“Aye. I will be. And so must you.”
She hadn’t been careful tonight. No—she hadn’t been smart. Agruen was not a man to take on alone, perhaps not even by Mr. Gibson.
Bink eased the door of Agruen’s bedchamber open a crack. A dim light showed from within, and he heard the faintest of rustles in the dark corner.
An Argand lamp stood on a table, the wick turned down low.
“Excuse me, yer lawdship,” he said gruffly. No response. A valet would surely respond. “Is anyone here?”
The hair on the back of his neck stirred. Someone was here, but not Agruen or his servant.
Anger surged through him. Bink Gibson could sniff out a thief at thirty paces. He did not employ thieves. If a thief was present, he or she must be one of the visitors’ servants.
He stepped in and closed the door. “Who is here? Come out.”
Thomas crawled out from under the bed, and Bink’s breath eased. “Bloody hell,” he huffed.
“Shhh.” Thomas put his finger to his mouth. “We have to hurry.”
Fifteen minutes later, he deposited Thomas in the nursery, threatening to lock him in, and headed below stairs. He took the steps quietly and turned down a corridor. The housekeeper’s sitting room door clicked open. Mrs. Bradley stood wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair covered in a white cap, a candle in hand.
“Mr. Gibson. Thank heavens. I heard something.” She took in a sharp breath. “There. Do you hear it, too?”
A faint thud came from the kitchens.
His skin rippled again. This night was like his time on the Peninsula—one bloody up after one bloody down.
He reached for her candle. “Let’s have a look. Stay behind me, ma’am.”
The servants’ hall was empty, as it should be at this late hour, everyone abed above stairs.
A muffled cry came from further on. The laundry room door was unaccountably closed. He ran and flung it open.
A man craned his neck their way and froze, breeches down, shirt straggling, arse bare to all the world.
The housekeeper screamed. A girl was stretched on the mangle table, writhing, breasts exposed and legs bared to her hips. A gag muffled her frantic cries.
Bink shoved the candle at the housekeeper and jumped the small space, seizing the man’s collar, and tossing him back into a worktable with a loud oof. The man staggered, his breeches tangling with his legs, loose and flopping like his flagging prick.
Bink tossed laundry to the housekeeper. “Cover her, then get his lordship. He’s in the library.”
The man jerked and metal flashed. Bink dodged, just in time, a scream cutting the air. He grabbed the wrist with the knife, swept a sharp kick to a bared knee, and twisted the man round with a crack that released the knife and brought him down on his face.
He pressed a foot into the man’s kidneys and jerked the arm he still held.
“Leave off, you ox,” the man groaned.
Leave off? Bink clenched his teeth, his heart racing.
The voice was unfamiliar. This was not one of his men, not one of the Greencastle servants, or the ones from Cransdall either.
He ground his foot harder. It didn’t take much imagination to know which of the visitors he belonged to.
Images of Spain, of blood, of a woman, and then later a girl, sent his heart raging. The master might escape justice, but his man wouldn’t.
A whimper from the table brought Bink back, and he glanced up. A panting Mrs. Bradley was pulling at the girl’s bindings. She grabbed a blue garment and covered the girl with it.
The room dimmed and his chest squeezed. That was Paulette’s blue dress, the one he’d just pawed, not an hour ago, in the corridor outside her room.
Paulette.
He leaned in as the girl sat up, and breath whooshed back into his lungs.
It was Jenny, one of Lady Hackwell’s Longview girls. Not Paulette.
He dropped the arm and lifted his foot away, and hoisted the man up.
“Now there’s a sight.” Agruen growled from the doorway. “You’ve done it now, Spellen. If that flaccid thing dangling in front is your cock, no wonder you had to tie the girl up.”
Bink’s blood roared.
Before he could lash out, Hackwell pushed into the room, his gaze sweeping over the scene.
“Take care of her,” he said to the red-faced housekeeper. Then he turned his eyes on the villain. “Fasten your trousers.”
Bink checked Agruen’s man for weapons before letting him fumble with his breeches and fall. Nothing broken, nothing bruised, that Bink could see. Too bad.
Hackwell tossed a length of washing line. “Bind him. And then lock him up and set a guard.”
The girl’s gag had come off and her whimpering turned to quiet sobbing. She latched onto the housekeeper and planted her face in the woman’s bosom.
“The charge will be rape,” Hackwell said.
“Bloody bitch kicked me,” Spellen spluttered. “I never got in. And anyway she wanted it. She agreed to meet me here.”
Jenny’s head came up. “You lie,” she shouted.
“And you gagged her and tied her?” Bink growled.
“She wanted it.”
Agruen pushed forward. “Oh, come now, Hackwell, haven’t you ever heard of this game? Many women like to be tied up. Some men too.”
Bink pulled Spellen’s arms to his back, making him gasp again. “Well then, we’ll make it nice and tight so your man here enjoys it.”
Mabel’s arrival with a cup of chocolate woke Paulette. The sun shone brightly through the open curtains and shimmered off the yellow walls.
She shoved back the covers and took a sip. Chocolate was a rare treat. “Oh, this is divine. But it’s so late. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were up half the night and finally sleeping so soundly.”
“I must find—.” She bit off the next words, Mr. Gibson.
“He’s ridden for the magistrate.”
She climbed from the bed juggling her cup. Perhaps he’d found the ring and would charge Agruen with theft. “Why? What happened?”
“Well, no one is saying much, but they’re all a-whispering, and one of the maids is still abed, but no one is allowed to talk to her except the housekeeper. They’re saying she’s sick.”
“Have you seen Jenny? What does she say?”
“That good girl you had running all night with your laundry and such? I’ve not seen her either. But I heard whispers Lord Agruen’s valet is locked up in a stout shed back beyond the stables, with two of the footmen keeping watch.”
Paulette’s heart quickened and she gripped the cup tighter. His valet was locked up, and a maid abed. One didn’t have to have a governess to deduce the connection.
A dagger to the man’s privates would be the proper solution.
Mabel reached for her cup, a strand of hair peeping from under her cap. She must have had a long visit to the stables to wheedle her news.
“That was a very long whisper, I’d say. I wonder where you heard it.”
Mabel shrugged.
“Well, then,” Paulette said, “Where’s Agruen?”
“Johnny said he’s out with the other lords shooting.”
“And where’s Thomas?”
“Thomas?”
“Lord Hackwell’s brother. Did you not see him last night? A tall boy?”
“Why, in the nursery, I suppose.”
Paulette poured another cup of chocolate, and drank it down, her stomach growling. Perhaps there would still be some cold toast and bacon set out. Perhaps Lady Hackwell was in the breakfast room. Perhaps she would tell her what happened to the maid.
And perhaps she would also know when Mr. Gibson was to return.
She must try to find out without sounding too interested.
Lady Hackwell appeared for breakfast a little after Paulette. When Paulette inquired about the ill maid, Lady Hackwell sent the footman for more tea and coffee and bade him close the door. She slid her pla
te near Paulette’s and drew closer.
“Lord Agruen’s valet assaulted one of my maids last night.” Her voice shook and her fist tightened around her knife.
Paulette’s skin crawled. It was as bad as she had thought. The valet would be as vile as the master.
“I would be pleased if you would not mention this to anyone for the girl’s sake. We are still sorting out the facts.”
Had it been unwelcome?
“Mr. Gibson and the housekeeper discovered them. It was quite unpleasant.”
She pictured Agruen’s valet sneaking into the women’s quarters. “Oh, the poor girl.”
“Yes.”
“Was she one of yours? I mean, was she from your home in Sussex?”
“Yes. It is easy enough for a girl to succumb to a pretty face and a smooth manner.” She spread jam on her toast, the knife shaking. “But not this girl, I think, and not in these circumstances.”
Not Jenny then. The saucy, pretty girl looked to have a bit of the flirt in her. She and Mabel had quite liked her. “What will happen to her?” She’d been rescued from Agruen twice. Perhaps she could hire the girl away from the whispers and the condemnation likely to follow.
Not that she needed another maid. She could barely afford to keep Mabel.
Lady Hackwell patted her hand. “Do not worry. We do not rescue them to throw them away again after one mishap.” The door latch creaked. “I’d be pleased if you would keep this private,” she whispered.
“Of course,” Paulette said.
“Do you ride, my dear?”
“Well, I have a horse and I used to have a cart that I drove by myself, but riding, well, not often.” Only a few times in fact, when she’d straddled Horace bareback. The one time Mabel caught her, the maid had come close to an apoplexy. She set down her fork. “Actually, to be honest, one couldn’t say that I ride at all.”
Lady Hackwell laughed. “It’s time you started. Leave everything to me. If you do not mind a riding habit that’s a bit made over, well, I know just the horse for you. We’ll have you on Moonglow, the gentlest boy in our stables.”
“I believe the gentlest boy in your stables at present must be my Horace, whom Mr. Gibson rescued for me.” Paulette smiled. “Though he has never had a saddle strapped to him, so perhaps you are right.” Her cheeks heated. “Horace, I mean. In any case, it is ever so nice of you to offer, but I’m not sure I’ll be with you for very much longer.”
Lady Hackwell studied her without blinking, and her smile grew warmer. “My dear, I’m talking about this afternoon. My husband wants to take you round. Thomas will go with you—you were ever so kind to him last night, I’m afraid he’s ready to have you stay forever. And of course, we’ll send a groom along. I’d go myself except that this one—” she patted her stomach, “has started to make his or her presence known. But I have no doubt you’ll do well.”
It was Johnny, Mabel’s beau, who boosted her onto a yellow gelding and coached her on how to keep her seat and manage the horse. The heavy skirt of the sapphire blue riding garb was a devil to work with, but once arranged, it anchored her to the saddle.
Three maids had swarmed her after her breakfast, carrying the dress, tucking and pinning. They’d come back an hour later with the altered gown, and Lady Hackwell had insisted she keep it.
None of the maids had been Jenny, which seemed a bit odd. The girl had been so helpful the night before, yet…she’d not brought the soiled gown back from the laundry. She would need to have Mabel check on it.
Johnny released her and she circled the yard and brought the horse to a halt.
“That’s right, miss,” Johnny said. “You have the hang of it. Sure and you never rode before?”
She laughed and patted the horse’s neck. “Never with a saddle. And never aside. But don’t tell anyone that, Johnny.”
He pounded his heart and promised. She liked Mabel’s conquest.
“Are you coming with us today?” she asked.
“Not as I know, miss.”
Riding had her nerves jumping, and riding with Hackwell—well, he seemed a kind enough man, and certainly his wife thought so, but Mrs. Everly’s whining voice started up in her head. Unless he’s your husband, never be alone with a titled gentleman. And didn’t her experience with Agruen prove that?
Her face warmed. And then, there was the untitled gentleman who’d kissed her last night.
“Master Thomas will be along to help you, needs be,” Johnny said, smiling.
Ach, Mabel’s new man beamed a quite handsome smile. She wished she could keep him, for Mabel’s sake. “Well, then, I’ll count on Thomas hanging back to help me while his lordship rides ahead.”
Male voices drew her attention. Lord Hackwell and Mr. Gibson strode toward the stables, both in riding attire. Her heart lifted, and then a memory of the previous night’s kiss swept through her, and a furious heat overtook her.
Chapter 11
A few deep breaths restored Paulette’s good sense. With Mr. Gibson along, she would be safe from his lordship. And with his lordship along, she would be safe from Mr. Gibson.
And she must know whether he’d found her mother’s ring.
She lifted her hand in a greeting.
“Excellent,” Lord Hackwell cried. “You do ride, Miss Heardwyn. You there, where are our mounts?”
Johnny doffed his cap and trotted into the stable.
“I need a word with Miss Heardwyn,” Mr. Gibson said.
His lordship looked from him to her, laughed, and walked in after Johnny.
Mr. Gibson patted her horse’s neck. “It wasn’t there.”
Her skin buzzed at his nearness and she tried to steady her voice. “Thank you. I heard about what happened last night.”
“Yes, well, the valet was below stairs, and the coast was clear, as they say.” He frowned and seemed to study the horse’s mane.
“We do not need to go riding today if there is business with the legal authorities.”
“He insists we both go. Were you told where we are going?”
“Only a ride around the estate, I thought.”
He lifted his gaze and she saw humor there under layers of fatigue. The poor man had been up half the night and had already had a morning of hard riding. “An infernal, managing busybody is Lord Hackwell. He insists we visit Little Norwick.”
A tremble passed through her. Little Norwick was the cottage bequeathed to the proposed Mr. and Mrs. Gibson. The croft that was to be her prison.
Panic threatened to bloom. Perhaps they would lock her up there today. She had no means of escape—a horse she didn’t really know how to ride, no money and no loyal servants with her. She might be stuck there, as she’d been at Ferndale Cottage.
His large hand engulfed hers. “We will visit and come back. Do not be afraid. No one will force your hand, least of all Hackwell. His lady would thrash him senseless if he tried.”
She gulped air and tried to calm herself. “Of course. It’s…it’s so near here?”
“A few miles as the crow flies. Quite a bit farther by roads. We’ll be crossing fields, which is why we’re not going by carriage.”
“Have you been there?”
“I’ve seen the edge of the property but never the house.”
A short while later, her worry had been replaced by exhilaration. Thomas rode alongside her at times, and at others, while they carefully skirted around crops soon to be harvested, behind her, the two men ahead, with Mr. Gibson leading the way through gates.
They pulled up in an overgrown field. “The house should be up there,” Mr. Gibson pointed. “That hedge was the property line and this is the back approach. These fields should have been let.” He frowned.
“Your brother was negligent,” Lord Hackwell said.
“More like his father had the run of it and didn’t bother with such details.” Mr. Gibson prodded his mount and rode off.
“You mean your father,” Lord Hackwell called, laughing.
Mr.
Gibson’s back went straighter and he kept going.
“There’s only trees,” Thomas said.
And a tangle of them at that. The house must be small indeed.
Lord Hackwell chuckled. “Yes, well, the next residents will have some work to do on these details.” Hackwell spurred his horse and went after Mr. Gibson.
“We’d best follow, I suppose,” Paulette said. But when she looked back, Thomas was not moving. The boy had been sullen all morning.
She caught his eye and pulled a face at him. “What’s wrong with you today?”
His mouth turned down further.
“You didn’t want to come, did you?”
“I wanted to see Jenny, and they wouldn’t let me.”
“Jenny…” The hair on her neck prickled. She turned Moonglow around and moved him closer. “Jenny?”
Her breath caught. The valet was below stairs and the coast was clear.
She’d sent Jenny down to the laundry.
She reached out for Thomas, and Moonglow shied.
“Damn it,” she cried, grasping handfuls of mane to keep from toppling.
Thomas reached for her reins and held Moonglow steady while she righted herself, face burning.
When she looked, the boy’s mood had shifted.
“Well, I’m new to this,” she said, and he grunted like a twelve-year-old scoundrel. She took a deep breath. “Jenny was the one attacked by Agruen’s valet.”
“Yes,” he said.
“And no one would tell me. But everyone else knows, or will know before the day is out.”
He bit his lip. “They’ll send her away.”
“No, Lady Hackwell won’t do that, will she?”
“For her own good, the nursery maid said. They’ll find her a new place far away, else she’ll always be that girl who spread her legs.”
“What?” Paulette exclaimed.
He shrugged. “Every rank swell as visits will be bothering her. It’s not fair.”
No, it wasn’t. But much in life wasn’t, and didn’t she know it. And if Jenny found herself carrying a child…egad, it would make the poor girl’s life even harder.
“Your brother will not be so cruel as to send her away,” she said.
The Bastard's Iberian Bride (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 1) Page 11
