by Lara Temple
‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’ he said urgently, taking hold of her shoulders. He wanted to crush her to him, but he needed to be certain she wasn’t hurt. There were scratches along her arms and leaves in her hair and her simple muslin dress looked more brown than white. And he had never seen anything more beautiful. She shook her head mutely, her eyes on his.
‘Blast you! I locked you in! Who let you out?’ Libbet cried out with sudden fury and Alyssa looked at him, the anger kindling in her own eyes.
‘You did, Libbet. Icehouses have hatchways in the ceiling. I climbed out. Did you really think I would just sit there and let you use me as bait?’
Her voice rose as she spoke and, hearing the shakiness underneath the anger, Adam drew her against him.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart, it’s over,’ he murmured against her hair, and despite his own fury at Libbet he realised he was smiling in wonder and a kind of resigned pride. Of course she would not just sit anywhere and wait. When had she ever?
Nicholas laughed outright.
‘Unbelievable. All those years climbing trees paid off, I see. And who the devil is Jerome? You scared the wits out of me there for a moment.’
‘Jerome is Libbet’s given name,’ Alyssa replied, still leaning against Adam. ‘I thought that was what Percy’s mother would have probably called him if they had been lovers. I had to try something to distract him and to stop him from taking you down there, but I didn’t want to scare him into shooting you, Adam.’
Adam raised her chin and gently brushed away some moss that clung to her cheek.
‘I don’t think there is one person in a hundred in Mowbray who would know his given name, you brilliant girl.’
She shivered against him and he tightened his hold on her. After a moment he stood back and shrugged off his coat and put it around her shoulders before turning back to the others.
‘Let’s get out of here. Jem, I need you to go fetch Sir James. And let’s keep this between us for the moment.’
Jem nodded stolidly and stood back a step. ‘On your feet now, Libbet.’
Libbet dragged himself to his feet, his head hanging, and began moving towards the path. He looked so broken none of them were prepared for the move. He had not gone two steps before he suddenly reached down, grabbed the discarded crowbar and with a roar of rage raised it, surging towards Adam. Adam pulled Alyssa behind him, raised Libbet’s pistol and fired, just as Nicholas did the same.
The two shots rang out in the forest and Libbet jerked back as if tugged by an invisible string before toppling to the ground, his knees bent under him awkwardly, and the crowbar hit the ground with a muted clang.
He lay staring at the trees, a look of almost childlike surprise on his face until Jem stepped forward and lowered his eyelids gently.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Alyssa stared at the clock and the clock stared back. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Why hadn’t he come yet? She felt like she had been awake and waiting for years.
She had understandably not slept well after the madness of the previous night. It was bad enough that Adam and Nicholas had taken her back immediately to the cottage and left her there with nothing more than the equivalent of a pat on the head, heading off to fetch Sir James and Dr Hedgeway. It was arguably worse to receive around noon a short note from Adam informing her he was busy with Percy and would come by later to discuss ‘their plans going forward’. And still worse to be still waiting, as patient and obedient as the mythical Griselda, and just about as foolish, when it was increasingly obvious he was delaying this meeting because he knew what had to happen now and he didn’t want to hurt her.
She knew she had to face the inevitable. Whatever he had said about the option of marriage being open, now that the danger was over, she knew he would want nothing more than to leave Mowbray and get on with his life far away from painful memories and demanding burdens. And she would have to decide whether to be selfish and compel him to marry her—even if it was to be a soulless union—or to grant him his freedom, and she did not know if she was strong enough to make that decision. She felt as if she was being torn apart.
Suddenly it seemed unbearable to be sitting there, waiting for him to come and inflict misery on her. She went over to her desk and took out two letters from the top left-hand drawer, spreading them out side by side. The first was from her mother’s friend, extending a warm welcome to Alyssa to come stay with her in London whenever she wished. The second was an equally inviting missive from Mr Burnley, of Burnley, Smith and Elder Publishers.
She stared at them. A few weeks ago the plans she was forming in her mind would have been the culmination of all she might hope for, all she had strived towards. Now she just felt empty, aching. Even with all the fear, over the past few days and weeks she had felt alive, more alive than she could remember feeling. She hated that he had that power over her. It should not be like this. It could not be that once again she was letting her happiness ride on the decision of a man who fundamentally did not need her, who regarded her as an obligation. It was unbearable.
She folded the letters and went to find Betsy. If she packed quickly, she could still make the London mail coach.
* * *
Adam hitched Thunder’s reins to the gatepost and looked up at the cottage. Its windows winked happily in the late-afternoon sun and everything looked sharper, more defined today, as if after a long stretch of grey weather a burst of rain had cleared the clouds, leaving only scrubbed blue skies and summer flowers at the bright pinnacles of their bloom—perfect yellows and oranges and reds.
There was something brutal about the fact that it had taken a man’s death to make room for this sensation of clarity, but life was brutal. His only regret about the way the threat had been removed was that Alyssa had been exposed to any of it. He would make it up to her somehow. He’d had no chance to talk to her privately after the dramatic events of the previous night; there had been too much to take care of.
Now that it was over he was finally beginning to realise what a hellishly long night and day it had been. Once he had taken her back to Drake Cottage, he had gone with Nicholas to find Sir James and Dr Hedgeway. But confronting their shock and their questions and the arrangements about the body had been minor compared to dealing with Percy. Nicholas had had to leave that morning to fulfil a family commitment in Berkshire, but thankfully Sir James had insisted on coming with Adam to break the news to Percy.
Adam had been unsure whether to tell Percy the whole truth, but he had given in to Sir James’s insistence on a full revelation. When Percy had collapsed and they’d had to send for Dr Hedgeway, he had wished they had held their peace. He wanted nothing more than to leave the lot of them and go to Alyssa. But he had stayed until Percy had recovered and finally calmed down, and Adam had convinced him to go ahead with his plans to sail to Barbados as soon as he felt able. Percy had surprised him by wanting to act immediately, though Adam supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was clear Percy couldn’t stand to stay in Mowbray. And so he had sent for Thorpe and together they had made what arrangements they could to allow Percy to leave immediately.
And now Adam was finally free to deal with his own affairs.
He strode down the gravel path, and though it might make no sense he felt almost as tense now as he had been the previous night when he had thought Libbet had Alyssa in his power. With the threat of danger removed, he was free to do as he wished. The problem was that the only thing he wished to do was to marry Alyssa and he wasn’t at all certain she was willing, even after the amazing interlude at the cottage the previous afternoon. He couldn’t forget the pain in her eyes as she had revealed she had been—might even still be—in love…
He knocked firmly on the door. Come hell or high water she was going to marry him as soon as he got his hands on a special licence. He wanted her safe. With him. He
wanted her in a way he had not known was possible to want anything.
Betsy opened the door and blinked up at him.
‘Is Miss Drake in?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no, My Lord.’
Adam felt a surge of disappointment and annoyance. Had Lady Nesbit come to her with more demands?
‘Where is she? When will she return?’
‘I don’t rightly know, My Lord. She didn’t tell me. I mean, she went on the afternoon mail to London, but she didn’t exactly say when she was to return. She packed enough for a week or so, so perhaps—’
She broke off at his expression and took a small step backwards.
It took Adam a moment to find the words.
‘London. She went on the mail to London.’
‘Y-yes, My Lord,’ Betsy stammered.
‘This afternoon.’
Her head bobbed up and down nervously. ‘Yes, My Lord. An hour ago, My Lord.’
He turned without a word and headed blindly back towards where Thunder was hitched to the gatepost and automatically swung himself on to the horse’s back. His mind felt empty except for the memory of the moment she had told him about the man she had loved. Surely she must have gone to London to see him. She’d told him she was planning to go to London when the danger was over, but he had never imagined…
After what had happened between them at the cottage she should have known… He shouldn’t have stopped. He should have claimed her. He had to stop her. By whatever means. Even if he had to kidnap her, he…
He tightened his hands on the reins and Thunder shook his mane in annoyance, dragging him back from the depth of his thoughts.
This was Alyssa, he told himself, fighting down the clean sharp pain that cut through him at the realisation he had no right to force anything or demand anything of her. She deserved whatever she wanted in life, whatever gave her joy. He had no right, none, to make another selfish demand on her. To become another person who needed and used her for their own purposes. His agony was a poor trade for her happiness. He had made a thorough mess of his life and deserved to pay his stupidity. She deserved infinitely more.
* * *
He hardly even noticed he had arrived at the Hall until Thunder stopped at the foot of the front stairs and a footman ran down to take the reins. Adam walked blindly up the stairs and past Stebbins, who stood waiting.
‘Is there anything you need, My Lord?’ Stebbins asked hesitantly and Adam felt a wave of protesting fury and despair. There was only one thing he needed, one thing he wanted in this whole useless world. He stopped and spoke without turning.
‘Stebbins. As of now I will not be receiving any visitors. Any problems you encounter—deal with them yourself or bring them to Thorpe. And when the door to my study is closed I am not to be disturbed for any reason unless the whole house is on fire. Understood?’
Stebbins blinked but bowed in assent and Adam strode into his study, shut the door behind him and moved towards the long windows overlooking the lake. It was a lovely view. The setting sun had turned the lake into a rich, gleaming gold and the sky into a cacophony of orange and pink and purple.
He pulled the heavy curtains over it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Alyssa stepped down from the mail coach in the White Hart’s large inner yard. She was the only passenger disembarking in Mowbray, but the cobbled yard was busy with traffic and she remembered it was market day. She had been gone only a week, but already she had lost the rhythm of Mowbray.
She had hoped going to London would give her the strength to face what must come, but she felt as bruised now as she had the day she left. No, worse, because she missed Adam with an unrelenting ache that only seemed to increase with time, like thirst. Every day she woke up wondering what he was doing and every night she went to sleep wondering the same. Even the success of her trip to London felt hollow. All she wanted, all she had wanted all week, was to see him again. The only thing that had prevented her from getting on the first coach back to Mowbray had been the conviction that she would be coming back to a choice she was not sure she could live with. She had tried to prepare herself, but the truth was she did not know how she was going to hide her need and pain from Adam when she saw him again.
She glanced down at the portmanteau the coachman had laid on the cobbles by her side. She knew she had to move, do something, but she felt rooted to the spot. Mr Curtis, the postmaster, nodded to her as he took the delivered mailbag, but did not address her. The uncharacteristic diffidence of the usually talkative postmaster dragged her momentarily out of her abstraction and she realised she was receiving quite a few unusually conscious and cautious glances from the employees and patrons of the White Hart. She flushed slightly. She should have known the events of the past few weeks would lead to a certain degree of notoriety and it was best to act as oblivious as possible.
‘Is the scary lord dying?’ asked a young voice behind her and she turned abruptly to face Johnny, Mr Curtis’s boy.
‘What?’ she asked in shock.
‘The scary lord with the big black horse. Your friend. Roddy said maybe he’s dead already because no one has seen him, or his horse, for a week ever since Mr Libbet died. Is he dead, too?’
‘Johnny!’ Mr Curtis advanced on them rapidly, his face beetroot red. ‘Enough of your prattle, run along now!’
‘Mr Curtis! Has something happened to Lord Delacort?’ Alyssa demanded, throwing caution and propriety to the wind.
The postmaster’s complexion deepened to an alarming shade of puce and he scowled at the receding back of his youngest born.
‘No, no, not that I am aware of. You know Johnny, Miss Drake. It’s just—’ He broke off awkwardly and looked helplessly towards the entrance to the inn as if salvation lay there.
‘Just what?’ Alyssa demanded, her heart beating furiously. ‘For heaven’s sake, tell me!’
Mr Curtis’s love of gossip overcame his embarrassment. ‘It’s true he has not been seen this week since Mr Libbet…died and Mr Somer…Mr Percy left for Barbados. And you went to London. He won’t talk with none but Mr Thorpe. Naturally there’s talk with all what has happened. People say he won’t stay long now. The Delacort people are right worried.’
At that moment Will entered the courtyard from the taproom, alerted by some publican’s sixth sense, his face reflecting the same avid but embarrassed interest as Mr Curtis’s.
‘Miss Drake! Welcome back—’
‘Thank you, Will,’ she interrupted. ‘Do you have a gig I could borrow by chance?’
‘A gig? Well, of course, Miss Drake. Here, Jack, go bring round the gig, will you? Right away.’
Alyssa thanked him as calmly as possible and waited with agonising impatience as Jack pulled out the gig and handed her into it. Finally they were ready and she could feel Will and Mr Curtis and practically everyone in the courtyard watching as they drove off in the direction of the Hall. The ride was not long, but the road seemed endless and her nerves tightened with each mile. She had no idea what was happening or if she would be welcome, but none of that mattered at the moment. Johnny’s words had set off an almost superstitious fear in her and she had to see Adam, make sure he was all right, no matter what he thought or what he was planning to do.
When they finally reached the broad drive leading up to the Hall the afternoon sun was glinting off the window panes and warming the Oxfordshire stone walls, turning them a burnished gold. It looked bright and happy and inviting and contrarily she felt so nervous her palms were damp and she was sure she was as flushed as she would be if she had run the whole way from Mowbray.
Jack pulled up the gig and she jumped down and hurried up the wide stone steps. Their passage up the drive must have been noticed by someone because before she had even made it halfway up the stairs the door opened.
‘Good afternoo
n, Stebbins,’ she said as she ascended the wide steps.
Stebbins stared at her with a peculiar look on his face and her nerves tightened further.
‘Miss Drake!’ he said at last, but he did not move and her fear grew.
‘Hello, Stebbins,’ she repeated. ‘Is Lord Delacort in?’
Stebbins nodded, flustered, and waved her inside.
‘Yes. Yes. In the study. Come in. Come in. He does not wish to be disturbed, but I think…’ He stopped, aware he was falling out of his role, and straightened.
‘This way, please, Miss Drake.’
She followed him, so nervous now her hands felt stuffed with hot, rough sand. The hallway was empty and clean, but somehow darker than she had remembered. Then she noticed that a trunk and a portmanteau stood at the foot of the steps and her heart contracted.
‘Is His Lordship leaving?’ she asked in a rush and Stebbins stopped.
‘I don’t know, miss,’ he replied simply and continued towards the study.
Alyssa shook her head, trying to assimilate everything through a mist of fear. Stebbins stopped again at the study door and glanced over his shoulder at her. He stepped back and motioned towards the door.
‘You go in now, miss,’ he said quietly, turning and heading towards the back of the hallway.
She stared after him in surprise and then took a step forward and opened the door, her heart working hard and loudly.
She did not know what she had expected, but there seemed to be nothing in there to merit Stebbins’s peculiar conduct or to give credence to the gossip. Quite the opposite. The room was rather dark, since the long velvet curtains blocked out most of the afternoon light, but it looked neat, quite different from her memory of her first visit to the Hall on Adam’s return. And it was empty. She frowned, untying her bonnet, and stepped inside.
‘What part of “don’t disturb” is unclear? Get out.’ Adam’s voice, harsh and angry, bit out from the back of the room and she took another step in.
