“With luck, he’ll come back during the night,” Horatio said. “And cook us breakfast! Charlie—”
A sudden crash caused everyone to freeze. It was followed by a shout and several lesser thumps, then a slam that shook the building.
“What the…?” Mr. Alexander began, striding to the door and throwing it wide.
Spring jumped up and began to bark. Charlotte caught him by the collar just in time. “It’s coming from the taproom,” she said urgently. “Who could be in there. Guests?”
“Not the sort you want, judging by that racket,” Mr. Alexander murmured. “More likely to be my men and yours.”
As if they heard him, John and the valet exploded out of the taproom into the entrance hall.
“He went toward the kitchen!” John yelled, thundering in that direction.
“Who did?” Charlotte demanded.
“Sir, thank God,” the valet exclaimed to his master, panting. “Two men appeared out of nowhere and one of them has pistols! You cannot stay here!”
“I’ve no intention of. I’ll try and head them off from the front. Hanson, you protect this family with your life, do you hear me?”
Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Alexander surged across the hall to the front door, snatching up the candle from the hall and sped outside. With the vague idea of helping to scare them off, Charlotte clipped Spring’s leash back onto his collar and ran after Mr. Alexander.
But outside was not only thick with impenetrable mist, but pitch black to boot, forcing her to pull up almost at once and peer ahead. Spring growled.
She turned, slowly, staring into the darkness until she glimpsed a small, faint light—Mr. Alexander’s candle, perhaps. Warily, she moved after it, but pounding footsteps sounded, eerily disembodied, and she stilled again, trying to work out which direction they were coming from.
Abruptly, the light in front disappeared. Spring’s low growl erupted into full scale barking. Someone cried out and there was a thud as if a body—or two bodies—had hit the ground.
“Well done, sir!” came John Coachman’s admiring voice, just as someone brushed past Charlotte in the darkness, making her gasp and instinctively shrink back against the wall of the house. Spring, taken by surprise, lunged after the stranger, but a sudden sharp crack made both Charlotte and the dog jump. Spring lapsed into hysterical barking. More footsteps pounded past her and Charlotte held onto the leash for dear life.
“John?” she called in fright. “Sir? Have you been hurt?”
“No,” came Mr. Alexander’s voice, rueful and slightly irritable. “I let him go.”
“Just as well when he had a pistol at close range!” said John, looming out of the mist with a lantern.
Beside him, Mr. Alexander held up a large, old-fashioned pistol. “He doesn’t any more. I got the pistol and lost the man.” By the lantern light, mist seemed to drift across his face and cling to his hair as he inclined his head to her. “Miss Charlotte. Did you bring your fearsome hound to help catch our intruders?”
Spring was, in fact, pushing his nose into her leg. She bent absently to pat him, and felt something in his mouth. Immediately, he wanted to play tug of war with it, which was impossible since it seemed to be a mere couple of inches of cloth.
“Clever dog!” she exclaimed, extracting it from his teeth with some difficulty. She straightened and held the ragged scrap of calico into the light. “Look, he must have bitten the villain, or at least his trousers.” She clicked her tongue. “I can’t see any blood.”
Mr. Alexander lifted his gaze from the cloth to her face. In the poor light, his eyes seemed to dance, then hastily they focused beyond her, scanning the misty surroundings. “Come. I think it’s time to go back inside and lock the doors as you so sensibly advised.”
His hand touched her back, causing a little flutter of awareness to ripple down her spine as he ushered her toward the inn. John lit the way. Spring made odd little excited, whining noises.
Inside, Mr. Alexander closed the door firmly and shot all the bolts.
“Well?” Richard called from the coffee room door. “Did you fire at someone? Did you catch them?”
“No, your dog scared them off,” Mr. Alexander said. “I’m just going to check the locks on the back door. John, Hanson, make sure all the ground floor windows are fastened.”
Charlotte had often longed for adventure, but now that she appeared to be in the midst of one, she had to acknowledge that it wasn’t very comfortable. “Rich, you and George check all the first-floor windows, too,” she instructed. “Just to be safe.”
“Oh my,” Nurse puffed, as the boys ran off to do Charlotte’s bidding. “Well, I never!”
Charlotte spent the next five minutes trying to soothe both Nurse and Spring, which was difficult when all her own nerves were jangling, too. And by the time everyone returned to the coffee room, something else was bothering her as well.
“You don’t suppose it was the innkeeper returned, do you?” she said. “And attacked us for intruding in his inn?”
Mr. Alexander glanced at her. He had a shadow under his eye, like a smudge of dirt. “Isn’t that what inns are for? Besides, John didn’t recognize either of them. But it seems our presence here certainly took these fellows by surprise.”
“As though they expected the inn to be empty?”
“Possibly.”
Nurse shuddered. “I shan’t sleep a wink.”
“Of course you will,” Charlotte said encouragingly. “They ran off very fast, you know, and we are quite secure here now. Besides, you and I shall share the room and we have Spring to protect us.”
“I will not sleep in the same room as that animal!” Nurse declared.
“Why not?” George said. “You slept in the same coach.”
Charlotte frowned at him. “He’ll be good and sleep in his box,” she assured Nurse. “But he won’t settle anywhere else. If we leave him downstairs in a strange place he’ll just bark all night and no one will get any sleep. Come, let us all retire now and pray the mist has gone by morning.”
She gave Nurse a helpful pull out of her chair and herded the boys in front. At the door, she paused to cast a quick glance at Mr. Alexander who met her gaze without blinking. “Good night, sir,” she said awkwardly, “and thank you.”
“I have done nothing to be thanked for,” he said with unexpected curtness. “Good night.”
Chapter Three
Contrary to her own secret expectations, Charlotte fell asleep almost as soon as she blew out the candle. However, when she was wakened by the sound of a closing door, it was still dark. The tendrils of dreams still clung to her, and she couldn’t be sure if the noise she had heard had been real. She suspected not, since she doubted any other sound could possibly have reached her through Nurse, who snored like a hog.
Even so, she lay still, straining her ears. A floor board creaked, possibly on the stairs. And surely that was a light footfall…
Her heart hammering, she sat up, fumbled for the flint, and lit her bedside candle. Nurse’s rhythmic racket went on undisturbed. Charlotte became sure someone was moving around the inn. Had the innkeeper returned and been checking his unexpected guests? Or had the boys decided to get up for some reason? What if they went outside and the men from earlier in the evening had come back?
From his box, Spring eyed her sleepily. Whatever was going on outside the room, he had clearly decided to ignore it.
Hastily, she rose and in the absence of any dressing robe, dragged her travelling cloak around her shift. She patted Spring, who, fortunately, seemed disinclined to move. Then, taking the candle with her, she crept out of the room and along the passage to the boys’ chamber. She tried the door, but it was still locked as she’d bidden them.
With relief, she let her hand fall away and listened. Someone was moving downstairs.
Her first instinct was to knock on Mr. Alexander’s door. She even moved in that direction before the impossibility, the utter impropriety, of such a c
ourse struck her. But nor could she tamely return to her own chamber and lock the door. She’d never sleep with some unknown person creeping around below. To say nothing of Nurse snoring as if she would burst any second.
As she hesitated, a decorative candle stick on a small table caught her attention. Deciding it was her best weapon, she picked it up, found it to be comfortingly solid, and advanced to the stairs.
No sounds drifted up to her now, but as she descended, she saw a faint light in the taproom. Her mouth went dry.
But the armed men could not have returned. The doors and windows were all locked.
Secret passage, whispered her inconvenient imagination.
There could be one in the taproom. It would explain why neither John nor Hanson had heard anything until the men stood suddenly in front of them. Well, even with her heavy candlestick, she could not confront them. But she could steal closer and discover who was there, and what they were doing…
At the foot of the stairs, she crept toward the taproom and pressed herself into the wall beside the open door, listening. All she could hear was her own quickened breath. Taking her courage in both hands, she inched closer to the doorway until she could peer around and see the source of the light—a solitary candle standing on a table by the opaque window. But there was no one near it.
With difficulty, she held her breath and counted to three. Then, she gripped the candlestick above her head and slipped around the wall into the room.
Fingers snapped around her wrist like manacles pinning her to the wall. Above a poised, threatening fist, glared the face of Mr. Alexander.
For an instant, they stared at each other, panting. His grip was like steel on her wrist and she could feel her fingers opening to release the weapon she’d so nearly struck him with. His body, covered only by a loosened shirt and skin-tight pantaloons, seemed suddenly much larger than she remembered, and curiously overwhelming, while in the gloom, his eyes gleamed like frost. And then quite suddenly, they lightened, along with his grip, and his breath rushed out, almost like laughter.
“Miss Charlie, you will be the death of one of us,” he remarked, releasing her and stepping back. “Were you really planning on hitting me with that? You could have caved my skull in.”
“Well, I won’t now I can see it’s you,” she said generously. “Did you just come downstairs about five minutes ago?”
“Yes. Did I wake you, or have you never been asleep?”
“Something woke me, but it might have been Nurse. She snores quite horrendously these days, though you mustn’t tell her I said so.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her.
“And then I heard footsteps and was afraid it was the boys. But they seem to be safely locked in. Then, I was afraid it might be our friends from earlier this evening.”
“And you planned to face pistols with a candlestick? For future reference that isn’t an even contest.”
“I thought you disarmed him,” Charlotte retorted.
“I took one pistol. He still has another. I don’t know about his friend.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you calling me stupid, Mr. Alexander?”
“No, I’m calling you brave,” he replied unexpectedly, although he prevented her preening by adding, “to the point of foolhardy.”
“Hmm.” She walked past him to peer out the dark window and see if the mist had lifted. It was impossible to tell. “Why did you come down in any case? Did you hear something?”
“No.” He lifted a glass from beside the candle on the table. “I came for the brandy which is, contrary to expectation, quite drinkable.”
“It’s probably smuggled.”
“Undoubtedly.” He indicated the chair nearest her. “I daresay, you won’t drink brandy with me. I could try and find you some wine or sherry.”
Perhaps it was the relief of discovering she didn’t have to confront armed intruders, but she gave in to the little thrill of danger that shook her. He was different like this, at once more approachable and more… disturbing.
“I will have some brandy,” she said boldly. “To be honest, I rather like it. But only a tiny one,” she warned, “for more than a sip goes straight to my head.”
He reached behind the counter for another glass and brought it with the bottle to the table. “You do know that’s a dangerous thing to admit to a stranger plying you with alcohol.”
“That part got left out of my etiquette lessons.”
He poured a dash into the glass and pushed it toward her before sitting down opposite. “It’s not so much etiquette as common sense.”
“I am generally held to have a great deal of common sense,” she said with dignity. “And I am, besides, a good judge of character.”
“So, you judge me to be a good man? Or merely harmless?”
“You have been good to us,” she said, and frowned as he raised his glass and she glimpsed the red, grazed state of his knuckles. “But I doubt you are harmless.” She searched his face. The shadow she had seen earlier beneath his eye had not vanished but formed into a more obvious bruise. “I did not realize you were hurt,” she said in distress.
His eyebrows flew up. “I’m not. It was a mere scrap. I’m sure your brothers indulge in worse at school, if not at home.” He sipped the brandy, then set the glass on the table, regarding her with frank curiosity. “Tell me, Miss Charlie, what is your life like? Are you much hemmed in by duty and etiquette?”
Charlotte couldn’t help smiling. “No, not much, to be truthful! Or at least not until we came home to England. We lived abroad a good deal, for my father is a diplomat, so I suppose you could say we had an unusual upbringing.”
He sat back, his long, strong fingers playing with the glass and swirling the brandy, although all his attention appeared to be focused on her. “Where did you live?”
“The Americas for a little, then India, Russia, and Spain.”
“In war time?” he said quickly.
“Yes, but we were never in any real danger.” She thought about it. “Much,” she added in the interests of honesty.
“Then it was not the danger that brought you home?”
“No, rather more mundane matters. My father finally noticed that his income had drastically reduced and discovered the estates were being shockingly mismanaged. So, he has come home to try and fix things. At least the boys can go to school in England, rather than torment a succession of governesses and tutors. Though to be sure,” she confided, “it is not considered one of the best schools in the country.”
“And what of you? Do you live in London and attend all the ton parties?”
Charlotte smiled. “No, thank God. That is, we do have a house in London and my sister has attended several parties there. She was very successful.”
“I can well imagine if she is as beautiful as you.”
Charlotte laughed with genuine amusement. “Sir, my sister is a diamond of the first water, I assure you.”
A hint of sharpness entered his eyes, but he said only, “I thought nothing else. So, she caught her eligible husband.”
“That isn’t for me to say,” Charlotte returned, remembering nothing had yet been announced.
“Then she has. So, it is your turn now?”
“I am not marriage mart material,” Charlotte said lightly. “My younger sister will have her season next.”
Mr. Alexander paused with his glass half way to his lips and lowered it again. “You do not wish a season? I thought all young ladies did.”
“We have established that I am not most young ladies, and no, I do not wish a London season. I can imagine nothing more revolting than being looked over like a piece of meat.” She took a sip from her glass, enjoying the burning taste on her tongue. “In fact, even if one were an accredited beauty, I imagine that part would be unpleasant, though my sisters don’t appear to regard it.”
“But you do?”
“I’ve never had to. I’m happy to stay at home and attend only country parties w
ith friends.”
“Are your parents happy with that?” he asked curiously.
“Oh yes, for I am good at economy and managing the houses and servants, and looking after the boys. I shall ensure them a comfortable old age.”
“And then?” he asked, as though fascinated.
“I suppose I shall live with Richard or one of my other brothers or sisters. Who knows?” She took another sip of brandy. The fumes were heady.
“I thought you said you were not much hemmed in by duty?”
“I’m not,” she said in surprise. “I should hate to be the one obliged to marry to save the family fortune. And I should not have said that. I cannot even blame the brandy, can I? For I’ve only had two tiny sips. I suppose one person’s duty is another’s honor. And vice versa.”
“I imagine perceived beauty and the other qualities desirable in a wife are also personal taste.”
“I would hope so.”
“Then how was it agreed that you were to be denied the same chances as your sisters? Because you do not want them? You must have very understanding parents.”
“I have realistic parents,” she said flatly, “who recognize I am simply not as marriageable as my sisters.”
He held her gaze. “In what way?”
“Temperament.” She shifted uncomfortably. For years she had faced her deficiencies openly, refusing to be ashamed of what she could not help. Yet for some reason, the truth seemed to pain her now. She did not want to draw the stranger’s attention to those things. And yet, he must have noticed. She tilted her chin. “A childhood illness left me lame. It is not noticeable now, but the weakness may still be there. I also stammer, which I’m sure you have noticed.” She met his gaze with defiance, ready to ridicule whatever denial or pity spilled from his lips.
He didn’t blink. His lips quirked. “I find you altogether delightful.”
The Deserted Heart: Unmarriageable Series (Unmarriagable Series Book 1) Page 3
