The Portrait of Lady Wycliff

by Cheryl Bolen

  She swallowed hard. "Harry?"

  "No more Lord Wycliff?" he asked in a teasing voice.

  "No more Lord Wycliff," she said with a sigh. "I have decided to forgive you for the life which you formerly led."

  "That is welcome news indeed." He did not sound sincere. "Why, pray tell, do I warrant such approval?"

  Her words came fast and with urgency. "Because we're going to die, and I can't go to my death without telling you how close I've become to you and how much I've come to care about you. That's why." She swallowed hard, thankful that Harry could not witness her humiliation.

  He crossed the small room in two strides, fell to one knee in front of her and took her hand. "My dearest Louisa, I shall die a most happy man."

  Then he drew her into his arms and held her close for a very long while. She could scarcely believe that he continued to whisper my dearest love and my angel into her ear as he lay a trail of kisses from her ear down to the top of her breast. Could he truly love her as she loved him? "Blast it all, Louisa, will you allow me to remove that ridiculous binding?"

  She cradled his face in both her hands and solemnly nodded. Moving his hands beneath her shirt, he managed to unwind the rags and toss them to the cold stone floor. He then took her hands and kissed them. "I am not worthy of your affection. That's why I've behaved so abominably to you at times. You're far too good for me."

  She stroked the strong planes of his cheek with one hand. "Don't say that, dearest Harry. I am glad that if we have to die, we will do so together, for I don't believe I could live without you."

  "I think I've known since that day I first saw you that my life would be meaningless without you."

  She moved to him with both arms open, and their lips met in a hungry, wet kiss. She loved the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell. . .everything about Harry Blassingame, the Seventh Earl of Wycliff. Even if he was an aristocrat.

  "I love you with all my villainous heart, my dearest love," he whispered, burying his face into her neck.

  "We'll be together for eternity."

  He kissed her quickly then straightened. "Damn it all, Louisa, I don't want to die. Not now that I have you. Don't you see? We've got to live. I want to marry you. I want you to bear my children." He reached over and kissed her tenderly. "I want to grow old with this beautiful bluestocking at my side."

  "Oh, my dearest Harry, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

  "I wanted to say it before now, but I didn't think you could tolerate me."

  "What about when I called you dearest Harry when you regained consciousness after your illness?"

  "I thought it was an angel who had spoken," he said teasingly. "I didn't think we'd suit because you are so fine and I'm so wicked."

  "You're not wicked."

  "Never mind discussions of the past. It's the future that's important now."

  "But you've already examined every way you could think of to get out of here, and you pronounced an escape from the turret impossible."

  He raised a finger to his chin and drummed. "There must be a way."

  "Do you think Lord Tremaine meant it when he said he'd let us die here? Think you he plans to starve us to death?"

  "We shall have to see."

  * * *

  Not just because they were starved from not having had dinner the night before, Louisa and Harry were relieved when a heavily armed pair of servants opened the door to the turret prison the following morning, dropped off two bowls of porridge and a slab of stale bread, then closed and locked the door.

  They ate greedily, even though the porridge was cold and the bread hard.

  "So we are not to be starved to death," Harry said when they finished. "That is good."

  "That will give you more time to devise a plan of escape. I dare not try. My plan to get us in here proved disastrous."

  "I'll think on it."

  Louisa leaned against the wall of their tiny room and watched him.

  His first thoughts were of Sinjin. What a pity he'd not asked his friend to come earlier than April first. The rational side of Harry knew that rescue could only come from external forces.

  Only a fool would think it possible to stage one's own escape from a heavily guarded fortress such as this. But to assuage the woman he loved, he would set his mind to hypothetical schemes for their escape.

  For the next hour silence filled their tiny cell as he contemplated an escape. Finally he said he had a plan but that it would be difficult. "Do you suppose they mean to feed us only once a day?"

  She shrugged.

  He came toward her and set his hands on her shoulder, kissing her gently. "I will assume that we will receive the meal — I will call it that for lack of a better word — each morning at about the same time. Do you agree?" Harry asked.

  "I suppose so."

  "What time would you say they came this morning?"

  "I have no idea," she answered. "It was still dark."

  He proceeded to impart to her the particulars of his plan.

  * * *

  Harry stayed awake that night. He could not allow himself to go to sleep. He lay beside her, his stomach aching from want of food, yet strangely drunk with contentment of Louisa's nearness. Even though he know escape was impossible, he vowed to try and get out of there. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted to live a long life with his dearest love.

  When it was half past four in the morning by his watch, he left Louisa's side and attempted to climb the stone wall, but he succeeded in nothing but awakening Louisa.

  "Ah, it's good that you're awake," he said. "I'm afraid I shall have to put my weight on your back."

  She shot him a puzzled look. "You have to what?"

  "Come here, my love."

  "Now, if you will," he said when she crossed the floor, "put yourself in a dog position so I can climb on your back. I'll try to put weight on it only for a second."

  She obliged him.

  He looked up, then used her back briefly as a springboard, one foot on her back, the other propelling his movement upward. He leapt into the air, grabbed for the long disused lantern suspended from the ceiling and caught hold of it on his first try. "Thank you, madam. Your services are no longer needed." God, but his hands stung from holding the forged iron.

  She looked up at him. "What are you doing?"

  "I am suspending myself above the doorway. When I hear the striking of feet outside the door, I shall tuck these long legs of mine under me, and when they open the door I'll pounce on them. If you are able, I will need you to relieve them of their weapons, but take care not to get hurt."

  She smiled up at him. "A brilliant plan, my most intelligent lord."

  "I'm blasted heavy to hold."

  "I suspect you are."

  His arms were killing him. They were so sore he doubted he would be able to strike a good blow when the jailers did come.

  The ten minutes stretched into twenty. If it weren't for Louisa, he would have given up by now and accepted that escape was impossible.

  He really didn't think he could last much longer. He thought about jumping down and waiting until he heard them before launching himself from Louisa's back again. But he remembered that yesterday the men were upon them as soon as he'd heard the sound of their steps.

  He had to keep holding on. God, but it was hard, the most difficult thing he had ever done. It was a wonder his arms hadn't grown ten feet long.

  Then he heard the click of the jailers' heels.

  He stretched his legs parallel to the ground.

  He heard the voice of one of the jailers. "Don't know how long the master plans to keep 'em here."

  Keys rattled. Oh, God, please hurry.

  Then the door squeaked open, then opened wider. The jailer with the food scanned the room for a sign of Harry.

  Harry jumped on top the other jailer, the one with the drawn sword.

  Chapter 25

  Edward was bloody tired of Cornwall. For three days now the
y had gone to nearly two dozen remote villages, surveying every livery stable in Cornwall for Harry's coach. Though they had not come upon it, they had come across a number of stable hands who vividly remembered the grand coach and four. It was not often one came through these parts. Harry's trail pointed steadily west.

  Edward had also learned that Harry and Mrs. Phillips were traveling as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Such a piece of information might come in handy.

  He shot a stealthy glance at Miss Sinclair. At least Harry had the pleasure of traveling with a lady. A woman who dressed as a woman, breasts and all. And he would wager Harry had not had to sleep on any wooden floors, either. If he knew Harry as he thought he knew Harry, his cousin had gotten beneath Mrs. Phillips's skirts by now.

  He glanced at Miss Sinclair and sighed. None of his friends would believe he could travel for days on end with a young woman, share a bedchamber with her, and not get beneath her skirts. Or in Miss Sinclair's case, beneath her pants.

  But when he came to think on it, he realized he would never discuss this trip with Miss Sinclair to anyone. Do her unpardonable harm. And he couldn't have that.

  For the past half hour Miss Sinclair had expounded on the finer points of Jeremy Bentham's series of talks. Glad of it he was. For in her retelling, he thought he actually understood what the deuced man had been saying. Not that he really cared, but he might be called upon to discuss it with Miss Sinclair, and he really did not like to sound like a bloody moron.

  She stopped talking, and things got quiet. Too quiet by far. He had grown accustomed to Miss Sinclair's prattling. Finally, she started up again. "I was wondering, Mr. Coke. . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, I was wondering if you would like to share the bed tonight." Before he could respond, she explained herself. "You have proven yourself as a true gentleman, and I am sure it must be difficult for you to ride all day when your body must ache from sleeping on a floor the night before."

  His mind streaked ahead to tonight. Unfortunately, he responded below the waist. It really would not do to share a bed with Miss Sinclair. After all, she unbound those breasts at night. . .and one morning when he woke before her he saw that she slept in a thin linen lawn under which he clearly saw the outline of her nipples.

  He was not a strong enough man to resist such a temptation. And, besides, he had no desire to nurse for the rest of the journey the black eye Miss Sinclair was sure to deliver him. "I don't mind the floor at all," he lied. His debauching ways would be the end of him yet.

  "Oh," she said meekly. She almost sounded disappointed.

  They rode for another great while with her saying no more to him. He exceedingly disliked a quiet Miss Sinclair. And he also feared he had upset her.

  Therefore it was with relief he heard her call him. "Mr. Coke?"

  "Yes," he said, smiling because she did not sound angry.

  "You must tell me of your other brave deeds."

  "Other?"

  "Racing through the whole of West England in singlehanded pursuit of evil-doers is a most brave thing, to be sure."

  "Now, Miss Sinclair, we do not know that your sister and Harry have come upon evil-doers."

  "But if they have, you are bravely prepared to deal with them."

  He stuck out his chest with self-importance. "That I am most assuredly, Miss Sinclair."

  They rode but a short distance more when she asked, "Have you ever fought a duel, Mr. Coke?"

  How he wished he could tell her an elaborate tale about dueling with swords on Primrose Hill over a lady's honor, but, alas, he could not lie to Miss Sinclair. "I have not had that pleasure," he said sadly. That did not come out at all as he had wanted it to.

  "See what I mean! You are so brave that to you a duel is a pleasure."

  She really was an awfully clever girl. "Rest assured that I am well prepared if a duel should present itself."

  "You are trained in swords?"

  He nodded cockily. "And with pistols."

  Filled with wonder, her face lifted to his. Quite a taking thing she was, too.

  Enough talk about him. The girl would take him for a braggart, and he couldn't have that.

  He looked at the sky and saw the sun had dropped lower. They would be lucky to reach Falwell before dark.

  * * *

  Taken completely by surprise, the armed guard crashed to the ground. Harry went to relieve the man of his weapon, but the other jailer, the one who had been carrying the food, drew his weapon and jabbed its tip at the base of Louisa's pale throat.

  Harry sprang back, throwing up his hands. "Please, don't harm her. I'm the one who planned the escape."

  The man on the ground leapt to his feet, drawing his sword and aiming it at Harry's midsection. "His lordship will not be happy." With a sadistic glint in his dark eyes, the jailer moved to Harry and pricked his side with the sword. "As happy as it would make me to drive me sword into yer gut, I must please me master. Lord Tremaine will want ye to suffer a slow, painful death."

  "But not the lady. She's done nothing," Harry pleaded.

  The man ignored him. "I'll guard the both of them," he said to his partner. "You go and get the chains."

  * * *

  Why in the devil did a small village like Falwell have two inns, Edward wondered. He would have to make inquiries at each. But as he cast cursory glances at the inns that faced each other across the high street, he had a strong feeling Harry would have selected the Speckled Goose. It was twice the size of its competitor, and because of that, it should have a broader selection of rooms, and the rooms were apt to be larger. After so many years aboard a ship, Harry enjoyed large bedchambers with blazing fireplaces.

  "I'll go make inquiries," he told his female-disguised-as-a-male companion. "You try to look as if you're tending the horses."

  Inside, he spoke to the innkeeper. He almost asked if Lord Wycliff were staying there, then remembered that his cousin had been traveling under the name Smith.

  "Should ye like to stable your 'orse and procure a room for the night?" the burly man asked.

  "Indeed I would," Edward answered. "I was wondering if my cousin, Mr. Smith, may have stayed here."

  "Aye. 'E's still 'ere. Well, actually 'e and the missus ain't 'ere at present, but his coachman assures me 'e ain't gonna stick me with an unpaid bill."

  Edward's gut roiled. "What do you mean he's not here now? When's the last time you saw him?"

  The innkeeper rubbed his chin. "Three days ago when me wife served them breakfast."

  "Do you know where they were going?"

  "Nope."

  "Where can I find his coachman?"

  "He be staying in a chamber above the stables. I'll send for 'im."

  As the man went to leave the reception area, Edward asked, "Could you oblige me with writing paper and something to write with?"

  "Aye. Ye'll find it in the downstairs parlor." He directed Edward to a chamber just off the central corridor.

  His heart beating erratically, Edward scribbled a quick note to Lord Jack St. John.

  My Lord,

  Come at once to Falwell. Harry has not been seen in three days.

  Your servant,

  Edward Coke

  In his heart, he knew he was too late. He went into the innyard and paid a stable lad a shilling to post the letter. "The post chaise will be 'ere at four o'clock," the proud young man informed him. "This will get to Lunnon in no time."

  Edward hoped to God it did.

  As he stood there, Miss Sinclair came up to him. She was such a pretty little thing, he feared the others would instantly take her for a female.

  "Something's wrong," she said.

  "We don't know that for sure."

  Her gaze swung to Harry's coachman. "Oh, look! There's Lord Wycliff's coachman."

  Their countenances grim, the two men exchanged greetings.

  "Do you know where Lord Wycliff's gone?" Edward asked. "He can't have taken the carriage, or you wouldn't be here."

  "'Is lo
rdship set off on foot three days ago and ain't been seen since."

  Miss Sinclair gasped. "Was my sister with him?"

  The coachman nodded.

  Edward wanted to close an arm around her slender shoulders and offer assurances, but he couldn't. Not here. And if she turned into a watering pot, everyone would know she was a she and not a he.

  "He must have gone to see Lord Tremaine." Edward gazed at the castle on a hill above the village. "Is that Gorwick Castle?"

  "Indeed it is. 'Is lordship went to see it on visiting day."

  "But he came back?"

  The coachman nodded.

  The only explanation for Harry's disappearance was that he had displeased Lord Tremaine. "You and I are going to the castle," he informed Harry's servant.

  "Me too," Miss Sinclair said.

  He must be firm. "I cannot allow you to go. It could be dangerous, and I can't risk your wellbeing." He pressed some coins into her hands. "Be a good . . . lad and go procure our chambers."

  Her eyes filled with tears. "You can't leave me all alone."

  She did have a point there. He did not at all like to think of her staying here unprotected and vulnerable. "You must stay in your chamber behind locked doors until I return."

  "But . . . what if . . . what if you don't return?"

  "Then you contact Lord Jack St. John. He's a powerful man who's my cousin's dearest friend." The pity of it was that it could take many days for a communication to reach Sinjin and many days more before he could reach this farthest corner of Cornwall.

  As he walked away, leaving poor Miss Sinclair all alone, he fought the urge to draw her into his arms and kiss her.

  * * *

  Harry knew he was going to die. But how in the devil could he persuade the demented Tremaine to spare Louisa's life? Was there nothing he could do to bargain for Louisa's release?

  This was the second day they had not been offered food. Was starvation to be Tremaine's method of a slow, tortuous death?

  Tortuous, too, were the chains that had been tightened around their wrists. Escape was impossible.

  Because it was an extremely gray day, the light within their cell was dim but not so dim he couldn't look at the woman he loved. Even under such harsh conditions, Louisa was lovely. Untucked, her man's shirt resembled a lady's nightgown. With the swell of her breasts beneath, she was a vision of beauty. It hurt like the devil to know he'd found his perfect countess but neither of them would live to see them joined in matrimony.