by Claudy Conn
“As it happens, we owe the duke a measure of gratitude, we do, coz if we hadn’t piked over to Teeside, we wouldn’t a learnt about Hawkins!”
Mandy and the duke said as one voice, “Hawkins?” And Mandy added, “Who the deuce is Hawkins?”
“If you would but be quiet missy, I will tell ye,” Chauncey said eyeing her dampeningly.
Mandy sat on a large flat rock and folded her arms across her middle. She was surrounded by men who were as far as she was concerned, lording it over her. Her question was reasonable. What was wrong with her question?
“As you were saying,” encouraged the duke. “You discovered something about Hawkins?”
“Aye, and a thousand pities we couldn’t a stayed a mite longer and prigged this ‘ere Hawkins’ direction, Yer Grace. But had this need to shake our shambles out of the Red Hart Inn…real sudden-like.”
“Something in the Red Hart make you fidgety?” the duke encouraged, one brow arched.
Ned laughed out loud and slapped Chauncey on the back. “Lord, no, duke, don’t let Chauncey bamboozle you. He enjoyed every minute of it. Certes…” he turned to his sister, “Mandy, wait till you hear.”
“Oh, am I allowed in all this male togetherness, then?” she asked still miffed with them.
He ignored her and said, “We hobnobbed with a redbreast,” Ned declared, grinning broadly. “A Bow Street Runner…from London…a runner, Mandy!”
Mandy was not amused. “What?” she shrieked.
“Famous good sport,” added her brother, lest she think he had not enjoyed the encounter.
“Oh no, Neddy, no, but how? Why?” Mandy asked her face and tone full with dismay.
“Indeed, I should like to know that as well,” stuck in the duke solemnly. “But first, shall we return to the beginning. You were about to inform us, who Hawkins may be and what he has to do with Elly Bonner.”
“But a runner? Your Grace…they were stopped by a runner!” Mandy stuck in much disturbed by this.
“No, if you had but listened more closely, you would have heard that they had a conversation with the illustrious fellow. I am quite certain we shall hear all about it in good time, but for now, we shall forego this particular treat and return to the issue at hand—Hawkins if you please.” He eyed both Chauncey and Ned alike.
“Right then, Hawkins,” Ned grinned unabashedly. “As to that, I’m not sure why Chauncey is so dashed pleased about…”
Chauncey gave Ned a scathing look and was about to follow this up with (no one doubted) a scathing remark, but the duke hastily stuck in, “Nevertheless, young man, you will do me the honor of imparting your information to me and then I’ll be the judge as to its value.”
Mandy couldn’t help but smile to see her brother blush, but as she turned she found herself locked in a gaze with the duke.
Once again, she was struck by the depth of expression and intelligence in his deep blues. She couldn’t look away as she tried to fathom his thoughts and couldn’t.
“Yes, gamine?” he said softly. “Is there something you needed to ask me?”
“Me? Ask? No…not at all,” she returned feeling as hot as Ned had looked a moment ago.
“Right, so off we went to find this friend of Chauncey’s at the Red Hart. Turns out that although he doesn’t know Elly, he knows this Hawkins fellow, but he doesn’t know where Hawkins is precisely,” Ned said on a heavy sigh.
Impatiently, the duke dismissed Ned and turned to Chauncey, “Perhaps my man, you may be able to tell me who the devil Hawkins is!”
“Aye, that I can and be glad to do it,” returned Chauncey gruffly. He brushed his hands free of the crumbs of bread left from the last piece he had just devoured and said, “He be Elly Bonner’s man!”
Mandy’s hand went to her mouth. A sudden sure hope filled her. This was more than they had hitherto been able to find out. A sure dawning lit in her brain. This was due to the fact that it was the duke who had helped them by sending them off to Teeside. This was such wondrous news that she clapped her hands together and said, “This is such brilliant good news.”
The duke eyed her quietly for a moment and feeling his gaze resting on her she looked at him inquiringly. “Isn’t it good news?”
Ned stuck in sourly at that moment, “Don’t see that. What is good about it? Useless if you ask me. Now there are two of them missing that we can’t find.”
The duke held up his hand, at that and said, “Perhaps not as useless as you think, Ned. What we need now is a description of this Hawkins fellow and his habits, his haunts. He may be keeping Elly Bonner hidden, but I’ll wager he is walking about freely, thinking no one is looking for him.”
“Have it he is a big covey,” stuck in Chauncey. “A sight larger than me, square-set, thick-jawed and mean. A vulgar make bait by all accounts and wot’s more, ‘tis said he don’t pound deal.”
Mandy leaned in toward her brother and whispered, “Pound-deal?”
“Honest work, sis,” her brother supplied with a grin, evidently pleased to have one up on her.
“Thought so, just wanted to be sure,” she said and returned her attention to the duke’s face. He looked so very serious.
“Also,” put in Chauncey pulling at his lower lip, “I wasn’t outright told, but had the notion that this Hawkins covey rides the high toby a bit.”
“And does he frequent the Red Hart?” the duke asked.
“Aye, but he hasn’t been seen there in a few weeks.”
“And what about Elly?” Mandy stuck in. “Were you able to learn anything about her whereabouts?”
“More’s the pity, missy. Not a word on the chit,” Chauncey replied sighing sadly. “M’friend says he always thought her a prime mort, not up to the bobbery of ‘er covey, this Hawkins bloke. But there, no telling wot fetch a mort will take in her noddle when her heart be in it,” Chauncey pronounced.
“And what about this Bow Street Runner?” Mandy asked casting an accusing eye at the duke. She wasn’t being fair, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to control her wild and fluctuating emotions where he was concerned, and it was his fault, putting on such a superior air as though he were the only one who knew anything about everything.
“Yes,” the duke said softly, a smile curving his lips as she scowled at him. “I too would like to hear about your encounter with the runner.”
“By Jove, yes!” Ned said cheering up. “We noted this stranger had arrived at the inn, and he had a look about him. Well, can’t say, I noticed, but Chauncey here is a right ‘un, up to snuff on everything. Said the cove didn’t look like a cit, farmer or a gentleman. Said it was time we loped off. We were doing just that, when the fellow up and raises his bumper of ale at us, and calls on the weather for conversation.” Ned made a quirky face, “Right, so we told him it was well enough and what must he do but call on us to join him in a drink.” Ned shook his head and looked at Chauncey. “We nearly died on the spot because by then, we had a notion what he was, you see. Well, we tried to cry off, but he would hear nothing of it.” He gave his sister’s shoulder a shove, “Mandy, he tipped his hat and told us his name. Fowler, he said, my name is Fowler and I am looking to lease some summer lodging.”
“Oh Ned! I don’t like that, not one bit. Why you? Why of all the people at the tavern did he single you two out?”
“Aye, we didn’t like it very much either,” Ned answered. “By that time, Chauncey had managed to tell me the cove was a runner and that we had to make our way out and fast.”
“How did you know he was a runner?” Mandy asked of Chauncey.
“He gave me pricklies down me spine, he did. Suspicioned he was a redbreast the moment I clapped eyes on him—prune-faced, he is and with cat-sticks for legs. That laid all doubt to rest and then his name…could only be a runner.”
“Oh Faith! He is the one that is staying in Harrowgate. He must have known who you were…he must have.”
“Now missy, don’t take on so. As it happens I don’t think he was really interested in us. No
, seemed to be more interested in the lay of the land.”
“Well, that is interesting,” the duke put in quietly.
“Is it?” Mandy said thoughtfully, “Ah, yes he would want to know where he might find Ned in hiding…perhaps investigate by getting a feeling for the surrounding landscape.”
“Did he inquire after the abbey Ruins?” the duke asked Chauncey as he chose to ignore Mandy.
“No. He wanted to know about the York Road. Wanted to know if there were any hidden caves of limestone…any old quarries in that vicinity, like the one up at the Peak. Said he was interested in such things,” Chauncey answered.
“Aye, and then Chauncey told him we weren’t familiar with the area,” Ned stuck in.
“That’s right. Told him we were strangers ourselves. Then this noddle here,” he said indicating Ned with a wave of his hand, “Had a mind to be helpful and started to describe a track of the canyon off the Wharfe River and would have gone on and on if I hadn’t thought to spill his ale.”
Ned pulled a face and folded his arms across his chest.
Chauncey poked a finger in the air at Ned. “Told ye he was a runner. Ye don’t talk to a runner anymore than ye have to.” Having said this, he produced a length of dried beef from his inner pocket and tore a piece off and began to chew.
“Not to my particular taste, but hungry…hand a piece over, Chauncey,” Ned said putting out his hand.
Chauncey cast the duke a look and with a twinkling eye gave Ned a length of the dried beef and sat back to enjoy his.
Mandy gaped at them and remembered that she was starving. As she watched her brother eat, she collected a diatribe of abuse to ring down on his head for not sharing, when a loaf of bread was dropped into her hands. She looked up and saw the duke’s blues glittering with laughter. Reluctantly she thanked him and sat with her bread and imagined her favorite hot meal. While she ate her bread, she saw Chauncey hand the duke a bottle of wine and noticed that his smile could be quite boyish and so very charming at times.
Chauncey got up and went to his saddlebags and returned with additional and far more delectable selection of food. She found the fresh drumsticks, and day old tarts delicious as she fell on these with great enthusiasm and grinning looked up to find the duke’s eyes on her. Oddly, he looked troubled and his voice seemed tinged with concern as he said, “You can’t be allowed to suffer here in the wild much longer. It is unthinkable.”
“When we get Elly and the diary, we’ll be free again, and all will be well,” she answered on a heavy sigh. “Though I am desperately worried about this runner.”
“I wouldn’t be. I don’t think he is here for Ned,” the duke answered thoughtfully.
“Don’t you? Why not?”
“Appearances are often deceiving, Mandy. We must try and take a good look at the big picture, because jumping to the wrong conclusions could entrap us.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. He seemed to care. Well, of course, he cared, she told herself. Why wouldn’t he? His name was attached to theirs! Heaven forbid he might be encased in such a scandal. She was sure that was his only reason for caring.
“I haven’t jumped to conclusions. There is a runner in town. It would be foolhardy not to be wary. It is just too much of a coincidence that a runner is here and Ned and I are in hiding…for…” she let her voice trail off as she couldn’t bring herself to say ‘murder’.
“We both wish I was not in the unfortunate position of being your guardian, but as I am, I shall look out not only for Ned and you, but for Chauncey as well, so you needn’t worry yourself to death over everything,” he said quietly.
“Well, guardian you may be, but I don’t see us any closer to solving this puzzle,” Mandy said and sounded even to her own ears shrewish. Whatever was wrong with her? She felt her moods swing high and low and all because of something the duke would say or wouldn’t say. It was most uncomfortable.
“You will remember that had you not made your brother and your groom fugitives, I would have arrived and been in a much better position of clearing Ned’s name. Even so, I am here now and I do not intend to allow anyone to harm any of you.”
Chapter Eight
THE DAY WAS slowly dimming into dusk as the sun settled in the west and cast shadows over the viscount’s beautifully manicured estate, but the duke was scarcely aware of the time or the loveliness of the long summer’s day. Instead, his mind raced with the questions he needed immediate answers for and he marched into the viscount’s well ordered home, ready to demand those answers. It was apparent to all he encountered that he was in a blistering mood.
Sticwell, the viscount’s butler did his best to dispel some of His Grace’s black humor, by inquiring after his needs and although the duke offered him a half smile and a coin for his trouble, his thoughts continued to swirl darkly in his head. Things did not quite meet the eye and he had the distinct notion that his friend was keeping something from him. What it was, he could not fathom, but he was determined to get to the bottom of the coil and unwind it. “Where is the viscount, my man?”
“Housed with his man of business in the study, Your Grace.”
“Would you have him join me in the library as soon as he has finished,” the duke returned and started for the library.
He had two needs: The first, a drink and with that end in mind, he made his way to the library, picked up the decanter of the viscount’s very fine brandy and poured a hefty snifter. This he put to his lips and savored for a few moments before contemplating what lay before him.
The second of his needs he meant to achieve as soon as the viscount appeared and that was to get answers to the very pointed questions he meant to ask. Those questions were bound to give his friend a start and there was the very good chance that Skip would take umbrage, however, the questions needed to be asked. There just was no help for it, because the matter at hand had dropped from serious to dire.
The duke continued to sip at his libation while one hand troubled his hair. He stared at the red roses just outside the panoramic window and dash it, all he could see was her face.
Everything about her haunted his thoughts. Damn, but the chit was the most infuriating female of his acquaintance…as well as the most desirable.
She was in his blood, keeping his shaft hard and in need. He was damned uncomfortable and he knew he had no business thinking of her the way he did. She was his responsibility and she was he was certain, an innocent who should not be dallied with by such as he. Yet, he didn’t seem to have any control when she was near. It was as though everything about her wrapped itself around him and pulled. He was drawn against his will—deuce take it all!
Fiend seize this muddle he was trapped within.
He had set out to save his reputation by saving the twins from the scandal they had been plunged into. He now found that he didn’t give a rap for how this affected his standing in the haute ton. All he seemed to care about was clearing these two and returning them to their home.
The twins though scamps, though infuriating, though more trouble than he had ever encountered in his hedonistic life, were both worth their weight in gold. They were honest and dear hearted. They were like bright shiny stars gleaming through a cloudy sky. Singular beings. No one with an ounce of sense should believe Sherborne capable of murdering anyone, let alone a helpless woman. Damnation, but he could not allow the young lord to be accused of such a crime. It was monstrous. The boy was as pure-hearted a young gentleman as ever he had encountered and he had no doubt that he would have helped Celia had he known the trouble she was in, perhaps even married her to save her name that was the sort of man Ned Sherborne was!
Blister it!
He downed the glass of brandy and poured another, strode over to the yellow brocade sofa and sank down within its cushioned depths. The situation confronting him was a good deal murkier than he had anticipated.
He wanted an immediate solution to the problem of getting his wards safely installed in their homes again. Mandy sleeping
on straw, eating stale bread and dried beef for so long was unthinkable. She hadn’t even a season yet. She should have been enjoying routs and balls. She should have been in London taking the ton by storm…not sleeping outdoors in the dank underground of an abbey ruins.
Egad, what was wrong with him? Why was he so affected by all this? He was far too emotional and he didn’t get emotional. He should approach the problem logically, emotion be damned.
Even as he told himself these things, Mandy’s piquant face, her laughing dark eyes, and her spirit—her indomitable spirit teased him so that he was licking his lips with the thought of kissing her.
Sometimes he damn well wanted to take her over his knee…
But oh her pluck, her faith, her determination, made him want to shift her onto that same knee and press it between her thighs…
The door opened again to display Sticwell instead of the Viscount and the duke’s brows rose. When Sticwell announced, Sir Owen, the duke was actually astonished. Well, well, what was this?
Sir Owen entered the library, his hand extended, “Your Grace, Sticwell tells me the viscount is momentarily occupied, so I hope I don’t intrude on you by waiting here for him?”
This was an opportunity to investigate the man and see what his intentions toward Mandy actually were, though he had already decided that with his pockets to let, Owen was probably only after Mandy for her inheritance. After all, the man was an inveterate gambler and a notorious petticoat man. It was certainly possible that he had been charmed by Mandy and therefore, perhaps his heart might be in it. Even so, Sir Owen was not the sort of man he would choose for her—not the sort at all!
He looked Sir Owen over as he waved him to be seated. The man was casually dressed in buckskins and an open neck white shirt beneath. His riding boots had been polished and he wore his auburn hair carefully parted and combed.
“Not at all, pour yourself a drink and be comfortable, Sir Owen.” As he watched the man stride over to the wall table he remarked, “I have not seen you about London in a very long time.”
