The King's League Box Set: Regency Romance

by Lucy Adams

  A sudden snapping of branches had her head lifting, a sour taste of fear in her mouth as her hands held her knees a little closer, praying that Stayton would not see her.

  Only for Rufus to appear, his wet nose pressed against her cheek, his tail wagging furiously as he tried to lick her face. Augusta held onto him for a moment, weak with relief, his warmth and presence a comfort.

  “Is he coming?” she whispered, looking into her dog’s face and trying to find some sort of strength from deep within herself. “He did not follow you, did he?” Pushing herself to her feet, Augusta began to push her way through the trees, not quite certain in which direction she was going but knowing for certain that she did not want to be anywhere near to where her cousin could be. Rufus went with her, his tail wagging still but keeping close to her side, no interest in rabbits or squirrels now, as though he knew that she needed him to stay close to her. Augusta moved as quickly as she could, her skirts getting increasingly damp as she hurried through the grass and moss. She did not know where she was going, only that she needed to get as far away from where she had been walking as possible. Having walked to the woods in the first place, it would take her a long time to walk back to the estate now but Augusta was determined to avoid her cousin at all costs. She began to shiver as the breeze ran through the trees, as though determined to touch everything it could. Even though it was the height of summer, today was a particularly drab, damp and cold day and Augusta was beginning to feel it.

  Rufus suddenly froze, his ears pointing forward, his body quivering as he looked straight ahead. Augusta, seeing her dog’s reaction, stopped at once, looking out and fearing that Stayton would suddenly appear from behind a thick tree trunk and grab her towards him.

  But then, Rufus bounded forward, his ears still pricked and his stance betraying a curiosity rather than anything else. Augusta hesitated, before following after him carefully, her heart thumping furiously and her feet slipping on the damp grass. Rufus was running across a large clearing, his back paws kicking up the ground as he raced across it, with a quiet yelp of evident excitement reaching back to her.

  “Wait!” Augusta called, before remembering that she ought to be as quiet as possible. Praying that it was not that Rufus had found a warren of rabbits or some such thing, she ran across the clearing, fearful that Stayton was nearby, only to find Rufus standing near to a thicket of trees and bushes that was the beginning of the next part of the woods.

  “Rufus?” she said, softly, seeing her dog standing to complete attention, his body quivering as he sniffed hard at something in the center that she could not see. “What is it?”

  A muffled groan had her jumping back in alarm, a shriek of surprise ripping from her mouth as she stumbled back. Rufus barked loudly, his tail beginning to wag again but Augusta did not move forward. Nervous and frightened after what had occurred with her cousin, she moved forward tentatively, wondering if it was Stayton himself who had come to some harm and would now need her help. Although whether or not she would give it was entirely another matter.

  “Stayton?” Her voice quavered as she looked into the thicket, her eyes flaring in surprise at the deep pit that loomed beneath her. Had she not been alerted to it by Rufus, then she could very easily have walked into it and fallen hard, which, she considered, given the groaning coming from the pit, must be precisely what they had done.

  “Stayton, is that you?” she asked again, a little louder this time. “What happened?”

  There came silence for a moment or two, only for Augusta to hear a whisper that ran the length of her spine and caused her to shudder violently.

  “Help me.”

  She could not tell whether or not it was Stayton, her heart in her throat as she peered into the darkness. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice a little stronger now, as Rufus barked madly. “Who is there?”

  Again came the cloud of silence, rushing around her as she knelt down, unheeding the wet that soaked through her skirts almost at once. With Rufus beside her and the man below evidently unable to reach her, Augusta felt a little more confident about looking within.

  “Please, help me.” The rasping, weak voice told her that this man, whoever he was, needed her help urgently. Her instinct told her it could not possibly be Stayton, given that he would have somehow had to make his way around and through the woods before her to reach the clearing, and all that with whatever injuries Rufus has inflicted!

  “I will help you,” she said, with as much firmness as she could. “Please, can you tell me your name? I might have to go to fetch help and it may be that someone is looking for you.”

  Silence was all that met her questions. The man said nothing, making Augusta begin to fear that he had succumbed to his injuries. And then, just as she was about to pull away, about to get to her feet and to think about what she ought to do next, she heard him speak again.

  “I—I do not recall my name,” came the voice. “I do not know where I am nor how I got here.” A shuddering gasp told her that he was fighting to keep control of his fears. “Please, help me out from here.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. She could not imagine what this fellow must be feeling at present, lost in the darkness with no understanding of how he had come to be there. She did not disbelieve him, knowing full well that he could not climb out of such a deep, dark pit alone—and thus, there was no reason for him to hide the truth from her.

  “I will go for my horse,” she told him, wondering if she could find something with which to lower down to the man. “There may be a rope in my saddlebag, that I sometimes use if I do not want my dog to disappear into the woods. I will not be long.” Wishing she could see his face and look into his eyes in order to reassure him, Augusta tried to inject as much confidence and reassurance into her voice as she could. “I swear to you I will return as quickly as I can. You will not be left in darkness for much longer.”

  Another muffled sound reached her ears but she could not quite make out what it was.

  “My dog will remain with you,” she told him, knowing full well that to call the dog to go with her when he was so clearly intent on finding out just what or who was in the pit below him would be quite useless. “You will not be alone.”

  “Wh—what is his name?” The man’s voice was feeble now, weak and tired.

  “Rufus,” she said, getting to her feet. “Call to him and he will bark in response, I am sure of it.” Praying silently that Rufus would not get bored and decide to leave the fellow in the pit to go hunting badgers or some such thing, Augusta ruffled the dog’s head affectionately before turning to leave. Rufus did not move.

  “I will return very shortly,” she called, her own pain, suffering and fear forgotten as she raced across the clearing, all the more determined to help the man in the pit below.

  Chapter Two

  It had been more than a little painful to allow a horse to haul him out of the pit he had fallen into, but given the agony that he was already in, Marcus had accepted it without a single word. Now, he lay panting on the grass, seeing the grey sky above him and feeling like nothing more than an abject failure.

  Mr. Breton was dead. He could still recall how he had seen the man slump backwards, his eyes no longer holding a single spark of life. That had been taken from him by someone who wanted the man gone from this earth before he could reveal anything new. Someone who had discovered that Marcus had been chasing Mr. Breton for some time and had finally managed to bring him to heel. Someone who had tried to kill Marcus also.

  “Are you quite all right” asked a quiet voice, as Marcus attempted to push himself up, feeling his arms weaker than ever before. He had no strength left in his limbs, his head ached as though he had let every single gentleman in The King’s League tread upon it and he found it difficult even to stand.

  “I am profoundly grateful,” he said, staggering forward as he attempted to regain his balance. “I do not know how long I have been in there.” His vision blurred as he struggled to stand, his
hands flailing out in front of him. The lady—whose face he had not quite managed to look into as yet, grabbed at him but his height and build was much too great for her, and he ended up collapsing on top of her. He heard the air rush out of her lungs in a whoosh, then a loud groan came from his lips and mortification filled him, adding to his shame.

  They lay there for a long moment and Marcus felt weakness rushing over him all over again, sapping the last few pieces of strength he had.

  “Do you think you might be able to rise?” The young lady’s voice was as feeble as he felt, making him realize just how much he had injured her. “Or at least, remove yourself from me?”

  Marcus wanted to bound up with his usual energy and strength, wanted to push himself away from her, to offer her his hand and to pull her to her feet with grace and power—but all he could do was emit another groan as he attempted to roll to one side. Somehow he managed to move away from her, but the lady did not immediately get up. She lay there for a few moments, one hand settling over her chest as she sucked in air. Marcus closed his eyes and felt the shame of his weakness rushing over him. He could not even stand without her assistance, could not even lift his head such was his tiredness and fragility.

  “I do not know how we shall ever get you onto my horse,” the lady whispered, pushing herself up to standing, bending a little at the waist as she fought to catch her breath. “But you must get up there somehow, sir, else I shall not be able to bring you any help whatsoever.”

  “I—I will manage somehow,” he told her, cracking open one eye and eyeing the large horse that was merrily eating the grass and ignoring them both. The rope that had pulled him up was still tied to the pommel, dragging along the ground, but the horse did not even give it a moment’s notice. Closing his eyes, Marcus dragged in another lungful of air, praying that he would find some semblance of strength within himself. He had to get somewhere warm, somewhere safe, where he might take a day or two to recuperate before setting out again for London. He would have to tell the League about what had occurred just as soon as he could. Besides which, he had very little idea as to where his servant might have gone, fearing that he too had been hurt and might now be gravely injured somewhere.

  “If I bring the horse to you, mayhap you will be able to pull yourself up?” The young lady looked down at him doubtfully as Marcus opened his eyes again to look at her. His vision began to clear as he focused all of his attention onto her, trying to see her clearly. She was slender—perhaps overly so—with a face that was pale and wane. Her eyes were large, watching him carefully, although he could not tell what color they were. Thick, dark ringlets tumbled down around her shoulders, a loose ribbon in her hand betraying the fact that they had once been held back neatly. The wind whipped around her and she shivered, just as he felt his own body shake with the cold.

  “I will do all I can to pull myself up,” he muttered, as she went to fetch the horse. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “It is no trouble,” she told him, pulling the horse alongside her who appeared to be in a rather frustrated mood, tossing his head in an irritated fashion. “My father’s estate has a good many rooms within it and I am sure we will be able to keep you there until you are recovered.” Her expression twisted with sympathy as she knelt down beside him. “Although we must pray that you remember who you are, in case there are those looking for you.”

  He said nothing in response to this, pushing himself up carefully and feeling his head pounding with a fresh, searing pain that had him crying out aloud. Yes, he had told her a good many lies when he had first realized there was someone near. He had told her that he could not recall his name, did not know where he was or how he had come to be within it, when the truth was, he recalled everything very well indeed. Instinct told him to be all the more careful now that someone in the vicinity had attempted to shoot at him, and thus he had kept the truth of his identity from her. It was easier this way to pretend that he did not know anything about himself, just until he was able to determine just what sort of creature this young lady was and whether or not she could be trusted.

  “Here,” the lady said gently, tugging the horse down and waiting until he had reluctantly knelt. With an effort, Marcus pushed himself forward, one hand finally pulling around the horse’s neck.

  “He is an obedient horse,” he muttered, closing his eyes as he forced his leg over the saddle, a little surprised that it was not a side saddle but glad that he had, at least, managed to get one leg over it. Leaning forward, he held the reins loosely as a wave of dizziness crashed over him, forcing his eyes shut and his jaw clenching furiously as he tried to overcome it.

  “He is more obedient than my dog,” the lady answered, a hint of mirth in her voice. “I do not know where Rufus has gone to.”

  Marcus did not answer, keeping his mouth shut tight as the horse began to rise beneath him, pushing him forward first and then swinging him a little further back in the saddle.

  “Careful there,” the lady said, loudly, as the horse harrumphed and shied a little, clearly unused to having such a weight on its back. She ran one hand down the horse’s neck, murmuring soothing words whilst Marcus struggled to even lift his head. The embarrassment he felt was washed away by the sheer pain of what he was enduring, feeling as though every single muscle in his body had been bruised and battered. His head slumped low as the lady pushed his feet into the stirrups, which were much too short but, to his surprise, did help him to keep his balance a little more.

  “On to my father’s estate, then,” the lady said softly, looking up at him as Marcus tried his best to meet her gaze. “Do you think you will be able to remain seated?”

  He swallowed hard, his throat a little scratchy. “I shall try my very best,” he told her, each word an effort. “I thank you, Miss…..” He trailed off as the lady began to walk beside him, her hand on the horse’s bridle. His eyes were dimmed but he still managed to see the dampness to her skirts, the stains that had come from helping him out from the pit. Whoever she was, she had a great strength of character that he could not help but admire.

  “Lady Augusta,” she said, after a few moments, sending a quick glance up towards him. “My father is the Earl of Berwick.”

  Marcus wanted to say something more, wanted to thank her again for what she had done and to apologize for all that she had been required to endure on his behalf, but found himself sinking down all the more within himself. The need to stay upright on his horse was taking every single piece of concentration he had, his jaw working as he gritted his teeth against the pain that continued to burn and roll through him, until he could barely take any more.

  “It will be an hour’s walk, I think,” Lady Augusta told him quietly, looking up at him with concern in her eyes. “We shall rest whenever you require, however, of course.”

  Again came the desire to speak, the desire to tell her more, but he could not such was his own agonizing struggles. Closing his eyes tightly, Marcus let the air rattle out of his lungs and prayed silently that soon, he would be able to return to London and tell them of all he had found. There was more investigation required here and he was not at all certain he would be able to do so himself, given not only his current state but also the fact that he suspected there was something more going on here than he had first anticipated. Someone must have known or discovered that he was about to go in search of Mr. Breton in order to catch him and find out what the man knew and had ensured that Mr. Breton himself was unable to say more than a few words about his involvement in what was going on. Aside from those in The King’s League as well as his own trusted staff, there was no-one who would have known of his plans—unless someone had been spying on them, drawing close to them and suspicious of his intentions. The thought sent a knot into his stomach as he fought to bear his pain without expression. For the moment, he had to keep even his name to himself, not wanting anyone to think that he knew precisely what had happened to him and why. It would be much too dangerous for him should that occur, an
d given his weakness, he needed to protect himself as much as possible.

  It took a little over an hour for Marcus to reach the estate, the horse seeming to pick up its pace just a little as they rode through up the gravel road. He was filled with relief, only to glance towards the lady who walked alongside him and find admiration hitting him full force. She had walked steadily, without a word of complaint, for the full hour despite the fact she must surely be cold and damp.

  “I will take you to the servants’ entrance,” Lady Augusta murmured, glancing up at him before turning her gaze back to the path in front of her. “Not because I think you unworthy of coming in through the main house but rather because it will be easier to garner some assistance from there.”

  “I thank you,” Marcus managed to say, a heaviness settling over him as the horse directed its steps towards the side of what was a very grand house indeed. It towered over them, although Marcus could not lift his head to look up at it. Ivy climbed up one side of the house, adding a touch of greenery to the otherwise dull stone walls. The glass in the many windows caught the light, and even on what was a very dark day indeed, it gave off a certain presence, a distinct grandeur that could almost be felt.

  Marcus suddenly felt a tug of longing for his own estate, for his own home. He had been away from it for some time, investigating and working on what had been a matter of great importance. How much he wanted to return there now, to recover in his own home, his own estate! But now it appeared he would have to remain here for a time, pretending to be someone he was not, simply to ensure that his assignment and the League remained as secure as they could be.

  “Ah, Tompkins,” called Lady Augusta, letting go of the horse’s reins as Marcus lifted his head to see a startled butler staring up at him, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Might you get a few men to bring this gentleman up to one of the guest rooms?”