Garrick raised his voice. “Throw the letter on the ground. Be very careful, there are armed men behind us. One false move and I won’t answer for what happens.”
Castlefield nodded. He pulled a packet from his saddlebag, a sealed document, and tossed it on the ground. The word Beauworth in black ink mocked Garrick from the ground. He kept going, pushing Ellie ahead. Eleanor gave him a startled look over her shoulder.
“Aim for the corner of the field. They cannot shoot you without hitting me.”
“Hey.” Castlefield cursed and brought his horse around.
“Hurry,” Garrick said.
Castlefield rode up alongside. “What the devil are you playing at, Beauworth? Go back where you belong.”
“Ride ahead if you want to live.”
“Garrick!” Le Clere’s bellow. Garrick did not turn.
Castlefield pulled his pistol. “Get away from my sister. Or I’ll kill you.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Garrick said. “I am the only thing between your sister and a bullet. Look out for yourself.”
“William, listen to him,” Ellie said.
Thank God she understood. Bright, bright woman, his Ellie. A ray of light in his dark, dark world.
A shot rang out; Castlefield’s chestnut took off at a gallop.
“William,” she cried.
Garrick grabbed her arm. Stopped her from giving chase. Time was running out. Once Le Clere’s men realised what he was doing, they’d shift position, if they hadn’t already.
“Run,” he said. It was their only chance.
Her face pale, she lifted her skirts and took off at a steady clip. He breathed a sigh of relief and followed. A minute more and they’d gain the wall’s protection.
“Hold your fire,” Le Clere shouted. The panic in his voice gave Garrick a moment of glee.
Another shot. Not Le Clere’s men this time. A rifle. It came from ahead. Martin Brown, perhaps, trying to pick him off. Better he aim at Le Clere’s men. Garrick glanced back. He couldn’t see any sign of Caleb or Matthews or the other man he’d spotted. Perhaps they hadn’t yet worked out what was happening.
More shots rang out. From all directions. A stinging sensation in his side. A tearing pain. His legs buckled. He stumbled on. The pain in his side sharpened. Keep moving. Keep between Ellie and them. The wall rose up like a grey mossy cliff. Hampered by her skirts, Ellie got stuck halfway over. Any moment another shot would find them. He pushed her over the top. Somehow he got a knee on the coping and fell to the ground on the other side. He lay gulping air and clutching his side.
He looked around for Ellie, found her bent double and panting. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Gasping, she nodded. “Did you see what happened to William?”
William. Always worried about her brother. He wanted to hit something. He reined in his anger. It was only right she should care for her brother. It was what real families did. “His horse cleared the wall further down. I don’t think he was hit.” He pushed to his feet.
Eleanor grabbed his arm, her face full of worry. “Le Clere was right. You will be implicated in this. Go now, while you can. Save yourself. Take a ship to America.”
His heart soared. She cared about him, too. If it wasn’t impossible, he would have sworn his vision blurred. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, capturing her storm-clouded gaze. “Come with me.” He held his breath, hope a pale flame in a dark future. His heart drummed against his ribs.
She swallowed, her eyes glistened. Tears. Damn it. He’d made her cry. He’d no right to ask after what Le Clere had done in his name.
Before she could answer, Castlefield galloped up, pistol in hand. “Stand back, Eleanor. I’ve got him in my sights. You’re safe now.”
Glowering with righteous anger, the man who looked so like Ellie pointed his cocked pistol at Garrick’s head. Strange he hadn’t seen the similarity before. But Castlefield had been a chubby schoolboy the first time they met. Garrick curled his lip and held his hands clear of his sides. “She’s all yours, my friend. I’m done with her.”
Tears on her cheeks, Ellie put a hand to mouth. “You should have gone when you had the chance,” she whispered.
Should he? Had he wanted to go without her? What would be the point?
Castlefield flung himself off his horse. “I’ll kill you for that.” Better a bullet than the noose.
Ellie stepped between them. “William, he saved my life.”
“More likely he saw it as a way to save his own skin, the coward.”
Castlefield yanked off his cravat, swung Garrick around by the shoulder and pulled his arms behind him. Using the strip of fabric, he tied Garrick’s wrists together. Garrick flinched as his ribs protested against the rough treatment.
Castlefield grunted approval. “That will hold you until they put the chains on.”
Eleanor gasped. “William, no!”
The heartbreak in her voice was like balm to Garrick’s soul. He flashed her a grin. He didn’t want her to think he was surprised by this turn of events.
Castlefield pushed him toward the two officers and a couple of farm labourers with a cart. “My friends can’t wait for the honour of escorting you and your pack of villains to prison.”
———
Eleanor’s heart seemed to have been cut in two, her chest hurt so much. Garrick had looked so hopeful. If William hadn’t arrived at that moment, what would she have said? Her breath stilled. She had the strangest feeling she would have said yes.
She stared after Garrick’s tall, straight figure, so proud in his defeat. The pain intensified. Her eyes misted. She felt as if she might fly apart. She wrapped her arms around her stomach.
If only she didn’t love the way he smiled at her as if there was no one else in the world but the two of them, the way he teased and made her laugh, the way he held her, and the sensations he brought to life in her body.
Oh Lord. After all she knew of him, how could she feel this way?
A drop of something dark glistened on the ground at her feet. With a horrible premonition, she bent and touched it with a fingertip. Blood, sticky and red.
Garrick’s wound must have opened. He needed a doctor. She hurried after the two men.
By the time she’d crossed the open ground, Garrick lay on the straw in a cart, a prisoner in his tumbrel, looking as calm as if he were out for a Sunday drive. Ellie trembled to see his lips looking bloodless and the skin on his cheeks ashen.
William, talking to Martin, didn’t see her until she tugged on his arm. “He’s wounded. He needs a doctor.”
“Not now, Eleanor. There are more of these criminals to be rounded up.” He turned back to Martin. “Follow them as best you can.”
“Yes, my lord.” Martin strode off as Caleb’s unconscious body was thrown on to the cart beside Garrick.
She grabbed William’s arm. “Beauworth had nothing to do with my abduction.”
“The courts will decide innocence or guilt,” William said, and began walking away as if she was of no more importance than a bothersome insect.
“Damn you, William.” She ran after him. “Give me your knife.” She snatched it from his belt. “I can at least bandage the wound before he bleeds to death.”
William hunched a shoulder. “Be careful. He’s chained, but he’s a dangerous man.”
“Not when he’s half-dead,” she muttered. “Where are you going?”
He stared across the common, his eyes narrowed. “There’s something I need to take care of. Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a moment.” He marched toward the Beauworth carriage, his limp more pronounced than usual. Too much time on horseback, no doubt. He wouldn’t welcome her suggesting he rest and arguing would keep her from Garrick.
She ran back and scrambled up on the cart. Once there, she slashed a strip from the bottom of her petticoat.
One eyebrow raised, his gaze on her ankle, Garrick smiled. “Very nice.”
“Let me see where you are hurt.”
He lifted his hand from his side, revealing a sticky dark patch. “A scratch,” he said.
A new wound. Oh, heavens. So much blood. “I need to bind it.”
He frowned, his gaze flickering to Caleb. “This is no place for a lady.”
“I’m Lady Moonlight, remember.”
He grinned at that.
She pulled his shirt free of his pantaloons and found a jagged tear below his ribs, blood oozing in a steady flow. She swallowed the urge to gag. “I hope this is the last time today you are going to walk in front of a bullet.”
He chuckled, then winced with a hiss of breath through his teeth. “Me, too.”
Panting, fearful, she pressed the wad against the gash. “Hold this.” His fingers covered hers for a brief second, his skin chill. “Thank you.” She glanced up to find gold flecks danced in his eyes and his lips curved in a smile, a smile she might never see again.
Her eyes blurred. Blinking, she pulled her hand away, bound the second strip around his torso. Would it be enough?
He lifted a hand, touched her cheek. The ugly chain attached to the manacle encircling his wrist rattled. “Now go.” He looked over at his companion. “I don’t want you here. Do you understand?”
The words hurt. But of course he didn’t want her here. She’d rejected him.
He pushed forwards, as if he planned to get up. “Leave now, Ellie.”
The labourer guarding the cart hefted his pitchfork. “Miss?” he said. “You shouldn’t be up there.”
She didn’t want to leave him like this, but if she didn’t go, more bad things would happen. “I’m leaving. Garrick, please, take care of yourself.”
He slumped back against the side of the cart and closed his eyes, pain etching deep lines around his mouth.
By the time she reached the ground, she was shaking so hard her legs wouldn’t hold her. She leaned against the cart’s wheel. A hand pulled on her shoulder. She jumped and whirled around.
“For God’s sake, Len,” William said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her face. “You cannot be crying over that blackguard.”
She hadn’t known she was crying. “He needs a doctor. Please, William. You can’t be so cruel.”
His lips flattened in a thin line, William stared into her face. “You don’t understand, Len. You don’t know what he did, to us. To me.”
“It was his uncle.”
“No. It wasn’t. There are things you don’t know.” He let go of a long breath. “We will discuss it later.”
“He needs a doctor.” She was beginning to wonder if she had any other words. Never again, she swore silently. Never would she be anything but a model sister, if he would just get Garrick a doctor.
“All right. I’ll see to it. But then enough until we get home.”
“Thank you.”
A young lieutenant approached leading a couple of horses. “Lucky thing we accompanied you from Portsmouth, wouldn’t you say, Wills?”
“Very lucky,” William said. He gestured to the cart. “Can you escort that rubbish to Haverstock for me while we mop up here? Have a doctor sent to attend Beauworth the moment he is behind bars.”
The lieutenant snapped a salute. “Certainly, sir.”
A few moments later the labourer was driving the wagon down the road, with the lieutenant in attendance.
Eleanor watched it go. There was nothing more she could do.
———
The steady sound of dripping water never ceased in this accursed place. Shivering, Garrick pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and leaned back against the wall. The damp of his cell pervaded every bone in his body. His teeth chattered uncontrollably if he let them. He clamped his jaw tight.
Out of respect for his rank, they’d put him in a private cell. As if it made any difference. Still, he’d glimpsed the condition of some of the other poor wretches who inhabited this filthy place and had no cause for complaint.
The hole in his side had been cleaned and his arm was on the mend thanks to Ellie insisting on a doctor. He’d cut a good strong figure on the gibbet, the doctor had said. Nothing like a little gallows humour to cheer a man up.
If they’d also caught Le Clere, he wouldn’t feel quite so bitter. But what the man had done, he’d done in Garrick’s name and the piper would be paid.
A sharp twist of regret squeezed his chest. He would have liked to marry Ellie.
Ellie. So dear and so brave. Right up to the last, she’d tried to save his worthless hide. He didn’t blame her one bit for not wanting to fly with him. She deserved so much more. Though the thought of her with another man sent hot blood rushing to his head. Ah, well, soon he wouldn’t have a head.
God, this place was really getting to him.
He did like thinking of her safe with her family, safe from Le Clere. It was the only thing making this stinking pit bearable. Not that he’d be here much longer. He swallowed. They’d take him to London for trial. A jury of his peers in the House of Lords. A chill ran down his spine.
He’d brought shame to the proud name of Beauworth. Harry, bluff, cheerful Cousin Harry would have to carry the burden. Good thing the man was well liked by his fellows. He’d make an excellent Marquess.
The noise of boots in the hallway echoed through the cells. Was this it? His heart picked up speed. He’d been expecting them all day, but deep in his heart he had hoped something would save him. If Piggot hadn’t left the letter, he could have died honourably, serving his country in battle. No doubt his old enemy, Hadley, or Castlefield as he was now, would make sure he met a just end. Justice. The gods must be laughing their heads off at the irony of it all.
The footsteps drew closer. If only Eleanor had trusted him with the truth. His fist clenched. He slammed it into the wall, welcomed the jarring pain. He would never have ruined her. It was his one regret.
That and what he had done to his mother.
He smoothed his lank hair, and scratched at three days’ worth of stubble. He must look like everyone’s idea of a desperate killer.
The cell door opened. Letting the blanket fall, he pushed to his feet and held out his arms for his manacles. Thank God, they did not also chain him to the wall of his cell.
The warder ignored his outstretched hands. “This way if you please, my lord.”
Stiff, joints aching, Garrick took a deep breath and straightened his spine. He followed the warder out of his cell and up the worn stone steps. This was it. A journey to London, a public humiliation and death.
At the head of the stairs the warder ushered him into a room. An office. For the first time in three days, Garrick felt some of the bone-chilling cold leave his body.
A man of medium height, middle-aged, grey at the temples, and his blue eyes twinkling, sat in one of two chairs in front of the desk. He rose at Garrick’s entrance.
“My lord? Andrew Calder, at your service. I am your barrister.”
“I don’t need a lawyer.” A guilty plea needed no argument.
“As to that, my lord, you are probably correct. However, Lord Dearborne asked me to meet you before your appearance.”
Dearborne was a local magistrate. He wasn’t to be tried in the House? “The trial is today?”
“No, my lord. You will be released today.”
Legs weak, Garrick dropped onto the other chair. “I don’t understand.”
“My lord, I have been asked by Lord Dearborne to offer apologies for your wrongful arrest. You have been cleared of any involvement in the crime against Lady Eleanor Hadley. Caleb Trubbs has confessed the whole. His evidence proves you were a dupe in Le Clere’s plans. Lady Eleanor herself confirmed his testimony.”
The room seemed to shift around him. At any moment he would awaken in his cold cell, lying on the filthy pallet, and discover he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time. Usually it was Ellie who occupied his dreams.
The dapper little man continued to look at him with a kindly smile. Garrick began to believe.
Slowly he felt his shoulders relax. Until he remembered. A bitter taste filled his mouth. “There is another matter, Mr Calder. The death of the Marchioness of Beauworth, my mother.” He swallowed the dry lump in his throat as if the words would choke him.
Calder frowned. “I know nothing of this matter.”
His hands gripped the chair arms, clinging to the only solid thing in the room. “There was a letter. From an eye witness.”
Calder shook his head. “There is no letter, my lord.”
“It was there.” Castlefield had dropped it at his feet. He’d seen it and so had Ellie.
“I have no reports of a letter, my lord.” Calder was beginning to sound just a little impatient, no doubt wondering why the prisoner wasn’t leaping for joy. Garrick shook his head, trying to sort his jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. The letter had been there. Addressed to him. Lying among the sheep droppings on emerald grass. Something about it had puzzled him. And now it had disappeared.
This was his chance to confess. Why admit to something you don’t remember? Ellie’s words. He’d be confessing to something he didn’t believe in his heart. Had never believed. The realisation dawned slowly. Before he said anything, he had to know for sure.
“Shall we go, my lord?” Calder said, rising to his feet. “A carriage is waiting outside.” He coughed discreetly behind his hand. “You might wish to, er…freshen up.”
Garrick looked down at himself, filthy, ragged and stinking. “Yes. I would like that.” He stood up.
“Good. Lord Dearborne would be glad if you could call on him two days from now. At that time, you will be required to give a statement and the proper paperwork will be drawn up.”
“And Duncan Le Clere and Matthews?”
“The search continues.”
“I want to help.”
The lawyer grimaced. “Leave it to the authorities, my lord. By all accounts Le Clere is a dangerous man.”
Only a Le Clere could deal with Duncan. But right now Garrick had something more important on his mind. A wife. His heart swelled. He would make things right for Ellie.
———
“Beauworth for Lady Eleanor.” He handed his card to the Castlefield butler. At least his voice sounded calm, despite his inner turbulence.
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress Page 15
