At least the constant throb in his head would keep him awake.
Chapter Twelve
Cartwright had been quiet for some time. In the dim light, Letty studied him, taking in his features at close quarters. His face was narrow, his nose straight, his well-formed mouth in repose was softer. A shadow of a beard now painted his sharp jaw. His eyes were closed, but she was unsure if he slept or remained still to allow her to rest. Rest? How could she when the future looked so bleak? There was some comfort to be had by his large warm body beside her. The carriage jostled her, and her empty stomach churned with anxiety and guilt. Cartwright must hate her. This was all her fault. Although she still hoped he would find a way to save them, she feared those ruthless men intended they never returned to London. For what other reason had they whisked the two of them away from the ball?
Cartwright opened his eyes. “All right there?”
“Do you hate me. Cartwright?”
“No, of course, I don’t, sweetheart. You should rest. They’ll have to stop soon to change the horses.”
But when they finally did stop, any chance of escape while the horses were changed was dashed when a ruffian pointed a gun at them. The four villains were not to be seen, and no other carriages pulled into the inn’s stable yard while they were there. Were the men waiting for her and Cartwright like malevolent spiders, ready to draw them into their web of deceit? They must want something. Otherwise, why not just kill them?
Cartwright had asked the armed man to fetch a drink and some food for her. He’d offered a handsome payment if the fellow would let them go. The man just laughed.
That laugh had sent a chill rushing through her veins.
Once back on the road, she closed her eyes and breathed in Cartwright’s clean, manly smell, which calmed her a little. If anyone could find a way out of this predicament they were in, it was he. She frowned, surprised by her blind acceptance of his prowess. She must find a way out of this herself. There was so much she didn’t know about him. She wasn’t about to die not knowing. Startled by a sudden thought, she inhaled sharply.
“What is it?” Cartwright asked, removing his hands from where they’d fallen onto her breasts. She rolled over to face him.
“Kendall! They mentioned Arietta’s husband, Sir Gareth Kendall. Just before they hit you. Do you remember? They said he warned them about you.”
“I remember.”
“I should like you to explain all this to me, Cartwright. I can hardly repeat it to anyone, now can I? Not when I’m about to die.”
“You don’t know that, Letitia.”
“I prefer Letty, and I’m still waiting. Was Kendall right about you?”
“Now’s not the time for this. We will soon arrive at our destination. We passed through St Mary on the Marsh a few minutes ago.”
“You are fobbing me off, Cartwright!”
“Brandon. And yes, I’m afraid I am.”
“Brandon. I’ve a right to be told the truth, surely…” This new familiarity made it even more difficult to think, especially when she was so close to him. “Can we sit up?”
“We might, but it won’t be easy.”
She considered the logistics of it, then discounted it as something that would rob her of more energy. She bit her lip. “I expect you’re right. You shall have to tell me while we are lying down.”
He grunted. “Nice try, Letty. I don’t intend to reveal government secrets while under duress.”
“But this concerns Arietta! She may not be aware that her saintly husband was part of this band of smugglers.”
“Perhaps not.” His voice deepened. “These men have already committed murder, Letty. Please don’t forget that. Don’t be reckless. When we arrive, follow my direction.”
“Who might they have killed, Cart… Brandon?”
“Kendall, possibly.”
“Arietta’s husband?” She twisted herself toward him, which proved a mistake. They were now almost nose to nose, and his hard body rested against hers in the most embarrassing places. She drew in a breath and made a valiant effort to ignore it. “But Arietta is sure he was wrongly accused.” She glared at him and attempted to draw back, suspecting any action on her part would bounce off him like a pebble off a boulder. “Arietta told me you were to blame for him killing himself. She accused you of working for the French.”
“I’m not, but I cannot say the same for Kendall. And I doubt his death was by his own hand. More likely he was murdered by these men.”
Her throat tightened. “But why would they kill one of their own?” she asked. Her voice sounded high-pitched, and she swallowed desperately to calm herself.
“Because he had come under suspicion. Whitehall was about to arrest him. There was a danger, I suppose, that he would talk.”
“Oh! These men are horrid.”
“They are a good deal more than that,” he said dryly. “They are frightened men. And frightened men are extremely dangerous.”
She closed her eyes and went limp. “Then they will certainly murder us.”
He gently shook her wrists. “Hey! I don’t intend that to happen.”
A small sliver of hope warmed her insides, spreading to her cramped, chilled limbs. “You have a plan?”
“Not exactly, but I’m working on it.”
She gulped. “How comforting.”
“Don’t give up hope, sweetheart,” Brandon said softly. “We are not lost yet.”
“No, I suppose not… Brandon, please don’t call me sweetheart.” She feared it might render her completely undone.
“We have been in this position for some hours now,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Have I given you any reason to suspect me of taking advantage?”
She didn’t fear him taking advantage, she feared she would cling to him too much. What was that saying from Shakespeare’s Macbeth? But screw your courage to the sticking-place. “You have been called a rake,” she accused.
“A label bandied about far too loosely in my opinion. I believe my actions speak louder than words.”
“Well, you are a man,” she pointed out, warming to her theme.
“So, I am damned by my sex. No man, in your estimation, is worthy of higher thoughts whilst in this position.”
“Not many, I imagine. But my Uncle Alford certainly.” She gasped. “Oh, poor Uncle! And Aunt Edith! They will be so upset. I suppose they will bury me in the Hawkshead Village churchyard. I shall have a fine eulogy at least.”
Brandon chuckled. “You’re a game one, Letty.”
“Am I?” She sniffed, wishing she had a handkerchief and the wherewithal to wipe her nose. “I don’t feel very brave.”
The horses slowed. The carriage proceeded between a pair of tall gateposts. “Quiet now,” Brandon said in a steely tone. “Let me do the talking.”
Letty felt hot and cold at once. She shivered as the carriage rattled along at a smart pace through an avenue of trees. They came to a turning circle where a large building loomed, ghostly in the moonlight. A few candles were alight in the lower floors. The carriage didn’t stop; it swept around the mansion and pulled up at the stables.
Brandon tensed when the same ruffian who had seen to the change of horses, appeared. But this time, he had an armed accomplice. He opened the carriage door and climbed inside. Looming over them, he held up a knife.
Letty squealed.
“No funny business,” he growled. “Hold out yer hands.”
“For God’s sake, be careful.” Brandon watched in trepidation as the evil smelling ruffian’s knife sliced through the ropes. “You will annoy your bosses should you cut us.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He continued to saw through the tight twine, coming perilously close to bare skin.
The ropes fell away. Letty sat up with a whimper and rubbed her wrists.
Brandon seethed with fury at the sight of her delicate skin rubbed raw. He clamped his teeth. This was no place for emotion. Ordinarily, he was good at remaining calm and thinking clearly
under duress; it would have been far easier alone. He’d never had a young woman depending on him. It changed the game considerably. Any thoughts of overpowering these rogues became an insurmountable risk. Although he doubted these two had a decent brain between them, they were probably endowed with a good deal of animal cunning.
The ruffian Brandon longed to take his fists to, climbed out of the carriage. He stood beside the door and gestured with his pistol. “Out. And no tricks, or I’ll shoot.”
Brandon helped Letty down from the coach. He urged himself to be patient. It would be too risky to try to escape now. He could take one of them down easily enough, but the other might shoot Letty. The four men would be waiting inside the house. They’d be highly nervous; their plans having gone awry. They would want their questions answered. It was a weakness he intended to exploit.
One of the rogues prodded Brandon in the back with his gun. “Move. To the ’ouse. And no funny business.”
Brandon took a firm hold of Letty’s arm after she stumbled, her muscles most likely stiff after the long, cramped journey. The servant’s quarters lay in darkness. He and Letty were urged along the drive to the southern front of the big house where the front hall, and a window on the floor above, were now illuminated by candles. So his guess was correct. An interrogation awaited them. He doubted these two would be invited into the room. That might give him and Letty a better chance.
“Follow my lead,” he murmured to Letty.
Her eyes anxious, she nodded.
They climbed the steps of the brick mansion to the entrance, the windows along the front shuttered. One of the heavy oak doors stood open, spilling candlelight onto the porch. Inside, the entry hall was lit by wall sconces. There was no sign of servants as they were pushed up the staircase.
The rogue’s pistol still at his back, they entered a drawing room where a fire burned in the marble fireplace. The four men stood around it with glasses of wine.
Her eyes wide with fear, Letty stepped closer to Brandon.
“Welcome to Elford Park,” Lord Elford said, dismissing his two henchmen with a wave of his hand. “I must apologize for the uncomfortable journey. Unfortunately, Cartwright, you’re a man I find difficult to trust.”
Descrier, a man of considerable wealth and address, gave a mirthless chuckle, while Fraughton and Marston both glared.
Brandon coolly stared at each one in turn. He saw what he’d hoped to, the tension in their bodies despite them wishing to appear at ease, obvious in the way they stood, their spines too stiff, their eyes wary.
“You seem to have something against me, gentlemen, which has left me confused and more than a little angry. I am eager to discuss this reasonably, however. But this young lady is entirely innocent. Allow her to return to London. There is nothing she can do to hurt you.”
“I think not, Cartwright,” Marston said implacably.
“Her absence will be noted and stir up a host of questions,” Brandon reasoned. “Which you most surely don’t want.”
“Bow Street has nothing on us,” Fraughton said. “We carried you out through a gate into the back lane to the coach. Quiet place, Richmond. No one saw us.”
“The Home Office is drawing up a detailed dossier on each of you, the contents of which I don’t intend to reveal in front of the lady. I’m sure it would be of interest to you. Forewarned is forearmed, is it not?” Brandon smiled. “If you allow me to send Miss Bromley back to London in a hired chaise, I shall be happy to reveal it to you.”
“You can’t let her go,” Marston snarled at Descrier, who seemed to be considering it. “Lady Arietta was watching us. This girl is in cahoots with her.”
“Cahoots? What does that mean? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Letty cried. “Lady Arietta is my chaperone for the Season.”
“Maybe this young lady doesn’t know anything,” Descrier observed. “And even if she did, she wouldn’t understand a word of it. No one would take any notice of a silly chit.”
Elford shook his head. “What’s wrong with you, Descrier? Second thoughts? She might have overheard something which could damn us whilst hiding in those bushes. We cannot take that chance. Much as I hate to say it.”
“Return Miss Bromley to London, gentlemen. Or you will learn nothing helpful from me,” Brandon growled.
“There is one thing I can tell you,” Letty said. “Lord Fraughton, are you aware that Mr. Marston is having an affair with your wife?”
Brandon turned to stare at her as a stunned silence enveloped the room.
Chapter Thirteen
“That’s a lie!” Marston smashed his wineglass into the fireplace and took a step toward her. With a gasp of fear, Letty backed away as Brandon moved to place himself between her and the seething man.
“Let’s hear what she has to say, Marston,” said Descrier coolly.
Fraughton had gone white with rage. “Yes, Miss Bromley. How do you know this?”
Letty’s heart beat loud in the quiet menace that had fallen over the room. Brandon had taken a firm, reassuring hold of her arm. “It was at the Kirkwood’s ball. Marston and Lady Fraughton weren’t aware that I was in the library. I was hiding from someone behind a screen. Their behavior quite shocked me. They spoke of how they would be together when you were dead, Lord Fraughton.”
“Did they indeed?” Fraughton cried. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a pistol.
“For God’s sake, man.” Brandon’s hand slid down her arm to grip hers.
“Don’t be a fool,” Elford screamed. “A gunshot can be heard for miles over the marshes. It will bring the excisemen to our door. There are bales of opium remaining in the cellar awaiting shipment to London.”
Fraughton dropped the gun and leapt at Marston. Marston was of a larger build, yet he still struggled with the older man. “She lies, I tell you,” he cried feebly as Fraughton, showing more strength than Letty would have credited him with, placed his hands around the man’s neck.
Marston gasped for air, his face turning purple.
“Be ready to run,” Brandon whispered.
As Descrier rushed in to part them, Brandon tugged on her hand and they ran for the door.
“They’re getting away, you idiots,” came Elford’s cry as Letty and Brandon sprinted down the stairs. He whipped open the front door and they ran outside. “Not the stables, those two rogues could be there.”
They ran down through the gardens to a wicket gate in a blackthorn hedge, and then into the park. The moon played games with them as clouds scudded across the sky driven by a strong wind that whipped Letty’s hair in her eyes.
“I think we’re somewhere near Dymchurch. We’ll head for the Hythe coast where we’re more likely to run into the excisemen,” Brandon said. “There’s enough left of the night for them to still be around. But we don’t have long. It will be daylight soon.”
Letty managed to keep up with him, but his long legs would soon outpace her. Her sandals were never meant for this activity, and she couldn’t see the ground clearly. A moment later, she stumbled into a ditch. A pain shot up her leg. “Ow!” She hopped on one foot.
Brandon bent over her. “Are you hurt?”
“I think I’ve twisted my ankle.” She tried to put her weight on it, and the flash of pain made her gasp. “Go on without me. I’ll hide here somewhere.”
“Not a good idea.” Brandon lifted her into his arms and set off again, stalking through the trees.
“I am slowing you down,” she protested. “I am not a featherweight.”
“It can’t be helped.”
“You might have disagreed with me.” She rested her head against his chest, his voice rumbling against her ear.
“I have not time nor breath to be charming. I do apologize.”
It worried her that his breath was becoming labored, and the others would be in pursuit. “You’re never charming, and you aren’t carrying me properly.”
“How many men have carried you? Or is that an impertinent qu
estion?” He grunted as he stopped to settle her better in his arms.
“I remember my father did when I was seven. I’d hurt my ankle then, too. It might be the same one.”
He put her down before hefting her up again, this time over his shoulder. “Better?”
“Oomph! No, it’s not!” Letty gritted her teeth and hung on to his coat. “And you can take your hand away. It’s too near my derriere.”
“Oh? I wasn’t aware of it. I must apologize again.” There was a deplorable lack of regret in his voice.
He shifted his hand farther down her legs, which was only marginally better. She sighed. This was no time to be pernickety. Indeed, if they escaped with their lives, he would have become familiar with a good deal of her.
They hadn’t gone more than fifty yards when the moon disappeared, and complete darkness descended.
Brandon placed her on her feet.
Relieved, Letty sat on the grass.
Brandon cursed. “The sky is clouding over, and it feels like a storm brewing. They get pretty fierce ones down here.” He sat beside her. “We might have to find shelter.”
She spread her domino over her knees and battled to allay her fears. “My costume will be ruined. It was hired, you know.”
“That’s the least of our troubles.”
“Do you think they’ll come after us?”
“Listen.”
The sound of horses thudding over the ground grew closer.
“But they won’t see us in the dark,” she said in a hushed tone.
At that point, the moon made another appearance, turning the landscape silver-gray. She could see Brandon clearly. He’d raised an eyebrow at her. “Right, let’s get on.” He stood and offered her his hand, then pulled her up into his arms again. They’d only gone another few yards when a dark shape ahead blocked their way.
“The boundary of the estate,” he said. “If we can get over that wall, they are less likely to pursue us.”
On reaching it, he put her down and wandered a few yards to survey it. The stone wall was too high for her to climb, even if her ankle wasn’t wrenched.
Presenting Miss Letitia Page 11
