Читать книгу Regency Society Collection Part 2 - Хелен Диксон, Ann Lethbridge, Хелен Диксон - Страница 15

The carriage pulled to a halt. Garrick peered out. They were only a few yards into the lane beyond the farm. Matthews leaned over and tested first his ropes and then Ellie’s. ‘They won’t be getting free in a hurry.’

‘Good,’ Le Clere said, and leaned forwards to open the door. Garrick’s heart picked up speed.

His uncle laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Garrick. I’ll be a few feet behind you all the way.’ He stepped out, followed by Matthews. The two men mounted their horses, no doubt with a view of discussing their plans in private. The carriage set off once more.

Ellie stared out of the window, her shoulders stiff, her face white and her expression forlorn.

The rage in his gut unfurled like a dragon full of fire, heat rushed up from his belly. He took a deep breath. It wouldn’t help. When she didn’t say anything, he fished around for a way to break the silence. ‘I’m sorry you got dragged into this.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a knife?’

He didn’t like the way her gaze raked the interior of the coach. ‘Please, Ellie, whatever you do, no heroics. Trust me to get you out of this and follow my lead.’

Nor did he like the way her determined chin came up in challenge. ‘Do you have a plan?’

‘I’ll take advantage of whatever opportunity is offered.’

She curled her lip. ‘An excellent plan.’ She turned her head to gaze out of the window.

‘Sarcasm won’t help.’ He huffed out a breath. ‘Ellie, believe me, I won’t let my uncle harm you.’

‘He killed my brother. For you.’ Her voice was husky. She turned her head slowly. The glitter of tears she’d tried to hide with harsh words cut a swathe through his heart. She’d been so brave up to now and to see her spirit leach away weighed heavy on his soul. Nor could he think of a word to say in his defence.

He couldn’t afford to let himself feel her pain, because if he allowed the emotions through, the anger he held at bay would take over and he’d be nothing but a raging unthinking beast.

He stared out of the window. They were approaching the crossroads beyond the village. The place where the first Lady Moonlight had ended her life on the gibbet. With a wry twist of sick humour, he hoped it wasn’t an omen.

The carriage halted behind a stone wall at the edge of the common where the villagers grazed a few sheep and a scrawny cow. Garrick watched Caleb take off at a run, a musket over his shoulder, heading for a ridge to the east where scattered boulders and gorse provided plenty of cover.

Matthews opened the door, blocking his view. ‘Out you get. Ladies first, if you please.’ He bowed.

Garrick thought about head-butting the man on his way down the step, but saw Le Clere watching from a short distance off and could only watch in helpless fury as Matthews’s hand clenched around Ellie’s elbow. At the steward’s nod, Garrick leapt down and glanced across the open tract of land to where Caleb had disappeared. The man had ducked out of sight.

A perfect place for an ambush.

Trust him? An admitted murderer? Ellie wanted to. He’d been naught but a child. Could such an act be the sign of some horrible disease, as Garrick seemed to believe, or simply an accident? It seemed incredible to believe he’d killed his mother on purpose. But both he and Le Clere seemed convinced of his guilt. And then he’d asked her to trust him.

Up to now, everything she’d done had turned out for the worst. Like a fool, she’d trusted Jarvis to guide her in the matters of business, and look where that had led. With William’s life in the balance, the only person she dare trust was herself, and even there she didn’t have a lot of faith.

Michael. A pain carved through her chest. Don’t think about what had happened. Not now. Concentrate on what you need to do.

Her mind whirling in circles of indecision, she picked her way through the long grass to the wooden stile at Matthews’s direction. Garrick followed.

‘Wait here,’ Matthews said. ‘And don’t try nothing funny. I’ll be watching.’ He marched back to Le Clere, who had remained with the carriage, scanning the surrounding countryside with a spyglass. Watching for William?

Should she run? Not with Matthews’s shotgun pointed her way. If she wanted to escape, she’d need a distraction. She looked at Garrick. He seemed oblivious to the man and his weapon, gazing off into the distance with a faint smile on his face, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

He must have felt her gaze because he turned his head and raised a brow. ‘I wish to hell you’d let your brother get himself out of his own financial difficulties. You might never have got involved in this at all.’

Was he bent on annoying her? ‘If wishes were horses…And besides, they were not his financial problems. They were mine. I forged his signature.’

He groaned. ‘I might have guessed.’

‘Your Mr Jarvis said it was an opportunity of a lifetime.’

‘He is not my Mr Jarvis. He works for the estate.’

‘Your estate, my lord.’

‘As trustee, Le Clere makes all the decisions until my twenty-fifth birthday.’

Well, that explained some of it. ‘Not a wise choice for trustee.’

‘He was like a brother to my father. I don’t understand it.’

‘He’s protecting you.’

He sighed. ‘I know. But he’s far beyond the pale with this.’

‘You could say that.’

‘Squabbling is not going to help us.’

Her turn to raise a brow. ‘What do you suggest?’

‘We work together.’

She glanced up to find his eyes searching her face. Eyes full of bleakness, as if he guessed her doubts.

‘All right,’ she said.

Matthews was eyeing them suspiciously. ‘What are you two lovebirds talking about?’

‘None of your business, you cur,’ Garrick said, glowering at the man from beneath lowered eyebrows.

‘I could make it my business, your lordship,’ Matthews said, clearly undeterred.

‘Matthews!’ Le Clere’s voice held a warning.

Matthews closed his mouth like a fish on a hook, but the expression on his face threatened a future discussion, with fists.

Instead of blustering and squaring up like a contender at fisticuffs at a fair, Garrick should be focusing on their problem. She poked his ribs with an elbow.

Garrick watched his uncle direct Matthews to a position further along the wall. But where the hell was Caleb? And how many more men did Le Clere have up there? He scanned the rough terrain, with its clumps of gorse and shadowed folds.

A glint. A quick flash beside a rock he’d almost missed. And another, to the right. There were at least two of them. Garrick gauged the distance and the angle in relation to Matthews’s position at the wall. Oh, yes, Le Clere had it all worked out very nicely. Whoever crossed the common would be caught by intersecting lines of fire.

They were running out of time and he couldn’t find one weakness in Le Clere’s strategy.

Garrick turned, casually leaning his elbows on the rough stone wall, reviewing the open ground. Not a scrap of cover, not even a clump of grass left by the hungry sheep.

A lone horseman walked his horse on to the far side of the common.

Le Clere strode over to Ellie. ‘Your brother is right on time.’

The look of hope and joy on Ellie’s face pierced Garrick’s heart. What must it be like to have a family who cared the way she cared for her brother? What he had thought was caring, a bluff distant kindness, had turned to dross. His mother had loved him, he remembered dimly, but it hadn’t served her well.

He had to reunite Ellie with her family.

The man on the other side of the common raised a hand to shield his eyes. Clever. With the sun in his eyes, he’d have trouble spotting the sharpshooters.

He must have seen the party gathered at the wall because he urged his horse into a walk. When he was in the centre of the open space, he stopped. Good.

‘Where is my sister?’ he yelled.

Le Clere thrust Eleanor through the gap in the wall, a pistol held to her temple. ‘Come and get her.’

‘William,’ she yelled. ‘Go back. It’s a trap.’

Bloody hell. She’d caught them all by surprise.

Le Clere cursed and pulled her back behind the wall.

Castlefield remained where he was, tension in the set of his shoulders. The horse shifted uneasily.

‘I ought to wring your neck,’ Le Clere said.

Garrick felt like doing a bit of wringing himself. Or maybe not. Perhaps she’d given him the opening he needed. ‘Leave her be. He won’t come any closer. Not now. Withdraw and find another way to get the letter.’

Le Clere swore. ‘No.’ He put his glass to his eye. ‘I’ve a good mind to…Bugger.’

Garrick straightened. ‘What is it?’

‘He didn’t come alone. There are soldiers with him.’

Beside him, Ellie squinted across the field. She was starting to look hopeful. Garrick mentally groaned. What foolhardy idea would she take next into her head?

Le Clere pulled a knife from his belt and cut Garrick’s ropes. ‘See for yourself.’ He handed Garrick the glass.

Surprised, but not about to object, Garrick looked. There were two officers at the edge of the common behind Castlefield. Infantry. ‘Men from his regiment by the look of it. Two of them.’

‘A couple too many,’ Le Clere growled.

‘Beauworth,’ Castlefield yelled, ‘I want my sister.’

‘Wait here,’ Le Clere said to Garrick. ‘One move in the wrong direction and the girl dies.’

There was cunning in his uncle’s eyes. A sort of clever madness. Keeping that gaze locked with his, Garrick nodded.

Le Clere trotted off to join Matthews.

Her eyes full of shadows, her shoulders drooping, Ellie shivered. To see her so beaten down was more than he could bear. ‘He won’t harm you all the time your brother has the letter. I pray to God he hasn’t opened it.’

‘Or your neck is on the line.’ The red flag of anger flew in her cheeks. The spirit he liked to see.

‘Something like that.’ If Castlefield had followed orders, then perhaps Le Clere could be convinced to let them go. It wouldn’t be easy to convince him. Ellie knew too much. But without any solid proof…

Le Clere headed back in their direction and Garrick turned to face him.

Pistol steady on Eleanor, Le Clere handed him the knife. ‘Set her free.’

What now? Garrick cut the ropes.

Le Clere retreated a step. ‘Walk her to her brother, collect the document and return to me. No tricks or she dies. You can’t escape, my men have every inch of the common covered. Are you clear?’

The scene played out in his mind. ‘Absolutely.’

‘And consider this, Garrick. By walking her out there, you are my accomplice. If anything goes wrong, you hang.’

Since if the contents of the letter were made known he’d hang anyway, it seemed a strange thing to say. ‘Good point, Uncle. Thank you.’

Ellie stared at him, shock on her face. Well, he’d wanted to fool Le Clere and in accepting his defeat so meekly, he’d fooled her, too. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He helped her over the stile. ‘Walk. Nice and steady.’

She tugged at her arm. ‘Why are you helping him?’

He thrust her ahead of him. ‘Keep walking.’

Only a few more feet and they’d be level with her brother. Castlefield’s horse sidled. The man sawed at the reins, his face red.

Garrick raised his voice. ‘Throw the letter on the ground. Be very careful, there are armed men behind us. One false move and I won’t answer for what happens.’

Castlefield nodded. He pulled a packet from his saddlebag, a sealed document, and tossed it on the ground. The word Beauworth in black ink mocked Garrick from the ground. He kept going, pushing Ellie ahead. Eleanor gave him a startled look over her shoulder.

‘Aim for the corner of the field. They cannot shoot you without hitting me.’

‘Hey.’ Castlefield cursed and brought his horse around.

‘Hurry,’ Garrick said.

Castlefield rode up alongside. ‘What the devil are you playing at, Beauworth? Go back where you belong.’

‘Ride ahead if you want to live.’

‘Garrick!’ Le Clere’s bellow. Garrick did not turn.

Castlefield pulled his pistol. ‘Get away from my sister. Or I’ll kill you.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ Garrick said. ‘I am the only thing between your sister and a bullet. Look out for yourself.’

‘William, listen to him,’ Ellie said.

Thank God she understood. Bright, bright woman, his Ellie. A ray of light in his dark, dark world.

A shot rang out; Castlefield’s chestnut took off at a gallop.

‘William,’ she cried.

Garrick grabbed her arm. Stopped her from giving chase. Time was running out. Once Le Clere’s men realised what he was doing, they’d shift position, if they hadn’t already.

‘Run,’ he said. It was their only chance.

Her face pale, she lifted her skirts and took off at a steady clip. He breathed a sigh of relief and followed. A minute more and they’d gain the wall’s protection.

‘Hold your fire,’ Le Clere shouted. The panic in his voice gave Garrick a moment of glee.

Another shot. Not Le Clere’s men this time. A rifle. It came from ahead. Martin Brown, perhaps, trying to pick him off. Better he aim at Le Clere’s men. Garrick glanced back. He couldn’t see any sign of Caleb or Matthews or the other man he’d spotted. Perhaps they hadn’t yet worked out what was happening.

More shots rang out. From all directions. A stinging sensation in his side. A tearing pain. His legs buckled. He stumbled on. The pain in his side sharpened. Keep moving. Keep between Ellie and them. The wall rose up like a grey mossy cliff. Hampered by her skirts, Ellie got stuck halfway over. Any moment another shot would find them. He pushed her over the top. Somehow he got a knee on the coping and fell to the ground on the other side. He lay gulping air and clutching his side.

He looked around for Ellie, found her bent double and panting. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

Gasping, she nodded. ‘Did you see what happened to William?’

William. Always worried about her brother. He wanted to hit something. He reined in his anger. It was only right she should care for her brother. It was what real families did. ‘His horse cleared the wall further down. I don’t think he was hit.’ He pushed to his feet.

Eleanor grabbed his arm, her face full of worry. ‘Le Clere was right. You will be implicated in this. Go now, while you can. Save yourself. Take a ship to America.’

His heart soared. She cared about him, too. If it wasn’t impossible, he would have sworn his vision blurred. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, capturing her storm-clouded gaze. ‘Come with me.’ He held his breath, hope a pale flame in a dark future. His heart drummed against his ribs.

She swallowed, her eyes glistened. Tears. Damn it. He’d made her cry. He’d no right to ask after what Le Clere had done in his name.

Before she could answer, Castlefield galloped up, pistol in hand. ‘Stand back, Eleanor. I’ve got him in my sights. You’re safe now.’

Glowering with righteous anger, the man who looked so like Ellie pointed his cocked pistol at Garrick’s head. Strange he hadn’t seen the similarity before. But Castlefield had been a chubby schoolboy the first time they met. Garrick curled his lip and held his hands clear of his sides. ‘She’s all yours, my friend. I’m done with her.’

Tears on her cheeks, Ellie put a hand to mouth. ‘You should have gone when you had the chance,’ she whispered.

Should he? Had he wanted to go without her? What would be the point?

Castlefield flung himself off his horse. ‘I’ll kill you for that.’ Better a bullet than the noose.

Ellie stepped between them. ‘William, he saved my life.’

‘More likely he saw it as a way to save his own skin, the coward.’

Castlefield yanked off his cravat, swung Garrick around by the shoulder and pulled his arms behind him. Using the strip of fabric, he tied Garrick’s wrists together. Garrick flinched as his ribs protested against the rough treatment.

Castlefield grunted approval. ‘That will hold you until they put the chains on.’

Eleanor gasped. ‘William, no!’

The heartbreak in her voice was like balm to Garrick’s soul. He flashed her a grin. He didn’t want her to think he was surprised by this turn of events.

Castlefield pushed him toward the two officers and a couple of farm labourers with a cart. ‘My friends can’t wait for the honour of escorting you and your pack of villains to prison.’

Eleanor’s heart seemed to have been cut in two, her chest hurt so much. Garrick had looked so hopeful. If William hadn’t arrived at that moment, what would she have said? Her breath stilled. She had the strangest feeling she would have said yes.

She stared after Garrick’s tall, straight figure, so proud in his defeat. The pain intensified. Her eyes misted. She felt as if she might fly apart. She wrapped her arms around her stomach.

If only she didn’t love the way he smiled at her as if there was no one else in the world but the two of them, the way he teased and made her laugh, the way he held her, and the sensations he brought to life in her body.

Oh Lord. After all she knew of him, how could she feel this way?

A drop of something dark glistened on the ground at her feet. With a horrible premonition, she bent and touched it with a fingertip. Blood, sticky and red.

Garrick’s wound must have opened. He needed a doctor. She hurried after the two men.

By the time she’d crossed the open ground, Garrick lay on the straw in a cart, a prisoner in his tumbrel, looking as calm as if he were out for a Sunday drive. Ellie trembled to see his lips looking bloodless and the skin on his cheeks ashen.

William, talking to Martin, didn’t see her until she tugged on his arm. ‘He’s wounded. He needs a doctor.’

‘Not now, Eleanor. There are more of these criminals to be rounded up.’ He turned back to Martin. ‘Follow them as best you can.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Martin strode off as Caleb’s unconscious body was thrown on to the cart beside Garrick.

She grabbed William’s arm. ‘Beauworth had nothing to do with my abduction.’

‘The courts will decide innocence or guilt,’ William said, and began walking away as if she was of no more importance than a bothersome insect.

‘Damn you, William.’ She ran after him. ‘Give me your knife.’ She snatched it from his belt. ‘I can at least bandage the wound before he bleeds to death.’

William hunched a shoulder. ‘Be careful. He’s chained, but he’s a dangerous man.’

‘Not when he’s half-dead,’ she muttered. ‘Where are you going?’

He stared across the common, his eyes narrowed. ‘There’s something I need to take care of. Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a moment.’ He marched toward the Beauworth carriage, his limp more pronounced than usual. Too much time on horseback, no doubt. He wouldn’t welcome her suggesting he rest and arguing would keep her from Garrick.

She ran back and scrambled up on the cart. Once there, she slashed a strip from the bottom of her petticoat.

One eyebrow raised, his gaze on her ankle, Garrick smiled. ‘Very nice.’

‘Let me see where you are hurt.’

He lifted his hand from his side, revealing a sticky dark patch. ‘A scratch,’ he said.

A new wound. Oh, heavens. So much blood. ‘I need to bind it.’

He frowned, his gaze flickering to Caleb. ‘This is no place for a lady.’

‘I’m Lady Moonlight, remember.’

He grinned at that.

She pulled his shirt free of his pantaloons and found a jagged tear below his ribs, blood oozing in a steady flow. She swallowed the urge to gag. ‘I hope this is the last time today you are going to walk in front of a bullet.’

He chuckled, then winced with a hiss of breath through his teeth. ‘Me, too.’

Panting, fearful, she pressed the wad against the gash. ‘Hold this.’ His fingers covered hers for a brief second, his skin chill. ‘Thank you.’ She glanced up to find gold flecks danced in his eyes and his lips curved in a smile, a smile she might never see again.

Her eyes blurred. Blinking, she pulled her hand away, bound the second strip around his torso. Would it be enough?

He lifted a hand, touched her cheek. The ugly chain attached to the manacle encircling his wrist rattled. ‘Now go.’ He looked over at his companion. ‘I don’t want you here. Do you understand?’

The words hurt. But of course he didn’t want her here. She’d rejected him.

He pushed forwards, as if he planned to get up.

‘Leave now, Ellie.’

The labourer guarding the cart hefted his pitchfork.

‘Miss?’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be up there.’

She didn’t want to leave him like this, but if she didn’t go, more bad things would happen. ‘I’m leaving. Garrick, please, take care of yourself.’

He slumped back against the side of the cart and closed his eyes, pain etching deep lines around his mouth.

By the time she reached the ground, she was shaking so hard her legs wouldn’t hold her. She leaned against the cart’s wheel. A hand pulled on her shoulder. She jumped and whirled around.

‘For God’s sake, Len,’ William said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her face. ‘You cannot be crying over that blackguard.’

She hadn’t known she was crying. ‘He needs a doctor. Please, William. You can’t be so cruel.’

His lips flattened in a thin line, William stared into her face. ‘You don’t understand, Len. You don’t know what he did, to us. To me.’

‘It was his uncle.’

‘No. It wasn’t. There are things you don’t know.’ He let go of a long breath. ‘We will discuss it later.’

‘He needs a doctor.’ She was beginning to wonder if she had any other words. Never again, she swore silently. Never would she be anything but a model sister, if he would just get Garrick a doctor.

‘All right. I’ll see to it. But then enough until we get home.’

‘Thank you.’

A young lieutenant approached leading a couple of horses. ‘Lucky thing we accompanied you from Portsmouth, wouldn’t you say, Wills?’

‘Very lucky,’ William said. He gestured to the cart. ‘Can you escort that rubbish to Haverstock for me while we mop up here? Have a doctor sent to attend Beauworth the moment he is behind bars.’

The lieutenant snapped a salute. ‘Certainly, sir.’

A few moments later the labourer was driving the wagon down the road, with the lieutenant in attendance.

Eleanor watched it go. There was nothing more she could do.

The steady sound of dripping water never ceased in this accursed place. Shivering, Garrick pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and leaned back against the wall. The damp of his cell pervaded every bone in his body. His teeth chattered uncontrollably if he let them. He clamped his jaw tight.

Out of respect for his rank, they’d put him in a private cell. As if it made any difference. Still, he’d glimpsed the condition of some of the other poor wretches who inhabited this filthy place and had no cause for complaint.

The hole in his side had been cleaned and his arm was on the mend thanks to Ellie insisting on a doctor. He’d cut a good strong figure on the gibbet, the doctor had said. Nothing like a little gallows humour to cheer a man up.

If they’d also caught Le Clere, he wouldn’t feel quite so bitter. But what the man had done, he’d done in Garrick’s name and the piper would be paid.

A sharp twist of regret squeezed his chest. He would have liked to marry Ellie.

Ellie. So dear and so brave. Right up to the last, she’d tried to save his worthless hide. He didn’t blame her one bit for not wanting to fly with him. She deserved so much more. Though the thought of her with another man sent hot blood rushing to his head. Ah, well, soon he wouldn’t have a head.

God, this place was really getting to him.

He did like thinking of her safe with her family, safe from Le Clere. It was the only thing making this stinking pit bearable. Not that he’d be here much longer. He swallowed. They’d take him to London for trial. A jury of his peers in the House of Lords. A chill ran down his spine.

He’d brought shame to the proud name of Beauworth. Harry, bluff, cheerful Cousin Harry would have to carry the burden. Good thing the man was well liked by his fellows. He’d make an excellent Marquess.

The noise of boots in the hallway echoed through the cells. Was this it? His heart picked up speed. He’d been expecting them all day, but deep in his heart he had hoped something would save him. If Piggot hadn’t left the letter, he could have died honourably, serving his country in battle. No doubt his old enemy, Hadley, or Castlefield as he was now, would make sure he met a just end. Justice. The gods must be laughing their heads off at the irony of it all.

The footsteps drew closer. If only Eleanor had trusted him with the truth. His fist clenched. He slammed it into the wall, welcomed the jarring pain. He would never have ruined her. It was his one regret.

That and what he had done to his mother.

He smoothed his lank hair, and scratched at three days’ worth of stubble. He must look like everyone’s idea of a desperate killer.

The cell door opened. Letting the blanket fall, he pushed to his feet and held out his arms for his manacles. Thank God, they did not also chain him to the wall of his cell.

The warder ignored his outstretched hands. ‘This way if you please, my lord.’

Stiff, joints aching, Garrick took a deep breath and straightened his spine. He followed the warder out of his cell and up the worn stone steps. This was it. A journey to London, a public humiliation and death.

At the head of the stairs the warder ushered him into a room. An office. For the first time in three days, Garrick felt some of the bone-chilling cold leave his body.

A man of medium height, middle-aged, grey at the temples, and his blue eyes twinkling, sat in one of two chairs in front of the desk. He rose at Garrick’s entrance.

‘My lord? Andrew Calder, at your service. I am your barrister.’

‘I don’t need a lawyer.’ A guilty plea needed no argument.

‘As to that, my lord, you are probably correct. However, Lord Dearborne asked me to meet you before your appearance.’

Dearborne was a local magistrate. He wasn’t to be tried in the House? ‘The trial is today?’

‘No, my lord. You will be released today.’

Legs weak, Garrick dropped onto the other chair. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘My lord, I have been asked by Lord Dearborne to offer apologies for your wrongful arrest. You have been cleared of any involvement in the crime against Lady Eleanor Hadley. Caleb Trubbs has confessed the whole. His evidence proves you were a dupe in Le Clere’s plans. Lady Eleanor herself confirmed his testimony.’

The room seemed to shift around him. At any moment he would awaken in his cold cell, lying on the filthy pallet, and discover he was hallucinating. It wouldn’t be the first time. Usually it was Ellie who occupied his dreams.

The dapper little man continued to look at him with a kindly smile. Garrick began to believe. Slowly he felt his shoulders relax. Until he remembered. A bitter taste filled his mouth. ‘There is another matter, Mr Calder. The death of the Marchioness of Beauworth, my mother.’ He swallowed the dry lump in his throat as if the words would choke him.

Calder frowned. ‘I know nothing of this matter.’

His hands gripped the chair arms, clinging to the only solid thing in the room. ‘There was a letter. From an eye witness.’

Calder shook his head. ‘There is no letter, my lord.’

‘It was there.’ Castlefield had dropped it at his feet. He’d seen it and so had Ellie.

‘I have no reports of a letter, my lord.’ Calder was beginning to sound just a little impatient, no doubt wondering why the prisoner wasn’t leaping for joy. Garrick shook his head, trying to sort his jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. The letter had been there. Addressed to him. Lying among the sheep droppings on emerald grass. Something about it had puzzled him. And now it had disappeared.

This was his chance to confess. Why admit to something you don’t remember? Ellie’s words. He’d be confessing to something he didn’t believe in his heart. Had never believed. The realisation dawned slowly. Before he said anything, he had to know for sure.

‘Shall we go, my lord?’ Calder said, rising to his feet. ‘A carriage is waiting outside.’ He coughed discreetly behind his hand. ‘You might wish to, er…freshen up.’

Garrick looked down at himself, filthy, ragged and stinking. ‘Yes. I would like that.’ He stood up.

‘Good. Lord Dearborne would be glad if you could call on him two days from now. At that time, you will be required to give a statement and the proper paperwork will be drawn up.’

‘And Duncan Le Clere and Matthews?’

‘The search continues.’

‘I want to help.’

The lawyer grimaced. ‘Leave it to the authorities, my lord. By all accounts Le Clere is a dangerous man.’

Only a Le Clere could deal with Duncan. But right now Garrick had something more important on his mind. A wife. His heart swelled. He would make things right for Ellie.

‘Beauworth for Lady Eleanor.’ He handed his card to the Castlefield butler. At least his voice sounded calm, despite his inner turbulence.

The butler ushered him into a saloon painted pale blue with white trim. Large windows overlooked an expanse of formal gardens. The house was a sprawling Tudor mansion, but this room occupied one of the newer wings. ‘If you would wait here, I will see if her ladyship is at home.’

Why hadn’t she replied to his letter of a week since? Unable to sit, he wandered the room. A room full of family treasures, Meissen china, paintings, statues. The clutter of generations of Earls and their families. Nothing like Beauworth, where few reminders remained of his parents. Le Clere had put them all away, even the portraits, supposedly out of respect for Garrick’s feelings, but now he wondered if the old man hadn’t tried to make him forget the happy part of his childhood.

He studied the portrait of a woman above the mantel. Eyes grey and clear like Eleanor’s looked back at him from beneath a powdered wig. Eleanor’s mother, no doubt. She seemed to smile down at him.

He swept her a bow. ‘Lady Castlefield, you have a most beautiful daughter.’

‘Garrick.’

He spun around.

She looked lovely, almost ethereal, in her white muslin gown. Tiny curls framed a face that seemed thinner and paler than he remembered. He could see no sign of Lady Moonlight in this very proper young lady, with her hands clasped at her waist in a dignified manner. This was Lady Eleanor.

In two strides he reached her, kissed each cool hand. ‘Ellie.’ He cupped her lovely face in his palms, brushed his mouth across her lips, losing himself in her taste as she parted to his questing tongue.

God, he’d missed her. He dropped his hands to her shoulders, enfolded her in his embrace. She arched into him. Kissing him with avid desperation, clutching at his shoulders. He cupped her buttocks, pulled her against his length, felt the stirring of his blood and sighed. His woman. He pulled back, smiling into her lovely face.

She bit her lip.

‘What is it, sweet?’ he asked, tipping her chin to look into her eyes.

They were shadowed, wary. His stomach plunged in a sickening rush. ‘What is wrong?’

She pulled away, paced to the other side of the room before facing him. ‘Why are you here?’

The ground felt unsteady beneath his feet. ‘Didn’t you receive my letter?’

Her eyes widened. ‘Did you write, indeed?’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose William…’ She made a small helpless gesture.

Suspicion writhed in his gut. ‘I wrote to your brother for permission to pay my addresses to you. Didn’t he tell you?’

‘William is angry, disappointed in me.’ She averted her face. ‘I am fortunate he didn’t turn me out.’

Turn her out? The heat of terrible rage flowed like lava in his veins. The accursed Le Clere temper gripped him in vice-like claws. His clenched fists shook with the effort to hold them at his sides and not strike out blindly.

He drew in a deep breath, forced his hands to unclench. ‘Believe me, had I known who you were, I would never have offered you a carte blanche. I’m here to make it right as honour demands.’

‘Honour?’ She stiffened, drawing back. He felt as if he’d missed something important. He crossed the room to her side, took her hand in both of his, held tight so she could not pull away. He dropped to one knee and gazed into her face. ‘Lady Eleanor Hadley, please do me the honour of becoming my wife. I will protect and cherish you all the days of my life. I swear, I will never cause you harm. Please, Ellie. Give me a chance.’ He was begging and he didn’t care.

Her eyes glittered with moisture. She pulled her hand free. ‘You don’t understand.’

He rose to his feet, paced away from her, then looked back, where she stood stiff and pale. She had never fully given herself to him and never freely. She’d only come to him because she’d needed money for her brother, but he’d been sure there was more between them than lust.

She swallowed. ‘What about what you did?’ The agony in her voice ripped through his heart. In her eyes, he saw fear.

Pain speared his heart. She knew him better than anyone. Did she sense the evil lurking in his blood? The thought filled him with a grief so deep, he didn’t know how he remained standing. He forced himself to answer. ‘You said it yourself. Why admit to something I don’t recall?’

‘What about what you did to William?’ Her voice was a strangled whisper of pain. ‘Do you deny that, too?’

A knot balled in his gut. He felt as if he’d entered a maze to discover all of the exits blocked and a monster breathing at his heels. ‘Yes, I deny it. My friends vouched I never left the dorm.’

‘Your friends.’ Her lip curled. ‘How very convenient. He bested you in a fight and everyone heard you swear your revenge. What kind of monster beats a boy in his bed? He wanted a cavalry regiment. Because of you he can’t sit on a horse for more than an hour or two.’

She spun away. Left him standing mute, accused, trembling with rage and something deeper. Fear. Fear he was losing her.

She covered her face with her hands. ‘Back then, he told us it was an accident. After all, men don’t tell tales. If I had known, I never would have come to you. Never.’

‘I didn’t do it.’

She raised her gaze, the grey of her eyes fractured, as if something inside her had broken. ‘Or do you simply not remember?’

The bitterness raked him like a cat-o’-nine tails. He hesitated. Oh God. His friends had said he never left his bed. But if he was honest, he really wasn’t sure. Because he feared it might be true. He shrugged to hide the pain of her words stabbing his heart. ‘I was asleep.’

‘My older brother died for Beauworth’s cause and once again William’s dreams were shattered. He’s angry, Garrick. He swears if I have any more to do with you, I will never see him or Sissy again. I can’t let that happen.’

An iron band seemed to tighten around his chest. ‘You care more for your sister than you do for me.’ A painful truth entered his mind. ‘You believe I did those things.’

Tears ran silently down her face. ‘I don’t know any more. I want to believe you. But…how?’ She flung her arms wide. ‘And besides, it doesn’t matter what I believe. I promised Sissy I wouldn’t leave her.’

Her tears ran and he couldn’t think straight. Her family came first. She’d given up everything for the sake of her family. He’d ruined her and all she could think about was her sister. ‘What about you? About your reputation?’

She stared at him, silent, sad, an island, a lonely rock, the tears drying on her face. ‘No one else knows about us, unless you tell them,’ she whispered.

She was ashamed of her time with him. And how could he blame her for keeping her word to a child? He felt as if someone had pitched him headlong into a bottomless well. He couldn’t see a glimmer of light, or any way to climb out of the depths.

A bitter laugh rose in his throat. All those days in his cell, thinking about her, about her kisses, about the warmth in her eyes for him, were the dreams of a fool. He’d been nothing but a means to save her family. If she cared at all, she’d trust in his innocence.

You don’t trust yourself, a small voice whispered in his head.

The sorrow in her face slid like arrows, wicked and barbed, between his ribs, tearing into his flesh, into his battered soul, releasing a monster of anger, a writhing twisting being with fangs bared and ready to strike.

‘If you ever change your mind, Lady Eleanor,’ he said softly, his lips drawing back in a caricature of a smile, ‘you will need to tell me so on your knees. After all, you owe me the rest of my three months.’

Her soft gasp didn’t ease his pain, nor did the glisten of moisture in her eyes. If anything, it made him feel like a wolf wounding a fawn and it was far too easy. None of this was her fault. He swung away, opened the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. God, he was a bastard. ‘I apologise. I did not mean that. I truly wish you and your family well.’

How he left the room on his feet, he wasn’t sure, because he seemed to be walking through chest-high water, wet and cold and sluggish. He felt older than England’s green hills as he crossed the hallway.

A child ran down the stairs. She halted at the sight of him. ‘Oh, it’s Len’s wicked Marquess.’ She beamed and started towards him.

‘Lady Sissy,’ he said harshly, ‘I bid you good day.’

He stormed out of the door to his carriage and Johnson set the horses in motion. As the carriage drew away, the truth seeped like bitter bile into his mind. She was right not to trust him.

Desolation, cold and empty, filled every corner of his being. She’d left him with nothing. Not even hope.

It was no more than he deserved.