Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  Caleb entered the room, grunting under the weight of a table and a wooden stool. “Where do you want them, Sarg?”

  Sarg pointed to the far side of the room under the window. “There. Bring paper and quills.”

  The man cast her a leering glance, then shambled out, only to return with writing implements. He set them on the table, all the while casting sly looks in her direction, seeming to peer right through her clothing. Revolting beast. If only she had a pistol or even her sword, she’d teach him a lesson in manners.

  Sarg raised a brow. “We brought your clothes, my lady. I will have Millie bring them to you, once you have written the letter to your brother.”

  “My brother is abroad, fighting for his country.”

  “Was abroad. His ship docked in Portsmouth three days since.”

  She stifled a gasp with her hand. “How do you know?”

  “We’ve been watching.”

  Someone had planned this very carefully. The realisation rolled up from her stomach, dark and sour and thick, like the winter fogs that slid up from a river. What could Garrick possibly want? “I’m not writing anything to William.”

  “Perhaps Caleb can change your mind.” The threat was delivered without a change of expression in the grim face staring down at her. Her heart missed a beat as Caleb grinned over Sarg’s shoulder. She closed her eyes briefly. She couldn’t suffer that man to touch her. “Very well. I will write your letter.”

  Caleb stomped out of the room.

  At Sarg’s gesture, she seated herself at the desk. The sheet of paper was blank. She glanced up in question.

  “Write this,” Sarg said.

  If you care to see me alive again, dearest William, please obey the bearers of this note. Only then will I remain, as I am now, unharmed. She signed, Your sister, Lady Eleanor Hadley.

  She jumped when Sarg placed a calloused hand on her neck. She desperately wanted to jerk away. Instead, she held perfectly still. “Don’t touch me, you fiend.”

  “Will your brother recognise this little trinket?” His finger looped under the ribbon around her neck.

  “Yes.”

  The man undid the clasp. Eleanor could not repress her shudder as his fingers touched her nape. The moment he drew the chain from her neck, she got up and moved away. He picked up the letter and left without a word. Caleb followed him out.

  Drained, Eleanor sank on to the bed, her hands covering her face. This was all so dreadful. It seemed the Marquess had fooled her completely, taken her in. What could William have that was so important to him? The note told her nothing.

  What a fool she was, to be sure. Every step she took exploded in her face like a faulty pistol. Never again. She had learned her lesson. In future she would never interfere in things that were not her business. If she had a future.

  Millie shuffled in. “My lady, here are your clothes. Would you like help?”

  The woman seemed genuinely regretful, far more kindly than the men. “No, thank you. I am used to looking after myself.” Eleanor eyed the modest grey gown with longing. “I would, however, appreciate something to cover the hole in the door.”

  “Ye can use my apron.” The woman undid the tapes and dropped it on the end of the bed. “Just while ye dress.” She left.

  After covering the peephole, and half-afraid that Caleb might decide to check on her progress, Eleanor dressed quickly. She tidied her hair, though without pins she could only leave it in a long braid down her back. Properly clothed, she felt a whole lot less exposed.

  On the other side of the door, the woman moved around, humming softly to the sound of chopping and stirring. The revolting smell of boiling meat filled the air. Of Caleb and the man they called Sarg, she heard nothing.

  The window offered her only hope of escape. Past the spiders. She shuddered. She had to try now, while they couldn’t see in. She climbed up on the desk, pulled her sleeve down over her hand and swiped at nasty clinging webs. One floated against her face. Ugh. She brushed at it wildly. The table wobbled. She grabbed at the ledge. Don’t think about hairy bodies and long legs. Gritting her teeth, her mouth dry, a lump in her throat, and her shaky breath loud in her ears, she peered outside.

  Nothing but trees. No view. No landmarks. If she managed an escape, which way to go? It didn’t matter. Anywhere would be better than here.

  She pushed up on the sash. It refused to budge. She banged upwards with the heel of her hands. The rough wooden frame dug into her palms and the window shot up with a bang. A cobweb tickled her nose. She squeaked, yanked the window closed and jumped down. She tipped over the stool and smashed her plate on to the floor just as Millie and Caleb ran in.

  “Oh, ho,” said Caleb, looking from the stool and the plate to her. “There’s that temper again. I’ll tie you to the bed if you’re going to start them sort of tricks.”

  He loomed over her. Eleanor shrank away. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  “Aye. Well, you threw it down, you pick it up. Nay, Millie, do not help her. She better learn some manners right quick, or I will give her a lesson she won’t forget.” His hand went to the belt at his waist.

  Eleanor knelt swiftly and picked up the shards of pottery and crusts of bread. They watched her silently. She scooped them on to the tray and righted the stool.

  Caleb pulled down the cloth that covered the peephole and ushered Millie out, leaving the door open. “Break another platter, my lady, and you’ll eat off the floor.”

  Not until she was sure no one was watching her did Eleanor glance up at the window. Would they notice the lack of dust and cobwebs? She wiped her hands on her skirts with a grimace. After dark, she’d have to brave the spiders again. No choice. She must reach William before he paid her ransom. Then she’d decide what to do about Beauworth.

  She recalled the words he’d spoken at the barn. No abductor ever lets his victim live. Had his charm been nothing but a ruse? Was he paying her back for what she had done as Lady Moonlight? Or did William really have something he wanted and she had let herself be fooled? Which meant somehow, he’d known who she was all along. Something squeezed in her chest. The horrid sensation of a heart in denial. But her heart was probably wrong.

  “We need more wood for the fire.” Millie’s announcement in the room beyond broke through her agitated thoughts.

  “That’s your job, woman. I’m guarding the prisoner,” Caleb said.

  Millie cursed.

  Through the open door, Eleanor watched Millie pick up a basket and head outside. Caleb remained sitting at the table, his half-closed eyes fixed on her. Her heart picked up speed. Now she knew how a mouse felt when faced by a cat. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she got up and closed the door. It swung back before she could step away.

  “Leave it, wench,” Caleb said.

  “Hoping I’ll try to escape?”

  He stepped threateningly over the threshold.

  Damn. Why could she not keep her mouth shut?

  Hand on the doorjamb, he raked her body with a hot greedy expression. She wanted to back away, to get as far from him as possible. Giving ground would be a fatal admission of weakness. She watched him warily.

  Caleb smiled. His mottled skin flushed dark as he reached out to touch her. Calloused skin brushed her cheek. Sour breath filled her nostrils.

  “Hands off, you oaf.”

  He rocked back on his heels, clearly taken aback. He grabbed at the doorpost, unsteady on his feet. Drunk. “Come on, pretty lady. Old Caleb only wants a little bit of what the Marquess “ad.” He frowned. “’Twould be better if you gave it to me nice like, than if I “as to take it.”

  Every nerve in her body warned of danger. Flee or fight. Cunning was better. Eleanor smiled. “Well…” She took a half-step forward.

  His lips rolled back over his rotting teeth. She grasped the edge of the door and swung it with every ounce of strength. The corner hit the middle of his forehead with the crack of a hammer. His nose burst and blood spurted. He stood there
staring, unblinking, unmoving, blood dripping off the ends of his moustache. She’d not hit him hard enough. She backed away. Now he’d come after her and she had nowhere to run.

  His eyes glazed. He fell slowly backwards and crashed to the floor like a felled tree.

  Oh, God, she was going to be sick. She had never in her life caused such damage to another human being. No time for regret. This would seal her fate if she didn’t leave. She needed a weapon. A gun, or a knife. She dropped to her knees beside the unconscious man and feverishly searched his pockets. She found a pistol in one pocket and a dagger in the other. She ran for the door. Lifted the latch. Footsteps clattered on the flagstones outside.

  Blast. She dodged back, hugging the wall behind the door. Her heart in her mouth, she cocked the pistol.

  Chapter Seven

  Something hammered against Garrick’s skull.

  “My lord!”

  It wasn’t in his head. There was someone at his door. “Go ‘way.” He could barely get the words through the fur lining of his mouth.

  “Please, my lord. It’s Dan.”

  Garrick groaned and sat up. He was still wearing his shirt. The curtained room was dark and enough of the haze cleared from his head to wonder what time it was.

  “My lord.” Nidd entered through the door to his dressing room. “That lad says he needs to talk to you right bad.”

  “Damn it all,” Garrick muttered. Couldn’t a fellow get drunk in peace? If Uncle Duncan hadn’t gone off to Portsmouth on business, he would have broached the old man yesterday, instead of a bottle of brandy. Now he had to face today with a bloody headache. “All right, send him in. Nidd, can you find some of those miracle powders of yours?”

  “Aye, master, right gladly.”

  A few seconds after Nidd had left, Dan stood in front of Garrick, his hat clutched in his hand, his face troubled. Bloody hell. Clearly the lad had been up to mischief. Garrick glared at him. “What is it?”

  “It’s M-Miss Brown,” the boy stuttered.

  Garrick narrowed his eyes. “What about her?”

  “I was having a drop of blue ruin on the quiet, like, late last night and I…” Dan gazed at his shuffling feet. Garrick had forbidden him to indulge the taste for gin he’d developed in childhood. “I fell asleep in the loft. I woke up this morn when Mr Matthews rode in. His lordship came out to meet him.”

  Good. Uncle Duncan was back. He must have returned after Garrick went to bed. He realised Dan was staring at him. “Catch you, did they?”

  “No, my lord. They were right under me. I couldn’t help but hear what they said. I think Miss Brown is in some sort of trouble.”

  Garrick straightened, the mists in his brain receding. “You must be mistaken. Miss Brown left Boxted two days ago.”

  The boy winced, but continued doggedly. “Mr Matthews said something about a letter, but she was still sleeping. I didn’t know what they meant. Then his lordship said it was kind of you, my lord, to hand them a weapon. It didn’t make no sense.”

  “Any sense.”

  “Yes, my lord. Then Mr Matthews says for a lady she was a hellion and he looked forward to taming her. Then his lordship said no, that Mr Matthews was to leave the Marquess’s ladybird alone. That’s when I knew they meant Miss Brown, my lord, for I knows she’s—”

  Garrick scowled. Dan flushed to the roots of his hair. “I didn’t mean no disrespect, my lord.”

  The boy had a screw loose. Unless Le Clere had some misguided notion of saving Garrick from himself. Hardly likely. Perhaps the boy had misheard. “Did they say where Miss Brown was?” His voice creaked like an old door.

  Dan curled into his shoulders, a picture of defiance underpinned with fear. “I followed.”

  “Followed who?”

  “Mr Matthews, my lord. I couldn’t hear no more, they walked away, but I got down from the loft and when I saw him ride away I followed. He went over by Standerstead, to a cottage.”

  Utter nonsense. “Did you see Miss Brown?”

  “No, my lord, there was this big ugly cove standing outside. Looked to me like he was carrying a brace of pops as if he was guarding somethin’. Like them soldiers at Horse Guards.”

  Garrick narrowed his eyes, cursing the fog in his brain. Dan had no reason to lie. It didn’t make sense, but he had to be sure. “What time was this?”

  “Not long ago, an hour mebbe.”

  “Can you find the place again?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good lad.” Garrick squeezed into his coat. “Ask Nidd to hurry up with that powder, then meet me at the stables. Have Johnson saddle Bess.”

  The boy touched his forelock and dashed off, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

  Garrick retrieved his duelling pistols from the case in his dressing room and shoved them into his waistband. He was struggling into his boots when Nidd arrived with the promised potion.

  “Oh, my lord, look at you putting fingerprints all over them new Hessians.”

  “Never mind that, Nidd. I’m off on some urgent business.” He tossed off the cloudy liquid and made a face at its bitter taste. “Have you seen my uncle?”

  “I understand he’s busy in his study, my lord.”

  “Good. No need to disturb him.”

  Garrick reached the stables without seeing anyone at all, and found Dan standing in the yard holding a skittish Bess and the reins of the bag of bones he’d ridden before. Garrick shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dan. Stable your horse and return to your duties. I will get there faster alone. Give me the directions.”

  Dan’s face dropped, but he complied.

  ———

  For a city lad he had given very precise directions and Garrick had no trouble finding his way to the one approach leading to the cottage, a narrow cart track winding through the woods. The smell of smoke gave away its location. Garrick tied Bess to a blackthorn bush and surveyed the thatched half-timbered hovel. A woodcutter’s cottage. No sign of any guard. He crossed the clearing and strode up the flagstone path. No sound emanated from within. The door was ajar. He pushed it open.

  A tub o’ lard lay on his back on the stone floor, his face a bleeding pulp. What in hell’s name had happened here?

  Garrick crossed the room swiftly and knelt beside the injured man. He felt for a pulse. He swung around at a rustle behind him and stared from the barrel of a pistol to the rigid, white face of a very determined young woman.

  He got to his feet and held out his hands, wariness and relief coursing through him. “Ellie, you are here. Are you all right?” He hesitated and then bowed with a regretful smile. “I mean, Lady Eleanor.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I might think you were pleased to see me.”

  What the hell was she talking about? He stepped forwards. She waved her pistol. “Stay back.”

  “My lady, you seem to be in some danger. I think we should leave.”

  Eleanor frowned. “We? I think not. Where did you arrange to meet William?”

  “Your brother? I made no such arrangement.”

  She glared. “Don’t think to fool me again. Just tell me the meeting place.”

  He recoiled, shocked by her obvious distrust. He kept his voice gentle. “We have to leave before anyone comes, then we will talk.”

  “We are not doing anything. Don’t think me a fool. Your man here told me everything.” She levelled her pistol at his head. She backed towards the door. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I don’t know how to use this weapon, will you, Garrick? Make one move and you’re a dead man.”

  Clearly he was dealing with Lady Moonlight. “As you wish. Go on your own. But go now.”

  A shadow fell across the flagstones outside. He moved to get a better view. Her pistol followed him. Damnation. Matthews. With a gun in his hand and a smile on his face.

  “Stay where you are, my lord,” she warned in a low voice.

  Matthews’s gun was levelled at her back. If he warned her, she would look. And she might die
.

  Garrick dived to the floor, rolling, yanking free a pistol. She kept her weapon trained on him. Garrick fired. Her shot came a second later. The burning, ripping pain of her bullet tore into his bicep. He reeled from the numbing force. Thank God she hadn’t shot to kill.

  She jerked around at a sound behind her. Face twisting in pain, Matthews shook his hand, blood trickling from his fingers, his pistol at his feet.

  Garrick launched himself upright, staggered forwards, reversed his pistol and struck the steward behind the ear. He measured his length with a dull thud beside the first man.

  “Go,” Garrick said. “Get out of here. Take my horse. She’s ten yards off to the right of the path. For God’s sake, hurry.”

  Eleanor pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. “I shot you.”

  “Never mind that.” Garrick bent to pick up Matthews’s pistol. He forced it into her hand, relieving her of her discharged weapon. “Run.” He pushed her ahead, urging her out the door and down the path. With one hand in the small of her back, he guided her to his horse.

  A raucous shout came from behind. A woman running from the back of the cottage. They were done if she was armed. He kept going. His shoulder blades tensed, anticipating yet another bullet. More noise, ahead of them this time, a rider thundering down on them.

  Garrick drew his second pistol. “Keep going,” he shouted. “I’ll catch you up.” His left arm useless, he dropped to one knee and steadied his forearm on his thigh, ready to shoot the rider as he came in sight. He would only get one shot.

  “My lord.” The rider turned his horse at the last moment. The blond curls were unmistakable. Dan? By thunder, the lad needed a good hiding if this was the way he followed orders. Garrick released his finger. “You young idiot. I told you to stay at Beauworth.”

  The boy stuck out his bottom lip.

  “Never mind. Come on.” Garrick turned to follow Eleanor and almost tripped over her, crouching behind him with her weapon cocked and ready to fire. He cursed. Would no one obey anything he said?

  She stared at him, a puzzled frown on her face. “You don’t really know anything about this, do you?”