“Miss Carlisle, it was truly a pleasure meeting you. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.” He paused, his hand resting on the door handle. “One more thing. There’s a basket of food in the back of your cell. Your alibi for why you’re here. You felt terrible that Mr. Cooper had been arrested, so you brought him a basket to comfort him, then stumbled into the cell and accidentally locked yourself inside. After all, you have a reputation for being clumsy.” His eyes gleamed mischievously. “Even I heard you fell off your horse in the middle of High Street.”
Biting back a sharp curse, knowing the fault was her own for having set herself up like this, she watched him leave.
She sagged against the door. Thomas had ordered her locked up! There was no gaolbreak, and most likely none had ever been planned. The story had been nothing more than an irresistible ruse to get her here so she could be kept out of the way for whatever else he had planned tonight. He’d lied to her, blast him.
But he’d also saved her.
In the morning, when the constable and his men found her locked in the cell, wearing her floral-print dress and waiting with a basket of Cook’s biscuits at her feet, no one would believe she could possibly be a highwayman, no matter how much she protested. No one. Ever.
By locking her up, Thomas had ensured that she would never be accused of the robberies, but he’d also eliminated any chance he’d had of arresting her and being noticed in London. Yet her chest burned with anguish. Not arresting her because he didn’t want to see her hang was a far cry from loving her.
Pressing her hand against her heart, she slumped down onto the cot, and her gaze strayed to the book lying beside her, the ledger that contained all the information she needed to prove Royston guilty. The book with the peculiar list of names, the one Thomas had told her could never leave his room.
She closed her eyes at the stab of pain in her chest. Whatever that list of names meant to him, he’d chosen it over her with a ferocity that had left her trembling. Treating it as if it were some sort of holy book, or secret document, or—
Secret document.
Oh God.
Her throat tightened, and her veins turned to ice. Not just a list of names. Not just a ledger of transacted goods…Oh God!
Thomas had known immediately the ramifications of that list, but she’d been so selfish in forcing him to choose between her and the book that she’d been blind to what it truly meant. She thought he’d chosen the list over her, but now…What had she done? What awful choice had she forced him into making?
Her hand shook as she reached for it.
Her tentative fingers picked it up, and she frowned. The back cover was missing, the spine torn down the middle, pages ripped out—
Her heart somersaulted. Thomas hadn’t given her the book. He’d cut it in two and given her the front half! She held in her hands the information about Mrs. Potter and the orphanage, all the evidence she needed to link Royston to the orphans. But Thomas had kept the second half for himself, the ledger she was never supposed to have seen and that she now knew put both their lives in danger.
Laughing in pained disbelief as a riot of emotions churned inside her, she turned the book over in her hands. He’d managed to do the impossible after all…keep her from being arrested, stop Royston, and prove to the War Office he was ready to return.
But most of all, this half of the book proved that Colonel Grey was right—Thomas loved her. He hadn’t said it, but his mad machinations tonight confirmed it.
Yet her hand shook as she swiped at the tears that now rolled freely down her cheeks, and her chest burned with unbearable grief and loss, so much that she could barely breathe through the pain of it. Because for all he’d done tonight, he still hadn’t found a way for them to be together.
* * *
“It’s a shame you came all the way from London for nothing, Chesney,” Royston commented in the darkness of the swaying coach as the horses raced toward the village.
Across from him Thomas kept his silence as he casually folded his hands between his knees and relaxed against the squabs.
“The constable beat you to the highwayman, after all, and you did nothing to stop him or hunt him down,” he accused coldly. “Might have stayed in London for all the good you did here.”
Outside the carriage the night was black. A thick layer of clouds hid the stars and moon, and the scent of rain hung heavy in the air. Thomas’s gaze darted out the window at the passing scenery, and he recognized the bend where the road turned to follow the river, flowing along beside them now like a black ribbon sewed tight against the edge of the hard-packed dirt beneath their wheels.
“You know, Chesney,” Royston continued, his tone greatly confident, “when I approached you about finding this bandit, I had hopes you were the man I could count on to finish this business. I was assured by several men that you were the man I needed, one who would fulfill his mission and keep his silence. Sadly, they were wrong about you.”
Thomas said nothing. Instead he kept his face stoic in the shadows, thankful for the darkness that hid any trace of the hatred he now held for this man who had once been a trusted family friend.
“I should have known you wouldn’t be up for the hunt.” Royston clucked his tongue softly, as if blaming himself. But Thomas knew full well where the earl was heading, and he let the man continue. “Not after the way you were gunned down last year. Surprised everyone that you lived, thank God.”
“Thank Lucifer,” Thomas corrected coldly. God had nothing to do with what had happened to him that night.
Royston frowned quizzically but otherwise ignored his comment. “But you didn’t come back the same man, did you? I’d heard rumors even then that Chesney had lost his nerve, couldn’t hold a gun steady, had lost the thrill of the hunt.” He paused to let his words hover in the air between them. “That he’d become completely useless.”
Thomas had heard the rumors himself. Worse, he knew them to be true. But that didn’t stop his hands from clenching into fists.
“Still, I gave you one last chance to prove yourself, and all you had to do was find a highwayman. One highwayman in a village of less than three hundred people, and you couldn’t even do that.” Shaking his head, he leaned back against the seat. “I’m certain you understand that I won’t be recommending you to the War Office now.”
Thomas certainly hoped not, given that Royston was a traitor.
“In fact, I feel obligated to tell Bathurst about the concerns I have regarding your behavior this past sennight.” Royston smiled devilishly in the darkness. “After all, we wouldn’t want you putting anyone’s life at risk.”
Josie. The hairs on his arms prickled in warning, and he forced himself to keep his voice even as he asked, “Is that a threat?”
Royston shrugged. “You’re returning to London tomorrow a failed hero. And Josephine Carlisle is lovely. Quite lovely.”
Every ounce of restraint in his body tightened into a ball inside his gut and somehow kept him from lunging across the coach to close his hands around the bastard’s throat. “Yes, she is.”
“I’d have to be a damned fool not to see you’ve been plowing her.”
Royston was a dead man. At the first opportunity, Thomas would kill him, and the only thing preventing him from doing it now was the very real likelihood that Royston carried a knife up his jacket sleeve.
“You’ve asked her to perform other dirty deeds for you as well. I found her in my study pretending she’d torn her dress. But you know that, don’t you? After all, someone unlocked the door for her. For all I know, you tore the dress yourself before you sent her inside.”
His body tensing, ready to spring at the first sign of physical provocation, Thomas carefully kept his silence.
“She might be entertaining on her back, but she’s just as incompetent at spying as you are,” Royston sneered with a hint of cold delight, “because nothing was missing from my study.”
Thomas stared a
t him darkly. Royston didn’t know they’d found the book. The same one he had so carefully replaced after his meeting with Grey and Edward, then stolen a second time from the study and cut in two, right before he’d tardily entered the dining room tonight.
“Whatever it was you sent her after, she didn’t find…luckily for her.”
Thomas gritted his teeth, so hard his cheek twitched. “Leave her alone,” he growled in a low warning.
“I will, you have my word on that. If you keep your silence.” He shifted in his seat, his hands tugging at his coat sleeves under the pretense of pulling them into place, but Thomas knew he was sliding the hidden knife down toward his palm. “Her fascination with you will fade once you’re gone, and there will be no reason to involve her in anything further. But if I hear one whisper about this highwayman and his connection to me, then she will pay for your mistakes.”
She was already paying for his mistakes, Thomas thought grimly, glancing out the window just long enough to notice that they’d crossed into the cover of the woods.
“She’s a pretty little thing, and so spirited.” Royston tugged at his gloves. “But I don’t suppose it would take much to break her.”
So much more than you realize. Josephine Carlisle was the toughest woman Thomas had ever met.
“Your silence, Chesney,” the earl pressed, “in return for the girl’s safety.”
His eyes remained intently focused on Royston now, but he was alert and aware of every movement and sound around them, from the creak of the carriage as it bounced over a rut in the road to the distant howl of a dog. The night was alive, humming with electricity, but Royston was oblivious to the tension rising around them. And that lack of attention to the details would be his downfall.
“I would do anything to protect her,” Thomas assured Royston quietly, and meant every word. He would lay down his life for hers.
Royston smiled, a slow and wicked grin full of arrogance. “I’m glad you’re being so reas—”
Gunshots and shouts split the quiet night. The carriage lurched to the side, swaying dangerously onto two wheels and forcing both men to grab for the handholds to keep from being tossed to the floor.
“What’s happening?” Royston demanded angrily, pounding his fist against the roof to get the coachman’s attention.
“We’re being robbed, of course,” Thomas answered calmly.
Royston’s eyes widened in the darkness. “Impossible! Cooper’s locked away in a cell, his horse is being held in the constable’s barn.”
Thomas said nothing and watched the earl through the shadows, letting the night’s events unfold exactly as he’d planned.
The sound of pounding hoofbeats swarmed around them, more gunshots and shouts. With a yell from the driver, the team pulled to a skidding stop. The carriage creaked and cracked, halting so suddenly it rocked dangerously back and forth on its springs.
Shouted orders for the driver and tiger to move away from the carriage, horses snorting, the sounds of scuffling—through all the noise and confusion, Thomas stared straight at Royston, never taking his eyes off him.
The door opened with a crash as it smacked against the side of the coach. The highwayman leaned down from his horse to point a pistol inside at Royston’s chest. “Put up your hands!”
“What is this?” Royston exploded with surprised fury.
“You’re being robbed, you nodcock.” The highwayman’s deep voice rang with annoyance. “So put up your blasted hands!”
Thomas’s lips twitched. From the irritated scowl behind the black mask, Edward Westover was clearly not enjoying his part in tonight’s events. But as the former colonel of the Scarlet Scoundrels and a well-seasoned veteran of the Peninsular War, he possessed the skilled horsemanship to be a successful highwayman, able to hold up the carriage and lead the constable’s men on a chase across the countryside without being caught or shot—
“Hand over your money, goddamn you.”
—if not the dashing temperament.
Thomas rolled his eyes. Edward hadn’t even bothered to dismount, instead staying straight in the saddle as he tossed the burlap bag at Royston. The earl searched his pockets and withdrew what few valuables he had, dropping into the sack a handful of money, his gold pocket watch, and his signet ring.
The pistol swung toward Thomas. “And now you,” Edward demanded gruffly.
“Not me,” Thomas muttered quietly, no longer amused by his friend’s antics.
“Especially you.”
With a murderous glare, Thomas reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew his money, taking advantage of the distraction to expertly palm a tiny pistol against his large hand. He dropped the money into the sack and casually settled his hand over his thigh, the gun hidden from sight.
Edward shoved the sack into his saddlebag and fastened it securely, then signaled for the three men with him to leave. They spun their horses and dashed off into the woods, vanishing from sight in mere seconds in three different directions. He leaned back in the saddle and holstered his pistol as he glanced around the stretch of dark road, which remained quiet and still. Drumming his fingers on the saddle pommel, he waited impatiently as the seconds ticked by.
“Christ,” he muttered, losing all patience. He swung his horse in a tight circle and pointed down the road. “When the constable finally arrives, tell him I went that way!”
Then he dug his heels into his horse’s side, and the large chestnut gelding leapt into a gallop. The horse’s hoofbeats faded into the distance, leaving the stopped carriage in darkness and silence with the bound driver and tiger the only evidence that a robbery had occurred.
As the sound of Edward’s horse faded, three riders clamored down the road toward the carriage and pulled up sharply. The constable nearly fell out of his saddle from surprise.
“That way!” Thomas pointed urgently down the road after Edward. “After him!”
“Yes, sir!” The constable spurred his horse and galloped off after his men and straight into the wild goose chase Edward had planned for them, one that would lead them across the countryside and far away from the carriage.
Then Thomas slowly raised his pistol at Royston. “Make any sudden moves, and I’ll kill you,” he said calmly, noting the flare of surprised fury in the earl’s eyes. “We’re getting out of this carriage, and you’ll send the driver and tiger on into the village while we wait here for the constable to return.”
“You’ll swing for this, Chesney,” he threatened.
His lips curled into a grim smile. “I’ll take my chances. Step out of the carriage—and slowly, keeping your hand away from that knife you’ve got tucked up your sleeve.”
With a furious glare, Royston did as ordered and stiffly descended to the ground.
“Untie the driver,” Thomas commanded beneath his breath and followed along less than ten feet behind the earl, far enough away that Royston couldn’t surprise him with any sudden punches or kicks yet close enough to fire off a kill shot if necessary. There was no way in hell he was letting this traitor escape, certainly not after the way he’d threatened Josie.
Royston freed the driver, then set loose the liveried groom beside him.
“Are you all right, sir?” The tiger’s voice shook from the surprise of the robbery, while the driver quickly checked the team and carriage.
“Fine,” Royston bit out. His eyes darted murderously toward Thomas, who stood with his hand tucked conspicuously beneath his jacket. “You two drive on into the village.”
The two men exchanged puzzled glances at the strange order.
Royston’s eyes narrowed on Thomas. “The carriage might be damaged,” he lied quickly, and rather expertly, Thomas noticed. “You two ride into the village and have the blacksmith check it over. Chesney and I will wait here for the constable to return.”
“Sir, beggin’ yer pardon, I don’t think it’s safe—”
“Go on!” Royston bellowed.
“Aye, sir.” The driver tugge
d at the brim of his hat, then gestured hurriedly for the tiger to take his position at the rear of the coach. Without questioning his employer further, the man swung up into his seat and set the team forward. They rattled off down the road toward the village, the lamps dimly lighting their way.
“What the hell is going on here?” Royston demanded furiously, wheeling on Thomas. “What are you up to?”
“I’m putting everything to rights tonight.” Thomas withdrew the pistol from his jacket and pointed it directly at the earl’s chest. “Starting with arresting you for treason.”
Royston snorted derisively. “With what proof?”
“The ledger you hid in your study, the one containing the names of British agents you’ve been selling to the enemy and the recorded amounts of bounty you received for each one you delivered.”
As Royston paled at the accusation, a bitter taste rose in Thomas’s mouth, and he knew without a doubt the full damage the earl had done to the men listed in that book, to the War Office, and to England. What damage he could have done to him and his family.
“You bastard,” Thomas bit out, white-hot fury seething through him. “You listed the price next to each one! Good men died because of your greed.”
“Spies,” Royston returned. “Not good men.”
“My name was on your list. Good God—” The thought sickened him as he forced out, “Our families have been friends for years. Is that why you didn’t hand me over?”
Royston stared at him coldly. “I would have, eventually. But you became worthless. A bullet saved you.”
With a slight shake of his head, Thomas muttered, “You have no idea.” Then he raised two fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle.
At his signal four men on horseback, led by Grey on his imposing black horse, surged out of the woods and surrounded them with drawn pistols pointed at Royston. The earl slowly raised his hands.
“You were right, Royston, when you said I didn’t come back the same man after the shooting.” Thomas leveled his gaze down the barrel of the pistol pointed straight at the man’s cold heart. “I came back better.”
How I Married a Marquess Page 27
