“You did well, Isabel,” Ryder said, and then he yawned, long and deep.
Suddenly, Isabel felt exhausted, battered by the day’s events. “I need to retire.”
Yawning again, Ryder said, “Pray, pardon me, but I am unaccountably sleepy. Too much wine. I drank with Shrewsbury as well.” He moved toward the door. His chamber was down the hall from her own. A good thing, since he seemed unsteady on his feet. “Thank you, Isabel. We now have a solid case against Mary. Whether it will come to anything, I don’t know. But we have done our part.” He bade her good night and left.
Isabel summoned the servant she’d been assigned. She had thought she wouldn’t require assistance, but now she was glad of it. Her limbs felt heavy, cumbersome. She couldn’t wait to climb into bed, which she did as soon as her maid left. She was asleep as soon as she blew out her candle.
…
Having ridden for two days straight, Gavin was saddle sore, hungry, and on edge. The sun was low in the sky. He had only a few hours of daylight left, and hoped to arrive at Tutbury shortly after nightfall. Instinct told him Isabel was in danger, and his instincts were seldom wrong.
During his endless ride, he’d done a fair amount of thinking. Nicholas Ryder had tricked him. It had been his plan all along to convince Isabel to return to Tutbury with him and question Mary. He had to admire the man’s cunning, for he agreed there was no better person for the job. But he was furious with Ryder for putting Isabel at risk.
Gavin cringed when he remembered the accusations he’d hurled at Isabel. That she had accepted favors, or indeed, money, from Mary. Then he’d told her he was through with her, as if he could use her and cast her aside without a second thought. No wonder she’d concluded he had exploited her to gain information about Mary.
He had insisted they were better off apart. She had rejoined by saying he’d never made any commitment to her, so this was no more than she expected from him. She was right. He’d behaved like a scoundrel in all his dealings with her, especially in his belief that she would be no better than his dead wife, Anna. And he’d made love to Isabel with no pledge of marriage.
Bloody hell. What an arse he’d been.
It may be too late to regain her love, but he would try. With everything in him, he would try. What struck him then was how much Isabel had changed from the reticent, shy young lady, cowed by Mary’s ladies. Dominated her entire life by her mother and brothers, and chiefly by her stepfather, she now possessed the confidence to disobey directives from Ryder and urgent pleas from himself. To do only what she believed was right. Even though he was furious with her, he admired her courage. Loved her for it, and for so much more.
As he drew near Tutbury, the sky took on an orange glow.
Christ Almighty. Isabel.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Something woke Isabel. A noise in the passage? The snick of the outer door? She ignored it, burrowed into her mattress, and fell back to sleep. Later, the acrid smell of smoke roused her. This time, sensing danger, she climbed out of bed, fumbled for her robe and shoes, and cautiously opened the door to her chamber.
Merciful God, the lodging was on fire.
Thick smoke clogged her nostrils and burned her lungs. Flames shot out of the drawing room, lighting that end of the passage. Through the haze, Isabel glimpsed the figure of a woman. Her skirts twirled as she turned for the stairs. Isabel ran back into her chamber, found a handkerchief, and tied it around her face.
She rushed back into the passage in pursuit. Whoever was hurrying upstairs had to be stopped. It was likely she’d started the fire and was on her way to set the second story ablaze. Pausing only to alert Ryder, Isabel flung his door open. She glimpsed the outline of his sleeping form. “Nicholas! Wake up!” He didn’t move, so she hurried to his side, placed her hands on him, and shook him awake. Finally, he sat up. “What?” he said groggily.
“Fire! Get out of the building.” Before Isabel left him, he was up and fumbling at the desk for his document pouch. Typical that those blasted papers would be the first thing he thought of.
The flames were shooting from the drawing room, and Isabel knew what was said of fires. Eager for more fuel, they love a staircase. Knowing she had very little time, she rushed up the stairs. The smoke swirled about her, obscuring her view. The upstairs appeared to be one large room, possibly traversing the entire length of the lodging. Close by, near the windows, she glimpsed the woman holding a lit candle toward the drapes. It was Frances.
Isabel screamed. “No!” But it was too late. The heavy draperies, perfect fodder for a blaze, ignited. She approached warily. Now was not the time for questions. Isabel pulled the handkerchief down, held out her hand, and said, “Come with me, Frances. If we hurry, we can get back down the stairs and out the door. There is no time to waste.”
Frances laughed. A high-pitched, crazed sound. Instead of moving toward Isabel, she headed farther into the room. Isabel followed. Frances had grasped a heavy oak chair and was pushing it toward the windows. “You seem to be indestructible, Isabel,” she said, breath heaving as she pushed the chair. “You were supposed to die in this fire. With any luck, you will.”
Fear spiked in Isabel’s breast. She should turn and run back downstairs, before Frances’s wish came true. But something rooted her there. She had to try to save the other woman, who was acting deranged.
Frances had reached the windows, and with more strength than Isabel would have thought possible, she lifted the chair and slammed it into the panes. They shattered with alarming ease, shards and splinters of glass shooting into the room. The air blowing in fed the fire, flames leaped, and Isabel stepped back. “Frances. I beg you, come with me. There’s still time to escape.”
Frances laughed again, in that weirdly maniacal way. “I don’t wish to escape. Do you think I will be forgiven all my sins? No. I’ll be thrown in the Tower, tortured, and then executed. Better to die here.”
“No one need know about any of your deeds.” Of course, that was a lie, but Isabel would have said almost anything to convince Frances to save herself. She couldn’t leave the woman here to suffocate, or even more horrifying, to burn.
Just then, she heard a voice calling to her. It couldn’t be, yet it was.
Gavin.
…
When he’d drawn close enough to see flames licking the sky, Gavin spurred his horse into a full gallop. The main gate loomed high, silhouetted against the night sky. It appeared that the burning building was the receiver’s lodging. The very place where Isabel would most likely be housed. He dismounted among a small number of men trying to organize a human chain to pass buckets of water. He recognized a few guards, the stable boy, and Blake. Grabbing his friend, he said, “Isabel. Is she in there?”
The other man seemed barely awake. He shook Gavin off and said, “What?”
“Is Isabel staying there?” he roared.
“Aye. But I’ve not seen her.”
“I’m going in,” Gavin said. Blake tugged his shirt off over his head, dunked it into a bucket of water, and handed it to Gavin.
“You’ll need this. Are you sure you want to play the hero? It looks hopeless.”
Gavin shoved him away. “This isn’t some game, Blake. Get out of my way.” The other man lurched aside, as though Gavin were a lunatic. Bracing himself for the smoke and heat, he dashed through the door. And ran smack into Ryder. “Have you seen Isabel?”
“She’s not outside? She woke me up a few minutes ago. I assumed she left the lodging directly afterward.”
“Merciful God, she’s still inside.” He shoved Ryder. “Go. I’ll find her.”
“Her chamber is on the left,” Ryder said. “If you can still tell left from right.”
The walls were beginning to catch. There wasn’t much left of the chambers. Tapestries, wall hangings, carpets, bedding—all was burning. Gavin shouted Isabel’s name over and over, but he didn’t see her. He remembered the staircase at the end of the hall. She must have gone upstairs,
although he couldn’t fathom why. Without considering the wisdom in doing so, he zigzagged up the steps, dodging flames licking at his feet, singeing his hair as he ran. “Isabel!”
The great chamber at the top was aflame, fire licking up the heavy drapes, hot enough that the walls and floor would soon catch. He couldn’t see through the thick smoke and crashed into Isabel. Thank God. Fresh air was blowing in, and it cleared away some of the smoke. She reached out a hand to him, and it was only then he realized she was speaking to somebody.
He grasped her hand and said, “Sweeting, we must leave. Even now it may be too late.”
“It’s Frances. I’m trying to persuade her to leave with me.” Only then did he see the other woman.
“Come to save your lover, Gavin? I fear you are too late.”
“I believe it is she who wishes to save you, although I cannot understand why. But no time to argue the point now. We must get back downstairs before our way is blocked.” And then he heard it, an ominous cracking and low rumbling. Spinning around, he saw the staircase giving way to the flames.
Jesu. Now he would have to find another way out. When he turned back around, Frances had climbed onto the window ledge. In one horrifying instant, he realized what she intended. Gavin stepped forward, hoping he’d be in time to stop her, conscious of Isabel’s screams, but in mere seconds she was gone. They could hear her screams as she fell to the boulders below.
“Oh, no,” Isabel said. “Gavin—”
He coaxed her handkerchief up over her nose. “Don’t lose courage now, my love.”
Eyes wide, she said, “What do we do?”
He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful she was not hysterical, as Mary’s other ladies would have been. Gavin guided her to the opposite end of the room. Drawing his rapier, he used it to break the glass in the windows. Several men were gathered below, and he shouted at them. “We need help getting down! Is there a ladder?”
Tobias, the stable boy, ran off to get one. Gavin could feel the heat through his boots. Flames from below were shooting upward, beginning to burn through the wood floor. On the other end of the chamber, the fire had progressed toward them, devouring tapestries and wall hangings in its frenzied journey for more fuel.
Weakened, the floor could collapse at any moment. Gavin drew Isabel close, murmuring words of encouragement. “We’ll be out of here soon, my lovely, brave girl.”
She managed a chuckle. “Promise?”
Finally, Tobias reappeared with the ladder. The men below propped it against the building. Turning to Isabel, Gavin said, “You can do this. It will be nothing to you, and there are plenty of men to catch you if you fall. Ready?”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Let’s go.” As he helped her onto the top rung, she spoke again. “You’ll follow right after me?”
He smiled with relief. She wanted him safe. It was something.
In moments, they were both back on solid ground.
…
A few days after the fire, Isabel found herself in a coach traveling north toward Buxton, somewhere in the Peak District. Gavin said it was famous for its curative waters. She had never heard of it and wasn’t quite sure how this had come about.
In the immediate aftermath of the fire, Gavin had carried Isabel to Shrewsbury’s private lodgings and Bess had ministered to her wounds. She’d sustained superficial burns to her forehead, neck, hands, and ankles, and had a sizable gash on her arm, thanks to a flying shard of glass. Bess had stitched up the gash and applied salve to the burns. Isabel had been in considerable pain, and Bess had given her an herbal remedy. Isabel had slept for a few days and now, slowly, she was healing.
Before departing Tutbury, Isabel, Gavin, and Ryder had met with Shrewsbury. She’d rested on a cushioned settle in his office, the reassuring presence of Gavin bolstering her courage. While they’d spoken, it had become obvious both Gavin and Ryder had met previously with the earl and filled him in on what had happened.
“Mistress Tait,” the earl began, “I’ve been informed of what transpired the night of the fire. You, Ryder, and Cade have been absolved of any wrongdoing. Can you remember anything these two men may not have heard or witnessed? Anything you believe may be important for me to know?”
Isabel realized she’d never told Ryder about Frances’s visit to her. She’d been in such dread of meeting with Mary, she’d forgotten to mention it. “Frances came to see me at the lodging. I forgot to tell you, Nicholas.
“She was on edge, prowling about, accusing me of treachery. Before she left, she said she loved Lesley and there was little she would not do to protect him and the queen.”
“You should have told me this, Isabel,” Ryder said.
“I know. I simply forgot, preoccupied as I was about interviewing Mary. In any case, Frances didn’t seem deranged, as she did the night of the fire. Only agitated. Not like a woman who would set fires and then leap out the window to her death.”
Gavin spoke quietly. “Isabel, we have concluded it was Frances who pushed you down the stairs.”
“I gathered that, from what she said the night of the fire. Before you got there.”
All three men stared at her. “What did she say?” Shrewsbury asked.
“That I seemed to be indestructible, but with any luck, I would die in the fire. You probably already knew this, or guessed it, but I believe she put a sleeping draft in the wine Nicholas and I drank that night. Both of us were unusually sleepy. I barely made it to my bed and had trouble waking up, even when I first sensed danger.”
“I agree,” Nicholas said. “Had you not awakened me, I would have slept through it and suffered a horrible death. I’m indebted to you, Isabel.”
“Did you know what Frances intended? That she wanted to die?” Shrewsbury asked.
Feeling the sting of tears, Isabel nodded. “She told me she would be arrested for her sins, tortured, then executed, and she would rather die there, at Tutbury. I-I wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but I tried to convince her she could be forgiven and should leave with me, before it was too late.” She paused and glanced at Gavin. “That was when you found us.”
Later that day, Gavin had told her he was taking her north to recover. That Shrewsbury had offered one of his properties to them, where they could rest and recuperate from their injuries. Isabel assented to the plan, largely because she didn’t know what else to do. If she’d asked, she probably could have remained at Tutbury with the Shrewsburys, but after the tragedy with Frances, Mary and her ladies would despise her. Life would be lonely indeed with only the countess and earl for company. They would both be otherwise occupied most of the time. And returning to her mother was out of the question. She would see Isabel married off in the blink of an eye.
The coach hit a bump. The young maid looked frightened. Recalling her own fears the first time she’d traveled in this same vehicle, Isabel patted the girl’s hand and said, “It’s all right. We are bound to encounter ruts and rough spots on the road.” Then she opened a volume of the Iliad and tried to read, but it was no use. She ended up staring out the window and thinking of Gavin.
Why did he wish to make this journey with her? He’d made his feelings infinitely clear when they’d quarreled at Skipton. He thought she’d used poor judgment in refusing to reveal all she knew of Mary, and worse yet, he believed she’d accepted favors from Mary in return for her loyalty. He’d said he was through with her, that they were better off apart. And somewhere in all of this lay his closely held belief that she would betray him, just as Anna had.
After a time, she rested her head against the window and dozed. The next thing she knew, they were stopping, and the maid was shaking her awake. Just in time, too, for the door opened and Gavin stood there.
“What?” she said irritably.
He laughed. “Sleeping, were you? Good. That’s what you need.” Then he spoke quietly to Jane, who exited the coach with Bisou. From what Isabel could see, they were in the middle of nowhere, in a valley surrounded by pe
aks. The sun streamed in; for January, the day was warm. Gavin climbed into the coach, plunking down in Jane’s place, directly across from Isabel. Not saying a word, he simply watched her.
“What?” she repeated, feeling stupid, but also annoyed by his scrutiny.
His slow smile sent tingles along her spine. Her face felt hot. Would the arrogant man never speak?
“I simply wished to check on you. You must be comfortable, or you would not have fallen asleep. Are you in any pain?”
She leaned back. So he’d only wanted to see she was all right. “I’m fine. The burns are healing. What about you?”
“Same.”
“How long is the journey?”
“We should arrive by late afternoon, provided we don’t fall into a rut and break an axle. I know next to nothing about these vehicles.” He leaned forward, took her gloved hands in his. “Isabel, I—”
The door swung open. “Master Cade, I’m cold.” It was Jane.
“One moment, Jane.” He heaved an audible sigh. “According to Shrewsbury, there’s an inn up ahead. We’ll refresh ourselves there and not stop again until our arrival at Buxton.” That said, he removed himself from the coach, and Jane climbed back in, handing the pup to Isabel.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
They arrived at Shrewsbury’s property in Buxton, called the New Hall, around five o’clock. The earl had promised to send a messenger ahead of them to prepare for their stay, and he’d been true to his word. Servants greeted them and escorted them to their adjoining chambers. He did not know what they had been told about their guests, and in truth didn’t care. Gavin only wished for peace and privacy. Time alone with Isabel, so he could tell her how much he loved her, beg her forgiveness, and ask her to be his wife.
Gavin would take his cues from Isabel. He didn’t want to rush or overwhelm her. At the same time, he ached for her. Not only for her body, but for the easy way they’d been with each other, almost from the beginning. The shared stories, jests, walks—even the tennis lessons. Undeniably, he wanted her back in his arms, in his bed. But if she wanted wooing, he could woo. If she needed more time, he would go slowly. It might kill him, but he could do it.
Game of Spies Page 27
