The Earl's Revenge

by Allison Lane

  “She might at that,” agreed Anne, sounding relieved. “We have been reading legendary tales the last two days – ‘Odysseus and the Cyclops,’ ‘The Piper and the Dancing Maidens,’ ‘King Arthur and his Magic Sword’.”

  Mark nodded. “Let us hope that is where she went. Miss Thompson, I need you to remain here with the other guests and suppress any curiosity, particularly among those we discussed earlier,” he added, for her ears only.

  “So you think she may have fallen foul of a trap?” she asked once the others had gone.

  “I hope not. You know how often she slips off without injury. But Richard has an uncanny feeling for trouble. If he is bothered by her absence, I cannot ignore the possibility. In that case, I would rather my cousin did not know of her absence. If it turns out that he is responsible, he must pay.”

  She shivered at the suppressed fury evident in his voice. “Be careful, my lord. I saw him heading for the moor when I came to the stables for you.”

  Something flared in his eyes and he tipped her chin up with one finger. “I will,” he promised, dropping a quick kiss on her surprised lips.

  Before she could respond, he was gone.

  * * * *

  The afternoon stretched into an eternity, every minute creeping by in agonizing slowness. Elaine poured tea for the ladies in the drawing room. No one hinted that they knew Helen was missing. Mr. Taylor and Miss Throckmorton conversed in a corner, both nearly quivering with suppressed excitement. Lord Means and Mrs. Woodleigh laughed together on the settee, the heated looks they exchanged raising questions about what else they were sharing. Lady Means seemed oblivious to her husband’s activities, instead lowering her standards to share the latest London gossip with Miss Westmont. None of the other guests joined them.

  When another hour had dragged by without word from any of the search parties, Elaine could stand the suspense no longer.

  She was on her way to again check the grounds when it hit her. Cyclops! Helen was fascinated with the cave on Lookout Peak. The Cyclops story took place in a cave high on a hill. Was that where she had gone?

  With the question pounding in her head, Elaine could not remain in the house. Collecting a shawl and her sturdiest half-boots, she strode briskly along the cliff path. Bridgeport had promised to return this way, but with a large area of moor to search first, it would be some time before he could manage it.

  Half an hour of brisk walking brought her to the foot of the hill. She had seen no sign of Helen – not even a childish footprint on the dusty path – and was already doubting the urgency that had sent her in this direction. But having come this far, she could not leave without climbing to the cave.

  Doggedly she plodded up the trail, but the moment she rounded the last outcropping, she froze in her tracks.

  Half of the grassy lawn was covered with rock where the peak had collapsed. In all the years she had come here, she had never suspected that the hill might be unstable.

  Terror exploded, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sea, the gulls, and other springtime sounds.

  What had triggered the slide? There had been no rain for days. Already people were murmuring about the effect the dry spring would have on gardens and crops. Could excessive dryness cause the hill to crack?

  But as she stared at that alien mound of broken stone, a whisper of breeze drew her attention to a length of green embroidery thread caught on a bush.

  “Dear God!” One end swung loose; the other trailed under the rockfall. Another length shimmered further up the hill.

  A second movement caught her eye and she identified a horseman on the moor, headed for the cliff trail.

  “Mark!” she shouted, waving her arms wildly to attract his attention. In her agitation she did not even realize how she had addressed him. Blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy. Tears ran down her cheeks. It took several more shouts before he spotted her and waved.

  “Come here!” Motioning him closer, she could see the moment he understood her frantic signals. He jerked Ranger’s head up, then spurred him to a gallop.

  Elaine wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and examined the rockfall more closely while she waited for him to arrive. Broken heather on the cliff above identified its path. The slide was not extensive, but it covered the mouth of the cave completely – or nearly so. A hint of blackness showed near the top.

  “Helen, are you in there?” she called, but there was no response.

  Running footsteps pounded up the hill. Mark had left his horse at the bottom, as the path was too narrow for riding. He raced around the last corner and froze, his face paling to chalk white. “Oh, my God!”

  Silently, Elaine pointed to the threads, and he pressed a hand over his eyes.

  “I was coming up here this afternoon,” he choked out.

  “Who knew?”

  “Mickey.” He was swaying as if on the verge of a swoon. Elaine grabbed his arms and shook.

  “Concentrate, Mark. You told him when you were down at the stables?”

  He nodded.

  “When I came to find you, Harold was heading toward the moor. He probably circled around to beat you to the hill.”

  “While I was searching the stables, I heard a muffled thud in the distance,” he whispered, paling even further.

  Elaine trembled. “An explosion. So that’s how he did it. He waited until his thread showed that you had entered the cave, and then sent his slide down to either kill you or seal you in where you would soon die.”

  His eyes sharpened and a trace of color returned to his cheeks. “Of course. She would have been inside and may only be trapped.”

  “There has been no sound,” she admitted.

  “We must try.” Gingerly climbing up the rock pile, he reached that sliver of shadow. “Helen!” he called loudly into the opening. “Are you in there, sweetheart?”

  She could see his shoulders sag when the silence remained unbroken.

  “I must know,” he growled. “Move out of the way, Elaine. I am going to enlarge this opening.” He jerked out a piece of stone and sent it rolling down onto the lawn.

  “Let me help,” she insisted, carefully climbing up the other side of the fall. He started to object, but held his tongue at the look on her face.

  For half an hour they clawed at stones, taking care that nothing fell into the cave. Then came the sound they had both been praying for – a tiny groan.

  Through watery eyes, Elaine saw tears rolling down Mark’s cheeks. “Thank God!” he choked, closing his eyes briefly. “Helen, can you hear me?” he called softly.

  Another groan echoed, but there was no other answer.

  “She sounds injured,” whispered Elaine, tugging on a large rock. “If we can get this out of the way, perhaps I can squeeze through to see how badly.”

  Mark nodded and joined her in fighting to shift the boulder. When it finally broke loose, he lost his balance and tumbled after it.

  “Are you all right?” gasped Elaine, paling at the blood running from a cut on his head.

  “I’m fine.” He was already dabbing at it with his handkerchief. “Can you get through?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then go. I will be back up there in a minute.”

  She knew he was hurt, but Helen was more important.

  Squeezing into the cave was harder than she had expected, for her eyes had been squinting against the bright afternoon sun for so long that she was nearly blind once she passed inside. Feeling hesitantly for toeholds that would not loosen rocks that might land on the invisible Helen, she slowly crept downward. By the time she reached the bottom, her eyes had adjusted to the dim light reflected through the opening.

  Helen lay crumpled against the back wall. The girl groaned again. One arm was twisted, and there was a large knot on her head that was wet to the touch. When Elaine shifted her, she discovered another lump on the other side. One of the stones must have hit the girl, throwing her into the wall.

  “Mark?” she called
softly, relieved to see his head appear against that patch of sky.

  “How is she?”

  “Still nearly unconscious, with a broken arm and a concussion at the very least. Is there anything I can use to immobilize the arm?”

  He looked over his shoulder to scan the hillside. “I will find something. Can she be moved?”

  “Have we a choice?” she countered sharply. “I pray it does no harm, but she cannot stay here.”

  “No, of course not.” He sounded dazed, and she again wondered how badly the fall had injured his own head. But there was nothing further to say. He was already scrambling down the rocks.

  She tore the lowest flounce from her petticoat and set about bandaging Helen’s head. At the moment all she could do was to keep the wounds as clean as possible and provide enough cushioning to protect them from movement.

  Mark returned and pulled several smaller stones aside so he could join her.

  “Move more to your left,” she suggested. “Then anything you kick loose will not land on us.”

  “Right.” A minute later he reached the bottom. One hand rested briefly on her head before he knelt beside Helen. “How bad is it?”

  “I’ve no idea, but she is breathing evenly, and her heartbeat is strong, so it could be much worse.”

  He felt the bones, nodding when he discovered the break. It seemed clean, with minimal swelling. Gently straightening the arm, he produced two lengths of a tree branch that he had trimmed of bark. “These should do until we get back to the house.”

  Elaine tore another strip from her petticoat, wrapping the arm to protect the skin before lashing the splints in place.

  Helen groaned, jerking sharply before again lapsing into unconsciousness. Mark used his cravat to tie the arm close to her body, then picked her up and turned toward the pile.

  “Let me go first,” suggested Elaine. “Then you can pass her to me before you have to squeeze out.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I wonder if Harold knows that it was not you he caught in this trap,” she mused as she gingerly picked her way out of the cave.

  “Why would he? If he had seen the victim, he would not have initiated the fall. And I doubt that Helen made any sound afterward.”

  “What will you do?” She reached the top and blinked several times, trying to adjust to the light, though the sun was now low enough that the cave and lawn were in shadow.

  “It depends on whether I can prove he was guilty.” He handed Helen through the opening. Elaine braced to move the girl out of the way so Mark could make his own exit.

  “Knowing he is to blame and proving it are not the same,” she admitted with a sigh. “I suspect that he is making himself noticed in quite another direction and will return with his entire day accounted for. His groom was readying his curricle.”

  She waited until he was halfway down the mound before passing Helen back to him.

  He frowned as he picked his way to the ground. “Perhaps we can induce him to betray himself,” he said slowly. “It is worth a try. If nothing comes of it, then I must summon a runner to catch him in his next attempt.”

  Elaine shivered. “Which might succeed,” she pointed out. “Yet what would prompt him to give himself away?” She led the way to the base of the hill, clearing the path of loose stone so he wouldn’t trip.

  Mark remained quiet until he settled into the saddle, Helen still in his arms. As Elaine led the horse back toward the house, he outlined his plan.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elaine shivered as a fresh wave of fear rippled down her back. She had agreed with Mark’s plan only because she could not think of anything better. They had skirted Treselyan’s grounds, tethered Ranger in a grove near the village, and slipped into her cottage. Once she had made up a bed for Helen and taken a closer look at the wound on Mark’s head – which was not as serious as it had first appeared – she’d walked back to the Manor. It had been easy to dispatch Anne and Miss Dubois to care for Helen and to send Mickey into Bodmin to summon the doctor.

  It was the rest of his plan that worried her. There was little reason to expect that an amoral man who could stomach cold-blooded murder would fall apart from a minor shock. Nor did she consider Mark’s precautions to be sufficient even if things worked as he hoped.

  But she had no other ideas.

  And her brain was behaving far from rationally. Harold’s plots aside, she was caught in a maelstrom of emotions. Mark was a different man than she had ever supposed. It was his treatment of Helen that amazed her the most. He had willingly spent time with the girl, demonstrating a patience with her that stood sharply at odds with his reputation in town. Until today, she had dismissed his actions as boredom or guilt for ignoring his daughter. But she could no longer do so.

  He genuinely loved Helen. It had shown in his eyes – in the frenzy with which he’d organized the search, in the agony he could not hide when he feared she was dead, in his concern for her injuries, and finally in the gentleness with which he treated her.

  Gentlemen of the ton did not care for children – especially hedonistic, selfish gentlemen like the Earl of Bridgeport. It was so natural an attitude that she had accepted it without question. They had little use for the infantry beyond the need to provide for the future. It was an unusual father who spent more than occasional duty time with his offspring – particularly with daughters. That Bridgeport did not adhere to that pattern spoke volumes about his character. He had not only spent a great deal of time with Helen, he had taken pains to find a governess who would encourage the girl’s talents.

  His public image was complete fabrication, she realized at last. Far from being two men in one body, he had carefully constructed a shield that would hide his real self from the world. The pursuit of pleasure was a artificial barrier that prevented emotional involvement. He may have lived behind it long enough that he no longer had to think about it, but that image did not reflect the real Mark Parrish.

  So her aversion to his public persona did not matter. She was attuned to the real man – in love with him, she admitted at last. She had known it the moment he’d slipped down the rockfall.

  Light tapping sounded on the library windows. Elaine whirled, then recognized Mark.

  * * * *

  Mark picked his way through the shrubbery, praying he could reach the library window without being observed. He had never been through such an emotionally draining day in his life – because he had never allowed himself to care for anyone or anything, he conceded. He had protected himself from pain by withdrawing into an inner world populated by no one else. It was that fundamental aloneness that Elaine had detected in his writing. But this trip to Cornwall had shattered his defenses.

  It had started with Helen, who was so much like himself as a child – or like he would have been if his mother had not imposed her will on every minute of his day. He had felt an instant rapport with his daughter and had vowed to provide her with all the joys his own youth had lacked. In doing so, he had brought her into his inner world, which left him vulnerable to pain and to fear.

  But that was not the worst of it. He had allowed Elaine inside as well, first by capitulating to the urge to test his wit against hers, then by admiring her character and talent, and finally by baring his darkest secrets to her ears. Worse than opening himself to pain, he had handed her the power that he had vowed no mortal would ever possess – the power to control him.

  And yet he could not mourn as he would have expected to.

  Perhaps it was because she would never use that power. He had no idea how he knew that, but he did. Giving her the information that could disrupt his life had been a willing gift, bestowed to soothe her own fears. But the fact that she had similar secrets did not explain his peace of mind.

  He trusted her.

  That was what had always been missing from his relationships. Trust. She would never use her knowledge to hurt him. Nor would she use it to control him. He trusted her. And he lo—

  H
e shook his head in shock, but the thought remained. As alarming and foreign as the concept seemed, he loved her. The last of his ramparts collapsed, leaving him as nervous, as fearful, and as vulnerable as the greenest cub. He had finally found a woman who could truly understand him, yet she did not want marriage, especially to him. She would be a challenge like no other he had ever faced.

  Her second drawing of ‘The Siege’ shimmered against the night sky, and he shuddered. But surely it was irrelevant! A woman who saw so clearly must be able to see the truth in his eyes.

  Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he tapped on the library window.

  “Is Harold back yet?” he murmured once Elaine let him in.

  “No. Lord Carrington will join us when your cousin gets here. Burgess will allow the proper anxiety into his voice when he tells him that you have not returned, even though you had an appointment with the steward some time past.”

  He nodded, his face strained. She could imagine how tense he must feel, waiting here to face a killer.

  “How is Helen?” she asked, not wanting to think about what might happen.

  “She is doing better.” One hand rested on her back to guide her closer to the fireplace, and Elaine could feel it tremble. “She regained consciousness about half an hour ago, but remembers nothing of the accident.”

  “That is just as well,” she murmured, trying to keep her mind on business. It was difficult, for Mark had pulled her into his arms and now rested his cheek on her head. She might have pulled away, but this was no flirtation. He needed to hold her for his own comfort.

  “I thought she was dead,” he murmured now, tears choking the tortured words. “For nearly an hour, I thought she was dead.”

  “So did I,” she admitted, sliding her arms around his waist. “But it was not her time. God must have something better in mind for her.”

  “A comforting thought.” He pulled back a trifle to look at her. “I am so thankful you were there to help. I would have been lost without you.” Giving her no chance to respond, he took her mouth in a gentle kiss.