She nodded and he went to take Monsieur’s other arm. He and Mason more or less carried Monsieur as they went deeper and deeper into the woods, only stopping when they arrived at a clearing, where she noticed several pouches next to two horses tied to a tree.
They lifted her mentor onto one of the horses, draping his blanket over his legs. Mr. Mason took the reins and walked slowly beside it, keeping a steadying hand on Monsieur’s thigh. “We’ll head towards the road,” Reed said in low tones. He grasped her hand firmly and, going first, led his horse and them closer to the road.
“We need to follow the road but we have to be careful to stay far enough away so we can’t be seen.” Once they were about twenty feet from the road, he surprised her by leading them away from the closest village.
“They’ll be expecting us to go towards the village, which is why we’ll go in the opposite direction.” He started off. “Not a word, now. If they’re on the road, we don’t want them to hear us.”
They walked in complete silence for what seemed like hours, then just when she was ready to beg for a rest, Reed said they were far enough away to stop for the night.
“Monsieur, are you all right?” She went to him, after the investigator helped him down.
“Pas mal, ma petite,” he answered with a weak but wry smile. “Much better than in that hole. It is nice to see the night sky again and to breathe in fresh air.”
“We’ll rest here and wait for our reinforcements. They should be here by dawn,” Reed reassured them.
“You have reinforcements?” she asked, amazed at how well prepared they were.
“Yes.” Taking her blanket, which in their flight had slipped and which she now held over her arm, he spread it on a log and gestured for her to sit. It was conveniently lodged against a large tree that provided something solid to lean back against, as well as offering good cover. “You know the two men who have been watching us from across the street?”
“You mean those spies!”
“They were there to watch over me. They’re my friends and colleagues and, right now, they’re on their way to meet us with a group of others.”
“Others? How many? Who?” Would her kidnapping become public fodder, ruining her reputation, through no fault of her own?
“Can’t say how many, it depends on how many Spares they find.”
“Spares?” She was starting to feel foolish repeating his words back at him, but she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.
“It’s not important,” he assured her. “You’ll see in the morning. Now, you and Moreau need to get some sleep.” He removed a roll from behind his saddle. “You can use this sleeping roll.” He unfurled it and set it beside the large log on which she was sitting.
Mr. Mason unrolled the other and indicated Moreau should use it. Monsieur protested, “I’ve just slept the last month away.”
“Exactly, so you aren’t as strong as we need you to be tomorrow morning,” the investigator said.
“Tres bien.” Monsieur’s sagging shoulders spoke of his weariness. He let himself be tucked into the roll without another word.
Her dear mentor was heartsick at his nephew’s betrayal. He looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. But no doubt he’d sleep better tonight knowing there was to be a tomorrow.
She settled into the other roll and watched sleepily, as both their rescuers wrapped themselves in the blankets she and Monsieur had used on their way here. At least they wouldn’t freeze.
They leaned their backs against different sides of the huge tree. She doubted they intended to get any real sleep. They were going to keep watch through what was left of the night.
She was comforted knowing Reed was right beside her. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated his coming to their rescue, but before she could put voice to a word, her heavy eyelids shut.
* * *
Reed watched Tally’s eyes close. She was fighting falling asleep, but was too exhausted to win.
He didn’t speak. He wanted her to get a few hours rest because when the sun came up, they needed to be on the move. They had to get out of this area quickly, before that gun-toting steward was able to amass more support.
Within moments, her breathing had settled into the deeper, regular pattern of slumber.
He gestured to Mason that he should catch a few winks while Reed took the first watch. For the rest of the night, his eyes continually scanned the area around them, but his gaze kept returning to his sleeping beauty.
It was hard to believe how much she’d come to mean to him in such a short time.
He’d never have expected love to hit him like this.
He still wasn’t happy about the farce he’d been made to play an unwitting role in, but he had to be honest with himself. His anger stemmed more from discovering that she was not his wife, than from her acting as if she were. His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. Now that she was safe, he had time to re-examine the situation.
At a sudden rustling in the bush, he turned his head sharply. He was on his way to his feet, ready to wake Mason, when he spotted the tiny, wayward culprit — a hare, frozen with fear, staring back at him. Poor thing. Probably trying to find its way back to its mother. “Go on, little fellow. I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “And good luck to you.” He leaned back against the tree, grateful for its support.
Lord, he was tired!
Dawn crested before he realized it. Funny how the night had flown by, now that Tally was safe beside him. Last night had seemed to last an eternity, despite their mad dash from London to reach her. He’d been sick at heart over what atrocities might be inflicted on her. Hoping they wouldn’t be too late.
He stood and stretched his arms high above his head and then out to the sides, trying to work the knots out of his muscles and get his blood moving. Yawning widely, he leaned over and tapped Mason on the shoulder. “Time to get up.” He gestured toward the thicker woods. “If you want to go for a little walk prior to taking over, go ahead.”
When Mason returned, Reed said in low tones, “I’m going to go see if our friends have arrived. I wouldn’t want them to stumble into a trap set for us.”
He walked his horse to a clearing, mounted, and slowly picked his way along, so as not to wake Tally or Monsieur or alert any of those looking for them to his presence. Like last night, he kept to the trees while following the road, but made good time, nevertheless. Someone had been thinning the trees regularly because he had ample space to ride unimpeded. As he neared the area leading into the Abbey, he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree and continued on foot.
He heard the nicker before he saw the horse and peered cautiously around a tree. Nodding, he stepped into the clearing and closed in on the horseman.
“Bout time you got here. We’ve been waiting for hours,” Jace said without turning his head.
“Damn it, man, do you have eyes in the back of your head?”
Jace laughed. “Just my ears.”
Reed made a disgruntled sound. “Meet anyone interesting?”
“You mean those four?” He jerked his head toward where four men sat on the ground tied to two huge elms. “That’s how I knew you were there. Their eyes spotted you coming. And who else was going to be out here in the woods at this hour of the morning?”
“Excellent work, my friend.” Reed felt the tension slacken in his shoulders and neck. “I was hoping you’d find them before they found you.”
“Where is Mrs. Leighton?” Jace evinced not a flicker of doubt that Reed had her safely hidden away somewhere.
“A few miles back, still slumbering.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder in the direction from where he’d just come. “I assumed these clowns would be looking for us to head towards the village, so we went the other way.”
“And Moreau, did he make it?”
“Barely, but he’s going to be fine.”
“Great,” Jace said. “When I realized Dubuc wasn’t among this bunch, I sent some o
f the others to search for him on the road, to make sure he doesn’t get the chance to sell those paintings or really set fire to them this time, before Beauclaire has the chance to remove them.”
His horse side-stepped skittishly, when an intrepid red squirrel scampered across the clearing. Unperturbed, he kept talking as he patted its neck to calm it down. “These four weren’t bashful about blabbing. We know Dubuc’s on his way back to London. He told them to stay here and feed the prisoners for another five days, so he could get away safely to France. Then they were to unlock the door and abandon them to their fate.” He formed a circle around his mouth with his hands and made an owl-like hoot, followed quickly by another shorter one. He repeated the same pattern once more before he settled back to wait. “Some of the men are in the barn, keeping warm. Others are watching the road in case there are more of them we don’t know about.”
A short time later, Reed’s brothers and several more Spares rode into the clearing. They were followed by Foster, now also on horseback and looking anxious. He came straight to Reed. “Missy?”
Reed was gratified by the confidence the old man showed in him by assuming he had rescued her and not immediately threatening to kill him with his blunderbuss if he hadn’t saved ‘his Missy’.
“She’s fine. We freed her last night.” He rested his hand briefly on the old man’s shoulder. “Moreau too.”
“Good lad!” He cracked his toothy smile. Although his eyes gleamed happily, Reed thought he glimpsed traces of moisture gathering in the corners. Then, as if he were suddenly sitting on bristles, Tally’s butler straightened in his saddle. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go find her!” The feisty soldier was back. “That Frenchie is still out there and I’m not going to let her out of my sight until he’s dead!” He lifted his blunderbuss from his lap. “I’ll do it, if I see the bastard. Right between his deceitful little eyes.” He nodded toward the men tied to the tree. “And if anything had happened to my Missy, those four would be roasting in Hell for eternity, blast their eyes!”
Chapter Thirty-Four
A cold snap had blown in blanketing the entire country with an unseasonable early spring frost. The patterns in the hoarfrost on the windows fascinated Tally and she traced them with a chilled finger.
Now that Monsieur was back in London, she’d given up her idea of returning to Evesham, much to Foster and Mrs. P’s disappointment. She was eager to get on with her career plans. She’d assured her loyal friends they’d only be spending a few months in London, to set up her male painter identity and work out the business side with Monsieur. Once that was done, they’d be moving to the countryside, but not to her parents’ home. She didn’t want to return there, where her brothers might return and be tempted to again try to wrest her money away from her.
Once she recovered her funds, which her attorney assured her was imminent, she intended to buy her own place, closer to London, where she would set up her studio. She hoped to convince Foster to retire, but continue living with her. She couldn’t bear the thought of parting from him. He was her own special family and she wanted to take care of him as he grew older, just like he’d been taking care of her since long before Great Aunt Ida died.
She abandoned her icy window drawings to continue going through the stack of her paintings, which happily had all been recovered from Victor’s rooms She’d set them up by the window where the light was best. She paused to look at each painting, absently assessing its worth, while her mind continued along another path.
It was only thanks to Reed that her art work had been found at all. She wished he were here to thank.
Soon, when Monsieur was stronger, they would begin exhibiting her paintings in shows and selling them. He’d already contacted the buyer of her two paintings from the Royal Academy Exhibit and explained that, unbeknownst to him, they’d been sold under false pretences and were not Wendal Lawton’s work. He’d offered to buy them back if the man no longer wanted them. But the buyer had refused, saying it was the paintings and not the artist that had convinced him to buy. He agreed to have her, or rather her male counterpart, put the proper signature on them and had accepted a partial refund. As a new artist, just starting to sell her work, her prices could not be anywhere near her father’s... yet.
She couldn’t believe it! Her first sales! Somehow, his genuine appreciation for her work made it easier for her to resign herself to using a male pseudonym. One day, though, she hoped to be able to reveal that she was the woman behind the paintings.
At first, after her rescue from Melton Abbey, time had seemed to be rushing past. The Spares hadn’t caught Victor Dubuc on the road, but he had been taken into custody by the men that were stationed outside his rooms when, unaware his plans had been foiled, he’d returned there to pack. Because all parties were intent on keeping the matter quiet to protect Tally’s reputation and his uncle’s solid business name, it was reluctantly decided — after much debate with Monsieur — that Victor be shipped off to France to join his natural father, under strict conditions that he never set foot in England again. Should he do so, he would immediately be handed over to the authorities and charged with robbery, arson, kidnapping and attempted murder.
His real punishment was that Monsieur Beauclaire and two of the Spares were escorting him across the Channel and the aging agent was busy making sure that the French art world knew of Victor’s dishonesty so he’d never be able to dupe them or, hopefully, anyone else again.
Tally thought Victor had gotten off too easily. After almost killing his uncle, the consequences should have been much more serious. Why he was lucky not to be hanged! But once all had agreed to keep it quiet, they knew Moreau had to be able to live with the decision on his nephew’s fate.
She might have known her mentor would go easy on him. Monsieur didn’t want to stir up a scandal, but he also blamed himself for leaving most of Victor’s upbringing to his mother. He should have spent more time guiding the boy, as he called him. So, although he refused to see his nephew before the chastened Dubuc departed from England, Monsieur pleaded with them to let it go at that. And, much to her and his agent’s dismay, he even set up a small but steady stipend for Victor, so the boy would have a chance to start anew in France.
She fervently hoped the nephew had learned from his crime and that he never again caused such pain to anyone. She would feel terribly guilty for not insisting he pay for his crimes, if she ever learned he had harmed someone else
At the moment, her mentor was recuperating at Gaston Beauclaire’s, while his friend was in France. Although they’d prepared him for it, Monsieur had been shaken to see his studio reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes. But thanks to Mr. Mason and a group of Reed’s brothers and friends, going by the unusual name of “The Brotherhood of Spares”, the studio was being rebuilt and Monsieur was improving daily. He’d never forget what had happened, nor would the deep sorrow now etched in his heart ever disappear, of course, but time was a great healer and he was surrounded by friends.
Except for one thing, life for Tally was good. She, Grandma Lawton and Foster were getting along well in their new abode. Grandma had brought along what she called proper help from her home, so the house was running smoothly now and Tally was grateful she was freed from many of her domestic duties. It allowed her to paint from dawn until noon, just in time to put her brushes away and greet her grandparent when she emerged from her bed chamber around one o’clock.
She was a little — no, very — surprised Grandma wasn’t pushing her to attend social events. Maybe, she was giving Tally time to recover from her kidnapping, and the nagging would begin soon enough.
Tally was glad not have to watch over her shoulder anymore. Mr. Mason had been called home to Scotland, so it was just as well that all the chaos in her life had been resolved.
The one dark cloud in her sky was Reed. Viscount Selwich. She hadn’t seen him since he brought her home after rescuing them. She couldn’t talk to anyone about it but, inside, her heart was weeping.<
br />
Was that it? Would he never come back, even if only to bid her goodbye?
She tugged to loosen the cord holding another group of her paintings together. He’d been greeted with an urgent message when they’d arrived back home from Melton Abbey. He’d crumpled the note in his hand, said he had important business to take care of, that after he’d finished it they would have a much-needed talk, and hurried off. That was days ago and she hadn’t heard a word since. His business must have taken him out of London because he hadn’t come home that night or any night since.
Was he just being polite when he said they’d talk? Maybe that was his way of disappearing without having to deal with explanations. Or perhaps he’d left because he’d changed his mind about wanting to marry her and since she was right on his doorstep, he wanted to avoid embarrassment. Or, if he hadn’t revised his opinion then; now, if he was back amid his family and peers, he’d had time to reflect on it and might have altered his opinion.
She was no longer sure exactly what he wanted… had wanted to discuss. She supposed they‘d have discussed her shooting him and his amnesia. His thinking she was his wife. Certainly reviewing her kidnapping and rescue would make for interesting talk. Or did he want them merely to become friendly neighbors? Her breath caught at the thought. Surely he couldn’t expect her to be that kind of friendly? He must know she wasn’t that sort of woman.
Not that she didn’t wish they had…
Oh, she was so confused! What did she want? Did she sincerely mean to live her entire life without a man? When she’d thought she might end her life in a dungeon, she’d regretted her no-marriage stance. Living with Reed, even for that brief a time, had changed her view. She hadn’t known what a man’s touch felt like! How one could ache to be held in a man’s...
Slamming shut that door in her mind, she skirted it by thinking about what she did know. He’d seemed to like her enough as a wife. He clearly desired her! But had he truly forgiven her? Would a Viscount offer marriage to a simple miss? Or, now that she could be considered soiled goods, did he intend to offer her carte blanche?
The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife Page 47
