Valiant: Gentlemen of the Order - Book 3

by Clee, Adele

  “Och, Mrs McCready is a nag, but she loves the lass. Whatever’s going on here, she means her nae harm. And she wouldna want the laird to think she betrayed his kinsfolk.”

  “Then why take the chest?”

  Silence ensued.

  They all stared absently, their minds engaged in finding a motive for the woman’s despicable actions.

  D’Angelo spoke first. “When Miss Hart brought the contract to you, she desired two things. That you find the intruder who broke into her home, find the treasure and share the bounty. Perhaps Mrs McCready believes Lucian Hart’s granddaughter deserves to keep the reward.”

  “Vivienne doesn’t care about money.” She cared about honesty, about finding the truth. She craved love, not jewels. “Her main reason for solving the clues was so she could sleep soundly at night.”

  He’d never sleep soundly again if anything happened to her. He would be an empty shell like his father. It was too late to save himself from the crippling heartache, too late to stop the wave of grief.

  “Bloody hell!” He punched the air. “I need to do something, damn it! We’re wasting time.”

  “Be patient,” D’Angelo said. “There’s no point darting to town when they might have gone in the opposite direction.”

  “Mrs McCready would head for the Highlands.”

  “They’ve no money, no transport.”

  The sudden knock on the drawing room door brought Evan’s agitated butler. “Sir! Sir!” The ageing man tried to walk gracefully with his salver but could not contain his excitement. “We have news, sir. A groom from a coaching inn near Tempsford has come with a note.”

  Tempsford? That was 5 miles north.

  They could not have made it that far on foot.

  Evan took the note and peeled back the folds with shaking fingers. Panic turned to relief the moment he laid eyes on the name scrawled at the bottom of the page.

  “Well?” D’Angelo said impatiently.

  Evan took a second to catch his breath. “It’s from Ashwood. He received information the countess was leaving London and had a mind to follow her. It seems Mrs McCready and Vivienne are heading north in the matron’s carriage. He thinks they’ll head west once they reach Huntingdon, head for Liverpool.”

  Excitement flashed in D’Angelo’s dark eyes. “No horse can match Arion’s speed and stamina. Take him. Have your groom saddle two of your fastest horses for Buchanan and me.”

  “They’ll have covered more than ten miles by now.” Buchanan shook his head. “Why didna this Ashwood fellow stop them?”

  Because when villains panicked, they became irrational. Ashwood would bide his time, pounce only when it was safe to do so. “Ashwood will likely wait for us to arrive before making a move. But have no fear. He’ll find a way to stall them.”

  * * *

  The argument dragged Vivienne from her forced slumber. She barely remembered a thing since slipping into bed and taking the sickly milk drink. Had no memory of climbing into the carriage, but recalled stumbling out onto a grass verge and casting up her accounts.

  Mrs McCready had rubbed Vivienne’s back in soothing strokes, but she’d been sick until her stomach muscles hurt. Perhaps that’s why she seemed a little brighter now. Perhaps she’d vomited the wickedness she’d drunk to keep her under this witch’s spell.

  “Ask your coachman. He must have a knife in his pocket.”

  Vivienne’s skin slithered at the sound of Mr Ramsey’s voice. She peered beneath half-closed eyelids and watched the exchange.

  “We will open the treasure chest when we stop to change the horses in Huntingdon.” Lady Hollinshead stared down her nose at the gentleman seated beside her. “Rest assured. You will be rewarded for your efforts before we leave for Boston.”

  “Good. None of this would have been possible were it not for me.”

  The countess sighed. “And I am grateful you brought it to my attention. It’s hard to believe Douglas’ drunken comment led us to this—abducting his own daughter.”

  It took every effort to suppress a gasp. Had Mr Ramsey always known about the contract? Did his regular visits to the house stem from a desire to pester Vivienne’s mother for information?

  Mr Ramsey glanced at the tea chest in his lap and snorted. “Douglas said it was a treasure worthy of a prince of Egypt. Looking at this old thing, one might think there’s nothing inside but a pauper’s pennies.”

  Vivienne held back a mocking chuckle. In his drunken state, her father had revealed part of her family’s clue. Had he made an intentional mistake in saying prince instead of pauper? Had he known Mr Ramsey was a conniving devil or had he been too drunk to care?

  “I think we should open it now. I’ll take my share. You should have no problem reaching Liverpool. No one will notice Miss Hart is missing until after breakfast.”

  Oh, but they would. Evan would come to her chamber, eager to share his secrets. By now, he must surely know she was missing.

  Then another thought struck, one that brought on a bout of nausea. What if he thought she’d abandoned him? Now the treasure amounted to nothing but a pile of old letters, he might think she had no interest in pursuing a relationship. And he would feel so dreadfully alone again.

  Mrs McCready gave a discreet cough. “But the treasure belongs to the lass. I thought we were to use it to help her settle in Boston.”

  “And we will,” the countess replied. “We will. But I have it on good authority the chest is full of precious gems. It won’t hurt to let Mr Ramsey have his share. After all, he’s the one who first told us about the clues and the contract.”

  Which fool told the countess to expect priceless gems?

  Mr Ramsey shook the chest but did not hear the rattle he expected. “They must be secured in pouches. I promised my informant a ruby for her loyalty. We wouldn’t have known the full value were it not for her probing Mr Wicks.”

  Bonnie!

  Had Mr Wicks told Bonnie the chest was full of gems?

  This time a snort escaped her, but she passed it off as a snore.

  Mrs McCready drew the blanket over Vivienne’s lap and checked her pulse. “We shouldna do anything with the box until the lass wakes. I promised her mother I’d always take care of her, and I’ll nae break an oath.”

  “I promised to take care of her, too. Why do you think we’re going to all this trouble? We cannot have her marrying Mr Sloane. Lord, I’d rather push a cart around Covent Garden than let that rakehell get his hands on the treasure.” Lady Hollinshead visibly shivered. “No, I shall take control of her fortune and ensure she never wears a tatty gown again.”

  “But the lass is of age and can control her own inheritance.”

  “Really, Mrs McCready, for a mature woman you’re incredibly stupid. Look at the terrible mess she’s made of everything. Cavorting with a degenerate who will rob her blind. I’m sure Miss Hart will be grateful we arrived when we did.”

  It was not difficult to determine Lady Hollinshead’s motive. Her greedy eyes glinted at the mere mention of treasure. Oh, she would pretend to take care of Vivienne while stealing a large portion for herself.

  “Besides, you can stop with the holier-than-thou attitude. You’ve played your part in this, too. You listened to their conversations, studied the clues. You determined they would find the treasure at Highwood. You sent word we were to follow you to Bedfordshire. Arranged the rendezvous point and told us to come back tomorrow if they hadn’t found the treasure.”

  Mrs McCready broke into a sob. “Because ye promised to help the lass, make sure she didna marry that devil.”

  The countess shrugged. “And I have.”

  The carriage slowed and pulled into the yard of a busy post-house.

  Mr Ramsey shuffled to the edge of the seat. “Well, I’m famished. I’ll hurry inside and order supper. You must wake Miss Hart, help her from the carriage while they change the horses.”

  “We cannot do it on our own,” the countess complained.

  “We can
not take her into the inn in her nightgown. It will look mighty suspicious.”

  “We shall have to leave her alone in the carriage. I shall tell the postmaster she’s sick. There will be no issue when he learns I’m a countess.”

  Vivienne listened to them concocting their plan. Somehow she was going to steal the tea chest and make a hasty escape. Somehow she would find her way back to Evan Sloane.

  Chapter 20

  Vivienne’s first opportunity to escape came when the three other occupants of the carriage alighted. Mr Ramsey hurried through the rain into the inn, leaving the countess and Mrs McCready to explain the unfortunate nature of their sick passenger to the postmaster.

  She could have simply climbed out of the vehicle, cried that she had been abducted. But she still felt a little woozy from the toddy and tonic, and a hysterical woman in a nightgown might be carted off to the nearest asylum.

  Equally, the countess had taken possession of the tea chest, gripping it to her hip like a beloved babe. And Vivienne would not return to Evan without the precious letters.

  As luck would have it, the yard was in chaos. Post-boys hurried about carrying luggage, lugging mail bags to protect the contents from the sudden storm, helping injured passengers hobble back to the inn. An armed guard barked orders while all stable hands darted left and right, not knowing which way to run. The accident had occurred half a mile away, and the postmaster insisted on retrieving his horses and the mail before he could think about hiring post-horses.

  “Do you know who I am?” the countess complained when the postmaster informed her the inn’s private parlour was now a storeroom for mail. “It’s late, and I insist you change my horses at once.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady, but you’ll have to wait.”

  The countess did wait. Rain pelted the windowpanes. An hour passed during which Vivienne pretended to be asleep while her abductors squashed into the carriage and ate supper, for it was far too rowdy and uncivilised in the coaching inn.

  More coaches and riders entered the yard, seeking shelter or fresh mounts. All were told the same story, all made to wait.

  Needing to drain his bladder after consuming a flagon of wine, Mr Ramsey disappeared into the white stone building and did not return.

  “No doubt the fool is gorging on beef stew and has the serving wench dancing to his tune.”

  “Och, he’s been some time, my lady. Perhaps he’s unwell.”

  “Good riddance.” The countess huffed. “I say we leave without him and he can forfeit his share.”

  “But Mr Ramsey threatened to tell the earl of yer plans. And we’ve five days before the ship sails. We canna risk getting caught.”

  “Mr Ramsey will sell the information, regardless.”

  “Shame ye only purchased three tickets. It might have been better to take the loose-tongued rogue, too.”

  Three tickets? But Mr Ashwood had mentioned only two.

  The countess stared at the box as if it held the answer to her prayers. “Well, I’m tired of waiting. I shall instruct the coachman to head to the next inn. The horses are rested, and we should make the five miles without incident.”

  “What about Mr Ramsey, my lady?”

  “I must use the inn’s facilities if we’re to continue on our journey. I’ll not stoop behind the carriage. I shall see if he’s sprawled across a table in the taproom.” The countess gripped the tea chest. “Wait here. Give our charge a few drops of laudanum. Just in case she wakes.”

  As soon as they were alone, Vivienne opened her eyes.

  She turned to Mrs McCready. “My mother would be ashamed of you.” Tears welled instantly. “Drugging her daughter and stealing her away in the night. And to think I sang your praises, told Mr Sloane your loyalty knew no bounds.”

  Mrs McCready’s eyes widened in horror. It took her a moment to catch her breath. “Och, no, lass, no. Yer mother wouldna have wanted to see ye married to a scoundrel. But there’s nae need to marry him now. Ye can claim all the treasure for yerself once we’re away from these shores.” She clutched Vivienne’s hand. “We’re off to Boston.”

  Vivienne snatched her hand away. “I’m not going to Boston, and neither are you. The countess bought two tickets, though I’ve every reason to believe the second one is for the tea chest. You’re being duped.”

  Mrs McCready frowned. “But the countess loves ye like a daughter.”

  “Then it’s a blessing she has no children. The countess wants the treasure. She has waited patiently this last year, waited for me to take the contract to Mr Golding.”

  Vivienne thought back to the last moments with her mother. From her sickbed, she implored Vivienne to find Evan Sloane. Evan Sloane would protect her. She had made no mention of the countess. Indeed, Vivienne recalled seeing a look of panic in her mother’s eyes when the countess entered the room. Panic Vivienne had thought stemmed from a fear of death.

  “I’m in love with Mr Sloane. I trust him with my life.” Indeed, she could not imagine a life without him. “My mother urged me to trust him.”

  “But he’s using ye for the treasure.”

  Vivienne laughed. “There’s nothing in the chest but a pile of old letters.”

  “Letters?” Mrs McCready’s mouth fell open.

  “Yes, letters. The countess hasn’t the means to fund a life in Boston. You know she brought nothing to the marriage, and the earl will cut off all means of support. You’re sending me to my doom.” Vivienne watched the woman sag in the seat as realisation dawned. “Trust me. When Mr Sloane catches up with us, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Mrs McCready choked on a sob. “I meant nae harm. I was trying to save ye, lass.”

  “Then if you wish to save me, you will help me steal the letters, help me return to Highwood.”

  “Aye. I will. It’s the least I can do for the mess I’ve made.”

  A sudden bang on the carriage window tore a gasp from them both. A man pressed his nose to the misty glass and gave a wide grin.

  “Buchanan!” Vivienne flung open the door and threw herself into his embrace. “Merciful Lord! How did you find us?” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Relief pumped through her veins.

  He hugged her tightly. “There now, lassie. All’s well. Yer gentleman rode like the devil to get here. Yer’d be mighty proud of his horsemanship.” He released Vivienne and turned on Mrs McCready. “And as for this witch. Happen the laird will be keen to hear about her treachery.”

  Mrs McCready trembled. “Forgive me, Buchanan. I meant nae—”

  “Tell that to the laird.” He muttered something in Gaelic before focusing on Vivienne. “Come now, lass, they’re all waiting inside.”

  Buchanan escorted them across the muddy yard and into the crowded inn. People were too busy tending those injured in the accident to notice a woman wearing a nightgown beneath her cloak. He led her upstairs to a bedchamber with a beamed ceiling and a small poster bed, then went to speak privately with Mrs McCready.

  Mr Ramsey and Lady Hollinshead sat perched on the sagging mattress, while Lord Hawkridge—or Mr Ashwood as he preferred—Mr D’Angelo and Evan Sloane all stood with their arms folded, glaring at the deceitful devils.

  “Evan!” Vivienne ran into his open arms. She didn’t care who saw them embrace, who saw him stroke her hair, brush his thumb over her cold lips, clutch her to his chest.

  “Are you all right?” His tone brimmed with concern, but there was no mistaking the steely edge. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, just a little tired, and I have a terrible headache.”

  “This is ludicrous!” the countess cried. “Move aside and let me leave, else I shall send for the magistrate. Innkeeper! Innkeeper!”

  Mr D’Angelo chuckled. “And what will you tell him? That you abducted a woman from her bed so you might steal her jewels?”

  The countess raised her chin. “Nonsense. I have simply come to the aid of my friend’s daughter. Mrs McCready said the girl was sick, being drugged by Mr Sloane so he might d
o away with her and keep the treasure. What crime have I committed?”

  “You bought tickets for The Maybury,” Evan countered. “You knew we would find the treasure and have been planning to steal it for days.”

  The lady’s eyes widened. “You’ve been spying on me?”

  “That’s what we do, madam,” Mr D’Angelo said. “Hunt wicked devils who seek to harm the innocent.”

  “I’m afraid you made a fatal mistake trusting Mr Ramsey.” Evan kicked Mr Ramsey’s shoe to get his attention, for he had consumed far too much wine and struggled to follow the conversation. “He told Bonnie of your plan. Sold information to Charles Sloane. You’ll both be arrested for theft and conspiracy to defraud. Half of the treasure is mine, and no doubt you would have taken your share.”

  Mr Ramsey jumped in shock. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I—I did nothing other than protect Miss Hart’s interests.”

  “Worry about your own interests,” Mr D’Angelo said. “I gathered your creditors and gave them the money to obtain a writ. By now, there’ll be a warrant for your arrest and a cosy little room waiting at the sponging-house.”

  In shock, Mr Ramsey slipped off the bed. He scrambled to his feet. “No! No! I just need time to pay. Wait!” Spittle dribbled down his chin. “I just need … need—”

  “Your share of the treasure,” Vivienne said, indebted to Mr D’Angelo for he knew how to hurt this devil. “What was it you promised Bonnie? A ruby for her loyalty?”

  “Fool,” the countess grumbled. “Elspeth always said you had the sense of a donkey.”

  “Do not dare speak of my mother like she’s kin.” Anger bubbled in Vivienne’s throat. Anger turned to rage. “Mr Ramsey told you what he’d learned from my father. While you were tending to my mother, you were pestering her for information, pestering Mrs McCready, too. My mother’s last moments should have been calm, peaceful, but I shall never forget the fearful look in her eyes.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve done nothing but care for you since she died.” The countess gave a mocking snort. “Is this any way to show your gratitude? Elspeth would be ashamed of you, gel!”