Читать книгу Regency Society Collection Part 2 - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 14

Something hammered against Garrick’s skull.

‘My lord!’

It wasn’t in his head. There was someone at his door. ‘Go ’way.’ He could barely get the words through the fur lining of his mouth.

‘Please, my lord. It’s Dan.’

Garrick groaned and sat up. He was still wearing his shirt. The curtained room was dark and enough of the haze cleared from his head to wonder what time it was.

‘My lord.’ Nidd entered through the door to his dressing room. ‘That lad says he needs to talk to you right bad.’

‘Damn it all,’ Garrick muttered. Couldn’t a fellow get drunk in peace? If Uncle Duncan hadn’t gone off to Portsmouth on business, he would have broached the old man yesterday, instead of a bottle of brandy. Now he had to face today with a bloody headache. ‘All right, send him in. Nidd, can you find some of those miracle powders of yours?’

‘Aye, master, right gladly.’

A few seconds after Nidd had left, Dan stood in front of Garrick, his hat clutched in his hand, his face troubled. Bloody hell. Clearly the lad had been up to mischief. Garrick glared at him. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s M-Miss Brown,’ the boy stuttered.

Garrick narrowed his eyes. ‘What about her?’

‘I was having a drop of blue ruin on the quiet, like, late last night and I…’ Dan gazed at his shuffling feet. Garrick had forbidden him to indulge the taste for gin he’d developed in childhood. ‘I fell asleep in the loft. I woke up this morn when Mr Matthews rode in. His lordship came out to meet him.’

Good. Uncle Duncan was back. He must have returned after Garrick went to bed. He realised Dan was staring at him. ‘Catch you, did they?’

‘No, my lord. They were right under me. I couldn’t help but hear what they said. I think Miss Brown is in some sort of trouble.’

Garrick straightened, the mists in his brain receding. ‘You must be mistaken. Miss Brown left Boxted two days ago.’

The boy winced, but continued doggedly. ‘Mr Matthews said something about a letter, but she was still sleeping. I didn’t know what they meant. Then his lordship said it was kind of you, my lord, to hand them a weapon. It didn’t make no sense.’

‘Any sense.’

‘Yes, my lord. Then Mr Matthews says for a lady she was a hellion and he looked forward to taming her. Then his lordship said no, that Mr Matthews was to leave the Marquess’s ladybird alone. That’s when I knew they meant Miss Brown, my lord, for I knows she’s—’

Garrick scowled. Dan flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I didn’t mean no disrespect, my lord.’

The boy had a screw loose. Unless Le Clere had some misguided notion of saving Garrick from himself. Hardly likely. Perhaps the boy had misheard. ‘Did they say where Miss Brown was?’ His voice creaked like an old door.

Dan curled into his shoulders, a picture of defiance underpinned with fear. ‘I followed.’

‘Followed who?’

‘Mr Matthews, my lord. I couldn’t hear no more, they walked away, but I got down from the loft and when I saw him ride away I followed. He went over by Standerstead, to a cottage.’

Utter nonsense. ‘Did you see Miss Brown?’

‘No, my lord, there was this big ugly cove standing outside. Looked to me like he was carrying a brace of pops as if he was guarding somethin’. Like them soldiers at Horse Guards.’

Garrick narrowed his eyes, cursing the fog in his brain. Dan had no reason to lie. It didn’t make sense, but he had to be sure. ‘What time was this?’

‘Not long ago, an hour mebbe.’

‘Can you find the place again?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Good lad.’ Garrick squeezed into his coat. ‘Ask Nidd to hurry up with that powder, then meet me at the stables. Have Johnson saddle Bess.’

The boy touched his forelock and dashed off, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

Garrick retrieved his duelling pistols from the case in his dressing room and shoved them into his waistband. He was struggling into his boots when Nidd arrived with the promised potion.

‘Oh, my lord, look at you putting fingerprints all over them new Hessians.’

‘Never mind that, Nidd. I’m off on some urgent business.’ He tossed off the cloudy liquid and made a face at its bitter taste. ‘Have you seen my uncle?’

‘I understand he’s busy in his study, my lord.’

‘Good. No need to disturb him.’

Garrick reached the stables without seeing anyone at all, and found Dan standing in the yard holding a skittish Bess and the reins of the bag of bones he’d ridden before. Garrick shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Dan. Stable your horse and return to your duties. I will get there faster alone. Give me the directions.’

Dan’s face dropped, but he complied.

For a city lad he had given very precise directions and Garrick had no trouble finding his way to the one approach leading to the cottage, a narrow cart track winding through the woods. The smell of smoke gave away its location. Garrick tied Bess to a blackthorn bush and surveyed the thatched half-timbered hovel. A woodcutter’s cottage. No sign of any guard. He crossed the clearing and strode up the flagstone path. No sound emanated from within. The door was ajar. He pushed it open.

A tub o’lard lay on his back on the stone floor, his face a bleeding pulp. What in hell’s name had happened here?

Garrick crossed the room swiftly and knelt beside the injured man. He felt for a pulse. He swung around at a rustle behind him and stared from the barrel of a pistol to the rigid, white face of a very determined young woman.

He got to his feet and held out his hands, wariness and relief coursing through him. ‘Ellie, you are here. Are you all right?’ He hesitated and then bowed with a regretful smile. ‘I mean, Lady Eleanor.’

‘If I didn’t know better, I might think you were pleased to see me.’

What the hell was she talking about? He stepped forwards. She waved her pistol. ‘Stay back.’

‘My lady, you seem to be in some danger. I think we should leave.’

Eleanor frowned. ‘We? I think not. Where did you arrange to meet William?’

‘Your brother? I made no such arrangement.’

She glared. ‘Don’t think to fool me again. Just tell me the meeting place.’

He recoiled, shocked by her obvious distrust. He kept his voice gentle. ‘We have to leave before anyone comes, then we will talk.’

‘We are not doing anything. Don’t think me a fool. Your man here told me everything.’ She levelled her pistol at his head. She backed towards the door. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking I don’t know how to use this weapon, will you, Garrick? Make one move and you’re a dead man.’

Clearly he was dealing with Lady Moonlight. ‘As you wish. Go on your own. But go now.’

A shadow fell across the flagstones outside. He moved to get a better view. Her pistol followed him. Damnation. Matthews. With a gun in his hand and a smile on his face.

‘Stay where you are, my lord,’ she warned in a low voice.

Matthews’s gun was levelled at her back. If he warned her, she would look. And she might die.

Garrick dived to the floor, rolling, yanking free a pistol. She kept her weapon trained on him. Garrick fired. Her shot came a second later. The burning, ripping pain of her bullet tore into his bicep. He reeled from the numbing force. Thank God she hadn’t shot to kill.

She jerked around at a sound behind her. Face twisting in pain, Matthews shook his hand, blood trickling from his fingers, his pistol at his feet.

Garrick launched himself upright, staggered forwards, reversed his pistol and struck the steward behind the ear. He measured his length with a dull thud beside the first man.

‘Go,’ Garrick said. ‘Get out of here. Take my horse. She’s ten yards off to the right of the path. For God’s sake, hurry.’

Eleanor pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. ‘I shot you.’

‘Never mind that.’ Garrick bent to pick up Matthews’s pistol. He forced it into her hand, relieving her of her discharged weapon. ‘Run.’ He pushed her ahead, urging her out the door and down the path. With one hand in the small of her back, he guided her to his horse.

A raucous shout came from behind. A woman running from the back of the cottage. They were done if she was armed. He kept going. His shoulder blades tensed, anticipating yet another bullet. More noise, ahead of them this time, a rider thundering down on them.

Garrick drew his second pistol. ‘Keep going,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll catch you up.’ His left arm useless, he dropped to one knee and steadied his forearm on his thigh, ready to shoot the rider as he came in sight. He would only get one shot.

‘My lord.’ The rider turned his horse at the last moment. The blond curls were unmistakable. Dan? By thunder, the lad needed a good hiding if this was the way he followed orders. Garrick released his finger. ‘You young idiot. I told you to stay at Beauworth.’

The boy stuck out his bottom lip.

‘Never mind. Come on.’ Garrick turned to follow Eleanor and almost tripped over her, crouching behind him with her weapon cocked and ready to fire. He cursed. Would no one obey anything he said?

She stared at him, a puzzled frown on her face. ‘You don’t really know anything about this, do you?’

If only that was completely true. ‘We don’t have time for talk. Move.’ Grasping her arm, he guided her to Bess cropping at the grass. Dan leapt down, untied the reins and boosted Eleanor into the saddle. He helped Garrick to get up behind her, before remounting.

‘Where to, my lord?’ Dan asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

Good question.

‘Brown’s farm,’ Ellie said. ‘My horse is there.’

So, Lady Eleanor was taking charge. But since his head was spinning, it was just as well.

The Brown kitchen was like any other farmhouse kitchen in England: tiled floor, polished copper pots and hearth with a kettle steaming on a hook over a large brick fireplace. Or it would be, Garrick thought, had a Marquess not been sitting at the kitchen table with his shirt off while an apple-cheeked farmer’s wife wielded a bowl of water and a bloody cloth.

The back door opened to admit a burly man of middle age with a craggy face. ‘What’s all this I hear from the lad in the stable about Beauworth needing help?’ The man was a younger version of Martin Brown and, Garrick recalled, one of Beauworth’s tenant farmers.

‘His lordship had a bit of an accident. A fall from his horse,’ Mrs Brown said.

‘The lad said it were a bullet. Those highwaymen we’ve been hearing of, I’d wager.’

‘Oh, my,’ Mrs Brown said, her blue eyes widening.

Damn. They should have remembered Dan needed to know the story they had concocted for the farmer’s wife.

Hands clasped at her waist, Ellie moved back to the table, whether seeking or offering protection Garrick couldn’t tell, because her gaze was fixed on the farmer.

‘The lad is mistaken,’ she said firmly. ‘Please, Mr Brown, do not concern yourself. We came only to fetch my horse. We will leave right away.’

Protection, then. It made Garrick want to smile, to pull her close and kiss her, but perhaps she’d change her mind about wanting to protect him, when she learned his secret.

John Brown scratched behind his ear and stared at Garrick’s arm for a second or two. ‘I’ll send to Beauworth for the carriage.’

‘No need,’ Garrick said. ‘It’s nothing. I’ll be back on my horse in no time at all.’ He winked at Mrs Brown. ‘Isn’t that right?’

She batted her eyelashes. ‘Yes, my lord.’

Brown touched his forelock. ‘As you say, my lord. But we need to catch them villains. Terrorising decent folk they are. Mr Le Clere should be sent for. As magistrate, he’ll know what to do.’

The irony of it struck Garrick hard. ‘I’ll bring it to my uncle’s attention the moment I get home.’

‘Aye. Well, you’ll find me mucking out in the barn, if you needs me. That good-for-nothing cousin of mine has disappeared again.’ He stomped out.

Mrs Brown continued her dabbing. ‘It’s just a graze, my lord,’ she said. ‘The men gets worse cuts at haying time.’

‘I told you,’ Garrick said to Ellie. She smiled absently. Damn it, they needed to talk about what had happened and then make some sort of plan to get her to safety.

‘I’ll just fetch a bit of liniment and we’ll bandage you up,’ Mrs Brown said. She bustled off into what must be the scullery.

‘What do we do now?’ Ellie asked.

‘Now we have to get you back to your brother. He came looking for you at the cottage.’

If anything her face grew paler. ‘You’ve met William?’

‘Yes.’

‘At the cottage?’

‘Martin brought him.’

She winced. ‘He knows, then. About us.’ Her look of devastation pained him worse than the wound on his arm.

‘Ellie, we’ll be married right away. Everything will be all right.’ He hoped.

Her lips tightened. She got up, taking the bowl of water to the sink under the window. He had the strangest feeling of loss, as if it wasn’t mere feet, but miles she’d put between them.

She turned to face him, her back against the sink, her expression hidden by the light from the window behind her. ‘What is going on, Garrick? Caleb, the man you found on the floor, said you arranged my abduction. Why?’

Garrick shot to his feet. ‘Ellie, no. You can’t possibly believe—’

Mrs Brown bustled back into the kitchen with a jar of something yellow and a roll of white bandage. The kindly woman must have sensed something amiss, because she hesitated, looking from one to the other. ‘If you would sit down, your lordship, I’ll have you better in a trice.’

‘Thank you. You are a wonderful nurse.’ He smiled at her.

She bridled like a young girl. ‘Go on with you, my lord.’ She waved her pot. ‘Hold still now.’ She removed the paper cover.

Garrick almost choked on the dreadful smell. ‘By Gad, that stinks.’

The woman smeared a dollop on his arm and proceeded to wrap the bandage around it. ‘We use this on the horses. Heals ’em up lovely, according to my John.’

She cut the end of the bandage with scissors and tied it off in a knot.

‘Thank you.’ Garrick reached for his shirt and pulled it on. He thrust his arms into his waistcoat and coat and knotted his cravat at his throat. ‘Mrs Brown, I wonder if there is somewhere Lady Eleanor and I could converse for a moment or two?’

‘Oh, yes, my lord. What was I thinking? Me keeping you here in the kitchen, with my parlour much more the thing. This way.’

She led the way to the front of the house, to a room full of highly polished chairs, their seats stuffed with horsehair and covered in plush. It reminded Garrick of a visit to his grandmother’s house when he’d been a lad. ‘Will this do, my lord?’ Mrs Brown bobbed, all formality and humble apology now he looked more like himself.

‘What a beautiful room,’ Ellie said. ‘Thank you.’

Mrs Brown beamed.

‘Yes indeed,’ Garrick said. ‘A well-appointed chamber, and the view is very good.’

Mrs Brown smiled. ‘I’ll bring you that tea.’ She left, closing the door.

‘Good people,’ Garrick said.

She nodded. ‘They’ve been good to Martin, while he’s been living and working here.’ There were shadows in her eyes.

Garrick crossed to her side. ‘Ellie, I had nothing to do with your imprisonment or the ransom. An overheard conversation between my uncle and Matthews led me to you.’

‘Matthews?’

‘The man I shot at the cottage.’

‘Oh. They called him Sarg. He said—’

Anger clawed up his spine. ‘I don’t care what he said. I had nothing to do with it.’

She recoiled.

God, now she was afraid of him. He fought for calm. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you, Ellie. I swear it.’

He held her gaze for a very long moment, saw acceptance slowly dawn on her face with a deep sense of relief.

‘I didn’t want to believe it,’ she said softly. ‘They made it sound true.’ A sob caught in her throat. ‘I should have known better than to think so ill of you. I’m sorry.’

He caught her to his chest and patted her shoulder. ‘Please, chérie, don’t cry. None of this is your fault.’ He tipped her chin with his hand and his heart clenched at her tremulous smile. He brushed a wayward tear with his thumb and something welled in his throat. Tenderness. It didn’t mix well with rage. It felt strange, confusing. He wanted both to comfort her and kill the men who had caused her harm. ‘That’s better.’

‘Why did they blame you?’ she asked.

He took her hand, kissed her small fingers briefly and gazed into her face. ‘I think you should sit down.’

Gripping her hand as if it could anchor him to rational thought, he led her to the sofa. She sank on to the seat, clearly worried. He braced for the coming storm.

She gazed at up him, her eyes fearful. ‘They said they wanted something from William.’

He wished he couldn’t guess what they wanted. He wished her chance remark did not lead him into hell and he could deny all knowledge. He took a deep breath. ‘Le Clere is behind your abduction. Without my knowledge, I promise. I believe it has something to do with Piggot’s visit to your father.’

Silent, eyes wary, she stared at him. His palms felt suddenly damp. ‘There was an accident. Years ago. My mother fell down the staircase at the Court. Piggot accused me. He said I pushed her deliberately. Then he fled.’

‘Did you?’ she asked.

He glanced down at their interlaced fingers. Dammit. He was avoiding her gaze and yet he didn’t want to see her revulsion. ‘I don’t know.’

She pulled her hand away. ‘How can you not know?’

‘I can’t remember.’ He got up and went to the window. Looked out at the very fine view of English countryside, rolling hills, neat fields and woodland and saw only black-and-white tiles, black hair and white limbs sprawled…

‘I remember nothing.’ He glanced over his shoulder. She was watching him, her face serious, her eyes huge, her sweet lips pressed firmly together. ‘Except her body on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and Piggot, a footman, accusing me.’ He did it on purpose. ‘He disappeared. The other day you mentioned he visited your father. I can only assume he told him the tale. But unless you heard something, or your brother did, I can’t understand my uncle’s actions. Did you hear Piggot’s story, Ellie?’

‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper, full of shock and horror. ‘Did you…?’

He hadn’t wanted to tell her like this, with so much at stake, and so much doubt in his heart. His voice grew thick and rough. ‘I loved my mother. Adored her. I can’t believe I would have hurt her, not deliberately. And yet…’ He swallowed. ‘The Le Clere blood carries a taint. Blind rage with the strength of several men. The blood of Norse berserkers shows up every generation or two. Good for battle. Not good around people. That’s why Beauworths are always soldiers, not politicians.’ He hated it. ‘Uncle Duncan, my father’s cousin, believes what happened to Mother was an accident.’ He’d spoken the way adults pander to naughty children, leaving Garrick in doubt. ‘I knew nothing of this disease until long after my mother died. Le Clere devoted his life to our family. He loves Beauworth. Far more than I. I think he is trying to protect me.’

‘So you did not have anything to do with my abduction.’

What could he do to make her believe? ‘I swear it. On my honour.’

‘Then why would they say you did?’

‘If they did it in my name, I suppose I am as guilty as they are.’ He turned back to the view. ‘There is only one way to end this nightmare. I have to go to the authorities and admit the truth.’

A light touch fell on his shoulder. He’d not heard her approach. Half-afraid of what he would see in her face, he turned and saw pity and the shimmer of tears. His heart cracked open and pain flooded in. The pain of guilt he’d held back for so many years.

‘You really can’t remember?’ she murmured.

He shook his head.

‘It must have been an accident,’ she said.

Ellie. Sweet gentle Ellie. Even now she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

He forced a laugh, heard the bitterness. ‘I don’t need to remember. There was a witness.’ He brushed the thought aside. ‘The most important thing is to get you home safe. Then I will deal with my uncle.’

‘But—’

A scratch at the door and Mrs Brown, her hands full of tray, entered. ‘Here we are, at last. And look who came to see how you are, my lord. My John though it best to send word to the Court after all.’

Garrick’s heart dropped to the floor as Le Clere stepped into the room behind Mrs Brown.

Ellie could not restrain her gasp.

‘Why don’t you all have a nice cup of tea before you set out?’ the farmer’s wife said with a beaming smile, placing the tray on the table in front of the sofa. ‘There are some scones here and preserves and a nice dollop of cream.’

Ellie wanted to scream. While the sweet, well-meaning Mrs Brown chattered about cakes and set out plates and cups in front of her, she wanted to charge past the portly noble looking over the woman’s shoulder with the sorrowful expression of a bloodhound.

Garrick stood pale and stiff, his hands clenched at his side. Why didn’t he object, consign his uncle, or cousin, to the devil, if they weren’t in league? This was a nightmare. At any moment she’d wake up in Castlefield and discover it had all been a horrible dream.

But it wasn’t.

‘That will be all, Mrs Brown,’ Le Clere said, moving aside. Then Ellie saw the reason for Garrick’s posture. Le Clere held a pistol. This really was too much. How many more men were going to hold her at pistol point today?

She started for the door, intending to follow Mrs Brown out.

‘Don’t move, Ellie,’ Garrick said.

She darted a glance at him. It was two against one. If they rushed Le Clere, surely they could overpower him? His face a mask, Garrick shook his head, refusing her aid. Was he in this with his uncle, after all? Her stomach fell away, a sickening sensation.

‘Well, well, isn’t this pleasant,’ Le Clere said in genial tones the moment Mrs Brown closed the door. ‘And here I thought Matthews had lost the pair of you.’

‘What the deuce do you think you are doing?’ Garrick said tightly. ‘This is Lady Eleanor Hadley.’

Eleanor let go of her breath. He knew his uncle better than she. Perhaps he thought he would listen to reason.

Le Clere raised a heavy black brow. ‘I know.’ He bowed. ‘By now your brother should be in possession of your letter, and be following his instructions. The exchange will continue just as planned.’

‘No,’ Garrick said. ‘I will not allow it.’

‘You won’t allow it?’ Le Clere’s face hardened. He no longer looked like a bloodhound, more like a bulldog. ‘After everything I have done for this family? Either Lady Eleanor co-operates or she dies, as will every member of her family.’

Horrified, she stared first at Le Clere, then at Garrick, who paled.

‘Uncle Duncan, what the hell have you done?’ Garrick started forwards. ‘This must cease now.’

Le Clere tightened his grip on his pistol and moved closer to Eleanor.

Garrick stopped short. ‘Why are you doing this?’ Garrick asked, his eyes intent. ‘What does Castlefield have that is so important?’

‘Sit down, Garrick,’ Le Clere said mildly. ‘We might as well have this conversation in a civilised manner. Perhaps, Lady Eleanor, you would be good enough to pour the tea?’

Back to kind elderly gentlemen. It was uncanny. A shiver ran down her spine. Garrick sat. She followed suit. With a sense of unreality, she poured each of them a cup of tea. Le Clere’s pistol didn’t waver as he took a sip from his cup.

Garrick refused tea. Eleanor poured a cup for herself. Perhaps if she threw it in his face…

‘To answer your question, Garrick,’ his uncle said, ‘we need the letter Piggot left with this young lady’s father and everything can go on as before.’

‘Piggot left a letter?’ Garrick squeezed his eyes shut as if the words caused him pain. ‘How can you know?’

‘He sent me word of a letter to be opened at his death,’ Le Clere said. ‘Do drink your tea, Lady Eleanor. And don’t think about throwing it in my face. I can assure you a bullet travels faster than hot liquid.’

Eleanor put down her cup. ‘It would be a waste of good tea.’

Garrick whipped his head around and gave her a hard, warning stare. Well, it had been a feeble idea, but she hoped he’d think of something better, and soon, or she’d be forced to give it a try. Perhaps the teapot would make a better missile.

Le Clere smiled. ‘Very wise, Lady Eleanor.’ He returned his attention to Garrick. ‘Piggot warned what would happen if anything happened to him or his family. What I didn’t know was the letter’s location. I should have guessed he’d go to one of your father’s army friends. When the man I hired finally tracked him down, Piggot was dying. It seems he wanted it all off his conscience and told his nurse the whole story. A few guineas later, and I knew exactly where to look.’

Garrick looked as if the walls of the farmhouse were folding in on him. ‘You never told me any of this.’ He looked genuinely shocked and horrified.

‘Why did this all come to a head now?’ Eleanor asked.

‘The impending arrival of your brother made action imperative. He is bound to find the letter sooner or later. When he does, he will see it as his duty to bring it to the authorities. I could not allow that.’ He sounded as if it was the most natural occurrence in the world.

Garrick leaned forwards, his face dark. ‘Did you kill Piggot? Is there more blood on my hands I don’t know about?’ He was white beneath his tan, looking ill.

‘Don’t be foolish, my boy.’ Le Clere almost chortled. ‘What would that advantage? All the while he remained alive your secret was safe. Now the letter is to be opened. Fortunately your older brother died before he had time to go through your father’s papers, Lady Eleanor. We needed more time to look.’

The words were like hot pebbles dropped on ice, the import fracturing the surface of her mind, the cracks spreading out, until the surface weakened and the stones fell through, sinking to the bottom with a threatening hiss. She gripped the fabric of the sofa, needing to feel something solid in her world. ‘You killed Michael?’

‘Let us say the timing was fortuitous,’ Le Clere said.

‘No!’ The word seemed to be ripped from Garrick’s chest. ‘No,’ he whispered. His fists clenched. The knuckles white.

‘Control yourself, Garrick,’ Le Clere said. ‘Anyway, by foreclosing on the mortgage and forcing you out, I hoped to find it before the next brother returned to England. William, isn’t it? Brave young man. Mentioned in dispatches more than once.’

A wave of fear rushed over her. William. She closed her eyes, as strength drained from her limbs like water running through her fingers. She wanted to collapse. To scream. But William’s life was also in danger. She had to find a way to warn him.

She glanced at Garrick. He seemed frozen, his shoulders rigid, but his dark eyes blazed fury.

Unlike Le Clere, who looked calm, a relaxed, well-dressed gentleman taking afternoon tea, if it weren’t for the evil hanging about him like a cloak. She repressed a shiver. She would not let him see how afraid he made her feel.

He leaned back in his chair, his face smug. ‘I paid one of the bailiffs to search the house. He found nothing. Not even a safe.’

The room behind the panelling. Built in Tudor times as a priest hole. It would take a clever thief to find it.

‘Ah,’ Le Clere said, his gaze narrowed on her face, ‘I see you know where it is.’

‘Ellie,’ Garrick said. ‘Tell him nothing.’

Perhaps he’d let her guide him to it. Once at Castlefield, she’d be in familiar territory. It might give her an advantage. ‘I’ve never seen this document, but my father did have a safe.’

Le Clere nodded. ‘I would have found it given time, but I made a mistake.’ He looked at Garrick. ‘I took advantage of Garrick’s weakness for a certain young lady. I thought it would keep him at Beauworth.’ He looked sorrowfully at the Marquess. ‘We can solve all this right now, Garrick. Marry Lady Eleanor, get an heir and leave me as guardian. I’d be more than happy for you to go off and get yourself killed.’

The kind way he spoke the words made Eleanor’s stomach heave. ‘You are disgusting.’

‘Despicable,’ Garrick said. ‘And the game is up.’

‘Is it?’ Le Clere rose to his feet. ‘By now, Matthews should be outside with the carriage. All we have to do is meet your brother at the assigned place and everything will be all right.’

‘I think not,’ Ellie said with dawning fear. ‘I know what he did.’ She pointed at Garrick. He winced. A wry smile curved his lips and it wrenched at her heart that he did not deny it. How could she feel such a pang of sympathy when so much evil had been done in his name?

Le Clere pursed his lips, his head cocked on one side. ‘You think anyone will pay any attention to the words of a jilted lover? Just do as you are told and you can return home safe and sound.’

He lied. Something in his face told her he would not leave any of them alive. Including William and Sissy. A cold wind seemed to brush across her shoulders and penetrate her bones. Fear. Deep and terrifying. She fought its numbing weight. ‘You planned it all. The ship I invested in. The debt.’

Le Clere had the gall to laugh. ‘Dear lady, your man of business works for me.’

‘Jarvis?’

‘The same.’ The more this man said, the more she felt like a fly spinning around in one of those horrible sticky webs, and no matter how she struggled she would never get free.

Garrick must have sensed something similar because he leaned forwards, glaring at his uncle. ‘I’ll expose you. I’ll go to the authorities the moment your back is turned.’ He looked ready to spring at his uncle, his shoulders tense, his face a mask of fury.

Eleanor braced herself, ready to follow his lead.

‘And Lady Eleanor will die,’ Le Clere said softly. ‘Now, or later. And it will be your fault.’

A hiss of breath left Garrick’s lips. He sagged back against the cushions. ‘Damn you.’

Mrs Brown stuck her head in the door. ‘The carriage is here, my lord.’

Le Clere reached across the table and grabbed Eleanor by the arm. The pistol jammed against her ribs. ‘I know you won’t mind helping an old man out to his carriage, Lady Eleanor.’

If she resisted and Le Clere killed her, she would have no chance to warn William. She inhaled a shaky breath and rose to her feet.

Le Clere drew her close. ‘Garrick, do go ahead. One misstep and Lady Eleanor will find a nasty hole in her stomach.’

Fury rolled off Garrick in dark waves. Lines bracketed his white-edged lips. The sinews in his neck stood out against his collar, his hands opening and closing as if he was ready to strangle his uncle. His eyes bored into Le Clere’s for a long minute, as if he debated what to do, then his shoulders slumped and he walked ahead of them into the hallway.

Le Clere put an arm about her shoulders, let her feel the press of the weapon into her side, then urged her forwards. The front door stood open. In the farmyard beside the carriage, Matthews, a livid bruise on his temple and a bandage around the knuckles of his right hand, looked as if he would very much like to shoot someone.

Two horses were tied to the rear of the carriage and Caleb, his face a bloody ruin, glared at them from the box. She certainly didn’t have any friends she could turn to for help among this lot. Not even Garrick, it seemed.

Of the helpful John Brown, there was no sign. Besides, what could a farmer do against his landlord? A movement in the barn, a flash of yellow. A slight figure peering out. Dan, no doubt. The poor lad could be of no help, either. No one could. The realisation sent a cold shiver down her spine.

Garrick climbed into the coach. Matthews followed him in. Then Le Clere shoved Ellie inside and climbed up behind. He pointed his pistol at her head. ‘Tie their wrists at their backs, Matthews. We don’t want any more problems.’

Blood pounding in his ears, vision hazed, Garrick stared at Le Clere. His father’s cousin. A man he’d known all his life. His flesh and blood. Why had he never seen this side of Le Clere?

He had. Years ago. A faint memory of loud voices, his mother weeping. And later, when Garrick refused to admit pushing his mother down the stairs, the man had lost his temper and taken a cane to Garrick’s back. Le Clere had changed after that, Garrick realised. Become his friend. His mentor. His kindly conscience, always reminding him what he’d done without coming out and saying it in words. In the close confines of the carriage, Le Clere’s lust for power pervaded the air, rank and toxic.

The thought that Le Clere had done it on his behalf horrified him. Worse yet, Garrick wanted to kill him for what he’d done to Ellie.

The rope around his wrists bit into his flesh as he strained against them. He glared at the pair of them, Matthews and Le Clere, and smelled their blood in his nostrils. He wanted that blood on his hands. He pulled on the ropes binding him. But Matthews knew his work. The rage inside Garrick grew until he could see little more than their faces through a red mist.

Beside him, Eleanor sat rigid, watchful and coolly remote, when she should have been having a fit of the vapours after all she’d heard. Courage shone in her eyes, but how she must hate him now she knew what lay beneath his skin.

Control. He needed control or he’d be lost. He took slow, deep breaths. ‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see,’ Le Clere said.

He would. And when he did, he’d be ready to act. Surely he could outwit a man who had clearly lost his reason?