“What I don’t understand,” Lord Martin Cynster, Eliza’s father, said, “is why he, the laird, fought with Scrope, who, by all accounts, was his henchman, and who at the time had Jeremy and Eliza bailed up.” Lord Martin spread his hands. “Why arrange a kidnapping, only to let Eliza escape? More, to ensure she escaped? It makes no sense.”
Jeremy had let the arguments run. Now he shifted and said, “I’ve been thinking about that. His actions would, presumably, make perfect sense if we knew his motives. Let’s say he — for some reason we don’t know — needs an unmarried, unattached, Cynster girl. So he arranged for Heather’s kidnapping, but as soon as that went awry”— Jeremy looked at Breckenridge, seated across the room —“correct me if I’m wrong, he dismissed his hirelings.”
Breckenridge nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Go on.”
“So … Fletcher and Cobbins, wasn’t it? They would have described you to the laird. You pulled the wool over their eyes, but what if the laird saw enough to be suspicious, at least to some degree, of your station? You said he followed you, but when he caught up with you — in open country with no one else about, him on horseback, very possibly with a weapon, and you on foot, almost certainly unarmed and with Heather to protect — what did he do?”
“He watched,” Breckenridge replied.
“Did you …” Jeremy gestured. “Sense any menace from him?”
Breckenridge hesitated, then replied, “No. I remarked on it at the time. He watched assessingly. He made no friendly overtures, but neither did he make any threatening moves.”
Jeremy nodded. “Exactly. And then once you’d walked on, he checked at a local tavern and learned you’d taken Heather to a manor owned by her family.”
“And then he left the area,” Breckenridge said. His eyes on Jeremy’s, he added, “Because he knew Heather was safe?”
Jeremy nodded again. “That’s what I surmise. Once he gauged what sort of man you were, and that you were protecting Heather, and I don’t know but would guess that he’d seen you and her together?”
Breckenridge nodded curtly.
“Well.” Jeremy blew out a breath. “Let’s remember we’re dealing with a highlander, a nobleman. Let’s assume he hunts —”
“And he’s used to commanding men,” Royce cut in, “used to reading men, and he trusts his instincts.” He’d stopped pacing and was looking at Jeremy. “Your hypothesis is starting to make sense. How does it fit with what happened with Eliza?”
“She’s the next Cynster girl — the next Cynster sister. So this time the laird sends a henchman who’s both more determined and more experienced than Fletcher and Cobbins. Fletcher and Cobbins were effective enough, but Scrope was more so, more ruthless, and also more accustomed to dealing with the ton. Eliza’s kidnapping was neat and efficient, and Scrope struck in the one place he could be certain Eliza would be, relatively speaking, unwatched.”
“True,” Devil said, his tone terse.
“Scrope’s use of laudanum to keep Eliza subdued through the journey, rapid though it was, again suggests Scrope was of a different caliber to Fletcher and Cobbins. But, again, once Scrope lost Eliza”— Jeremy looked at Royce —“I think the laird dismissed Scrope and came after Eliza and me himself.
“I originally thought Scrope and the laird were working together, chasing us. But”— Jeremy nodded at Cobby and Hugo —“as Cobby reminded me, if that had been so, then we should have seen Taylor, one of Scrope’s crew, helping. I can understand that the nurse, Genevieve, wouldn’t have been all that much use in the chase, but Taylor? He wasn’t a mindless thug — he tracked down Cobby and Hugo faster than we’d expected.”
Pausing, Jeremy glanced around the circle. “The only reason I can think of for Scrope not to have Taylor helping search for us is if Scrope had been dismissed, so let Taylor and Genevieve go, but then Scrope decided to disobey the laird’s orders and go after Eliza on his own.”
“By all accounts,” Gabriel said, “the laird, whoever he was, was not a man most people would gainsay.”
Jeremy grimaced. “Just from what I saw of him — always at a distance — I would have to agree. He cut an impressive and intimidating figure. Just watching him walk was warning enough. But from what Eliza has said, Scrope wasn’t your average kidnapper, either. He may not have been a gentleman, but he wasn’t far from it.” Drawing in a breath, Jeremy paused, then went on, “And from what we saw of Scrope over the last days, especially from how he spoke just before the laird intervened … well, he didn’t sound all that sane. It was as if the notion of Eliza escaping was, to him, simply insupportable. I think it’s telling that, at the last, it was Eliza he aimed at, not me.”
Various mutterings greeted that, but Royce was nodding. “Let’s concede the notion that losing Eliza caused Scrope to fixate on getting her back, regardless of how he did it. Given that scenario, could the laird have been following you with the same purpose as you’ve hypothesized he had in following Heather and Breckenridge — that he was seeking not to recapture Eliza but to consider you, her rescuer, and, if you passed his standards and protected Eliza and got her to safety, then he would let her, and you, go?”
Jeremy nodded. “I’ve thought back over all that we saw of him, and, yes, that hypothesis could fit. If he wasn’t desperate over which Cynster girl he took, then he could afford to be lenient, adjust his plans, and go after the next. He didn’t need Eliza per se any more than he’d needed Heather specifically — he just needs, needed, a Cynster sister.”
“So you’re saying he — who had originally hired Scrope — attacked Scrope because Scrope was acting in a way that would endanger Eliza?” Christian looked skeptical.
But Jeremy nodded again. “As far as I can see, that’s the only explanation that fits all the evidence.” He waved at Breckenridge. “All that we’ve seen.”
Breckenridge, too, nodded. “We shouldn’t forget that the laird’s instructions to Fletcher and Cobbins made it very clear that Heather was not, under any circumstances, to be harmed. ‘Not a hair on her head’ were, I believe, Fletcher’s words.”
Silence fell while all present digested that and absorbed the implications of Jeremy’s hypothesis.
Eventually, Lord Martin stirred. “I suppose, given he is a nobleman, then we have to allow that he might have some allegiance to honor.”
“I think,” Royce said, “that we might need to allow that. Regardless, the man’s now dead. We still don’t know what motive drove him to seek to kidnap one of the Cynster girls, but once we learn his identity, no doubt that, too, will become clear.”
“But as he’s dead,” Lord Martin said, “then presumably there is no further threat to the girls.”
“Thank God!” Gabriel’s exclamation was echoed by Devil. “If I had to put up with much more harping from Angelica on the subject of my overprotective tendencies, I’d be inclined to wring her neck myself.” He shook his head at the others. “She has a tongue that’s sharper than any sword. I pity the poor sod she decides is going to be honored by having her to wife.”
The laughter of all the others was cut short by the resonant bong of the bell, warning them that it was time to dress for dinner.
They all rose, stretched, then filed out of the library.
Royce, at the rear, following Jeremy, clapped him on the back. “Good work. Thanks to you, tonight is going to be a festive occasion.”
Lips lifting, Jeremy inclined his head. “You should thank Eliza — she did her part, too.”
Royce smiled and nodded. “I will.”
Later that night, Jeremy lay on his back in the very real comfort of a bed long enough to accommodate his length and wondered, rather woozily — courtesy of the draft the doctor, summoned by an insistent Minerva, had given him — whether Morpheus would oblige and allow him some rest.
His arm still throbbed dully, distantly, although the draft had indeed deadened the pain.
His brain seemed determined to keep going round and round, not quite focusing
on anything in particular, but equally unable to stop.
And beneath his whirling thoughts lay a disturbing, disquietening sense of something not being right.
The castle gradually settled, and silence fell. He’d almost resigned himself to not getting any sleep when the door to his room opened. Just a crack at first, then it swung fully open and Eliza whisked in and shut the door behind her.
He blinked, concluded, as she glided to the bed, peered at him through the dimness, then whispered, “You’re not asleep, are you?” that she wasn’t an apparition, a figment of his neediness.
“No.” After a second’s consideration, he inquired, mildly, “What are you doing here?” The words came out a trifle slurred.
She was already shrugging out of her robe. “Ssh — no need to talk. I just wanted to be with you, to make sure that you’re all right.”
Beneath the robe, her long, slender body was sheathed in a fine cotton nightgown.
Lifting the covers, she slid into the bed on his uninjured side. She snuggled against him as she normally did, or more correctly as she had done for five of the six nights past. Obligingly, he raised his good arm and she snuggled closer yet.
Her warmth spread like a balm over his uninjured side, then sank beneath his skin and spread further. Reached deeper.
She sighed and settled her cheek on his chest. “Just sleep.”
Part order, part instruction — all in all, an excellent suggestion. His lips had curved; his smile deepened as he squinted at her bright head. Then he did as ordered and relaxed; letting his head sink back into the pillow, he closed his eyes.
It was strange; just having her there calmed his whirling thoughts.
Her appearance in his room, her presence in his bed, didn’t, he knew, resolve any of the issues, answer any of the questions, revolving in his brain. Those issues, those oh-so-pertinent questions, lay before them, but that was for tomorrow.
For tonight … everything was now right, as it should be.
Now he could fall asleep.
And he did.
Chapter Seventeen
wo mornings later, Jeremy stood amid a chaos of carriages, horses, footmen, and grooms, with friends and close acquaintances clapping him on the back and wishing him well, and scented ladies he’d known and largely avoided for years patting him on the cheek and stating their expectation of seeing him soon in London, as the bulk of those who’d gathered at Wolverstone prepared to depart.
He didn’t know which deity to thank for prompting the general exodus, but he was immeasurably grateful.
Hugo, Cobby, and Meggin were the first to actually leave; they would drive back to Edinburgh in Hugo’s curricle. Cobby had driven Jeremy’s curricle down, and Jasper was now eating his head off in Royce’s stable.
“I say,” Cobby said. “I took a quick gander at your notes on Wolverstone’s Sumerian tome. Fabulously exciting! Don’t forget to send me a copy of the paper when you present it to The Royal Society.”
When Jeremy looked blank, Cobby frowned. “You are going to present your findings, aren’t you?”
Jeremy blinked. “Ah, yes.” It had taken long minutes to remember the fantastic find he’d uncovered. “Of course — I’ll send you a copy once it’s done.” Eventually.
The realization that, from the moment he’d turned his curricle north in pursuit of Eliza, he hadn’t once thought of the critical text he’d discovered struck him as epitomizing how much he’d changed. Even now, while matters between him and Eliza remained unresolved, he felt no inclination to spare time for his notes.
Hiding that frankly shocking discovery behind an easy smile, he shook hands with Cobby, clapped his friend on the back, then let him go and turned to farewell Meggin.
“Take care.” Meggin stretched up to kiss his cheek. Drawing back, she searched his eyes. “And be sure to bring Eliza up for a visit when this is all over.”
That “this” hovered over him, and over Eliza, too. He nodded. “I will.”
Eliza chose that moment to join them. Meggin turned, and she and Eliza embraced warmly.
“Thank you so much for all your help,” Eliza said.
Meggin laughed and repeated her invitation.
Eliza’s face lit. “Of course we’ll come.” Then she turned to Cobby and Hugo, wishing them well and laughing at something Hugo said.
Jeremy watched her. Her acceptance of Meggin’s invitation had been genuine, sincere; her interaction with his friends pleased and reassured him.
Although she’d spent the last two nights sleeping alongside him, ensuring he, too, got a good night’s rest, on both mornings when he’d woken, she’d already gone. And courtesy of the small army that until now had inhabited the castle, he and she had had not a moment alone in which to exchange opinions on anything. Consequently, he had no idea what she now thought, was thinking, about him, about them, about their necessarily joint future, not now that they’d returned to their customary world.
What he was in no doubt about was how all those present, barring only Cobby, Hugo, and Meggin — climbing into Hugo’s curricle even as he pondered — saw him. And therefore how they saw the looming connection-that-had-to-be between him and Eliza.
Her elder brother, Gabriel, was only the latest to reinforce that view.
After standing beside Jeremy and waving Hugo, Cobby, and Meggin away, Eliza was hailed by Breckenridge; she hurried off to speak with her sisters, whom Breckenridge was escorting back to town. Leaving the space at Jeremy’s shoulder to be filled by her brother.
“I wanted to thank you for saving her.” There was no doubting the sincerity in Gabriel’s deep voice. “Your plan to get her back here within one day was a good one, and with either Heather or Angelica it would have worked, but I know it was Eliza’s lack of riding skills that skittled the plan. It wasn’t your fault you and she spent days getting to safety. Indeed”— Gabriel’s lean lips curved —“for someone who spends his days with his nose buried in dusty books, you did exceedingly well avoiding all the dangers and getting past the hurdles to get her safely here. But the wider outcome wasn’t any part of your plan, and no fault of yours, yet you’ve made it plain enough you’re willing to accept it, and for that I — and the rest of us, too — honor you.”
Jeremy didn’t want them to honor him in that way, yet he could hardly protest that there was no need, that his willingness to save Eliza in the wider sense wasn’t primarily driven by any sense of obligation, not when he didn’t know what Eliza was now thinking. Whether, now they were back in society’s fold, she wished to cast their upcoming union in an obligatory light. His gaze on her as she chatted with Heather and Angelica, he replied, “I …” Sliding his hands into his pockets, he lightly shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do, for both of us.”
That, at least, was true.
Gabriel inclined his head. “Regardless.” He held out his hand. “Call on us for anything you need.”
“Thank you.” Jeremy shook Gabriel’s hand, then smiled at Alathea as she joined them.
The farewells continued. Jeremy had much the same conversation with Devil as he’d had with Gabriel, with much the same result. Having to skirt the question of just what the true relationship between him and Eliza was — having to let Devil, Honoria, Helena, Lady Osbaldestone, and all the rest leave with the clear impression that the union everyone had been careful not to directly mention would be one based on honor and driven by a need to preserve Eliza’s reputation … allowing that view to remain unchallenged literally grated on his nerves.
They felt rubbed raw by the time he’d waved away the carriage conveying Christian, Letitia, Delborough, and Deliah back to Lincolnshire.
Yet he had to admit to feeling grateful that so many had come in support of him as well as Eliza. On receiving the message he’d sent from Edinburgh, Royce had sent riders to Leonora and Tristan in Surrey, and to Eliza’s parents in London. Gabriel and Alathea had come north with Lord Martin and Lady Celia. Devil and Honoria had driven up, too; a
s Helena had been staying with them at the time, she, too, had come. Leonora and Tristan had broken the long journey north at Dearne Abbey, and found Delborough and Deliah visiting there, along with Lady Osbaldestone. Not knowing what the state of affairs might be north of the border, Christian and Letitia and Delborough and Deliah had joined Tristan and Leonora, and Lady Osbaldestone had, of course, come too.
Lady Osbaldestone had elected to return to London with Helena in Devil and Honoria’s carriage; it followed Christian’s down the drive. Gabriel and Alathea had already set out for London.
On the other side of the forecourt, Eliza had had more than enough of being lectured by her sisters. She hugged Heather, who then allowed Breckenridge to hand her up the carriage steps. On the top step, Heather turned and fixed Eliza with an admonitory look. “Remember, hold firm. You know what you want — so make sure you get it.”
Beside the carriage, Breckenridge rolled his eyes and feigned deafness.
Eliza rolled her eyes, too. “Stop fussing. I know what I’m doing.”
“Yes,” Angelica said, preparing to follow Heather, “but will you stick to it? We all know you’re softer, more malleable, than Heather or me. If you lose heart on this, if you allow yourself to be persuaded to settle for anything less than your dreams, we’ll …” On the top step, Angelica narrowed her eyes to green shards. “Well, I don’t know what we’ll do, but I do know we won’t stand for it. So don’t backslide.”
With that, Eliza’s irritating younger sister turned and disappeared into the carriage.
Leaving Breckenridge to follow.
He grinned ruefully and gave Eliza a light hug. “As your soon-to-be brother-in-law, I would merely add …” He paused, then sighed. “He’s a good man, Eliza. Whatever you work out between yourselves, don’t forget that — or all that he did, all he’s given, to keep you safe.”
In Pursuit Of Eliza Cynster Page 37
