Dangerous Lord, Seductive Mistress

by Mary Brendan

  A slanting glance was sent to her right; she was hoping Noose-head Ned had had the decency to disappear. Obviously she and her driver, given their perilous predicament, were going to be of no threat to him. He might just as well set about whatever business had him skulking tonight. And she rather thought she knew what it was. The ships idling at sea were coming in.

  He was still there, watching. She narrowed her shocked vision on him. He was a stocky fellow, quite tall, she imagined, from his height in the saddle. His face had been powdered to a ghastly luminosity and was half-hidden by a tricorn hat pulled low on his brow. Squinting closely, she noticed that a few strands of his hair had escaped the disguise and looked to be black in colour. As though the fellow had guessed she was not nearly as frightened as she ought to be, he swung the length of rope that trailed off his neck.

  For some reason that very much annoyed Deborah. Whilst she and Fred were in mortal danger, he was showing off. ‘Do you know how ridiculous you look?’ she shouted in an impassioned voice. ‘Get off that horse and come here at once and help me,’ she demanded, jumping to her feet. It was a senseless move to have made. She gingerly again sat down as the trap tilted further into the ditch and Fred’s inert form rolled closer to the side.

  Deborah slid on the seat away from Fred to balance the vehicle and wrathfully gazed back at Ned. A soft gasp parted Deborah’s lips, for she saw then that he was not alone. The outline of another rider, previously merged with shadows, had become visible. The two men appeared to be conducting a low conversation.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Deborah demanded in a croak. When she gained no response, she stammered, ‘If…if you help me get our vehicle back on the road, we’ll forget we’ve seen you and be on our way.’

  A booming guffaw met that. ‘I’m sure you’d like me to think so, my lovely. But Ned’s far too cute to fall for that one.’

  Ned spurred his horse closer until he was by the side of the tilting vehicle. Deborah immediately swung her face from his, but thick, floury fingers caught at her chin and jerked it round.

  ‘So…you aren’t afraid of me?’ he taunted. ‘You should be, you know. Pretty, aren’t you, sweetheart?’ His mouth had parted, and looked to be a dark cavern in his chalky visage. ‘I could find a use for you,’ he purred and pinched her chin tighter.

  ‘Dragoons are close behind us,’ Deborah lied desperately, yanking her face backwards and away from his spiteful touch. ‘You’d best be off.’

  He rumbled a chuckle. ‘Dragoons are hiding by the beach, I’ll warrant, waiting for a cargo to come ashore. So will I be very soon and I’ll have it if I have to slay every soldier in the doing of it. But first I’ve got something else to do.’ He tilted his head towards her, trying to capture her evasive eyes with his crafty gaze. ‘So where were you off too on this filthy night, darling?’

  ‘I’m going to Hartsmere Lodge, to see Mr Chadwicke.’ Deborah whispered. ‘He’s a very good friend of mine and…and is expecting me,’ she lied. ‘If I don’t turn up soon, he’ll be out searching for me. You’d best be on your way.’

  That information completely changed Ned’s attitude: his face set in to shrewd lines that compressed flour in creases about his eyes and mouth. He flicked a glance back at his companion and the fellow, still by the trees, beckoned urgently.

  Ned trotted back and stopped alongside his colleague.

  Deborah noticed then that the other fellow looked to be dwarfed by Ned’s thickset frame.

  Deborah dragged her eyes from the parleying pair and darted looks about, dithering uncertainly. Many courses of action raced through her feverish brain. The one that stayed at the forefront of her mind was that she should quickly jump to the ground and bolt into the gloom, but she was reluctant to leave Fred behind, and at their mercy. Yet if she did nothing…what would become of them both? If she escaped, she might manage to get to a dwelling and find assistance. How far was Hartsmere Lodge? Which direction should she take? It was too late! Ned was on his way back towards her.

  ‘Well, Miss Woodville, it’s a miserable night to leave you here all alone,’ Ned rasped. ‘You can come with me and I’ll keep you warm…as warm as Chadwicke would, I’ll swear.’ He grunted a lewd laugh.

  ‘How…how do you know my name?’ Deborah whispered. He knew who she was! The spiteful fingers about her heart seemed to have tightened their grip

  ‘You’re Chadwicke’s doxy,’ he answered coarsely. ‘I can see why he’d fit you in even on a busy night such as this.’ A lascivious glance swept over her, then a hand dived under her cloak, causing her to shrink back from a rough fondling of her bosom.

  A moment later Deborah’s anger had overcome her fright. She slapped away his insolent fingers, causing a cloud of powder to rise in the air. ‘I am no man’s doxy!’

  ‘Chadwicke says different, so we heard.’

  Deborah was momentarily stunned into speech-lessness.

  ‘Done with you, has he?’ Ned’s leering face was thrust closer to Deborah. ‘Never mind. Whether he has or he hasn’t is of no consequence. I’m to kill him tonight, but it’d be a shame to have to snap that pretty neck of yours…’

  Ice had shivered along Deborah’s spine when she’d heard his guttural threats. From the first moment Ned had approached the trap, and she’d clearly seen his features, she’d guessed he would want to silence her. Despite his covering of powder she’d recognise him again, and he knew it. And it was his intention to murder Randolph too! What she’d heard from the Davenports just an hour or so ago was true. Two rival gangs of smugglers were going to do battle for the cargo out at sea. Her immediate need was to warn Randolph that an assassin was on his way. Her frantic brain had sped to the conclusion that, instead of fighting it out fairly on the beach, Ned intended to sneakily ambush Randolph at the Lodge.

  With no further thought on the matter, Deborah shoved the heel of her hand hard into his face. As Ned bellowed in surprise and anger his horse reared, giving her the chance she needed. Deborah gathered her skirts in shaking fists and leapt over the side of the trap. She heard the vehicle creak and tumble and momentarily hesitated, for her thoughts were for poor, comatose Fred. But an instant later she’d sped away towards the woods, dodging and swerving this way and that as dark clumps of vegetation loomed in front of her. She felt her hood catch on a low branch and fall away from her fair hair so that it fluttered like a bright flag behind her. Brambles nipped at her bare shins, for her trembling fists had hoisted her skirts clear of her flying feet. On she pounded, her drumming heartbeat deafening her to any sound of pursuit. Finally, when it seemed her lungs would explode if she didn’t rest, she dived behind a gigantic tree trunk. She shoved her back against it as her chest pumped painfully with her laboured gasps. Blood was thundering in her ears, yet she strained to detect the telltale sounds of twigs cracking beneath hooves so she might judge how close were her pursuers. Would they have dismounted and given chase on foot?

  She drew her cloak about her, drawing up its hood to conceal the gleam of her hair and slid to an edge of the great bole to peer around it. A wall of impenetrable blackness met her questing gaze. She searched about for a route that might circle back to the road where Fred was, all the time listening for sound of pursuit. Having decided to flee to the right, Deborah retreated one tiny step at a time whilst filling her lungs with much needed breath to launch her forwards. She started as her small buttocks came into contact with a man’s thighs. She sucked in a breath in readiness to scream just as a hard palm slid across her mouth.

  ‘Quiet,’ a voice whispered close to one of her ears. ‘I mean you no harm, I swear. Be still and silent, they’re very close.’

  Something in his authoritative, yet lightly amused, tone made Deborah heed his warning. She swallowed and became as stiff as a board, very aware of her back pressed against a muscular masculine body. Her impaired hearing had prevented her detecting the sound that had alerted him to her hunters. But now the rhythmic tattoo of galloping hooves was audible to her a
lso. Two horses suddenly crashed out of the blackness and thundered past, one carrying Noose-head Ned and the other his skinny companion. As soon as the sound had died away, the fellow loosened his grip, then let her go.

  Immediately Deborah spun about, her wild eyes scouring the dark face above her.

  A flash of white teeth preceded her saviour’s neat bow. ‘Viscount Stratton, at your service, ma’am,’ he drawled.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘You’re Ross Trelawney?’ Deborah gasped.

  ‘You have me at a disadvantage, Miss.?

  ‘Cleveland,’ Deborah whispered. The gleam of teeth disappeared and Deborah knew his amusement had suddenly vanished.

  At that moment the moon escaped a cloud and silver beams filtered through the trees to highlight his profile. Deborah saw he was of similar height and breadth to Randolph, but his hair was extremely dark and carelessly tousled. The viscount had the look of a handsome gypsy rather than a wealthy aristocrat she realised a moment before they were cast back into blackness. Scudding nimbus had recaptured the moon, but not before she’d glimpsed a large horse tethered some yards away.

  ‘I imagine that Randolph doesn’t know you’re darting about the woods with Ned Swinton on your tail,’ Ross remarked quietly.

  ‘Randolph has told you about me?’ Deborah demanded in astonishment.

  ‘Indeed he has, so I’d best get you out of harm’s way or he’ll have my hide.’ He caught at Deborah’s elbow with a firm grip and urged her towards the horse. ‘Come,’ he said without preamble. ‘Let’s get you to the Lodge, Miss Cleveland.’

  ‘But…but, you don’t understand. Ned is out to murder Randolph, he told me so. And my driver is injured and unconscious in our trap. I can’t leave him. I must go back and help him. And you must warn Randolph as soon as possible that Ned is going to ambush him.’ Deborah wriggled her shoulder to free herself from a determined hand propelling her along.

  ‘Randolph already knows Ned’s after him,’ Ross said soothingly. ‘As for your driver, after I’ve got you safely to the Lodge I’ll go and fetch him and bring him to you.’

  His low baritone sounded calm and persuasive, but still Deborah’s concern for Fred caused her to pull back. A million questions whirled in her mind, but she knew they must wait. The most important thing had been that Randolph knew his life was in imminent danger. If he were already aware an assassin was stalking him, her next priority was to help her servant. She had thwarted Ned and his accomplice and because of it she was afraid they might return to the trap and vent their spite on poor Fred. If he wasn’t already mortally wounded, he might soon be. She explained to Ross her fears.

  ‘Ned and his crew have more important fish to fry tonight,’ came his immediate reply. ‘They’ll leave alone your unconscious driver, you may depend upon it.’

  ‘Where is Randolph?’ Deborah asked in a quavering croak. ‘Is he by the shore?’ Her eyes searched Ross’s shadowy face, but the gloom made his expression impenetrable. ‘“More important fish to fry…’” She quoted his words back at him. ‘You mean the cargo out at sea, don’t you? Ned’s an ally of the Luckhursts, isn’t he? They’re all Randolph’s rivals and will try to kill him before he gets to the contraband, isn’t that so?’ Her rapid questions gained no replies. In exasperation she shoved at his arm to send him away from her. ‘Oh…if you won’t tell me anything, at least go and help Randolph without delay.’

  ‘Indeed I must help him without delay,’ Ross agreed. ‘But I have to get you somewhere safe, or Randolph might be first to commit murder, and I’ll be in his firing line, not Ned or the Luckhursts.’ As he spoke he extracted a pistol from a pocket of his coat and checked it before putting it back whence it came. ‘Come, let us go,’ he urged softly. ‘I am to rendezvous with Randolph very soon. There is still time for me to get you to the Lodge. I swear Randolph will want you to go with me.’

  Her safety was now an unwanted burden on Ross. She realised, too, that she had put other lives in jeopardy this evening by not heeding her servant’s advice to go straight home. Shame and guilt flooded her as she acknowledged young Fred had displayed more common sense than had she. Her determination to confront Randolph with his alleged crimes, and have her answers, had made her illogical. She knew her conscience would not allow her to accept sanctuary whilst Fred lay in a ditch. The least she could do was return to comfort him.

  ‘Have you a gun to lend me as protection? I won’t hesitate to use it if Ned again comes near me.’ She forced up her sharp little chin despite its wobble. ‘I can look after myself.’ A mere tremor in her voice betrayed how fragile was her bravado. ‘I can return alone to the trap whilst you help Randolph. If Fred has regained consciousness, and is able, we shall set off on foot together to the vicarage where I have friends…’ Her voice broke. ‘Tell Randolph that I hope he stays safe and gets away.’

  ‘You can tell him yourself,’ growled an awful, disembodied voice.

  Deborah spun about, her heart vaulting to her mouth.

  Ross turned more slowly. He blew out his cheeks in an audible sigh before muttering, ‘Right, I’ll be off. I could do with your assistance at some point.’ It was a sarcastic request sent over a shoulder to Randolph as he strolled to his horse.

  ‘What in damnation do you think you’re doing here?’ Randolph blasted through gritting teeth. He strode up to Deborah and pinned her back against the tree by planting two large hands on her shoulders.

  His unbridled fury had the effect of incensing her. All previous tender thoughts for his safety were buried beneath her simmering indignation. ‘I might ask you the same thing,’ she spat back. ‘But I won’t, because I don’t need to. I know now all about you. You’re a smuggler!’ she hissed. The dreadful things about his past that she’d learned from Captain Stewart now bombarded her mind. She forced her weight forwards to escape him, but managed only to increase the painful grip digging in to her flesh. ‘You’ve abused our hospitality in the most hateful way. You’re a vile criminal, as was your brother, and I don’t know why I’ve risked my life, and Fred’s, to come and tell you that Captain Stewart knows all about you, and is probably going to capture you tonight and make sure you get hanged for your crimes.’ Her eyes felt hot and gritty with tears that slowly dripped to her cheeks. She was obliquely aware that Ross had spurred his horse forwards, and Randolph knew it, too, for he snapped sideways his head, flicking soft fawn hair against her cheek, to watch his friend disappear.

  ‘Let me go,’ Deborah raged and her small fists pummelled his chest before yanking at his muscled forearms. ‘I’ve done what I came to do. I’ve warned you that the game is up. If Fred is dead or badly maimed because of what I’ve done, I’ll never forgive myself…or you.’ She raised her eyes to find his hawkish gaze riveted on her face.

  ‘The captain visited you to tell you I’m a smuggler?’

  She nodded and her ineffectual battering at his body ceased. She sank back against the tree with a sob.

  ‘Remind me to thank him,’ Randolph drawled savagely.

  ‘Are you not going to deny it?’ she demanded in a bitter croak.

  ‘Where’s Fred?’ he asked, ignoring her question.

  ‘Back along the road that leads to St Andrew’s church,’ she answered automatically. ‘I went to the vicarage to find out your direction from Gerard. Our trap went into a ditch when Ned accosted us on the road and frightened Bessie, our mare.’ She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Fred fainted and bumped his head. I pray he is not badly hurt.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come out tonight, Debbie.’ Randolph touched a shaking finger to her cheek. ‘God knows on this of all nights you should be safe at home,’ he muttered in anguish.

  ‘Ned is after you, too. He told me he is going to kill you.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ Randolph rasped on a harsh laugh. It seemed being reminded of imminent peril from that reprobate had hardened his feelings for her too. His eyes and mouth tightened grimly as he studied her upturned, mutinous face. A moment l
ater he’d jerked her away from the tree and was on the move.

  In two strides he was at his horse, Deborah held off the ground by an arm encircling her waist, and carried along with him because she’d instinctively struggled to go to Fred. He swung lithely into the saddle without releasing his grip on one of her wrists. An instant later he’d reached down and, despite her protests, hauled her up to sit in front of him. Deborah squirmed as an immovable arm girdled her waist and jerked her back against him. Suddenly a hand clamped on her mouth and she quietened immediately—she’d learned from Ross such a warning meant danger might be close.

  A moment later Randolph’s muffling hand was gone and he’d inclined close to murmur, ‘Ross has come back for some reason.’

  A horse clopped quietly out of a thicket and Ross brought the animal to a halt alongside. ‘Your driver is gone, Miss Cleveland,’ he said softly. ‘The horse and trap are still there, but no soul about.’

  Deborah choked back a sob of dismay. ‘Poor Fred. Poor Bessie! Is she lame, do you know?’

  ‘She looks to be uninjured and not too spooked by it all,’ Ross said. ‘I’m sure she will rest easy until your driver brings help to get the trap back on the road.’

  ‘It’s likely Fred has regained consciousness and set off back to the vicarage,’ Randolph told her gently. ‘I expect he thinks that’s where you’ve gone to get help.’

  ‘Ned or the Luckhursts might have him,’ Deborah squeaked, unable to control her misery at the thought.

  ‘It’s possible, but more likely that Randolph’s theory is correct,’ Ross concluded.

  ‘There’s no time to take you back to the Davenports, Deborah,’ Randolph told her, regret in his voice, yet it also held flinty authority. ‘You must stay at the Lodge. You’ll be safe until I come to collect you. A couple of trustworthy servants are there. Mr and Mrs Pinner housekeep for Ross at the property.’