“Father, we finally have a fine day. Would you like to accompany me on a ride this afternoon?” A ray of sunlight from the window fell on her father’s face, revealing the deep lines and puckers. She almost gasped. He was getting old. When had his brown hair turned sparse and white?
“Oh, I don’t think so, my dear.” He pushed his pince-nez up his nose and examined a fly more closely. “I’m very comfortable here.”
“Then may Simon accompany me riding your horse?”
“Must you? It looks like it might rain again.”
“Father, I think you should find a good home for The General,” she said forcefully. “It is cruel to keep him.”
His eyebrows shot up. “My goodness, that’s a spirited request, my dear.”
“Forgive me, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it worries me.”
“I suspect you are right. The General deserves a good home, but it will take time to find him one. I promise to ride him this Sunday.”
“Why not this afternoon?”
He looked pained. “I heard talk yesterday in the village that a stranger has been seen lurking about.”
A warning sounded in Horatia’s mind. “A stranger? Where?”
“Mr. Thurston passed a shabbily dressed fellow on horseback on the village road, and the vicar saw him too. He isn’t staying anywhere in the area or at the inn. After that episode with the highwaymen, one can’t be too careful. Best we remain in our homes.”
Her mind in a whirl, Horatio climbed the stairs. She walked about her chamber as prickles of unease raised the hair at her nape. Guy’s life might still be in danger.
She stripped off her gown and took her forest green wool habit from the clothespress. It was imperative to warn Guy. She hated to defy her father when she’d decided never to do so again, but desperate times required desperate measures. Her horse was too slow; she would have to ride The General.
Once on the road, The General lengthened his stride, and she was caught again by his grace and strength. He was far too good for her father’s Sunday rides. The sidesaddle was her one concession to propriety, although she disliked it. The rain held off, and The General covered the miles rapidly.
It was a revelation when The General trotted up the carriage drive at Rosecroft Hall. Workmen labored everywhere. They had begun the immense task of restoring the Hall to its former glory, hammering and repairing stone walls and potholes in the carriage drive. Gardeners dotted about the landscape weeded, pruned, and clipped hedges. Horatia dismounted and handed the reins to a footman. She picked up the skirt of her habit and walked to the door, where the huge entryway dwarfed the waiting butler.
“His lordship’s not here, Miss Cavendish,” Hammond said, in answer to her query. “He left a short time ago to ride into the village.”
“Is my godfather here?”
“He departed for London a week ago.”
“Thank you, Hammond. Please tell his lordship I called.”
She rode past the abandoned gatehouse, and once through the ornate wrought-iron gates, she reined in The General. It might have been a workman from a neighboring village that Mr. Thurston and the vicar had seen for there were quite a few new faces employed at the Hall. It would be sensible to go home before her father discovered her missing. She nudged The General’s flanks and headed in that direction. But as she approached the turnoff to Malforth Manor, some unexplainable instinct drew her on towards the village.
Horatia heard the rattle and jingle of a horse-drawn vehicle. Not wishing to meet with disapproval and fuel gossip, she rode into the shelter of the trees. She watched from her leafy hideaway as Mr. Gantry drove by in his curricle. She suspected he was on his way to visit her father. She hoped it would distract Father for some time, as the two liked to visit the farm and discuss livestock feed.
When she’d come within a few miles of the village, she began to scold herself. How foolish to overreact to a mere presentiment. A brisk cool breeze had sprung up and rain clouds hovered overhead, but she’d come too far to turn around. The dense forest was eerie and silent. How had she not noticed it before? She was undoubtedly giving in to the dramatic side of her nature and would turn back as soon as she came to where the line of trees of Sherradspark Wood ended and the flat green fields and farmlands began. They offered no hiding place for highwaymen. She gnawed at her bottom lip. Guy had probably reached the village by now. He was most likely enjoying a mug of ale in the oak-beamed coachman’s parlor of the King’s Arms and would rib her for her fanciful notions. She decided not to tell him.
When the road straightened out, she caught sight of a rider ahead. It was Guy, safe and sound. Relief and embarrassment at her ridiculous notions heated her face. He disappeared out of sight again around another bend. She eased The General up, planning to retreat before he saw her.
A pistol shot ricocheted through the quiet air.
Chapter Nine
The General danced about as panic tightened Horatia’s throat. She urged the horse on. Rounding the bend she gasped. Guy had dismounted. A man shoved a brace of pistols into Guy’s back and pushed him into the trees.
For a moment, Horatia debated whether to ride for help or follow them into the forest. There was no time. In a few minutes, she reached the spot where Guy and the highwayman had disappeared. She jumped off the horse and looped the reins over a bush then fought her way through the brambles. Broken twigs and trampled undergrowth marked the path the men had taken. The sound of voices reached her as she crept forward.
“’ere will do fine,” a rough voice said.
Horatia squatted and parted the leaves of a rhododendron. The men faced each other in a clearing, talking in low voices.
Her blood chilled as the assailant took aim, but at that moment, Guy dived to the ground. The shot went wild, spraying bark from a tree behind him. Guy was back on his feet in an instant. He ran straight at the man and leapt on him. They rolled down a slope, locked together, punching at one another.
Horatia’s rib cage contracted with fear. She clutched the branches and hesitated until the worry that Guy might be killed sent her running from her hiding place.
She rushed up and danced around them, her hands clenched into fists, as they both gained their feet. Guy saw her, and his eyes widened. Distracted, he failed to block the man’s fist. It connected with his chin and sent him reeling back, cursing. “Get out of here, Horatia!” he yelled.
The guns lay close to Horatia’s feet, but she had no means of reloading them. She snatched up a rock, ready to use it.
Guy returned the favor with a punch to the man’s solar plexus.
“Oomph!” The rogue staggered but managed to keep his feet. They cursed and gasped for breath as they circled each other, trading blows.
The ruffian pulled a knife from his boot and swiped at Guy, missing him by a whisker. The momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled and fell over a log. Guy followed and kicked him to his knees.
“Oh, well done, Guy,” Horatia murmured, coiling her hands into fists.
The man scrambled to his feet and darted forward in an attempt to plunge the knife into Guy’s chest. The knife tore Guy’s waistcoat as he grasped the assailant’s wrist.
Watching them struggle, icy fear dried Horatia’s mouth, and she edged closer, into the man’s vision. His eyes narrowed, and he cursed. “You’re next!” he shouted.
He broke loose from Guy’s grip.
“For God’s sake, run, Horatia!” Guy jumped back and darted away from the lethal blade as the man followed, slashing wildly at the air.
Horatia could stand no more. She rushed up behind the rogue and brought the rock down hard on his head. He groaned, fell forward onto Guy, and they both went down.
Guy rolled the unconscious man off him as blood spilled onto the ground from a gash on the man’s head. He climbed to his feet. “What if he’d killed me? He would have killed you too,” he said with a growl.
She put her hands on her hips. “How ungrateful!”
<
br /> Guy’s jaw clenched. “I am grateful, but you shouldn’t have intervened. Now go home!”
Horatia peered at the ruffian who lay on his back with his eyes closed. He wore dirty clothes and was unshaven, his narrow face pale as death. Her breath came in great gasps. “Have I killed him?”
“Sadly, no.”
“Who…who is he?”
Guy picked up the pistols then knelt and searched the man’s pockets. “I do not know.” He looked up. “Why are you here?”
“I …was on an errand.”
He stood and examined a piece of paper he had taken from the man’s pocket. He flicked her a quick glance. “Alone? On your father’s horse?”
She raised her chin. “Yes.”
“I’m sure your father doesn’t know of it.”
“This is hardly the time…”
A muscle ticked in Guy’s clenched jaw. “But do you now see how dangerous it is to ride alone, Horatia?”
“Well, it is for you, certainly. I don’t believe he was after me.”
He scowled at her. “A woman should not go about on her own when there are dangerous canailles about.”
“Canailles?”
Guy ran a hand through his hair. “Highwaymen.” His eyes narrowed. “You are quite aware of my meaning.”
“Well, I know now.” Horatia folded her arms. “But I believe I was the one who knocked him out, my lord.”
“That’s true, but I had it well in hand.”
“It didn’t look like you did.”
“You distracted me.”
“Such ingratitude!”
“I must get this man into custody, preferably before he comes to. If I had time, I would show you how grateful I am. ”
Unsure what he meant by that, the possibilities made her heart leap. “Shall I go for help?”
He shook his head. “You can’t. There would be gossip for a month of Sundays.”
Anger robbed her of breath. “Surely you don’t care for such things.”
“I care for your sake.”
Horatia opened her mouth and shut it again. “I do believe you are a man after my father’s heart,” she said finally.
His eyes widened. “Qu’est-ce?”
“You like to keep a woman under your thumb and safe from the world.”
“If that was your father’s intention, he has certainly made a poor job of it. But I don’t blame him for that. It’s a very difficult job.”
She bit her lip on a sharp retort and indicated the prone man. “Are there more bullets in his pocket? Give me a pistol. I’ll stay here and watch him while you fetch the magistrate.”
He gave a mirthless laugh as he stripped off the man’s belt. “You most certainly will not.”
“What are you doing?”
He fastened the belt around the man’s wrists. “What does it look like I’m doing?” He dropped the man’s hands and straightened to look at her. “Grab his feet and help me get him onto his horse. Then go home.”
They labored to drag the man along the path. He was heftier than a sack of grain and smelled of rancid sweat, tobacco, and onions. She wanted to hold her nose.
Together, they hoisted him sideways over the saddle, his arms and legs dangling. Guy mounted his horse and, with a pull on the reins of the highwayman’s horse, turned towards the road.
“Did he try to rob you?” she called after him.
He pulled up and looked back at her. “No.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You must have some inkling why these people keep attacking you.”
He shrugged. “Vous bénisse, Horatia. Say nothing. May I see you tonight?”
“Yes.” She looked at the limp form, still fretting that she’d dealt him a deadly blow. “I hope he won’t die.”
“He’s in no danger of it.” Guy’s gaze held hers for a moment. “It wouldn’t concern me too much if he did, as he did intend to murder me.”
“That’s all very well for you. You wouldn’t have been the one to have killed him.”
Guy gathered up the reins. “I promise you he won’t die. For a while.”
“Have you ever killed anyone?” she asked. She wondered at his remarkable composure.
“None of your business.” He huffed out a heavy sigh. “It seems I am in your debt again.”
She tried to ignore the pleasure she felt at the prospect of seeing him again and watched him ride away towards the village, the other horse and its comatose occupant trailing at the end of the rein. She didn’t wish him to be in her debt, but she was so happy he was alive that her heart soared. Then it occurred to her this might not be the end of it, and her spirits plummeted again. This rogue would not be the only one who wanted Guy dead; he had merely been carrying out orders. Whoever was behind it would try again. Who were these people?
Had Guy ever killed another man? She wondered again if what he’d told her was the complete truth. But if Guy was the consummate liar Eustace suspected, why didn’t he deny it? He must know she wouldn’t be satisfied with that evasive and quite rude response. Had he fought beside Napoleon? Who was he really? Eustace was right. Without documental proof, they did not know for sure.
It was all very difficult. But should Guy need it, she would come to his aid again, whether he liked it or not. Even if she saved him for Fanny, she thought, as a lump formed in her throat.
Horatia arrived home to find the household quiet and went to her chamber. She washed and changed into a house gown, hoping she hadn’t yet been missed. She found her father at his desk in the library.
He gave her a sharp look. “Ah, my dear. I had a visitor, Mr. Gantry, and we’ve been at the farm. Where have you been?”
“I went out for some fresh air.”
He frowned. “On foot?”
“No, I rode, Father.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
He rose from his chair and came around the desk to take her hands. “I am surprised and shocked, Horatia. How could you do such a thing with highwaymen about? And without my knowledge?”
At the disappointment in his eyes, a heavy weight settled on her chest. “I’m sorry, Father. I feel…stifled here sometimes.”
He studied her closely. “Stifled, eh?”
She had reached a stage where she couldn’t dissemble, not even to spare him. “Yes.”
“That’s not good, Horatia. Not good at all.”
Relieved that he didn’t ask her which horse she’d rode, she put a hand on his arm. “I should not have done so, Father. I am sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He straightened his back, appearing more like the figure of authority he’d once been commanding his troops. “Raising a daughter is not easy for a man. But I’ve done my best. I’m hurt you felt the need to keep such a thing from me.”
Dismayed, Horatia chewed her bottom lip. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you, Father.”
His expression lightened. “We all make mistakes, my dear. We shall speak no more of it.” He glanced at her. “Mr. Oakley called. He left some very fine vegetables with Cook.”
“How kind.”
“I planned to play faro at Mr. Broadbent’s this evening, but I’ve half a mind not to leave you alone. And it has begun to rain.”
“It is only a few miles up the road,” she said in a teasing tone.
“I suppose I’d best not let them down. You will be all right here on your own?”
“Of course, Father.” A deep sense of shame lowered her spirits. She was neither a dutiful daughter, nor was she honest.
After dinner, her father went off in the carriage with Simon. When it turned onto the lane, Horatia lit a lantern and slipped out to the stable. The light rain was dismal, and it matched the gloom in her heart. Familiar stable smells, warm hay, manure, and the sounds of horses snuffing in their boxes greeted her. She pulled her cloak close, her nerves on edge. It had been a frightful day; she had never hurt a living soul before. The memory of Guy’s kisses and how it had affected her seeing him lyi
ng in the hay tugged at her. Her worry, anger, and frustration were overlaid with something far stronger, a heady sense of desire that clenched her stomach. Hooves rang on the gravel drive, and she hurried to the doorway.
Guy appeared through the misty rain and dismounted. He led his horse inside, his shoulders slumped with weariness.
Horatia was immediately contrite. “Come into the house by the fire. Father has gone out.”
“In front of the servants? I believe I have compromised you enough,” he said.
“Don’t be so stuffy. I want to know what happened at the village.”
He glared at her, his eyes bloodshot, but didn’t resist and followed her to the house.
An unmarried lady receiving a gentleman alone at night showed a sad lack of propriety to heap on top of her recent misdemeanors. Did Guy disapprove of her? She was glad of her loyal servants, but she couldn’t make herself care about matters of etiquette. Not when matters of life and death were involved. She couldn’t wait to learn what had happened after Guy had left her.
They settled in the library where she had lit a fire earlier. It was a cozy room lined with bookshelves and held the faint lingering odor of pipe smoke and old tomes.
Guy sat beside her on the leather chesterfield. Horatia sipped a glass of sherry and watched him nurse a brandy. He wore a drab olive coat, and his linen was fresh and white against his dark skin. He appeared more vulnerable tonight. Somehow, it made him even more attractive.
He turned the glass in his hands, his gaze on the crystal that sparkled in the candlelight. “I found a map in the man’s pocket, detailing the roads surrounding Rosecroft Hall, in relation to Sherrardspark Wood. He recovered his senses but refused to say who hired him. I’m at a loss. The one person who benefits by my death is Eustace.”
Horatia sucked in a breath. She still could not believe it. “Eustace doubts you are the real Baron Fortescue.”
“I know. But he’s so dopey with laudanum he’s not thinking clearly.”
“He’s in pain.”
“He’s become dependent upon it.”
“Oh!”
“I lost my portmanteau when the highwaymen attacked me. It contained important papers and a letter from my father with his seal.”
A Baron in Her Bed Page 10
