She narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. “You would not dare tell anyone that George and I—”
He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Would I not? What would I have to lose?”
“Why you unconscionable—”
“Careful, Miss Faraday. I am a desperate man, after all. Why else would I have got myself into this quagmire?” That much, at least, was true.
She pressed her lips together in a thin line and Anthony dashed off the ransom note in block letters. “Should I consider myself a captive, Mr. Rush?”
“I believe that might be for the best, Miss Faraday.”
As she watched Mr. Rush ride away to post the ransom note, Chloe wondered how her plan had gotten away from her. It had taken on a life of its own and now proceeded even against her will. She had to find some way out of this, even if Mr. Rush refused to help. One thing was certain, she couldn’t allow the man to stand in her way. She would have to rely upon her own wits.
Not that Mr. Rush hadn’t any wits. To the contrary. But the gamekeepers she had known were rather rustic and had the sketchiest of educations. Not so with Mr. Rush. A man who kept a copy of Life of Nelson on his nightstand must have the curiosity to want to read it and the sophistication to understand it. He might be brusque and border on rude, but his manners were good enough when he chose to use them.
In fact, nothing about Mr. Rush was as it should be. He was an enigma. Where in the world had George found the man?
Well, ’twas done, and she would have to deal with it. Mr. Rush might be clever, but he was no match for her. And now, with his decision to actually ransom her, she was determined to escape him. She’d noted the direction he’d taken to post his message and knew that a town or village must lie in that direction. She’d bide her time, make her preparations, and then, when he least suspected it, she’d make her escape. She had several pounds to buy coach fare home. All she had to do was find the village.
Anthony’s horse shifted in the small clearing and the leather of his saddle creaked as he dismounted. The day had grown overcast with a cold drizzle soaking him through as he waited. He was chilled to the bone and his injured leg stiffened. He flexed the muscles, alternately extending and bending at the knee several times to work the stiffness out.
When George Faraday appeared through the curtain of dripping leaves, he sighed with relief. The last thing he needed was to catch pneumonia when he had a helpless female on his hands.
George dismounted and gestured to Anthony’s leg. “What do your doctors say, Chandler?”
“The limp will improve slightly but is with me for life. My scars will fade and be less visible, but will never be gone entirely. My strength and stamina will return in full—and I feel the evidence of that each day. And the memories and nightmares should diminish over time. An acceptable price for the victory, I suppose.”
“All the same…” George’s unfinished thought trailed off as he shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t risked so much.”
Anthony smiled and clapped George on the back. “We can’t always weigh the reward against the risk, Faraday, but I’d have done the same if I’d have known the outcome. I’m still breathing and the battle was won.”
George removed his riding gloves and ducked beneath the protection of an oak tree. “Did you bring the ransom note?”
“Aye.” He withdrew it from an inner fold of his jacket and handed it to George. “Your sister thinks I’ve gone to the village postmaster. If she knew I was meeting you, she’d have followed me. And now that I know her a bit better, I’ll be surprised if your stepfather pays ransom.”
George laughed. “Already?”
“You could have warned me.”
“I thought I did.”
“I wasn’t prepared for the reality.”
“Have you found anything redeemable in my sister?”
Anthony thought of the girl in a filmy chemise. Yes, indeed. There was something redeemable there. He changed the subject to a safer topic. “What is going on at your end.”
“The ‘kidnapper’ left a note saying that Chloe would be well cared for and untouched as long as they negotiated in good faith. That has reassured them. Now that you’re asking ransom, they will assume you are a man of your word and they will be able to get Chloe back.”
Anthony shook his head in disgust. “I am loath to have them suffer the uncertainty. By your sister’s own admission, she had not thought of how this would affect your parents.”
“Steppapa is more angry than anything. Mother is in fine fettle, though. I’ve never see her so animated. I’d have wagered she would be in a constant swoon, but not so. She storms about the house, cursing kidnappers, their mothers and their mother’s mothers. I never would have guessed all she needed to pull her from her constant melancholy was a cause.”
“All the same, I dislike to have them suffer the uncertainty.”
George shrugged. “I’ve seen the suspicion in old Hubbard’s eyes. I think he has a notion that Chloe might be behind this. I told him I was riding north to inform you of this development and to ask if you will honor your contracts.”
“Then tell him to proceed with the wedding preparations.”
“Truly?”
“Aye. My father has arrived from Wales to attend the wedding. I told him I had last-minute business, and he asked no questions. He says he cannot wait to meet my bride.” He paused to give a cynical laugh. “He may yet have a long wait. This morning she asked to call this off and return her home.”
George’s eyes widened. “She cannot. Our stepfather would blister her backside, disinherit us both and bring charges against you with a suit to force you to marry. You’ve got to hold her until the wedding, Chandler. And don’t start feeling sorry for the chit. She knew she’d be committed the instant she began.”
Sorry? For Miss Faraday? He snorted. “I’ll do my part. But aside from your stepfather’s state of mind, how are events unfolding?”
“Nothing is according to plan, I’m afraid.” George sighed. “Hubbard hired a pack of bloodhounds to follow Chloe’s scent to the crossroads where she caught the coach. Then he called out the local garrison who are now scouring the countryside in a radius around Litchfield. The plan is to widen their circle until they find her, or find someone who has seen her.”
“Your sister’s scheme is going to finish us all at the end of a hangman’s noose. The government does not take kindly to this sort of deception.” He shook his head. “I cannot believe I consented to go along with it.”
George threw his words back at him. “Weigh the reward against the risk, Chandler.”
He raised his eyebrows. Was Faraday joking?
Chapter Four
Sunlight poured in an open dormer window and carried with it a hint of lilacs. Chloe stretched and pushed herself up against her pillows. She sighed as she glanced about her room. When she’d first climbed the ladder, she had expected to find rough quarters and a straw mattress. She had been amazed to find a lovely room divided into two sections—a sitting area with chairs and tables, and a bedroom with high four-poster bed, puffy down mattress and an embroidered quilt.
If she were to be honest, the room was more comfortable than her own room at home. The only problem with this one was that she had to access it up a ladder. But, after seeing that the gamekeeper was lame, she understood why she’d been given the loft. Curiosity tweaked her and she wondered how he’d come by his injury. A hunting accident, perhaps?
The smell of ham and eggs wafted to her from the room below and her mouth watered. She threw her covers back and shook out a willow-green day dress. She wouldn’t put it past Mr. Rush to throw her food out if she wasn’t downstairs before he cleared the table.
As she dressed, she began to plan her strategy. She’d fallen asleep before he’d come home last night, so she didn’t know how his errand had gone. She doubted there had been any problems. Posting a letter in the local village could not be too difficult. Regardless, she would have to lull him
into a sense of complacency if she were to make an escape. She would leave him some money, though. That was the least she could do to compensate the man for his troubles. She was surprised that George hadn’t paid him already. Unless…was Mr. Rush cozening her to get more money?
She made her bed, brushed her hair and tied it back with a ribbon. Assuming a pleasant demeanor, she backed down the ladder hoping Mr. Rush was not watching her inelegant descent, but his attention was focused on his plate. Thank heavens the man was so single-minded. She cleared her throat as she approached the table.
“Good morning, Mr. Rush.”
He glanced up at her and she was surprised to see his haggard expression. “Good morning, Miss Faraday.”
“Did you post your ransom note?”
“Everything went as it should,” he allowed.
“Grand.”
He’d set a place for two, so she sat and helped herself from the plate in the center of the table. The eggs were cooked through and the ham was crisp around the edges. First the porridge and now this. Cooking was not his strong suit, she decided. Ah yes, this would be a perfect way to both lull and spite him! “Mr. Rush, I have been thinking about what you said—about me earning my keep. If you will allow it, I will be pleased to do the cooking.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Is my cooking not to your liking?”
Her cheeks burned as she gave her attention to her plate. How could the man see through her so easily? “There is little else for me to do,” she said.
“I like my breakfast before midmorning, Miss Faraday. There are no social events in the forest to keep us up until the wee hours and therefore no reason to lie abed until noon.”
Chloe gritted her teeth. “I shall rise early, sir.”
He was silent a long moment, then nodded. “Shall I assume you have some experience in preparing meals?”
“None,” she lied smoothly, “but how difficult could it be?” A muscle jumped along his jaw as he bit back a retort and she nearly laughed. Oh, what a perfect way to torture him for his ill-tempered remark about lying abed. She began to plan for the interesting dishes she would make him.
She ate a forkful of eggs, which were not as bad as they looked, and decided to see if she could engage him in conversation. “How soon do you expect to hear back on your ransom demand?”
“Another day or so.”
“So soon? Heavens, I thought it would take longer to pass messages at this distance.”
“I can see how that would better suit your plans, Miss Faraday. The longer the delay, the more effective the dodge.”
“As I told you, sir, I have changed my mind.”
“Not about the marriage,” he reminded her. “Just about the method.”
“True, but that makes no difference to my scheme.”
“It does to your betrothed.”
She gave him an uncomfortable shrug. “You are quite earnest in my fiancé’s defense. Yesterday you said he was probably regretting his proposal. If that is so, he should be thanking me for my little scheme.”
He sat back in his chair and regarded her over the rim of his cup. “What is it about marriage that disturbs you, Miss Faraday? Or is it just marriage to this particular man?”
Oh, dear. There was that question again. How could she ever confess the truth to a perfect…well, not-so-perfect stranger? “Really, sir, you presume too much on so short an acquaintance.”
“Do I?” He arched one dark eyebrow and it made his scar pull the muscles of his cheek into a devilish grin. “I think I presume just right. Are you ever likely to see me again once this affair is over and you are safely back home? No. And am I the sort of man who would discuss what you tell me? Again, no. I’d say I am an opportunity not to be missed. Really, Miss Faraday, why not avail yourself of my ear?”
There was something very tantalizing in his offer. Someone to be herself with? What would be the harm? She might even be relieved to say those things aloud. After all, she didn’t really care what he thought but it might be easier if he was not quite so dangerous looking. Or if he just didn’t make her feel so uneasy when he watched her.
“Come now, Miss Faraday. Can it be that difficult?”
“Perhaps if I knew more about you,” she said.
“What do you need to know? We aren’t going to tea, or sharing a dance at a ball. You needn’t arrange a proper introduction.”
Yes, she supposed that was true. And if she knew him better, she might care what he thought. Yes, it was better this way. Impersonal. “I…I shall consider it, sir.”
He gave her a grin and something inside her tightened. “That is surprisingly circumspect of you,” he said. “Why not jump in? Surely you don’t care what I think of you?”
“No, I don’t,” she lied, angry that he’d guessed what she was thinking. “Very well. I object to both the man and the marriage.”
“On what grounds?”
“The man because he is a cold fish, and the marriage because it is devoid of affection.”
Mr. Rush folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head to one side. “Affection? You expect affection in marriage?”
“Yes. I think it is much nicer to feel some warmth for a man with whom you will, uh, share certain intimacies.”
“You want affection first, and then intimacy?”
“I believe affection is necessary to any close friendship. I should hope I could regard my husband as a friend. If not, then we would be doomed to a loveless marriage. And if he is the sort of man who cannot feel friendship for a woman at all, then…why, then he is not the sort of man I would want for a husband.”
“Did you ever think to go to him and learn what sort of man he is?”
“Mr. Rush, my fiancé never wrote me so much as a single word during our engagement. Two years, sir. Does that not speak of coldness and indifference? At best he is a crashing bore. I know all I need to know by his silence.”
“How many letters did you write him?”
“I did not have his address.”
He arched an eyebrow at her.
“Do not think to put this off on me,” she huffed.
“I think you share a part of the blame, Miss Faraday. And, to be honest, don’t you?”
She squirmed. “I suppose I could have acquired his address. But instead I had my news from returning officers and by way of my brother. But it all seemed…as if it were happening to someone else. It did not feel as if it had anything at all to do with me.”
A fleeting look of sympathy crossed Mr. Rush’s face. “I can see now that he should have written. That was a mistake. How were you to form a bond from silence?”
She sighed with relief. She had begun to think she was being unreasonable. Mr. Rush was the first to agree with her. Even her mother and brother had not understood how the silence had separated her emotionally from her betrothed.
“Thank you, Mr. Rush. I appreciate—”
“But,” he interrupted, “running away never solved anything. Have you thought that he might be too shy, too vulnerable to risk rejection by exposing his feelings in writing?”
She tried to imagine the man who’d been celebrated as the hero of Cuidad Rodrigo and who had been cited for valor in many other battles as being too timid to scratch a few lines on a piece of paper. Finally, she shook her head. “No, that never would have occurred to me, and I cannot imagine it now. The man killed people for a living, and you would have me believe him too sensitive to address a mere slip of a girl?”
Mr. Rush winced. “That is a bit harsh. And you are more than a mere slip of a girl, Miss Faraday. You are a headstrong female and a force to be reckoned with. But I sense there is more than the lack of a letter bothering you.”
Yes, but she had no intention of confessing what it was! “It is your turn, sir. Tell me something about yourself.”
He looked nonplussed. “I do not like to talk about myself. And, anyway, there is nothing to say.”
“Then tell me how you came by your limp.”
He placed his cup on the table and stood. “I have work to do. I will be gone most of the day.”
Anthony did his best to keep busy until nightfall. He chopped an absurd amount of wood considering that it was nearly summer, then set to work repairing the livery barn. The property had fallen into disrepair after his deployment to the peninsula and the servants had worked around the clock two days to make it ready for Miss Faraday’s arrival. They’d been told that a friend of his was going to use it for the summer as a convalescent retreat. Another of the half-truths he’d been telling lately. And, at the moment, he wasn’t convalescing. He was dodging his fiancée’s verbal darts.
In fact, he was still smarting from their conversation that morning. Why couldn’t she have asked him something easy? About his real name, or if he’d always been a gamekeeper, something vague about his family or what he planned to do with the ransom money?
But no. Miss Faraday could certainly cut right to the heart of a matter. Leave it to her to find his greatest vulnerability and poke it until it bled. He didn’t want to talk about the battle, nor his fallen comrades. He still couldn’t think of the explosion that had nearly taken his leg, or of the battlefield operation to save it that, of necessity, had been done without anesthesia. Those were horrors best left unspoken.
He lit a lantern and hung it from a beam, then splashed his face with water from the trough. Lacking a towel, he lifted his shirt over his head and used it to dry himself.
This whole kidnapping scheme was ill-conceived and doomed from the start. The fatal flaw in George’s plan was that all hell would break loose when Chloe Faraday found out who he really was! And once she knew, she would still refuse to go through with the marriage. She wouldn’t marry him? She didn’t want him? That was her decision and her right. But he’d damned well know the reason why. She owed him that much.
She’d struck a chord in her analysis of their problem. Silence did not forge bonds. Even clumsy attempts at courtship would have been better than none. Certainly she would feel no particular loyalty to a man who’d arranged a marriage without a single personal message. Even so, there was more to her refusal. There had to be more.
Broken Vows, Mended Hearts: A Bouquet of ThistlesPaying the PiperBattle-Torn Bride Page 11
