by Rebecca King
“Vous allez mourir,” Pierre growled, his eyes wide with fury.
“Pas aujourd’hui,” Hugo replied, dodging the meaty fist that was swung at his head as he grabbed Pierre’s hand that was holding the gun and ferociously drove it against the seat. The sound of bones cracking, accompanied with Pierre’s curse, were loud in his ears. “Vous irez à la potence.”
It was difficult to fight in a swaying carriage. Fists missed their targets mainly because of the men’s inability to maintain their balance, and eventually they simply grappled with each other. Hugo swore as he was slammed down onto the seat, Pierre leaning over him with his ruthless hands wrapped around his neck. Stars exploded behind his eyes as he stared up at the hate-filled face of the man leaning over him.
Unable to prise the cruel fingers off, he lifted his legs and kicked hard. The loud ‘oomph’ of air leaving the man’s body was enough to break his ruthless hold. Pushing both hands roughly into the man’s stomach, Hugo pushed and kicked the man off, and kept kicking when Pierre stood clutching his bruised stomach.
Sensing victory, Hugo ducked his head and rammed it into the Frenchman, sending them both crashing out of the door.
Hugo had a sense of flying for one brief moment, and almost in slow motion, saw a break in the hedgerow revealing a five-barred gate. Pierre landed heavily on the gate before catapulting over the top, where he landed on his head in the field beyond.
Hugo was partly buried in a bristly thorn bush, swearing as the spikes scored his flesh.
The carriage continued to barrel down the narrow road, Jonathan still struggling to climb over the roof. Hugo watched it go, and slowly eased himself out of the bushes. Brushing himself down, he glanced back down the road where they left Harriett. The urge to go after her was strong, but he couldn’t leave Pierre by the side of the road, and possibly let him escape. He had no doubt the Frenchman would simply vanish, protected by the network of people who sheltered the spies, and he had valuable information Hugo was not prepared to let go.
Climbing the gate, he unsheathed the small knife tucked in his boot and cautiously approached the man lying on the ground. He could see the steady rise and fall of his chest but wasn’t about to be caught out twice in one day. He thought about roll the man over when the rumbling of carriage wheels broke the silence. He turned to see the familiar black carriage come back toward him, Jonathan at the reins.
“Are you all right?” Jonathan asked, jumping down and studying the man at Hugo’s feet. He grabbed Pierre roughly by the shoulder and rolled him on to his back. A quick check confirmed that he was out cold, but not dead.
Hugo vaulted over the fence and cut off two long pieces of the reins, handing them over the gate to Jonathan, who secured them around Pierre’s hands and feet while Hugo opened the gate. Together they threw the Frenchman into the dark recesses of the carriage.
“What do you want to do about her?” Jonathan asked, nodding at Marguerite.
“Leave her there for now; we need to pick up the other man,” Hugo warned, climbing up onto the box seat next to Jonathan. “I take it you know where you left him?” he asked dryly, shaking his head when Jonathan merely grinned at him. Hugo had no doubt Jonathan had dispatched the small Frenchman with the same ruthless efficiency he himself had shown Pierre.
“Sort of.”
“He is dead, I take it?” Hugo hoped so. The thought of another Frenchman running around out there with Harriett unprotected left him cold.
“I should think so,” Jonathan replied, slicing his hand in a cutting motion across his throat from one ear to another.
“Excellent. Let’s go and clear up, then we need to get back to Harriett’s house. I think Rupert has been shot.”
He sensed, rather than saw, Jonathan’s startled look before he flicked the reins and the horses began to trot faster.
They stopped only to pick up the body of the smaller man whom Jonathan had dispatched earlier, and added him to the body count inside the carriage.
“We have some explaining to do,” Jonathan replied ruefully, shaking his head as he closed the carriage door.
“Whose carriage is it?”
“Damned if I know,” Jonathan muttered, tugging off the numerous scarves wrapped around his neck and lower face. “I am so glad to get rid of these blasted things.” He glared at the strips of wool and threw them on the box seat in disgust.
“You were much prettier with them on,” Hugo replied with a smirk, blithely ignoring the epithet the other man sent his way.
It took them far too long to get to Harriett’s house as far as Hugo was concerned. All the time they were travelling he was scouring fields and hedgerows around them for any sign of her. Various scenarios filtered through his mind until he was bristling with frustration by the time Jonathan pulled the horses to a halt in front of the small stone cottage.
Both men, eager to discover Rupert’s condition, immediately jumped down and ran round to the back of the cottage.
Hugo thrust the door open, a dark scowl on his face as he scanned the kitchen in search of her. He almost slumped with relief when Harriett appeared at the end of the hallway, some sort of green gunk over her hands.
“Oh Hugo, thank God!” she gasped, running down the hallway toward him, a mixture of fear and elation on her face.
He caught her, buried his face in her hair and simply breathed in her essence. He was only vaguely aware of Jonathan skirting around them and walking down the small hallway, and simply relished the feel of her in his arms.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” Her voice trembled as she studied him. He was covered in bits of twigs and leaves, but otherwise seemed relatively unharmed.
“I’m fine, darling. I’m sorry I had to leave you by the side of the road, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you being in so much danger,” he said, studying her carefully. She looked alive, and fresh and wonderfully beautiful. He was almost humbled by the knowledge that she was his.
A strange, herby scent coming from behind him invaded his senses and he looked at her hands.
“Is that for Rupert?”
“Yes, he’s in the bedroom.”
Hugo scowled. “You have been alone, here, with one of my men in your bedroom?”
Harriett rolled her eyes and stepped out of his arms. “He’s injured.”
“That might be so, but still–” He stomped down the corridor, eager to see Rupert’s condition for himself.
“She’s an angel,” Rupert said when Hugo entered. “I may just marry her myself.” He winked at Harriett and winced as his bruised head objected to the movement.
Harriett rolled her eyes and felt her cheeks heat.
“Join the queue,” Hugo growled, watching as Harriett continued to apply the mixture to a lump on Rupert’s forehead.
“It feels better already,” Rupert moaned.
“Here, drink this,” Harriett said, handing him a small cup of a brownish mixture.
Rupert studied it for a moment before downing it in one go. “It doesn’t taste of anything,” he reported, frowning down into the cup. “What was it?”
“It’s a blend of plants and herbs that will help ease the headache and reduce the swelling.”
“What happened?” Hugo growled at Rupert, delighted that his men had readily accepted Harriett and her abilities, even to the point of allowing her to treat them.
“I came around the side of the cottage, and found a little Frenchie standing by the back door. I lunged at him and we traded a few punches. He pulled a gun on me but I wrestled it off him - but not before it went off. It was only a little thing with one shot, and I eventually got it off him and threw it across the garden.” He frowned at Hugo. “It should be collected.”
Hugo nodded and told him to carry on.
“Well, I tripped over something, I think it was a water trough, and must have hit my head on my way down, because I don’t remember anything else. The next thing I knew Harriett was standing over me, holding something to my head.”
“He was still bleeding from the cut on his head.” Harriett added with a frown. “The Frenchman must have thought that he would remain out cold, and either bleed to death or not come round. Clearly, at the time there was a lot going on and the man could have thought Rupert was no longer a threat, so left him.”
“Sounds like it to me,” Rupert replied, impressed with her cool logic. The more he saw of Harriett, the more he realised that she was a perfect match for someone like Hugo. Most women would have had a fit of the vapours being faced with half of what this woman had been through, yet she seemed to retain her grace and decorum throughout the worst of times. He was impressed, and more than a little envious of Hugo’s luck.
“Given these two have ignored me, let me introduce myself,” Jonathan said, easing away from his position beside the window. He had seen enough to know that a lot had happened while he had been undercover, and it wasn’t all bad - if Harriett was anything to go by.
“I’m Jonathan Arbinger.” He glanced warily at Harriett’s hands before shrugging and dipping low to peck her on the cheek. He grinned unrepentantly when Hugo coughed in warning. “Well, I can hardly shake her hand now, can I?”
Harriett smiled, inwardly delighted that Hugo had enough affection for her to be more than a little possessive.
“Welcome to the Star Elite,” Jonathan added with a smile that made Harriett blink and Hugo sigh – loudly.
He wanted to refute her involvement in the Star Elite; to sweep her up and run back to the Manor, away from any hint of her being acknowledged as one of them - but he knew it was already too late. She was already one of them. The men had accepted her and her capabilities without question. Not once over the past few weeks had anyone objected at being asked to watch over her, and had taken their turn on watch with the same level of professionalism and dedication that they applied to any other task they were given.
He had sensed, rather than heard, the anger they had all felt when Harriett had almost been run over, and had been aware that they had doubled the watches so she had two sets of eyes, rather than the habitual one, on her – until today when the spy smugglers had started to move and they had all been scrambled to follow.
“Was it Mrs Partridge who tried to break into my house that night?” Harriett asked, after listening to several moments of desultory conversation. She was standing beside the window, studying the window frame beside her thoughtfully.
“Yes, it was. She went back to Padstow, but I lost her near to her house,” Rupert acknowledged ruefully.
“I was watching Chambard and his mother at St Issey and Archie was watching your father, who was in the tavern at St Issey.”
Harriett shook her head, wondering who was watching them!
“Have you got Mrs Partridge back yet?” Rupert glanced first at Harriett, then at Hugo.
“Erm, no, we have been a bit busy,” Hugo replied, updating everyone on the events in the carriage.
Rupert whistled appreciatively. He knew something major must have happened for Jonathan to come out of deep cover, and be standing so unperturbed in Harriett’s cottage.
“Jonathan can update you about what we are going to do next. Harriett, might I have a quick word with you?”
Hugo waited to follow her out of the room, closing the door behind him. Although Harriett already knew what had happened, there were other parts of the investigation that he didn’t want her to be aware of.
When she moved toward the kitchen table, he grabbed her hand and tugged her outside, glad to be out in the sunshine.
Although Harriett’s cottage was fine, he didn’t want to live there, nor did he want Harriett to live there.
“I think we had better go back to the Manor.” He nodded toward the door behind them. “I take it Rupert will recover?”
“Oh yes, he will be fine. It is just a bump. What about Mrs Partridge?”
“The men will get her body,” Hugo replied, tugging her toward the small path leading through the woods that edged the de Mattingley land.
Once in the sheltered of the trees, Hugo drew her to a halt and wrapped his arms around her.
Harriett eagerly returned his kiss, melting against him as he branded her with his heat.
A loud, long wolf-whistle broke them apart.
“Very funny!” Hugo shouted, shaking his head and giving her a rueful look.
Harriett jumped and glanced around them but couldn’t see anything but trees and foliage.
“Don’t worry, it’s only Archie,” he whispered to her, giving her a wink.
“Find yourself something useful to do, like go and help Rupert and Jonathan!” he shouted.
“He’s good at disguises, isn’t he?” she murmured, glancing around them at the trees and foliage, but unable to see him.
“Look up,” Hugo whispered in her ear. She glanced up into the thick canopy of branches and leaves. A few feet away, high in the branches, she saw movement and gasped. Her eyes flew to Hugo who merely grinned and tugged her toward the Manor.
“It’s his signature. He likes to take his watch in trees. He has been climbing trees since a young boy, and likes to sit up there, taking his watch in the branches and leaves. I must admit, it works. People study the area around them and don’t even think about looking up.”
Harriett giggled, impressed with the man’s abilities. “He must know who is arriving hours before they get there.”
Hugo quirked his lips and silently nodded. At the edge of the trees bordering the manicured lawns of the Manor, he swept her to him, pausing only briefly to place a tender kiss on her temple.
The surge of possessive pride he felt toward her surprised even him, but was so deep-rooted now that he knew it would remain with him for the rest of his life.
He adored her, for her capabilities, her cool, unflappable logic, and her generosity and kindness toward others. The passion they shared left him feeling stunned. It was far stronger, far deeper than anything he had ever experienced before, but wasn’t going to question it or analyse it too much. It was, as far as he was concerned, simply Harriett.
Harriett had never felt so protected, so cared for, and was still wondering at Hugo’s loving tenderness as they slowly walked up the stone steps toward the bank of French doors lining one side of the property.
The sun was out, the birds chirping merrily in the beautiful gardens, and she was wrapped in the tender embrace of the man she loved. Life didn’t get any better than this. The only small cloud of discontent was the knowledge that he wasn’t going to remain with her. Now that the imminent threat to her life had been lifted, and the first link in the spy smuggling chain had been dealt with, his work with the Star Elite would take him away from her. They still had to deal with the rest of the network, and that could take years.
She frowned, realising he had yet to tell her what had happened in the carriage.
“What?” Hugo asked, sensing something was troubling her.
“You never told me what happened when you left me by the side of the road.”
“He did what?” Simon asked, frowning at them as they walked into the study.
“Oh hello, Father,” Harriett’s instinctive greeting left Simon speechless. It had rolled off her tongue so innocently that he was positive she hadn’t been aware she had said the words he had waited years to hear. He exchanged a look at Hugo, and saw the man’s ready smile. Was Hugo behind this change in his daughter?
“He left you by the side of the road?”
“Oh yes,” Harriett replied, completely unperturbed. Turning back to Hugo, she raised her brows, clearly not prepared to be put off by Hugo’s reticence. “So?”
Hugo shook his head, unsurprised by her determination not to be put off.
Clearly Simon wasn’t prepared to let the matter drop either, and he moved to take a seat beside Harriett on the chaise.
Briefly he explained what had happened in the carriage, culminating in Jonathan managing to bring the horses under control and Hugo following Pierre out
of the conveyance.
“Joshua and Marion were the spy smugglers?” Simon gasped, frowning at Harriett before turning to Hugo. “What about the old doctor?”
“We think he is dead, but can’t locate a body so cannot be definite, but it seems likely,” Hugo replied gravely. “Joshua and Marion are really called Pierre and Marguerite, and needed the doctor’s house so they could signal the ships up and down the coast, and take over Scraggan’s contacts. They needed to be in the area to do it.”
Silence settled over the group for a moment.
“There is more, I am afraid,” Hugo began gravely, searching for the right words. Although he knew Harriett wouldn’t be upset, he wasn’t sure about Simon. Not liking someone was one thing, not giving a damn they were dead was something entirely different.
His eyes locked on Simon’s for a moment. He took a deep breath.
“Romilla was lovers with Joshua.” Hugo watched Simon’s brows rise, but there was no shock or horror on the man’s face.
“I wondered who it was,” Simon muttered.
“You knew?” Hugo frowned.
“That she had a lover? Oh, yes. She crept in and out of here all hours of the night but whenever I challenged her about it, she kept informing me that I wasn’t her father and it was none of my business. It was one of the bones of contention between us, and one of the reasons I kept insisting she had to leave. She was a harlot.” Simon’s bold declaration caused Hugo to snort and nod in fervent understanding. Although it wasn’t nice to speak ill of the dead, Hugo couldn’t find anything in Simon’s statement to argue with.
“I am afraid she is also dead,” Hugo imparted softly, and a little regretfully. Although she was spiteful, and spoilt, nobody deserved to be killed in such a gruesome manner – even Romilla.
“How? When?” Simon frowned at Hugo, who explained the real identities of Pierre and Marguerite.
Hugo watched horror suffuse Simon’s face as he listened to Romilla’s association with French spy smugglers, and knew the man had had no idea what his stepdaughter had been involved in. It went some way toward mollifying Hugo’s suspicions about the older man; even though there were a lot of questions that still remained unanswered.
