Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  If only that was completely true. “We don’t have time for talk. Move.” Grasping her arm, he guided her to Bess cropping at the grass. Dan leapt down, untied the reins and boosted Eleanor into the saddle. He helped Garrick to get up behind her, before remounting.

  “Where to, my lord?” Dan asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

  Good question.

  “Brown’s farm,” Ellie said. “My horse is there.”

  So, Lady Eleanor was taking charge. But since his head was spinning, it was just as well.

  ———

  The Brown kitchen was like any other farmhouse kitchen in England: tiled floor, polished copper pots and hearth with a kettle steaming on a hook over a large brick fireplace. Or it would be, Garrick thought, had a Marquess not been sitting at the kitchen table with his shirt off while an apple-cheeked farmer’s wife wielded a bowl of water and a bloody cloth.

  The back door opened to admit a burly man of middle age with a craggy face. “What’s all this I hear from the lad in the stable about Beauworth needing help?” The man was a younger version of Martin Brown and, Garrick recalled, one of Beauworth’s tenant farmers.

  “His lordship had a bit of an accident. A fall from his horse,” Mrs Brown said.

  “The lad said it were a bullet. Those highwaymen we’ve been hearing of, I’d wager.”

  “Oh, my,” Mrs Brown said, her blue eyes widening.

  Damn. They should have remembered Dan needed to know the story they had concocted for the farmer’s wife.

  Hands clasped at her waist, Ellie moved back to the table, whether seeking or offering protection Garrick couldn’t tell, because her gaze was fixed on the farmer.

  “The lad is mistaken,” she said firmly. “Please, Mr Brown, do not concern yourself. We came only to fetch my horse. We will leave right away.”

  Protection, then. It made Garrick want to smile, to pull her close and kiss her, but perhaps she’d change her mind about wanting to protect him, when she learned his secret.

  John Brown scratched behind his ear and stared at Garrick’s arm for a second or two. “I’ll send to Beauworth for the carriage.”

  “No need,” Garrick said. “It’s nothing. I’ll be back on my horse in no time at all.” He winked at Mrs Brown. “Isn’t that right?”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Yes, my lord.”

  Brown touched his forelock. “As you say, my lord. But we need to catch them villains. Terrorising decent folk they are. Mr Le Clere should be sent for. As magistrate, he’ll know what to do.”

  The irony of it struck Garrick hard. “I’ll bring it to my uncle’s attention the moment I get home.”

  “Aye. Well, you’ll find me mucking out in the barn, if you needs me. That good-for-nothing cousin of mine has disappeared again.” He stomped out.

  Mrs Brown continued her dabbing. “It’s just a graze, my lord,” she said. “The men gets worse cuts at haying time.”

  “I told you,” Garrick said to Ellie. She smiled absently. Damn it, they needed to talk about what had happened and then make some sort of plan to get her to safety.

  “I’ll just fetch a bit of liniment and we’ll bandage you up,” Mrs Brown said. She bustled off into what must be the scullery.

  “What do we do now?” Ellie asked.

  “Now we have to get you back to your brother. He came looking for you at the cottage.”

  If anything her face grew paler. “You’ve met William?”

  “Yes.”

  “At the cottage?”

  “Martin brought him.”

  She winced. “He knows, then. About us.” Her look of devastation pained him worse than the wound on his arm.

  “Ellie, we’ll be married right away. Everything will be all right.” He hoped.

  Her lips tightened. She got up, taking the bowl of water to the sink under the window. He had the strangest feeling of loss, as if it wasn’t mere feet, but miles she’d put between them.

  She turned to face him, her back against the sink, her expression hidden by the light from the window behind her. “What is going on, Garrick? Caleb, the man you found on the floor, said you arranged my abduction. Why?”

  Garrick shot to his feet. “Ellie, no. You can’t possibly believe—”

  Mrs Brown bustled back into the kitchen with a jar of something yellow and a roll of white bandage. The kindly woman must have sensed something amiss, because she hesitated, looking from one to the other. “If you would sit down, your lordship, I’ll have you better in a trice.”

  “Thank you. You are a wonderful nurse.” He smiled at her.

  She bridled like a young girl. “Go on with you, my lord.” She waved her pot. “Hold still now.” She removed the paper cover.

  Garrick almost choked on the dreadful smell. “By Gad, that stinks.”

  The woman smeared a dollop on his arm and proceeded to wrap the bandage around it. “We use this on the horses. Heals ‘em up lovely, according to my John.”

  She cut the end of the bandage with scissors and tied it off in a knot.

  “Thank you.” Garrick reached for his shirt and pulled it on. He thrust his arms into his waistcoat and coat and knotted his cravat at his throat. “Mrs Brown, I wonder if there is somewhere Lady Eleanor and I could converse for a moment or two?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. What was I thinking? Me keeping you here in the kitchen, with my parlour much more the thing. This way.”

  She led the way to the front of the house, to a room full of highly polished chairs, their seats stuffed with horsehair and covered in plush. It reminded Garrick of a visit to his grandmother’s house when he’d been a lad. “Will this do, my lord?” Mrs Brown bobbed, all formality and humble apology now he looked more like himself.

  “What a beautiful room,” Ellie said. “Thank you.”

  Mrs Brown beamed.

  “Yes indeed,” Garrick said. “A well-appointed chamber, and the view is very good.”

  Mrs Brown smiled. “I’ll bring you that tea.” She left, closing the door.

  “Good people,” Garrick said.

  She nodded. “They’ve been good to Martin, while he’s been living and working here.” There were shadows in her eyes.

  Garrick crossed to her side. “Ellie, I had nothing to do with your imprisonment or the ransom. An overheard conversation between my uncle and Matthews led me to you.”

  “Matthews?”

  “The man I shot at the cottage.”

  “Oh. They called him Sarg. He said—”

  Anger clawed up his spine. “I don’t care what he said. I had nothing to do with it.”

  She recoiled.

  God, now she was afraid of him. He fought for calm. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Ellie. I swear it.”

  He held her gaze for a very long moment, saw acceptance slowly dawn on her face with a deep sense of relief.

  “I didn’t want to believe it,” she said softly. “They made it sound true.” A sob caught in her throat. “I should have known better than to think so ill of you. I’m sorry.”

  He caught her to his chest and patted her shoulder. “Please, chérie, don’t cry. None of this is your fault.” He tipped her chin with his hand and his heart clenched at her tremulous smile. He brushed a wayward tear with his thumb and something welled in his throat. Tenderness. It didn’t mix well with rage. It felt strange, confusing. He wanted both to comfort her and kill the men who had caused her harm. “That’s better.”

  “Why did they blame you?” she asked.

  He took her hand, kissed her small fingers briefly and gazed into her face. “I think you should sit down.”

  Gripping her hand as if it could anchor him to rational thought, he led her to the sofa. She sank on to the seat, clearly worried. He braced for the coming storm.

  She gazed at up him, her eyes fearful. “They said they wanted something from William.”

  He wished he couldn’t guess what they wanted. He wished her chance remark did not lead him into hell and
he could deny all knowledge. He took a deep breath. “Le Clere is behind your abduction. Without my knowledge, I promise. I believe it has something to do with Piggot’s visit to your father.”

  Silent, eyes wary, she stared at him. His palms felt suddenly damp. “There was an accident. Years ago. My mother fell down the staircase at the Court. Piggot accused me. He said I pushed her deliberately. Then he fled.”

  “Did you?” she asked.

  He glanced down at their interlaced fingers. Dammit. He was avoiding her gaze and yet he didn’t want to see her revulsion. “I don’t know.”

  She pulled her hand away. “How can you not know?”

  “I can’t remember.” He got up and went to the window. Looked out at the very fine view of English countryside, rolling hills, neat fields and woodland and saw only black-and-white tiles, black hair and white limbs sprawled…

  “I remember nothing.” He glanced over his shoulder. She was watching him, her face serious, her eyes huge, her sweet lips pressed firmly together. “Except her body on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and Piggot, a footman, accusing me.” He did it on purpose. “He disappeared. The other day you mentioned he visited your father. I can only assume he told him the tale. But unless you heard something, or your brother did, I can’t understand my uncle’s actions. Did you hear Piggot’s story, Ellie?”

  “No.” Her voice was a whisper, full of shock and horror. “Did you…?”

  He hadn’t wanted to tell her like this, with so much at stake, and so much doubt in his heart. His voice grew thick and rough. “I loved my mother. Adored her. I can’t believe I would have hurt her, not deliberately. And yet…” He swallowed. “The Le Clere blood carries a taint. Blind rage with the strength of several men. The blood of Norse berserkers shows up every generation or two. Good for battle. Not good around people. That’s why Beauworths are always soldiers, not politicians.” He hated it. “Uncle Duncan, my father’s cousin, believes what happened to Mother was an accident.” He’d spoken the way adults pander to naughty children, leaving Garrick in doubt. “I knew nothing of this disease until long after my mother died. Le Clere devoted his life to our family. He loves Beauworth. Far more than I. I think he is trying to protect me.”

  “So you did not have anything to do with my abduction.”

  What could he do to make her believe? “I swear it. On my honour.”

  “Then why would they say you did?”

  “If they did it in my name, I suppose I am as guilty as they are.” He turned back to the view. “There is only one way to end this nightmare. I have to go to the authorities and admit the truth.”

  A light touch fell on his shoulder. He’d not heard her approach. Half-afraid of what he would see in her face, he turned and saw pity and the shimmer of tears. His heart cracked open and pain flooded in. The pain of guilt he’d held back for so many years.

  “You really can’t remember?” she murmured.

  He shook his head.

  “It must have been an accident,” she said.

  Ellie. Sweet gentle Ellie. Even now she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

  He forced a laugh, heard the bitterness. “I don’t need to remember. There was a witness.” He brushed the thought aside. “The most important thing is to get you home safe. Then I will deal with my uncle.”

  “But—”

  A scratch at the door and Mrs Brown, her hands full of tray, entered. “Here we are, at last. And look who came to see how you are, my lord. My John though it best to send word to the Court after all.”

  Garrick’s heart dropped to the floor as Le Clere stepped into the room behind Mrs Brown.

  ———

  Ellie could not restrain her gasp.

  “Why don’t you all have a nice cup of tea before you set out?” the farmer’s wife said with a beaming smile, placing the tray on the table in front of the sofa. “There are some scones here and preserves and a nice dollop of cream.”

  Ellie wanted to scream. While the sweet, well-meaning Mrs Brown chattered about cakes and set out plates and cups in front of her, she wanted to charge past the portly noble looking over the woman’s shoulder with the sorrowful expression of a bloodhound.

  Garrick stood pale and stiff, his hands clenched at his side. Why didn’t he object, consign his uncle, or cousin, to the devil, if they weren’t in league? This was a nightmare. At any moment she’d wake up in Castlefield and discover it had all been a horrible dream.

  But it wasn’t.

  “That will be all, Mrs Brown,” Le Clere said, moving aside. Then Ellie saw the reason for Garrick’s posture. Le Clere held a pistol. This really was too much. How many more men were going to hold her at pistol point today?

  She started for the door, intending to follow Mrs Brown out.

  “Don’t move, Ellie,” Garrick said.

  She darted a glance at him. It was two against one. If they rushed Le Clere, surely they could overpower him? His face a mask, Garrick shook his head, refusing her aid. Was he in this with his uncle, after all? Her stomach fell away, a sickening sensation.

  “Well, well, isn’t this pleasant,” Le Clere said in genial tones the moment Mrs Brown closed the door. “And here I thought Matthews had lost the pair of you.”

  “What the deuce do you think you are doing?” Garrick said tightly. “This is Lady Eleanor Hadley.”

  Eleanor let go of her breath. He knew his uncle better than she. Perhaps he thought he would listen to reason.

  Le Clere raised a heavy black brow. “I know.” He bowed. “By now your brother should be in possession of your letter, and be following his instructions. The exchange will continue just as planned.”

  “No,” Garrick said. “I will not allow it.”

  “You won’t allow it?” Le Clere’s face hardened. He no longer looked like a bloodhound, more like a bulldog. “After everything I have done for this family? Either Lady Eleanor co-operates or she dies, as will every member of her family.”

  Horrified, she stared first at Le Clere, then at Garrick, who paled.

  “Uncle Duncan, what the hell have you done?” Garrick started forwards. “This must cease now.”

  Le Clere tightened his grip on his pistol and moved closer to Eleanor.

  Garrick stopped short. “Why are you doing this?” Garrick asked, his eyes intent. “What does Castlefield have that is so important?”

  “Sit down, Garrick,” Le Clere said mildly. “We might as well have this conversation in a civilised manner. Perhaps, Lady Eleanor, you would be good enough to pour the tea?”

  Back to kind elderly gentlemen. It was uncanny. A shiver ran down her spine. Garrick sat. She followed suit. With a sense of unreality, she poured each of them a cup of tea. Le Clere’s pistol didn’t waver as he took a sip from his cup.

  Garrick refused tea. Eleanor poured a cup for herself. Perhaps if she threw it in his face…

  “To answer your question, Garrick,” his uncle said, “we need the letter Piggot left with this young lady’s father and everything can go on as before.”

  “Piggot left a letter?” Garrick squeezed his eyes shut as if the words caused him pain. “How can you know?”

  “He sent me word of a letter to be opened at his death,” Le Clere said. “Do drink your tea, Lady Eleanor. And don’t think about throwing it in my face. I can assure you a bullet travels faster than hot liquid.”

  Eleanor put down her cup. “It would be a waste of good tea.”

  Garrick whipped his head around and gave her a hard, warning stare. Well, it had been a feeble idea, but she hoped he’d think of something better, and soon, or she’d be forced to give it a try. Perhaps the teapot would make a better missile.

  Le Clere smiled. “Very wise, Lady Eleanor.” He returned his attention to Garrick. “Piggot warned what would happen if anything happened to him or his family. What I didn’t know was the letter’s location. I should have guessed he’d go to one of your father’s army friends. When the man I hired finally tracked
him down, Piggot was dying. It seems he wanted it all off his conscience and told his nurse the whole story. A few guineas later, and I knew exactly where to look.”

  Garrick looked as if the walls of the farmhouse were folding in on him. “You never told me any of this.” He looked genuinely shocked and horrified.

  “Why did this all come to a head now?” Eleanor asked.

  “The impending arrival of your brother made action imperative. He is bound to find the letter sooner or later. When he does, he will see it as his duty to bring it to the authorities. I could not allow that.” He sounded as if it was the most natural occurrence in the world.

  Garrick leaned forwards, his face dark. “Did you kill Piggot? Is there more blood on my hands I don’t know about?” He was white beneath his tan, looking ill.

  “Don’t be foolish, my boy.” Le Clere almost chortled. “What would that advantage? All the while he remained alive your secret was safe. Now the letter is to be opened. Fortunately your older brother died before he had time to go through your father’s papers, Lady Eleanor. We needed more time to look.”

  The words were like hot pebbles dropped on ice, the import fracturing the surface of her mind, the cracks spreading out, until the surface weakened and the stones fell through, sinking to the bottom with a threatening hiss. She gripped the fabric of the sofa, needing to feel something solid in her world. “You killed Michael?”

  “Let us say the timing was fortuitous,” Le Clere said.

  “No!” The word seemed to be ripped from Garrick’s chest. “No,” he whispered. His fists clenched. The knuckles white.

  “Control yourself, Garrick,” Le Clere said. “Anyway, by foreclosing on the mortgage and forcing you out, I hoped to find it before the next brother returned to England. William, isn’t it? Brave young man. Mentioned in dispatches more than once.”

  A wave of fear rushed over her. William. She closed her eyes, as strength drained from her limbs like water running through her fingers. She wanted to collapse. To scream. But William’s life was also in danger. She had to find a way to warn him.

  She glanced at Garrick. He seemed frozen, his shoulders rigid, but his dark eyes blazed fury.

  Unlike Le Clere, who looked calm, a relaxed, well-dressed gentleman taking afternoon tea, if it weren’t for the evil hanging about him like a cloak. She repressed a shiver. She would not let him see how afraid he made her feel.