * *
Although she had promised the marquess she would not tarry, Angel could not resist the curiosity building in every bone of her body. She brought Alibi to a halt. From the rise of a hill, she located Lord Remmington hiding along the embankment, which bordered the road. From the earl’s position, her eyes traced a line up the slope on the other side to find the dark-haired man creeping closer to where the earl waited, and then above the stranger she caught a glimpse of Lord Malvern. Her heart leapt in her chest. For a brief second Angel wished she had not given in to the desire to know him safe for now she watched in fixed fascination.
; The marquess moved with caution, but he meant to intercept the man upon the earl’s right. Despite her initial fear for his and the earl’s safety, Angel held no doubts they would prevail.
“They overcame the two culprits once before,” she reasoned aloud as she backed Alibi from the scene. Although she had no desire to do so, she had promised Lord Malvern she would seek assistance from the village. She walked Alibi along the narrow trail, catching glimpses of the four men moving into position for their upcoming confrontation. Yet, a fact nagged at her reason.
Alibi began his descent upon the other side of the rise, and Angel turned in the saddle to give one last look upon the confrontation, which was but seconds from fruition. And then it struck her. How did the men escape?
“It is not likely Lord Remmington secured his captives in a less than perfect manner,” she pronounced. “His pride would demand faultlessness. Therefore, that means ... that means ...” Her heart slammed to a halt, as she pulled up hard upon Alibi’s reins. “I do not recall either of the men below being in my quarters, but I can identify one person.” Her pulse raced with the realization. “I saw ...” The image sprang easily to her mind’s eye.
“Oh, my!” Her eyes scanned the many trees lining the hillside. “There was another.” Angelica no longer dwelled upon the upcoming confrontation. She searched for the person, who initiated the attack upon her and the maid. “Please ... please ... please ...” she recited in prayer as she looked for the obvious. At length, a flicker of light upon a button flashed with the first of the lightning.
Needing to warn Lords Malvern and Remmington, she turned Alibi back along the path she had traversed only moments prior.
“I require your noble heart once more, boy.” Angel stroked the animal’s neck. “Again Fate calls upon us to save his lordship from the perils surrounding him in a rainstorm.”
* * *
Hunt moved to within striking distance of the man, the sound of his approach disguised by the pounding of the rain upon the rocky surface and the steady roll of thunder. With the next flash of lightning, the man stood to point his gun at Lord Remmington’s back. No more than a dozen steps separated them from where the earl studied the approach of the tow-headed attacker. Before the culprit cocked the trigger, Hunt slid down the muddy hillside to take out the interloper’s legs. He struck the man in his back, ramming Angelica’s dagger into the muscle of the man’s shoulder. A cry of pain announced their contest had recommenced.
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