Being Lady Harriet's Hero: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 4)

by Arietta Richmond

  He slumped back against the passage wall, close against the blank wall where it simply ended. Peterson lifted the lantern, to better see Lord Geoffrey’s face, and opened his mouth to speak. Lord Geoffrey’s hand whipped out to arrest the motion of the lantern.

  “I thought so! Look, Peterson – just there, caught at the edge of that piece of wall.”

  Peterson peered at the spot Lord Geoffrey pointed to, at first seeing nothing. Then he reached out a careful hand, and touched the dark gold hair that had glinted in the lantern light. He tugged on it gently, but it seemed trapped – trapped between the blank wall and the side wall that Lord Geoffrey leant on.

  “Her hair!” Lord Geoffrey’s voice was rough with emotion. “But… how is it trapped? What is it caught on?”

  “I think, my Lord, that this wall is not a wall. It must be another door, for the hair appears to go into the crack along its edge…”

  Without a word, Lord Geoffrey pushed away from the wall and began to push and prod at every part of the surrounding surfaces.

  Lady Harriet had worn her wrists and ankles raw, but had not succeeded in loosening the ropes enough to slip out of them.

  The light was fading from the tiny window, and, with full darkness, she knew that it would not be long before they came for her. But unless she could somehow escape the ropes, there was nothing she could do but pray that Lord Geoffrey found her, before she was beyond his reach forever. She wished, most fervently, that she had, at every opportunity, thrown herself into his arms, propriety be damned.

  She remembered that one kiss, and wished for more. If she was never to see him again, she wished for more to remember. She had known, for more than a year now, that he was the man for her. These last few months had simply deepened that feeling, deepened her love for him. Did he realise? Did he know how much she felt for him? Did he care for her in return? Or were those momentary flashes of desire she had seen in his eyes only that – desire, not anything deeper?

  Her thoughts were interrupted eventually, long after the window had gone dark, by the sound that she had been anticipating with dread. The sound of feet upon the hidden stairs. As the door opened, she abandoned the last of her hope. It was too late. Lord Geoffrey could not save her now, they were here to take her away, to a life too horrible to contemplate.

  “Had a comfortable afternoon, have you mileddy?” Ashley, the footman, smiled at her as he spoke. It was not a pleasant smile.

  “Let’s get movin Ash, the quicker she’s off and gone, the happier I’ll be.” Jobs stepped towards her, then paused. “How’s we gonna carry her Ash? Them stairs is narrow and steep. If’n she wriggles too much, we could all end up at the bottom with broken bones.”

  “Carefully – we’s carryin her carefully. We wants to protect our investment here, doesn’t we? And you, mileddy, you’ll a be keeping still for us, won’t ye? Cause I’m thinkin ye’ve no more wish than us to fall, have ye?”

  Lady Harriet shook her head. She most definitely didn’t want to fall – alive and unhurt, there might still be a chance to escape – injured there would be none.

  “Right then. I’ll get her by the legs, and you be liftin under her arms. I’ll go down them steps first, backwards and slow, and you’ll keep pace wiv me, wiv her between us.”

  Ashley bent to lift her legs. Jobs looked at the door to the stairs uncertainly, then shrugged and shoved his hands under her upper body, hindered by her hands tied behind her.

  She flinched at the feel of their uncaring hands on her, but did not fight. She chose, instead, to be as limp and heavy as possible. With two older brothers, she had learnt, long ago, that limp and heavy was much harder to lift and carry than wriggling and screaming.

  The men grunted and hauled her up awkwardly, making so much noise that she did not, at first, notice any other sound. But she did notice something else. The air in the room had moved, stirred like a light breeze across her face, drifting a fine tendril of her hair into her eyes. She gave no sign of anything having changed, but inwardly she prayed. ‘Please, let that touch of moving air mean what I think it might.’

  And then she heard it – definitely a sound. A sound she was deliriously happy to hear – the sound of the other door moving, ever so slowly. Let it be him, let it be Lord Geoffrey come to save her. The men started to cart her towards the door to the stairs, and for a moment she thought that she must have been mistaken.

  ~~~~~

  Lord Geoffrey was ready to give up poking about and simply batter at the door, when his fingers found an odd bump, low down on the wall. A bit of pushing at it, and the wall popped open, just a crack, releasing a gentle puff of air that sent Lady Harriet’s golden hair drifting to the floor.

  “Finally!”

  He pulled it open, and stepped through into another dark and empty passage. A short passage. With no visible exit.

  Geoffrey groaned aloud, then began the process all over again. There had to be another way out. She had come in here, so she had to have gone out of here. He just had to find it. The walls were rougher here – more possible bumps and lumps to push and prod at. He worked along the passage on one side, whilst Peterson took the other. Just as they reached the apparent end of the short length of passage, he stopped, and froze in place, touching Peterson to make him stop too.

  There was a sound, he was sure of it. From the other side of the wall. Creeping forward, he pressed his ear to the rough plaster and listened. Men’s voices. Two, he thought. He couldn’t make out what they said. Then a thump and a bump, as if they were moving something heavy about, and bumped into a chair or similar, then a muttered curse – he might not be able to hear the exact words, but the tone and emotion in it were clear enough.

  As he pressed harder against the wall, desperate to hear more, his fingers caught on a simple latch. He lifted it, and the door shifted gently. The disturbed air carried a scent to him from within the space on the other side of the door. A scent he would recognise anywhere. Lady Harriet’s perfume, that unique mix of rose, daphne and lemon. He closed his eyes, as much from horror as relief.

  She was here – but she was in the hands of the traitors – was she hurt? Why was she silent? He could not imagine Lady Harriet going anywhere quietly, if it was against her will. He eased the door open a little, and peered into the room. Ashley and Jobs were struggling to lift a completely limp Lady Harriet, moving awkwardly towards a door on the other side of the small room.

  His fear for her drove him to immediate action. He could not, as much as he wished it, simply drive his sword through Jobs’ back, even though it was presented nicely before him – for the sword could just as easily penetrate the man and harm Harriet, limp in his arms, as well. He leapt forward and drove the hilt of the sword towards Jobs head, hoping to knock him out with one blow.

  But as the blow landed, Jobs staggered under Lady Harriet’s weight, and what should have been a solid collision with the man’s head became a glancing blow instead. Jobs dropped her and spun, roaring in anger. Ashley, after one look at Lord Geoffrey, sword in hand and eyes wild, with Peterson behind him, somehow hauled Lady Harriet up and over his shoulder, then staggered to the stairs. For one second, before Jobs rushed him, fists windmilling in panicked attack, Lord Geoffrey found himself looking straight into Harriet’s beseeching eyes.

  Then she was gone, and he heard a bolt shot into place on the other side of the door, as Ashley carried her away. Desperation drove him. He would not lose her now! He would not let her down – that look had told him she believed in him – that she had the utmost faith in his ability to save her. To her, as always, he was a hero. Well – it was time he lived up to that then, though he had never sought it.

  Then all thought disappeared, as battle reflexes honed at war cut in. He became a coldly focused fighting machine. A minute or two later, Jobs found himself flat on the floor, Lord Geoffrey’s sword at his throat, as Peterson used some of the remaining scatter of old rope on the floor to bind him tightly.

  “Where is he
taking her?”

  The sword still hovered at Jobs’ throat, and Lord Geoffrey’s voice made it clear that anything but the truth would result in pain or death. Jobs gulped, flinching as the movement of his throat caused the sword point to break his skin. Stammering from fear, he spoke, with a last spark of defiance.

  “You’ll be too late. He’ll have her out and away afore ye can get down t’ground. Once she’s in the cart, ye’ll nivver see her agin.”

  Lord Geoffrey looked at Peterson, and they reached a silent agreement. Geoffrey ran to the now bolted door that Ashley had carried Harriet through, and began to batter it, using anything to hand. The bolt might not break – but the wood was old – batter it enough, and surely it would splinter.

  Peterson spun and ran back the way they had come, through the hidden passages and out into the main part of the house. He flung himself down the stairs, yelling to Walters, who was stationed in the foyer, to get Hurst and follow, then charged out into the night. Where was the nearest lane to the estate? Where might a cart be hidden?

  Meanwhile, the door had finally shattered under Lord Geoffrey’s onslaught. Geoffrey slid down the narrow stairs, perilously close to falling, uncaring of his own safety in the desperate need to get to Harriet in time. Unregarded, in the room above, Jobs muttered pathetically about being abandoned, bound hand and foot. He was quite unaware of the appropriateness of him being left exactly as he had left Lady Harriet all day. He did, however, realise after a while that, unless he could escape now, he was dead – for he would surely hang for treason. He began to struggle against the ropes.

  Reaching the ground floor, Lord Geoffrey sprinted through the servants’ corridor. Shoving a startled maid aside, he charged out the door towards the stables, sword still in hand, silver in the moonlight. Skidding to a halt, he looked around. Where had Ashley gone with her?

  Then he saw it – a moment’s glint of moonlight on the gold of her hair. Near the edge of the trees, across the wide lawn. He had to be heading for the rutted lane that led to the old shepherd’s cottage.

  Geoffrey ran, ran as he had never run before in his life, glad that he heard Peterson’s footsteps on the gravel behind him, before he hit the smooth grass of the lawn. In that instant, he blessed his gardeners – they would all be getting an increase in their wages, for the immaculate lawn made it easier to run. And he, a fit, large man, trained to fight, could run considerably faster than an older, somewhat unfit footman carrying a full grown woman.

  He was gaining on them, but they were still ahead, and nearly at the small stone wall that marked his boundary. When Ashley reached the stile over the wall, another man leapt up onto it from the other side, reaching for Harriet.

  “No! no, no, no, no!” The words were muttered, for all his breath was spent on running. But his heart’s agony was in every one of them. As other hands lifted Harriet away, Lord Geoffrey swung his sword at Ashley’s lower leg, waiting only a second to see him fall screaming, before leaving him for Peterson to deal with. He vaulted the stile and launched himself onto the back of the cart as it lurched into motion in response to the driver’s desperate whipping of the horses.

  He paused a second to touch a finger to Harriet’s face, where she lay tumbled in the bed of the cart, and realised, as he did, that the driver had thought the shudder of the cart as he landed on it to be simply part of the violent lurch into motion. The man didn’t know he was there!

  Moving with infinite care, he felt his way down Harriet’s arm and used the sword edge to cut the ropes that bound her. She bit down on the gag at the pain of returning circulation, but made no sound. He eased down to trace her leg to her ankles, silently wishing he was doing so in any circumstances but these, and sliced the ropes from her ankles too. As he did so, she was already pulling the gag from her mouth.

  He crept up past her, pausing only long enough to press a kiss to her lips, and edged towards the front of the cart. He felt, rather than heard, Harriet easing her way after him. He turned to look at her, and her green eyes sparkled in the moonlight. She motioned towards the man, then to Geoffrey. Then she pointed at herself, and mimed her hands holding reins and driving.

  His heart bursting with love and pride, he nodded once, and turned back to his task. She edged to one side, close against him, but not enough to prevent his movement. He tapped her hand three times, and launched himself. His arm went around the driver’s throat, cutting off his air, and the sword came around to hang before the man’s face, the threat obvious.

  The driver squirmed desperately, the ribbons falling unregarded from his fingers, then froze in place when he saw the sword.

  As he dropped the ribbons, Harriet launched herself from the back of the cart onto the seat, snatching the falling ribbons of leather from the air, a fraction of a second before they fell into the gap between cart and horses.

  She teetered a moment on the brink of falling herself, and Geoffrey felt his heart stop in his chest, then she grabbed the seat with one hand and hauled herself back, already beginning to bring the racing horses under control. She was, it seemed, as good at driving them as riding them.

  “That thrice damned bastard’s name is Nobby. He had a deal with them, to sell me to a house of pleasure, and split the profits. I’d happily see you skewer him now, but I suspect we’d better turn him over to the law.”

  Her voice was a little shaky, but not, he realised from fear. It was anger he heard, pure and simple. She was, quite simply, magnificent.

  “Oh. That wasn’t very ladylike language was it? I am sorry, but in this case, I rather think I’m entitled to swear.”

  He laughed, a shaky, almost hysterical edge to it.

  “I believe you’re right.”

  He kept the sword to Nobby’s throat, while Harriet brought the straining horses back to a walk, then turned them carefully in a wider bit of the lane, before driving them back toward Witherwood Chase at a smart clip.

  ~~~~~

  By the time they reached the stile again, Peterson had bound the bleeding Ashley, and Walters and Hurst were ready with ropes to bind Nobby. They hauled the screaming Ashley on to the back of the cart, and Harriet drove them all back around through the gates and up the drive to the stables.

  Once the horses were held by the grooms, Lord Geoffrey slipped from the seat, supervising the traitors’ removal from the cart, and the field dressing of Ashley’s wound. He didn’t want the man dying on him from an infection, before he’d had time to tell him where the papers were. Satisfied that things were under control, he turned back to the cart.

  Lady Harriet was simply sitting there, staring ahead. She was, he realised, shaking, quivering like a leaf in the wind. He knew this reaction – he had seen it after battles, when the aftershock of action set in. Gently, he stepped up as close to the cart as he could, and, reaching out, slid her into his arms and lifted her down. She came willingly, sliding her arms around his neck, and burying her face against his shoulder. He thought she whispered something, but it was so faint he wasn’t sure. It had sounded suspiciously like ‘My hero’.

  He carried her into the house.

  Lord Geoffrey settled Lady Harriet onto a chaise in the parlour, rang for tea, and brandy, and sat quietly beside her. She said nothing, but simply reached out and twined her fingers with his.

  When the maid brought the tea and brandy, it was obvious that the staff were agog to know what was happening. They would have to wait. He shooed the maid out and poured a cup of tea, adding a generous drop of brandy. Harriet accepted it gratefully, and sipped.

  Peterson knocked and entered when bidden, reporting that the traitors were bound and locked up in a secure room in the stables, with Walters guarding them. Lord Geoffrey nodded his thanks. Peterson turned to go, when Lady Harriet spoke.

  “Please stay, Peterson. For you should hear what I have to tell, given your part in this mission.”

  Peterson hesitated, and, at Lord Geoffrey’s confirmatory nod, stepped back into the room.

  Her
voice hesitant at first, then growing stronger as she spoke, and the brandy took effect, Lady Harriet described the events of the day. When she spoke of the box that she had seen, just before Ashley and Jobs had bound and gagged her, Lord Geoffrey sprang to his feet, pacing about the room. Could it really be over? Was that box the end to this mission? But where had they taken it? He broke in on her tale.

  “Was there anything in what they said to indicate where they took the box?” She stared at him a moment, face blank, and he castigated himself for behaving in such an inconsiderate way - here he was, expecting her to have taken detailed note of what the men were saying, when she had just been roughly set upon, bound, gagged and threatened!

  “I am so sorry! That is completely unreasonable of me to ask.”

  Lady Harriet looked up at him and smiled. His heart turned over at what he saw in her eyes.

  “Ah, but I did listen to them. I was so utterly, blazingly angry, it hadn’t yet occurred to me to be truly afraid. That came later. Just before they left the room, Ashley said something about taking it down to ‘the deep’ and putting it with ‘the other’. It was just a single comment, before they left me there. They had put the box in a basket of dirty linens and covered it up. Probably so that they could take it down into the cellars somewhere, and be thought to be just adding a basket to the laundry pile. But beyond down in the cellars, which seems logical, I’ve no idea where ‘the deep’ might be.”

  Frustration laced her voice. They might have the conspirators, but they didn’t yet have the evidence.

  Lord Geoffrey thought a moment, pacing about the room, then spun back towards her.

  “Wait – they spoke of ‘another’ something?”

  “Yes – they definitely were going to put the box with ‘the other’.”

  “But that’s wonderful! Forgive me, I know that sounds terrible of me, but had today’s events not happened, we would never have known of this second thing that is hidden. If we had found this box when they were not there, we would most certainly have believed that we had found all that there was to find.”