For an instant, all was still. Then Diana reared and galloped off into the blackness of the wood. The guard looked as though he would have liked to do the same, but a command from the gentleman had him running once more to see to the horses.
Kate’s former victim threw her unceremoniously to the ground, wrenched her arm behind her back, and knelt none too gently on her legs. Terrified at the thought of being unmasked and helpless to escape his superior strength, all those hours spent in deportment lessons at Miss Haver’s Academy For Young Ladies came back to her and Kate did what any gently-bred female would do under the circumstances: she pretended to swoon.
Her captor bellowed an order to the coachman, just coming out of his own faint.
“You, man! I need some rope to tie him up.”
Experimentally, Kate opened one eye the tiniest slit. When no mud oozed in, she opened it a bit wider and took stock of the situation. The driver was sitting in the road, rubbing his temple. With a low groan, he motioned to the carriage. The gentleman, languid no longer, dashed to the door and wrenched it open.
It was with the most exquisite pleasure that Kate heard the unmistakable sound of a head hitting the top of the door jamb with a satisfying thump. She glanced about again. In the bright moonlight, she could see the coachman holding the blunderbuss while the guard stood to the horses’ heads, so she bided her time, awaiting a chance to escape.
A search of the coach proving abortive, the gentleman ripped off his and the coachman’s neckcloths, and, quicker than one could say, “Skullduggery on the King’s Highway!” Kate was trussed up neatly as a chicken meant for roasting.
The chicken, as one might imagine, was mad as a hornet. She should have made a dash for it when she’d had the opportunity, she fumed, her wig slipping ever so slightly to the side. Odds were the coachman would have missed a moving figure in the moonlight. Now, foiled by her own cleverness and the lessons of Miss Havers, Kate was in greater peril than ever. Mentally cursing that blameless woman, she frantically thought for a way out.
By now Kate was so demoralized it was almost a relief when her attacker picked her up and dumped her carelessly on the floor of the coach. She lay where she fell, filthy, shaking, and wet, and wondered if the condemned were allowed a nice coal fire before their execution. Once more the door opened. Kate looked up, ready for battle, but only her hat sailed through the door to land on her shoulder, both much the worse for wear.
However, it was not for nothing that the Thoreaus came from a long line of soldiers, statesmen, and scapegraces, and Kate’s usual spirits swiftly reasserted themselves. Twisting to get a more comfortable position, her mind raced to form a plan to forestall the inevitable unmasking.
To her intense surprise, the gentleman didn’t climb in after her. She strained to hear the argument which sprang up outside. From what she could hear, the driver wanted to take her to the nearest magistrate to collect the reward on her head, while the gentleman, for some unfathomable reason, was insisting on questioning the prisoner first. The young guard, as might be expected, contributed little to the proceedings, being stunned with the glory of helping to capture the Grey Cavalier.
Kate had no time to waste listening to the men argue. It was a welcome surprise to find that her wrists had been tied over the cuffs of her greatcoat, making it the work of a moment to wriggle them free. But no longer did she have contempt for the dandy she’d held up, and she worked swiftly to pluck the knife from her boot and saw through the linen binding her ankles.
Sliding the dagger back in her boot, Kate eased over to the door, opening it with the greatest stealth. The men were still arguing, but she had more important things to do with her time than stand there and listen. Ever so gently, she closed that door and opened the one on the far side. It was child’s play to step out and tiptoe toward the wood at the side of the road.
Bent double, Kate crept through the hedgerow, careful to keep the bulk of the coach between herself and the men. They were still arguing, and she sent a silent prayer of thanks for small mercies.
Two more steps to the trees. One. Safe. Leaning against a handy tree trunk, she paused to wipe her brow and listen. No shouts, no pounding footsteps, so she started off again. Walking as fast as she could through the black spinney, her foot unexpectedly came down on the one branch in the wood not soft with rain. The snap echoed loud as the pistol shot. Instantly, confused shouting came from the road behind her, followed by grunts and crashes in the brush. In moment, they would be on her. In no more than the flicker of an eyelash, which was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place, Kate scrabbled for a rock. With all her strength she threw it as far as possible into the thicket, then raced off as fast as she could in the opposite direction.
Panting, sweating, she came to a halt. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, but she could still barely see the hand in front of her face. Blindly, she stretched out her hands, but they touched only air. A helpful ray of moonlight danced out from behind the clouds. She squinted, tripped over a root, and thudded heavily into a ditch.
"Hell's bells," she hissed, rubbing her shin. Cautiously, she peered over the ditch and thought very bad words. In the dark, she'd cleverly tramped in circles and was once more looking at the dandy's coach. Suddenly, something warm and wet and soft snorted into her ear. It was only by clapping her hand over her mouth that she managed not to shriek. Instead, she reached up and petted Diana's nose. "Good girl, Diana," she whispered, but then she realized, no, not a good girl. There was no disguising the sound of a horse in the underbrush.
A movement just beyond the coach caught her attention. Barely breathing, she watched the road, heart thumping painfully in her throat. If it was another carriage, she might as well hand herself over to the law right now. Instead, Mr. – Derwent? Dingleberry? – whatever he called himself, sauntered into view. For a few moments Kate watched as he paced slowly down the road, peering into the black night to find a clue to her whereabouts. If not for Diana, she'd bide her time in the ditch, but she waited until he was out of sight once more, and climbed out, covered from head to toe in smelly, slimy muck. Again, she grabbed a rock and hurled it across the road as hard as she could, then slapped Diana on the flank. The horse, her patience evidently at an end, wheeled about and trotted off. From the road came hollering and stomping as the guard and coachman raced after what they thought was the Grey Cavalier. Mr. Dalrymple yelled from somewhere in the dark, "Don't let him get away!"
On tiptoe, Kate crept toward the only certain hiding place left.
***
Edmund Robert James Middleton, the Marquis of Granville, currently masquerading as the Honorable Frederick Dalrymple, listened to the crash of the groom and coachman proceeding on their Cavalier hunt. Having more sense than to chase a man dressed in grey through a pitch-black night, he absently leaned against a tree trunk and thought.
If I was pretending to be a Cavalier, he mused, eyes narrowed, where would I go?
The answer came, bright as his pomaded hair in the moonlight. Ignoring a shout of pain as the coachman tripped into or over something, Edmund doubled back on his trail.
The coach still stood in the middle of the road. Hoping the horses were tired enough not to bolt, he tossed a rock up and over so that it fell on the road on the opposite side of the heavy carriage. Careful to keep to the shadows, he edged to the side of the enormous vehicle, and leaned forward to peek in the window.
The door flew open, catching him on the forehead, just where he’d banged his skull earlier. The stars swooped down to whirl about his head, but were not so disorienting that he failed to clamp his arms around the figure exiting stealthily out of the coach.
Lithe and strong, the Cavalier struggled wildly, but Edmund fought with skill. In truth, he was surprised how quickly the man’s strength was spent. It seemed no time at all till Edmund was able to wrench the Cavalier’s slender arm behind his back.
“Devil a bit,” he ground out as the Cavalier’s boot made contact
with his shin. “Stop the struggle, man, before I break your shoulder.” For good measure, Edmund curled his other arm around the fellow’s neck. The man gasped, then abruptly fell forward in a dead faint.
Edmund chuckled, amused now that he had the upper hand. “Excellent try, old fellow, but you’ll not be catching me twice that way.”
Deftly, Edmund twirled the man about, bent down, and slung him over his shoulder. Seeking privacy from the coachman and guard, he headed for hedgerow at the opposite side of the road.
Against his back, the man’s head bobbed drunkenly. Either he was an actor on the level of Kean himself, of he was really unconscious this time, Edmund mused. He stepped over the low ditch running alongside the road, shifting his burden, which was puzzlingly light for such a tall man.
In a clearing behind the hedgerow, Edmund dumped his captive unceremoniously on the wet earth. The Cavalier moaned, turning his head restlessly from side to side. Under the beard and mustache, in the faint moonlight penetrating the leafless branches of the bush, his face looked absurdly young, his frame oddly slender.
Warily, for Edmund trusted the rascal not at all, he stepped closer. The Cavalier’s cloak fell back, revealing the outline of his torso. A torso that was not hard and muscular, but curvy and soft looking. An unexpected ray of moonlight glinted on a shiny red curl that had escaped from under the blond locks.
Edmund rent the air with a curse. Bending over the body on the ground, he dropped heavily onto the Cavalier’s legs, pinned her arms across her chest, then reached up and tore the moustache off.
“Yeow!” the Cavalier shrieked.
The prisoner opened her eyes and scowled into his face. Undeterred, Edmund ripped off the beard as well, prompting another squeal before strong white teeth clamped onto his wrist.
He howled himself that time, but refused to release his grip. As he lay on top of the woman, blue eyes glaring into gray, he became intensely aware of the body beneath him. Warm and feminine and soft. Heat rose in his body. A slow smile curved his lips as his eyelids became unaccountably heavy.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Highwayman,” he whispered thickly, inclining his head. But before his mouth claimed hers, she spoke. Hissed, actually.
“Unhand me, you dastard! Is this how you treat a lady?”
They were the last words he heard before a third blow to the head knocked him out cold.
***
“--then I bashed him on the head with a rock, tied him up and went home,” Kate finished her confession, adding scrupulously, “Oh, and I took his watch and things that were scattered in the road.”
From behind the screen dividing the confessional came a strangled sort of choke.
“Father, are you ill?”
She heard the sound of a throat clearing. “No, I thank you.” Father Flannery’s deep voice seemed to quiver as he continued. “Are you sorry for your sins, my child?”
Kate thought for a moment about her mama, and her horror if she could know what Kate was up to, and the terrible predicament her family would be in should she be caught and hanged: penniless, ostracized, the girls unable to contract decent marriages, the boys running wild, with no schooling and no one to care for them.
Or worse, they’d have to live with Uncle Richard. A lump formed in her throat.
“Yes, Father, I am,” she answered quietly. Without prompting, she began the Act of Contrition. “Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum--”
Kate crossed herself and left the confessional. After saying her penance, she slipped out of the pew and walked down the aisle with the light heart which comes from a clear conscience. At the door of the chapel, she moved absently to the ancient stone basin of holy water. She had just dipped her fingers in the water when a large, masculine hand reached from behind, grabbed her wrist, and held it hard.
Her instinct to fight, she curled her hand into a fist, moving her arm up and away, but his strength was the greater. As the two struggled silently, the lacy fall at his shirtcuff fell back, but Kate didn’t need to see the nasty set of teeth marks on his wrist to realize who held her.
“What a pleasure it is to see you again, Lady Highwayman.”
***
“How dare you accost me so, sir! We have not met!”
Edmund, highly appreciative of the performance, grasped her hand and looped it over his arm.
“Then do allow me to present myself,” he said cheerfully. “The Honorable Frederick Dalrymple, at your service.”
Pressing his arm to his side, imprisoning her hand, he strolled out the door of the church into the ancient graveyard. The Lady Katherine, though tense, went without argument. Edmund was unwise enough to take this as a sign of cringing acquiescence.
Had anyone been watching, they would have noted the rather odd couple, this youngish spinster, dressed in a respectable, though sadly dowdy, muslin gown and bonnet. The man at her side was wonderfully attired in a suit of rose, with a sky-blue waistcoat and cravat. From time to time he cast her a fond glance, just in case anyone was watching. She returned a blinding smile of her own, her eyes narrowed against the strong sunlight.
But it was a busy market day in addition to the tourists, and the village green was a field away, so no one noticed the dandy flick open his parasol and present it to the lady with a flourish; nor did they see the two slip behind the marble mausoleum holding the earthly remains of the defunct family Wallingford.
Gallantly, Edmund dusted off a stone bench to seat his lady, but the lady preferred to stand.
Remembering their pleasurable proximity of the previous evening, Edmund grinned. Before yesterday, he’d never realized just how partial he was to redheads with big blue eyes and freckles liberally spattered across her cheeks. Not as classically beautiful as the sister, but nevertheless, there was something about the Lady Katherine which made a man look at her twice.
“Has anyone ever told you have the most beautiful eyes that ever looked upon the world?”
“Yes.”
Edmund threw back his head and laughed. “I do like you, Lady Katherine, much more than I ever expected I could. You can have no idea how devastated I’ll be to watch you hanged, drawn, and quartered for high treason.” Though the tone was jocular, the seriousness of his expression gave lie to his lightness.
The lady’s reaction was not at all what he’d expected. Instead of hysterical tears and pleadings for mercy, her lips curved in an engaging grin. Still smiling, eyebrows raised in hauteur, she gently twirled the parasol, watching the play of sunlight through its lacy swirls. “On what grounds, sir?”
“The making and passing of false coin, madam.”
“What?”
Ah, this was more like it, he thought, as Lady Katherine, white-faced, sat down so abruptly she almost missed the bench. However, Edmund’s glee was short-lived.
“False coin?” The lady frowned up at him. “Oh, no. How ridiculous.”
Resting his elaborately tasseled boot on the bench, Edmund crossed his arms on his knee and leaned forward.
“I have in my possession,” he replied softly, scanning the horizon for possible intruders, “A certain number of coins you used to purchase a length of ribbon yesterday afternoon at the drapery shop. Counterfeit coins.”
The lady stared, speechless.
“You, Lady Katherine, have a date with the hangman’s noose,” he told her, with deliberate brutality.
Still she stared through him, her eyes blank. Edmund could almost see the wheels turning in her brain as she tried to find a way out of the web he’d so cleverly spun about her.
Finally, her eyes narrowed. Bending her head submissively, she smoothed a crease from her glove. In spite of his orders, Edmund felt a pang of conscience that he’d handled this delicate blossom so roughly. It was a wonder indeed that her fumbling attempts at robbery hadn’t landed her in the suds long before this. Now, he thought, now she would throw herself upon his manly (under the ruffles) bosom and beg for his help. Not disliking
the prospect, he braced himself for her embrace, even improvising a few flowery phrases to bring her comfort and him her undying gratitude. A pleasantly warm sensation flooded him as he imagined her warm softness in his arms once again. He would pat her shoulder as she wept with gratitude and--
“What!?” he shouted. Edmund looked at her in growing disbelief and annoyance. The lady was not, he reflected irritably, reacting the way any normal female would.
For the Lady Katherine was laughing softly. Her eyes, he noted warily, blazed with excitement.
“I asked,” she repeated, challenging him, “Why, then, am I not in custody already?”
Edmund ground his teeth and glared at her. “Because,” he began loftily, then stopped.
The expression on Lady Katherine’s face changed to one of ill-concealed smugness.
“Shall I tell you what I think, Mr. Dalrymple?” Before he could frame a reply, the lady continued. “I think you’re dealing very deep. But I also know that it takes two to play, and I, Mr. Dalrymple, have no interest in your little game.”
Edmund glared at her impotently. An excellent card player, he had forgotten the first rule of gaming: never underestimate one’s opponent. The woman in front of him had trumped his ace, and he had no one but himself to blame.
He searched his mind for the right words, words which would reveal nothing, yet put her back in his complete power. “The accusation is valid, Lady Katherine,” he informed her coldly. “The coins are in my possession, to be used against you in a court of law.”
“Fiddlesticks. Whatever coins you may have I did not give you directly. Once they passed through the hands of a third party, your alleged case collapsed like a house of cards.”
She stood suddenly, forcing him to step back. Her eyes were on a level with his, eyes that were filled with anger and contempt.
The Counterfeit Cavalier, Volumes One Through Four: The Complete Edition Page 4
