On silent feet, he and Avery crept between two rows of yellow and white flowering bushes, his hood over his head just as Avery’s was. He halted at certain points, searching for any possible threat. A guard stood on duty in the shadows under one tree and he handed the rope to Avery, who snuck in behind the guard and caught the man in a choke hold, one hand over the guard’s mouth to halt him from yelling a warning. The guardsman tried to tear Avery’s hands away, but Avery tightened his hold on the man and he finally succumbed to the pressure on his windpipe and slumped in Avery’s arms. The two of them bound the guard’s hands and feet then tied him to a tree before gagging him in case he awoke.
Onward, they weaved through the garden, ensuring their coverage.
When they spotted a second guard, they disabled him in the same manner. A third guard remained on duty outside the servants’ entrance, so they left him for now and swept around the entire width of the manor a second time. They found another guard, put him out of action, then returned to the rear.
With his heart beating a ferocious tempo, he gestured for Avery to halt with him behind a bush. He pointed to the final guard who patrolled the servants’ entrance, the man moving back and forth as he kept everything in his view. Leaning into Avery’s ear, he whispered, “The sheer number of guards on duty signal to me that Rosamonde is indeed inside.”
“I agree. My sister is in there.” Avery growled low under his breath. “I want to gut Roth for what he’s done.”
“Then let’s get inside and begin the gutting.” His chest ached, his frustration burning fierce and hot as he scoured the darkened area outside before sliding his dagger from his ankle sheath. He palmed the hilt and bit out, “It’s time to slay the enemy.”
As the moon disappeared behind a thick, dark cloud, he snuck out from his hidden spot behind the bush and with a flick of his wrist, sent his blade flying, his aim for between the man’s eyes. The guard grunted as his blade hit its mark. The guard’s eyes rolled back and before the man could hit the ground, Winterly caught him and hauled him back to the bushes. He dumped the body in the scrub before nodding at Avery. “Time is of the essence.”
They snuck inside with barely a creak of the door as they opened it.
Following the path laid out by the countess’s drawing, they kept their hoods over their heads and followed the warren of passageways toward the front foyer where the staircase led upward to the first and second floors. They bounded up the stairs, came around the first corner and barreled into Roth’s butler. The man opened his mouth to shout but Winterly slammed his fist into the butler’s gut and Avery scooped a marble bust from a nearby column and slammed it over the man’s head. The servant went down without even a whimper.
“We need to hide him,” Avery hushed as he opened a side door and peered inside the darkened interior. “This is the game room by the looks, and it’s clear.”
“The game room sounds perfect to me.” Clutching the butler’s booted feet, he hauled the man into the room which housed the heads of game on every wall. Lifeless eyes stared back at him from every direction. He closed the door after himself and hurried after Avery down the hallway.
Up another flight of stairs, they rushed on soundless feet, then dashed through the gallery displaying portraits of the previous Marquesses of Roth. Under the light from a candle flickering in a wall sconce, he studied the drawing again to be sure of their next move. He had no desire to make a mistake now, not when they were so close to Roth’s personal chambers. Without uttering a word to Avery, he tapped the spot where they now stood, then where they needed to be. Avery nodded his head and motioned for him to lead the way.
He tucked the drawing away, gripped the hilt of his saber strapped to his hip and hastened along the meagerly lit hallways. When he reached the final stretch, he spied another guard standing across from a closed door and he slowed and motioned for Avery to halt as well.
Avery didn’t halt though—he bolted toward the guard with his dagger in hand and without any hesitation, buried it deep into the guard’s gut, one hand slamming over the man’s mouth to halt any cry for help. All but a light, muffled moan escaped the guard before his eyes flickered shut and he drooped in Avery’s hold.
“Get the door,” Avery demanded with a whisper as he back-stepped toward him.
Winterly opened the nearest door, thankfully to a small linen room, and motioned for Avery to drop the guard inside.
“Luck has been on our side this night.” Avery stuffed the man underneath the lowest shelf holding piles of fresh linen.
“My bet is that Rosamonde is in there.” He gestured to the chamber the man had been guarding.
“That would be my bet too.” A nod from Avery.
“Then let’s be away.” Closing his eyes, he sent a quick prayer upward for Rosamonde before tipping his ear against the door of the chamber. Not a noise traveled to him from within. He snuck inside and halted at the sight of a maid kneeling on the floor next to a bed covered in a gray and black tartan blanket, her elbows pressed to the mattress.
She glanced at him, scars crisscrossing one side of her face, her pale eyes softening as hope bloomed within them, then she pressed a finger to her lips as she stood. She hurried across to him and Avery, tugged them both inside and closed the door. Leaning back against it, she murmured, “Are you here for my mistress?”
“Yes, I’m the Earl of Winterly and with me is Lady Rosamonde’s brother, Viscount Avery.” He searched the maid’s face. “What is your name?”
“Mabel, my lords.” She bobbed into a curtsy.
“Where is she?” Winterly asked her. “Lady Rosamonde?”
“In his lordship’s bedchamber.” She motioned to a connecting door which remained closed. “There is a dressing room, then another door which opens directly into the lord’s chamber. Hobbs is in there too.”
“Who is Hobbs?”
“Lord Roth’s half-brother, who is as violent as the master. Please take all care. They will be armed. Roth has a foil hidden within his cane.”
“We’re armed as well.” He gripped the hilt of his saber. “It seems you don’t mind our arrival?”
“Not one bit, my lord. It is a blessing you are here. My lady made me promise I couldn’t leave the house to sneak out for Hillhurst Hall until she was ensconced within the lord’s chamber.”
“I take it you won’t call any attention to our arrival then?”
“Certainly not.” She pointed at the door. “Please hurry.”
Yes, no more could they delay.
Chapter 15
“May I pour you a sherry, Lady Rosamonde?” Roth asked in a sugary tone which had the hairs on the back of Rosamonde’s neck rising.
“No, I would prefer something far stronger.” She remained standing with her hands clasped in front of her, the blue skirts of her day gown sweeping the white woolen mat before the fireplace.
“I have some Scottish whisky. Is that strong enough?” He poured a splash into three glasses, picked up the first and handed it to Hobbs who lazed in a blue padded chair with his booted feet extended toward the warmth of the fire, then he collected the remaining two glasses and extended one to her. “By the way, I do approve of your show of courage. Which means it’ll make the moment when I break you all the more satisfying.”
Not prepared to show him any trepidation, she accepted the glass and sent him a narrowed look over the rim as she sipped it. The strong brew burned its way down her throat. Living this close to the Scottish border and having a father who enjoyed a glass of whisky from time to time had allowed her to garner a taste for the strong brew too. She took a second sip, the golden-amber liquid not burning this time but instead sending a rush of warmth to her belly.
Roth collected his walking cane where he’d propped it against the drinks’ table, then eased down onto the end of his bed. He puffed away on his pipe, smoke curling into the air.
This chamber had to have been the largest chamber she’d ever beheld, what with it being twice the s
ize of her father’s rooms. A chandelier hung from the high-beamed ceiling, the candles all alight, while a strange wooden rack with a high, sturdy beam across the top, held ropes hanging down from it.
“I see the torture rack has drawn your interest.” Roth sipped his whisky.
“Pardon?” She gulped another mouthful and looked anywhere but at the rack.
“If you don’t comply with my demands, then you’ll be strung from that rack, naked, your arms and legs outstretched as you dangle, for days on end if need be.”
Another mouthful and feeling a little light-headed, she set the glass down on the side table before gripping one edge of the mantel over the lit fireplace.
“Lift the hem of your gown, my lady.” Smirking, Roth extended his legs out lazily. “Slowly. Very slowly.”
“The lady will do no such damned thing!” Winterly appeared in the doorway of the dressing room, his saber in hand.
She swayed at the vision he made, such a beautiful vision, no matter the scowl darkening his face. Avery swept through after him and she bolted in their direction.
Hobbs caught her first, snatching her around her waist and hauling her back against him. With the cold steel of his dagger jabbing into her throat, blood trickled down the front of her gown. Big splotches of red splattered the floor.
A blade flew from Avery’s hand and thump.
It landed above her head, directly inside Hobbs’s open mouth, as if he’d swallowed the blade whole.
Avery caught her as Hobbs toppled backward, the dagger at her neck clattering on the floorboards in front of her. Avery whipped his neckcloth from around his neck and pressed it against her wound. “I’m so sorry, Rosamonde. How badly did he cut you?”
“Since I’m not lying on the floor as he is, I believe I shall survive.” The cut throbbed as she snuck her fingers under Avery’s and held the cloth in place. “I can look after myself. Go and help Winterly.”
Roth had released his foil from his cane and charged Winterly.
Winterly swung his saber and caught Roth’s blade dead center. Steel clanged loud against steel as the two of them fought hard and fast. Such a blur of movement. Winterly was on the defense, blocking each of Roth’s strikes, then he changed the flow of the battle as he thrust one foot forward and pushed Roth backward. With one hefty blow after another, Winterly forced Roth to retreat and the marquess stumbled on the mat before the fireplace. Roth went down, his head hitting the hearth, the fire poker nestled in its stand stabbing through his back and spearing his chest. Blood gushed everywhere, his eyes rolling until the whites showed.
She gagged, dry-heaving as Avery tucked her head against his jacketed shoulder. “It’s over,” her brother murmured in her ear as he squeezed her tightly to him. “Neither of those men can ever harm you again.”
“Let me see Rosamonde’s wound.” Winterly sheathed his blade, was at her side in a flash.
“Richard.” She released her brother and clutched ahold of her hero. “I knew you’d come for me, both you and Avery. I had no doubt about it.”
“Your cheek is bruised and your lip is split.” A low growl rumbled from his chest. “I need to kill Roth.”
“You already have.” She grasped his face in her hands. “How did you get inside? There is a guard outside my door, and the butler will surely return. Roth asked him to bring up a tray.”
“The butler is currently napping in the game room. I’m afraid there have been a few casualties tonight as Avery and I made our way to you.” Gently tipping up her chin, he eased the cloth from around her neck wound. He inspected the cut with great care then called toward the connecting door, “Mabel, come.”
Her maid appeared, her gaze going wide on the gory scene as she took in Hobbs’s then Roth’s prone bodies. Tears of clear relief pooled in her eyes and she sobbed with one hand clutched to her chest. “Oh my, we are finally free. I never believed this day would ever come.”
“It has come, and you are most certainly free.” Winterly beckoned Mabel to him. “Lady Rosamonde requires your care. She suffered a cut from Hobbs’s dagger when he restrained her.”
“Let me see it.” With one stubby finger, Mabel touched her neck and inspected the wound. “Bring her to Lady Roth’s chamber. My late mistress suffered injury after injury from her husband and her chamber is well equipped with medical supplies.”
“Will do.” Winterly kept one arm around her waist as he eyed Avery. “Take care of this mess.”
“I’ll do my best.” Avery nodded at her. “Don’t go finding any more trouble tonight.”
“I won’t.” She allowed Winterly to steer her back to Lady Roth’s chamber. He eased her down onto the end of the bed, then sat beside her.
Mabel foraged in the dresser drawer, tipped brandy onto a clean cloth and dabbed her wound. “It has ceased bleeding, which is a good sign.”
“Does it require stitches?” Winterly asked as he rubbed her back since she’d winced from the sting of the brandy on her neck.
“I’d rather use a sticky tree sap on this wound rather than stitches. It holds restorative, healing qualities and seals a wound without leaving a scar. Does that suit you, my lady?” Mabel asked her.
“Yes, it suits me very well.” She absolutely adored this young maid who she intended on keeping. Clasping Mabel’s arm, she asked, “I have a request. Would you consider returning with me to Hillhurst Hall and being my new lady’s maid? I currently share a maid with my mother, but I already don’t know what I’d do without you. You must say yes.”
“I would be honored, my lady, to accept such an esteemed position.” Mabel beamed.
“Ida and Bertha must come too.” She faced Winterly. “I cannot possibly leave any innocent servants behind when we depart this place and Mabel has already told me about the young girls here in this house.”
“Then they shall come with us.” Her hero looked into her eyes, such need swirling within them. “Tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m a little battered and bruised, but now that you’re here, I’m going to be just fine.” She cupped his cheek and smiled. “I love you.” She didn’t care if the whole world heard her declaration, not when she couldn’t withhold those words any longer. “You are my hero, twice over now, no thrice since I must also count Gretna Green.”
Mabel, still smiling, softly sighed and then she got busy searching for the bottle of tree sap, her back to them as she gave them a moment of privacy, or as much privacy as could be afforded in this situation.
“I love you too, which I mentioned to your mother. She is aware of the depth of my feelings for you.” Winterly leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I need to kiss you.”
A few scuffling noises echoed from Roth’s chamber, then Avery appeared and brushed his hands against his sides. He glanced at Winterly. “I’ve covered Roth’s and Hobbs’s bodies in blankets for now, although we’ll need to bury them soon. There will be a stench otherwise.”
“Is there a night watchman in the village who can oversee the burial?”
“No, and we’re a long way from the Bow Street Magistrate’s Office in London so they might confirm that Roth’s death was necessary.”
“Then we’ll need to write down our statements, as well as take Mabel’s statement of what she saw this night. We are dealing with the death of one of the peerage, which won’t go unnoticed within our Society.”
“Wait.” She lifted one hand. “Major Brekensworth is visiting his sister in the village. We could request his presence. He could come and aid where needed, to give his statement as well.”
“A superb idea.” Avery nodded. “I’ll collect the major and return with him, but only after we’ve returned you safely home, my dear sister.”
“Mabel is coming with us, as well as two young maids who are innocent of all that’s gone on in this house of horrors. Their names are Ida and Bertha.” She held still as Mabel smeared sap across her wound.
“I’ll find them, then attempt to restore some order downstairs wi
th the remaining servants.” Avery rested a fleeting hand on Mabel’s shoulder. “Thank you for all you’ve done for my sister this night.”
“You are welcome, my lord.” More tears pooled in Mabel’s eyes and flowed free as she smiled, her relief and happiness evident to see.
Avery left to find the girls, his saber strapped to his hip as he marched out the door.
Mabel wrapped a thin length of clean white cloth around her neck and secured it with a knot before crossing to the ambry and hunting within. She returned with a double-breasted white spencer and a fur muff.
Rosamonde stood, pushed her arms through the sleeves of the spencer and stuck her hands into the muff. She would be warm now for her return home. Winterly led the way downstairs, her in the middle and Mabel taking the rear.
Avery met them in the foyer after he’d gathered the girls from the kitchens, then he opened the front door and made sure all remained clear outside before motioning for them all to join him.
On the front step, Rosamonde breathed in the fresh night air, the silence stark and deafening.
“Do you hear that?” Winterly stepped in front of her as the drum of horses’ hooves suddenly penetrated the night, along with the clatter of wheels. A carriage emerged from around the bend in the driveway, the lamp atop spreading a golden glow across the coachman seated atop and two further liveried footmen standing on the rear board, men who served her father, the coach holding her family’s Hillhurst crest.
“It’s Father.” She grasped Winterly’s arm.
The coach drew to a halt and her father bounded from the carriage, cast a stricken look at her face and stormed toward them, his hat on his head and his dark cloak swaying from his jacketed shoulders. “I couldn’t remain at Hillhurst Hall a moment longer.”
She rushed forward and Father enfolded her in his arms, his warmth surrounding her as she burrowed her head even deeper into his shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Your cheek is badly bruised, your lip split, and your neck is bandaged.”
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