Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  Hunt possessed no idea how the earl fared, but he trusted Remmington to dispense with the other attacker. Instead, he drove the dark-haired man into the ground. He ripped the dagger from the man’s shoulder and stabbed the fellow in his side. The second blow silenced the man’s caterwauling and brought his efforts to a halt.

  Despite his opponent’s lack of effort to escape, Hunt remained upon the stranger’s back. Nonetheless, he raised his head in time to observe Lord Remmington deliver an upper punch to the point of the tow-headed fellow’s chin. As if he were a felled tree, the attacker’s eyes rolled back in his head before he collapsed upon his backside.

  The earl stood slowly, collecting his attacker’s gun as he turned to Hunt and rolled his shoulders several times to release the tension. “I thought you turned the opposite way.”

  Hunt crawled to his feet, but he kept an eye upon the dark-haired man, where mud now splattered the stranger’s cheek. “I told you I would follow.” He bent over the fellow to retrieve the man’s gun and Angelica’s dagger, wiping the man’s blood upon his breeches.

  The rain streamed down upon them, but both he and the earl acted as if nothing unusual had occurred. Exhaustion rushed in, and Hunt sighed heavily.

  Remmington did likewise. “I suppose we must secure these two. In truth, I would prefer to simply dispense with them. They have become a sticking point.” The earl sounded weary as he scanned the hillside above Hunt’s head. “Where is Miss Lovelace?”

  “I sent her on to the village,” Hunt confessed. “I feared she might be harmed.”

  Remmington nodded his agreement before scowling. “If that is so, who approaches?”

  Hunt’s nerves came alert. He spun around just as a spectacular gelding pranced into the opening.

  * * *

  Angelica stared hard upon the spot where she had observed the flash of light. It would be easier if the trail did not hold its twists and turns and the heavens had not opened to drench everything in sight. At length, as if to prove Angel’s assumption correct, a slender figure formed from the shadows and made its way toward where Angel left the marquess.

  “Wonderful,” she grumbled as she shoved a wet lock of hair from her cheek. “Men cannot fight what they refuse to see.” She brought Alibi to a halt under an imposing oak. Rising up in the saddle, Angel tugged at a low hanging bare branch, which gave way on her third attempt. “Not much, my noble mount,” she observed aloud, as she swished the air several times with the broken branch. “Yet, we shall joust with the best of them.”

  * * *

  Hunt frowned as the approaching figure took a familiar form. He left the dark haired man in the earl’s care to walk in the rider’s direction.

  “My lady.” He nodded his greeting when she brought her mount to a halt.

  “My lord?” The woman glanced over to where the earl wrestled the first man to his feet. “What is amiss?”

  An unexplained warning shot through Hunt’s veins, but he kept his voice calm. “Just a couple of poor highwaymen.”

  The lady’s eyes darkened. “I did not realize the roads were so dangerous, my lord.”

  Hunt searched for a note of concern in her voice, but he found none. “The weather is miserable. Why are you out and so far from the estate, especially without a groom?”

  “The day was fine when I took my leave.” She sat very tall, as if the constant rain held no importance. “I rode across the estate, but I made a wrong turn. It took me some time to locate the main road. Somehow, I missed the village.”

  “Malvern!” the earl called from behind him. There was something of anxiousness in his friend’s tone.

  “In a moment, Remmington.” Hunt waved off the earl’s intervention. He wondered if the woman meant to trap him in a compromising situation. “And what of the groom, my lady?” In truth, he doubted the availability of any of the duke’s men, but surely one of his mother’s guests would have offered the services of a groom or another servant to accompany her.

  The woman wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I considered myself safe upon Devilfoard’s land,” she said tersely.

  “Yet, you are no longer on my father’s estate,” he protested. “Therefore, the opportunity for highwaymen.” He glanced to where Remmington secured the bindings upon their tow-headed attacker. “I must assist his lordship. It would be best if you continued on into the village.”

  “Alone?” she asked in indignation.

  “It is not as if I can desert the earl, and the village is less than two miles. If you wish to wait at the inn, I will oversee your return to the manor.” The rain seeped into Hunt’s jacket and down his shirt, and he was uncomfortable in more than one way.

  She huffed her displeasure. “I think not, my lord. I shall ride with you and Lord Remmington. Better the rain than the possibility of others lying in wait upon the road.”

  Hunt bowed stiffly. “As you wish, my lady.” Irritated, he returned to Remmington’s side. “Permit me to assist you,” he grumbled. “Is he still alive?”

  The earl presented Hunt a questioning look, but he kept his response to the issue at hand. “Yes, but your attacker will require a surgeon. We will tie him across my horse. You can take his mount and the lead string for the other gentleman.” He looked to where the woman sat very erect. An eyebrow rose in curiosity.

  Hunt shrugged his response. “The lady will follow us to the village.”

  Remmington grinned wryly. “A coincidence to discover her alone?”

  “It better not be another of Sandahl’s schemes,” Hunt whispered.

  “Not likely,” the earl said in confidence. “It is of what I wished to tell you earlier.”

  “And?”

  Yet before Lord Remmington could explain, a loud clap of thunder had them spinning in the direction of the stone-faced woman, only to discover she had edged her mount closer. Too close, in fact. She held a gun pointed at Hunt’s heart.

  “Release my men, Lord Remmington, or I shall kill the marquess.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It happened so quickly Hunt doubted he could give voice to what occurred. One second he swallowed his fear while looking into the muzzle of the lady’s pistol, as well as cursing himself for not listening to the multiple internal warnings of her duplicity. The next, a loud whoop, one he would later describe as the supposed sound of the Indian warriors upon the American wilderness, filled the air, and his avenging “angel” came swooping in, a bat in her right hand.

  Lady Mathild turned too late to prevent her cousin’s attack. With the expertise of an excellent horsewoman, Angelica rose up in the saddle. Holding Alibi’s reins loosely in her left hand, she arced the makeshift weapon over her head to bring it through in the manner of a cricketer’s swing. Although her blow did not strike Lady Mathild full on, her efforts were enough to knock the woman from her perch upon the sidesaddle.

  Remmington scrambled to capture Mathild’s gun, while Hunt caught the lady’s skittish mount’s reins.

  He turned as Alibi high stepped in his direction, a grinning Angelica Lovelace upon his back.

  “What the devil are you doing, lass?” He had no idea why he spoke so tersely to her. He certainly held nothing but admiration for the woman. Perhaps it was the reality of how easily Lady Mathild could have turned her gun upon Angelica.

  “Saving yours and the earl’s dignity,” she snapped. “A simple response of gratitude would be more appropriate, my lord.”

  Remmington pulled Lady Mathild to her feet. “You have my wholehearted gratitude, Miss Lovelace.” He wrestled Mathild’s arms behind the woman. Ripping his cravat loose, the earl used one end of the damp cloth to bind Lady Mathild’s wrists. “Not that I am complaining, but the marquess assured me you were on a safe road to the village.” He had the gall to wink at Miss Lovelace.

  “I was, my lord,” she said prettily. “But it occurred to me someone must have freed the men you had captured, and then I recalled the one countenance I observed among those who kidnapped me.”
>
  Hunt caught a glimpse of the deathly glare Lady Mathild presented Miss Lovelace. “Your cousin?” he ventured.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Yet, before the conversation could continue, the approach of several men on horseback announced his father, Lovelace, and Sir Alexander’s arrival. Without asking her permission, Hunt whisked Angelica from her perch upon Alibi’s back and shoved her behind him with a hushed, “Straighten your skirts,” over his shoulder.

  The rain had slackened, but they were muddy and disheveled, and he would not permit the duke’s party to view Angel with her skirts to her knees.

  “My,” the duke observed with a wry grin. “It appears we are too late to assist Malvern and the earl.” For Hunt it was quite satisfying to note the look of approval in the duke’s eyes.

  “Did you discover my daughter?” Lovelace asked anxiously.

  “Here, Papa.” A tearful catch laced her words as Angelica stepped around Hunt.

  Lovelace swayed in the saddle in what appeared to be relief, and then the man was on the ground and closing the space between him and Angelica. A sigh of “Thank God” colored their homecoming embrace. Hunt looked upon their obvious devotion with a bit of envy. He knew his father loved him, but a like action from the duke would have brought Hunt comfort.

  “And these are the lady’s kidnappers?” Sir Alexander asked the earl.

  “Aye, sir. We captured them before we freed Miss Lovelace, but we knew nothing of the person most interested in Miss Lovelace’s demise.”

  All eyes fell upon Lady Mathild.

  “I see. And we are certain of Lady Mathild’s involvement?” The duke looked on in skepticism. Belatedly, Hunt realized men were often blind to a woman’s deceit.

  “Yes, Father. Miss Lovelace recognized Lady Mathild before the concoction used against her took effect.” He gestured to where Lovelace stripped off his coat to wrap his daughter in it. “Miss Lovelace managed to quell Lady Mathild’s attempt to end my life. She acted in an exemplary manner.”

  “Perhaps we should return to Devil’s Keep to learn the truth of this matter,” Sir Alexander suggested. “There is much remaining to be discovered.” The baronet eyed their little party with interest, but also with an emotion Hunt could not quite describe.

  Devilfoard nodded his agreement. “Lovelace. I am certain you wish to see your daughter safely returned to the manor.”

  “Yes, Duke.”

  “Take your daughter up with you. If you choose the road that forks to the left before you reach the village, you are upon Devilfoard land. Simply follow the path through the woodlands. It will prevent too many prying eyes and wagging tongues.”

  “Thank you, Devilfoard.” Lovelace led his daughter toward the waiting horse.

  Hunt followed them. “I will assist you, sir.”

  “But I wish to know the truth of this mystery,” Angelica protested as she broke free of her father’s hold.

  Hunt wrapped Lovelace’s jacket tighter about her. “And your father and I wish your return to a warm room and a filling meal,” he said firmly.

  “I thought you angry with me,” she whispered.

  “I was angry with a world which placed you in danger again,” he admitted. “Now, enjoy your father’s embrace. You are fortunate to be permitted a stolen childhood moment.” Hunt lowered his voice further. “When I return to the Devil’s Keep, I mean to ask Mr. Strasser if you received a warm bath and a good meal. If my father’s most trusted house servant assures me of your recovery, I will call upon you to escort you to where the questioning is being held.”

  “I do not approve of blackmail, my lord,” she said with a moue of disappointment. However, a twinkle in her eyes said otherwise.

  “Come, Angelica.” Her father mounted and reached a hand down to her.

  Hunt caught her about the waist and lifted her to Lovelace’s waiting arms.

  The earl appeared at Hunt’s side.

  “Lovelace. There is one thing more of which you should be apprised.”

  Her father scowled. “Can it not wait, my lord?”

  The earl shook off the suggestion. “Before I disclose this information to the others, you must be made known to it. Miss Lovelace was held in a root cellar, but there was another in the enclosure.”

  “Did you recognize him?” Anxiousness colored Angelica’s words. “I possessed no opportunity to learn the man’s identity, Papa,” she explained. “He was deceased when I awoke.”

  “I looked upon the man’s countenance,” the earl said in earnest. “It was your brother, Lovelace. Lord Sandahl is dead. Someone shot him in the chest. You will be the next Earl of Sandahl.”

  Lovelace’s frown deepened as he pulled his daughter closer. It was a gesture of protection, and Hunt wished he had the right to claim the role of the lady’s defender.

  “I never sought a title. All I ever cherished were my wife and children. Any man who desires more than love of family is a fool.”

  * * *

  Before their return to the Keep, the duke sent men to retrieve Sandahl’s body. As expected, Sir Alexander took control of the investigation. His doing so would minimize the local gossip, but there was little they could do to stifle the natural curiosity of those gathered under the duke’s roof. It became the providence of Harrison and Henrietta to act as hosts in their parents’ absence, a task made more difficult by the constant rain, which limited the planned entertainments to inside. With the search party’s return, a buzz of excitement filled the house, but each of those involved remained tight-lipped until they had unraveled the strings of this mystery.

  As promised, after a quick bath and a change of clothing, Hunt called upon Miss Lovelace.

  “My lord?” One of his mother’s attendants had assumed Angelica’s care as the surgeon had ordered Beca to bed. Hunt thought it ironic that Miss Lovelace knew the same violent treatment and so much more, but he held no doubt she would refuse bed rest.

  “I am to escort Miss Lovelace to the duke’s study.”

  “Permit Lord Malvern admittance, Deann, but please remain in the room.” Hunt smiled at Angelica’s maneuverings. She had learned some hard lessons of going against propriety, but not all of them. Her hair remained draped about her shoulders rather than to be properly dressed before she permitted his entrance. “I apologize for my delay, my lord. Deann kindly tended my injuries, but we had no time to address my hair.”

  Hunt thought her hair magnificent, and he had difficulty withdrawing his eyes from the soft waves resting against her neck and back. It would be heaven to run his fingers through it.

  “A simple plait would serve the purpose. I am certain Mr. Lovelace will insist upon your return to your bed after this meeting with Sir Alexander knows completion. No need for an elaborate coiffure.”

  “Could you plait it, Deann?”

  Angelica met his eyes through the dressing table’s mirror. He recognized the inappropriateness of their conversation, but it was oddest sensation. Nothing felt out of place. Their relationship always knew a natural comfortableness.

  “Yes, miss. Permit me to wrap your wrists first.”

  It was an exquisitely domestic scene, and Hunt admitted he enjoyed this newfound intimacy. “I will plait your hair while Deann attends to where the rope tore at your skin.”

  He remained behind her.

  Angelica turned upon the padded stool to stare at him. “You will plait my hair?” A raised eyebrow held her disbelief.

  Hunt shrugged nonchalantly. “It would save us time, and I learned to plait Henrietta’s hair when we were but twelve. Did I not, Deann?”

  The maid chuckled. “It is true, Miss Lovelace. His lordship can create a proper plait. If you wish a more stylish presentation, I could wrap the plait and pin it upon your head once Lord Malvern does his worst.”

  Angelica pointed a finger at him. “I want none of this carried to the servants’ quarters.”

  “Deann has long been employed in my mother’s service. She would not risk the du
chess’s ire. Would you, Deann?”

  “Oh, no, miss.” The maid bit her bottom lip before dropping her eyes. “I did not mean to offend, Miss Lovelace.”

  Angelica patted the back of the maid’s hand. “No offense noted, Deann, but a lady must be circumspect.”

  “If you are concerned, I will carry word to Devilfoard we will be a bit tardy.”

  The most adorable scowl crossed Angelica’s forehead. “If my father thinks I suffered from today’s escapade, it will cause him to worry more.” She raked her teeth across her bottom lip. “Very well,” she said at last, “but this is a secret between us three.”

  Hunt’s lips turned upward. The woman would continue to risk her own reputation rather than to bring pain to those she affected. It was one of the many things he adored about her. He reached for the brush to run it through her hair, which was still a bit damp from her bath. He attempted not to look upon her through the cheval glass. She was too much of a temptation. Instead, he concentrated upon the strands of silk slipping through his fingers. It was as if he held spun sunlight. Flaxen and silver combined.

  “Tell me, my lord, how you came by this skill.” Her tone held a good-humored taunt.

  “You know Lady Stoke’s tendency to wish for perfection,” he answered simply. “Once it was not within her reach, and as her twin, I offered my assistance.” Angelica’s hair was surprisingly heavy, much more so than what he had expected. The light always danced upon the strains, giving them an ethereal appearance. He knew she watched him, but he avoided making eye contact in the mirror’s reflection. If he looked upon her features, he would excuse the maid so he might slide his lips along the column of her neck.