Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  He leaned back in his chair, his face smug. “I paid one of the bailiffs to search the house. He found nothing. Not even a safe.”

  The room behind the panelling. Built in Tudor times as a priest hole. It would take a clever thief to find it.

  “Ah,” Le Clere said, his gaze narrowed on her face, “I see you know where it is.”

  “Ellie,” Garrick said. “Tell him nothing.”

  Perhaps he’d let her guide him to it. Once at Castlefield, she’d be in familiar territory. It might give her an advantage. “I’ve never seen this document, but my father did have a safe.”

  Le Clere nodded. “I would have found it given time, but I made a mistake.” He looked at Garrick. “I took advantage of Garrick’s weakness for a certain young lady. I thought it would keep him at Beauworth.” He looked sorrowfully at the Marquess. “We can solve all this right now, Garrick. Marry Lady Eleanor, get an heir and leave me as guardian. I’d be more than happy for you to go off and get yourself killed.”

  The kind way he spoke the words made Eleanor’s stomach heave. “You are disgusting.”

  “Despicable,” Garrick said. “And the game is up.”

  “Is it?” Le Clere rose to his feet. “By now, Matthews should be outside with the carriage. All we have to do is meet your brother at the assigned place and everything will be all right.”

  “I think not,” Ellie said with dawning fear. “I know what he did.” She pointed at Garrick. He winced. A wry smile curved his lips and it wrenched at her heart that he did not deny it. How could she feel such a pang of sympathy when so much evil had been done in his name?

  Le Clere pursed his lips, his head cocked on one side. “You think anyone will pay any attention to the words of a jilted lover? Just do as you are told and you can return home safe and sound.”

  He lied. Something in his face told her he would not leave any of them alive. Including William and Sissy. A cold wind seemed to brush across her shoulders and penetrate her bones. Fear. Deep and terrifying. She fought its numbing weight. “You planned it all. The ship I invested in. The debt.”

  Le Clere had the gall to laugh. “Dear lady, your man of business works for me.”

  “Jarvis?”

  “The same.” The more this man said, the more she felt like a fly spinning around in one of those horrible sticky webs, and no matter how she struggled she would never get free.

  Garrick must have sensed something similar because he leaned forwards, glaring at his uncle. “I’ll expose you. I’ll go to the authorities the moment your back is turned.” He looked ready to spring at his uncle, his shoulders tense, his face a mask of fury.

  Eleanor braced herself, ready to follow his lead.

  “And Lady Eleanor will die,” Le Clere said softly. “Now, or later. And it will be your fault.”

  A hiss of breath left Garrick’s lips. He sagged back against the cushions. “Damn you.”

  Mrs Brown stuck her head in the door. “The carriage is here, my lord.”

  Le Clere reached across the table and grabbed Eleanor by the arm. The pistol jammed against her ribs. “I know you won’t mind helping an old man out to his carriage, Lady Eleanor.”

  If she resisted and Le Clere killed her, she would have no chance to warn William. She inhaled a shaky breath and rose to her feet.

  Le Clere drew her close. “Garrick, do go ahead. One misstep and Lady Eleanor will find a nasty hole in her stomach.”

  Fury rolled off Garrick in dark waves. Lines bracketed his white-edged lips. The sinews in his neck stood out against his collar, his hands opening and closing as if he was ready to strangle his uncle. His eyes bored into Le Clere’s for a long minute, as if he debated what to do, then his shoulders slumped and he walked ahead of them into the hallway.

  Le Clere put an arm about her shoulders, let her feel the press of the weapon into her side, then urged her forwards. The front door stood open. In the farmyard beside the carriage, Matthews, a livid bruise on his temple and a bandage around the knuckles of his right hand, looked as if he would very much like to shoot someone.

  Two horses were tied to the rear of the carriage and Caleb, his face a bloody ruin, glared at them from the box. She certainly didn’t have any friends she could turn to for help among this lot. Not even Garrick, it seemed.

  Of the helpful John Brown, there was no sign. Besides, what could a farmer do against his landlord? A movement in the barn, a flash of yellow. A slight figure peering out. Dan, no doubt. The poor lad could be of no help, either. No one could. The realisation sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  Garrick climbed into the coach. Matthews followed him in. Then Le Clere shoved Ellie inside and climbed up behind. He pointed his pistol at her head. “Tie their wrists at their backs, Matthews. We don’t want any more problems.”

  ———

  Blood pounding in his ears, vision hazed, Garrick stared at Le Clere. His father’s cousin. A man he’d known all his life. His flesh and blood. Why had he never seen this side of Le Clere?

  He had. Years ago. A faint memory of loud voices, his mother weeping. And later, when Garrick refused to admit pushing his mother down the stairs, the man had lost his temper and taken a cane to Garrick’s back. Le Clere had changed after that, Garrick realised. Become his friend. His mentor. His kindly conscience, always reminding him what he’d done without coming out and saying it in words. In the close confines of the carriage, Le Clere’s lust for power pervaded the air, rank and toxic.

  The thought that Le Clere had done it on his behalf horrified him. Worse yet, Garrick wanted to kill him for what he’d done to Ellie.

  The rope around his wrists bit into his flesh as he strained against them. He glared at the pair of them, Matthews and Le Clere, and smelled their blood in his nostrils. He wanted that blood on his hands. He pulled on the ropes binding him. But Matthews knew his work. The rage inside Garrick grew until he could see little more than their faces through a red mist.

  Beside him, Eleanor sat rigid, watchful and coolly remote, when she should have been having a fit of the vapours after all she’d heard. Courage shone in her eyes, but how she must hate him now she knew what lay beneath his skin.

  Control. He needed control or he’d be lost. He took slow, deep breaths. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” Le Clere said.

  He would. And when he did, he’d be ready to act. Surely he could outwit a man who had clearly lost his reason?

  Chapter Eight

  The carriage pulled to a halt. Garrick peered out. They were only a few yards into the lane beyond the farm. Matthews leaned over and tested first his ropes and then Ellie’s. “They won’t be getting free in a hurry.”

  “Good,” Le Clere said, and leaned forwards to open the door. Garrick’s heart picked up speed.

  His uncle laughed. “Don’t worry, Garrick. I’ll be a few feet behind you all the way.” He stepped out, followed by Matthews. The two men mounted their horses, no doubt with a view of discussing their plans in private. The carriage set off once more.

  Ellie stared out of the window, her shoulders stiff, her face white and her expression forlorn.

  The rage in his gut unfurled like a dragon full of fire, heat rushed up from his belly. He took a deep breath. It wouldn’t help. When she didn’t say anything, he fished around for a way to break the silence. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a knife?”

  He didn’t like the way her gaze raked the interior of the coach. “Please, Ellie, whatever you do, no heroics. Trust me to get you out of this and follow my lead.”

  Nor did he like the way her determined chin came up in challenge. “Do you have a plan?”

  “I’ll take advantage of whatever opportunity is offered.”

  She curled her lip. “An excellent plan.” She turned her head to gaze out of the window.

  “Sarcasm won’t help.” He huffed out a breath. “Ellie, believe me, I won’t let my uncle harm you.
”

  “He killed my brother. For you.” Her voice was husky. She turned her head slowly. The glitter of tears she’d tried to hide with harsh words cut a swathe through his heart. She’d been so brave up to now and to see her spirit leach away weighed heavy on his soul. Nor could he think of a word to say in his defence.

  He couldn’t afford to let himself feel her pain, because if he allowed the emotions through, the anger he held at bay would take over and he’d be nothing but a raging unthinking beast.

  He stared out of the window. They were approaching the crossroads beyond the village. The place where the first Lady Moonlight had ended her life on the gibbet. With a wry twist of sick humour, he hoped it wasn’t an omen.

  The carriage halted behind a stone wall at the edge of the common where the villagers grazed a few sheep and a scrawny cow. Garrick watched Caleb take off at a run, a musket over his shoulder, heading for a ridge to the east where scattered boulders and gorse provided plenty of cover.

  Matthews opened the door, blocking his view. “Out you get. Ladies first, if you please.” He bowed.

  Garrick thought about head-butting the man on his way down the step, but saw Le Clere watching from a short distance off and could only watch in helpless fury as Matthews’s hand clenched around Ellie’s elbow. At the steward’s nod, Garrick leapt down and glanced across the open tract of land to where Caleb had disappeared. The man had ducked out of sight.

  A perfect place for an ambush.

  ———

  Trust him? An admitted murderer? Ellie wanted to. He’d been naught but a child. Could such an act be the sign of some horrible disease, as Garrick seemed to believe, or simply an accident? It seemed incredible to believe he’d killed his mother on purpose. But both he and Le Clere seemed convinced of his guilt. And then he’d asked her to trust him.

  Up to now, everything she’d done had turned out for the worst. Like a fool, she’d trusted Jarvis to guide her in the matters of business, and look where that had led. With William’s life in the balance, the only person she dare trust was herself, and even there she didn’t have a lot of faith.

  Michael. A pain carved through her chest. Don’t think about what had happened. Not now. Concentrate on what you need to do.

  Her mind whirling in circles of indecision, she picked her way through the long grass to the wooden stile at Matthews’s direction. Garrick followed.

  “Wait here,” Matthews said. “And don’t try nothing funny. I’ll be watching.” He marched back to Le Clere, who had remained with the carriage, scanning the surrounding countryside with a spyglass. Watching for William?

  Should she run? Not with Matthews’s shotgun pointed her way. If she wanted to escape, she’d need a distraction. She looked at Garrick. He seemed oblivious to the man and his weapon, gazing off into the distance with a faint smile on his face, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  He must have felt her gaze because he turned his head and raised a brow. “I wish to hell you’d let your brother get himself out of his own financial difficulties. You might never have got involved in this at all.”

  Was he bent on annoying her? “If wishes were horses…And besides, they were not his financial problems. They were mine. I forged his signature.”

  He groaned. “I might have guessed.”

  “Your Mr Jarvis said it was an opportunity of a lifetime.”

  “He is not my Mr Jarvis. He works for the estate.”

  “Your estate, my lord.”

  “As trustee, Le Clere makes all the decisions until my twenty-fifth birthday.”

  Well, that explained some of it. “Not a wise choice for trustee.”

  “He was like a brother to my father. I don’t understand it.”

  “He’s protecting you.”

  He sighed. “I know. But he’s far beyond the pale with this.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Squabbling is not going to help us.”

  Her turn to raise a brow. “What do you suggest?”

  “We work together.”

  She glanced up to find his eyes searching her face. Eyes full of bleakness, as if he guessed her doubts.

  “All right,” she said.

  Matthews was eyeing them suspiciously. “What are you two lovebirds talking about?”

  “None of your business, you cur,” Garrick said, glowering at the man from beneath lowered eyebrows.

  “I could make it my business, your lordship,” Matthews said, clearly undeterred.

  “Matthews!” Le Clere’s voice held a warning.

  Matthews closed his mouth like a fish on a hook, but the expression on his face threatened a future discussion, with fists.

  Instead of blustering and squaring up like a contender at fisticuffs at a fair, Garrick should be focusing on their problem. She poked his ribs with an elbow.

  ———

  Garrick watched his uncle direct Matthews to a position further along the wall. But where the hell was Caleb? And how many more men did Le Clere have up there? He scanned the rough terrain, with its clumps of gorse and shadowed folds.

  A glint. A quick flash beside a rock he’d almost missed. And another, to the right. There were at least two of them. Garrick gauged the distance and the angle in relation to Matthews’s position at the wall. Oh, yes, Le Clere had it all worked out very nicely. Whoever crossed the common would be caught by intersecting lines of fire.

  They were running out of time and he couldn’t find one weakness in Le Clere’s strategy.

  Garrick turned, casually leaning his elbows on the rough stone wall, reviewing the open ground. Not a scrap of cover, not even a clump of grass left by the hungry sheep.

  A lone horseman walked his horse on to the far side of the common.

  Le Clere strode over to Ellie. “Your brother is right on time.”

  The look of hope and joy on Ellie’s face pierced Garrick’s heart. What must it be like to have a family who cared the way she cared for her brother? What he had thought was caring, a bluff distant kindness, had turned to dross. His mother had loved him, he remembered dimly, but it hadn’t served her well.

  He had to reunite Ellie with her family.

  The man on the other side of the common raised a hand to shield his eyes. Clever. With the sun in his eyes, he’d have trouble spotting the sharpshooters.

  He must have seen the party gathered at the wall because he urged his horse into a walk. When he was in the centre of the open space, he stopped. Good.

  “Where is my sister?” he yelled.

  Le Clere thrust Eleanor through the gap in the wall, a pistol held to her temple. “Come and get her.”

  “William,” she yelled. “Go back. It’s a trap.”

  Bloody hell. She’d caught them all by surprise.

  Le Clere cursed and pulled her back behind the wall.

  Castlefield remained where he was, tension in the set of his shoulders. The horse shifted uneasily.

  “I ought to wring your neck,” Le Clere said.

  Garrick felt like doing a bit of wringing himself. Or maybe not. Perhaps she’d given him the opening he needed. “Leave her be. He won’t come any closer. Not now. Withdraw and find another way to get the letter.”

  Le Clere swore. “No.” He put his glass to his eye. “I’ve a good mind to…Bugger.”

  Garrick straightened. “What is it?”

  “He didn’t come alone. There are soldiers with him.”

  Beside him, Ellie squinted across the field. She was starting to look hopeful. Garrick mentally groaned. What foolhardy idea would she take next into her head?

  Le Clere pulled a knife from his belt and cut Garrick’s ropes. “See for yourself.” He handed Garrick the glass.

  Surprised, but not about to object, Garrick looked. There were two officers at the edge of the common behind Castlefield. Infantry. “Men from his regiment by the look of it. Two of them.”

  “A couple too many,” Le Clere growled.

  “Beauworth,” Ca
stlefield yelled, “I want my sister.”

  “Wait here,” Le Clere said to Garrick. “One move in the wrong direction and the girl dies.”

  There was cunning in his uncle’s eyes. A sort of clever madness. Keeping that gaze locked with his, Garrick nodded.

  Le Clere trotted off to join Matthews.

  Her eyes full of shadows, her shoulders drooping, Ellie shivered. To see her so beaten down was more than he could bear. “He won’t harm you all the time your brother has the letter. I pray to God he hasn’t opened it.”

  “Or your neck is on the line.” The red flag of anger flew in her cheeks. The spirit he liked to see.

  “Something like that.” If Castlefield had followed orders, then perhaps Le Clere could be convinced to let them go. It wouldn’t be easy to convince him. Ellie knew too much. But without any solid proof…

  Le Clere headed back in their direction and Garrick turned to face him.

  Pistol steady on Eleanor, Le Clere handed him the knife. “Set her free.”

  What now? Garrick cut the ropes.

  Le Clere retreated a step. “Walk her to her brother, collect the document and return to me. No tricks or she dies. You can’t escape, my men have every inch of the common covered. Are you clear?”

  The scene played out in his mind. “Absolutely.”

  “And consider this, Garrick. By walking her out there, you are my accomplice. If anything goes wrong, you hang.”

  Since if the contents of the letter were made known he’d hang anyway, it seemed a strange thing to say. “Good point, Uncle. Thank you.”

  Ellie stared at him, shock on her face. Well, he’d wanted to fool Le Clere and in accepting his defeat so meekly, he’d fooled her, too. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  He helped her over the stile. “Walk. Nice and steady.”

  She tugged at her arm. “Why are you helping him?”

  He thrust her ahead of him. “Keep walking.”

  Only a few more feet and they’d be level with her brother. Castlefield’s horse sidled. The man sawed at the reins, his face red.