“That’s it!” Frances shrieked. Her thin arm jutted forth wildly. “That’s the carriage. I’m sure of it.”
Daniel twisted his body around to follow Frances’s direction. Sure enough, a small yet well-made carriage was parked near the inn. It was standard black, with a gold decorative bar around the top. Daniel had never seen anything quite like it before, but he could see exactly why Frances had said it reminded her of a unicorn’s horn. If one chopped off the correct length of it and sharpened the end, it would make a marvelous addition to a costume.
“We will remain in the carriage,” Lady Winstead reaffirmed just as Daniel was turning to the ladies to issue instructions.
Daniel gave her a nod, and the three men hopped down. “You will guard this carriage with your lives,” he said to the outriders, and then he swiftly entered the inn.
Marcus was right behind him, and Hugh caught up by the time Daniel had finished questioning the innkeeper. Yes, he had seen a man with a scar. He’d had a room here for a week, but he didn’t use it every night. He’d come to the desk for his key just a quarter of an hour earlier, but there was no woman with him.
Daniel slapped a crown on the counter. “Which room is his?”
The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Number four, your lordship.” He placed his hand on the crown and slid it along the counter to the edge until he could scoop it up. He cleared his throat. “I might have a spare key.”
“Might you?”
“I might.”
Daniel produced another crown.
The innkeeper produced a key.
“Wait,” Hugh said. “Is there any other entrance into the room?”
“No. Just the window.”
“How high off the ground is it?”
The innkeeper’s brows rose. “Too high to sneak in unless you climb the oak tree.”
Hugh immediately turned to Daniel and Marcus.
“I’ll do it,” Marcus said, and he headed out the door.
“It will probably be unnecessary,” Hugh said as he followed Daniel up the stairs, “but I prefer to be thorough.”
Daniel was not going to argue with “thorough.” Especially not from Hugh, who noticed everything. And forgot nothing.
When they saw the door to Room Four at the end of the hall, Daniel immediately barreled forward, but Hugh laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Listen first,” he advised.
“You’ve never been in love, have you?” Daniel replied, and before Hugh could respond, he turned the key in the lock and kicked the door open, sending a chair clattering into the room.
“Anne!” he shouted, even before he saw her.
But if she called out his name, it was lost in a shriek of surprise as the chair caught her straight at the knees and she went flying, her hand scrabbling madly for something that flew from its grasp.
A knife.
Daniel lunged for it. Anne lunged for it. George Chervil, who had been doing a desperate dance with Anne, bouncing his weight from foot to foot as he swiped his hands out for the knife, did an all-out dive for it.
In fact, everyone went for the knife except Hugh, who, unnoticed to all, was standing in the doorway with a pistol trained on Chervil, looking almost bored.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Hugh said, but George grabbed the knife anyway, and then jumped atop Anne, who was still scrabbling on the floor, having lost the race for the weapon by mere inches.
“Shoot me and she dies,” George said, holding the blade perilously close to Anne’s throat.
Daniel, who had instinctively rushed forward, skidded to a stop. He set his gun down and then slid it behind him.
“Step away,” George said, clutching his knife like a hammer. “Do it!”
Daniel nodded, holding his hands high as he backed up a step. Anne was lying belly down on the floor, and George was straddling her, one hand on the hilt of his knife, the other clutching onto her hair. “Don’t hurt her, Chervil,” Daniel warned. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I very much do want to do this.” He tapped the blade lightly against Anne’s cheek.
Daniel’s gut twisted.
But George hadn’t drawn blood. He seemed to be enjoying his moment of power, and he yanked harder on Anne’s hair, pulling her head up in what looked to be an agonizingly uncomfortable position.
“You will die,” Daniel promised.
George shrugged. “So will she.”
“What about your wife?”
George looked at him sharply.
“I spoke with her this morning,” Daniel said, keeping his gaze firmly on George’s face. He wanted desperately to look at Anne, to meet her eyes. He could tell her he loved her without any words. She would know; he had only to look at her.
But he did not dare. As long as he was looking at George Chervil, George Chervil was looking at him. And not at Anne. Or the knife.
“What did you say to my wife?” George hissed, but a flicker of unease passed over his face.
“She seems a lovely woman,” Daniel said. “What will happen to her, I wonder, if you die here, in a public inn, at the hands of two earls and the son of a marquess?”
George’s head jerked as he turned to Hugh, only just then realizing who he was. “But you hate him,” he said. “He shot you.”
Hugh just shrugged.
George paled, and he started to say something, only to interrupt himself with “Two earls?”
“There’s another one,” Daniel said. “Just in case.”
George started breathing hard, his eyes darting from Daniel to Hugh, and occasionally down to Anne. Daniel could see that he was starting to perspire. He was reaching his edge, and an edge was always a dangerous place to be.
For everyone.
“Lady Chervil will be ruined,” Daniel said. “Cast out of society. Even her father will not be able to save her.”
George began to tremble. Daniel finally allowed himself to steal a glance at Anne. She was breathing hard, clearly frightened, and yet, when their eyes met . . .
I love you.
It was as if she’d said it aloud.
“The world is not kind to women who have been cast out of their homes,” Daniel said softly. “Just ask Anne.”
George was beginning to waver; Daniel could see it in his eyes. “If you let her go,” he promised, “you will live.”
He would live, but not anywhere in the British Isles. Daniel would see to that.
“And my wife?”
“I shall leave all explanations up to you.”
George’s head twitched, as if his collar had grown too tight. His eyes were blinking furiously, and then, for one moment, he squeezed them shut, and—
“He shot me! Oh, my God, he shot me!”
Daniel’s head snapped around as he realized that Hugh had fired his gun. “Are you bloody insane?” he snapped, even as he rushed forward to snatch Anne away from George, who was now rolling on the floor, howling with pain as he clutched his bleeding hand.
Hugh limped into the room and looked down at George. “It’s just a nick,” he said dispassionately.
“Anne, Anne,” Daniel said hoarsely. The whole time she’d been captive to George Chervil he’d held all of his terror at bay. He’d stood straight, muscles tense, but now, now that she was safe . . .
“I thought I might lose you,” he gasped, holding her as close as he possibly could. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, and to his mortification, he realized he was soaking her dress with his tears. “I didn’t know— I don’t think I knew—”
“I wouldn’t have shot her, by the way,” Hugh said, walking over to the window. George screamed when he “accidentally” stepped on his hand.
“You are a bloody madman,” Daniel said, his outrage cutting right through his tears.
“Or,” Hugh said plainly, “I’ve never been in love.” He looked down at Anne. “It does leave one more clearheaded.” He motioned to his gun. “Better aim, too.”
“What is he talking about?” Anne whispered.
“I rarely know,” Daniel admitted.
“Got to let Chatteris in,” Hugh said, whistling as he wrenched the window open.
“He’s crazy,” Daniel said, pulling just far enough away from Anne to cradle her face in his hands. She looked so beautiful, and precious, and alive. “He’s plumb crazy.”
Her lips trembled into a smile. “But effective.”
Daniel felt something begin to rumble in his belly. Laughter. Dear God, maybe they were all crazy.
“Need a hand?” Hugh called out, and they both turned to the window.
“Is Lord Chatteris in a tree?” Anne asked.
“What in God’s name is going on?” Marcus demanded, even as he tumbled into the room. “I heard gunshots.”
“Hugh shot him,” Daniel said, jerking his head toward Chervil, who was attempting to crawl to the door. Marcus immediately strode over and blocked his way. “While he was holding Anne.”
“I haven’t heard you say thank you yet,” Hugh said, peering out the window for no reason Daniel could discern.
“Thank you,” Anne said. Hugh turned around, and she gave him a smile so brilliant, he actually started.
“Well, now,” he said awkwardly, and Daniel had to smile. The air did change when Anne was in the room.
“What are we going to do with him?” Marcus asked, always one to see to the practical matters at hand. He reached down and picked something off the floor, regarded it for a moment, and crouched next to George.
“Ow!” George howled.
“Tying his hands,” Marcus confirmed. He glanced at Anne. “I’m assuming this was what he used to tie yours?”
She nodded.
“That hurts!”
“Shouldn’t have got yourself shot,” Marcus said. With no compassion whatsoever. He looked back at Daniel. “We do have to figure out what to do with him.”
“You promised you wouldn’t kill me,” George whined.
“I promised I wouldn’t kill you if you let her go,” Daniel reminded him.
“Which I did.”
“After I shot you,” Hugh retorted.
“He’s not worth killing,” Marcus said, yanking the bindings tight. “There will be questions.”
Daniel nodded, grateful for his friend’s level head. Still, he was not quite ready to allow Chervil to let go of his fear. With a quick kiss to the top of Anne’s head, Daniel stood up. “May I?” he said to Hugh, holding out his hand.
“I reloaded,” Hugh said, handing him his gun.
“I knew you would,” Daniel murmured. He walked over to George.
“You said you wouldn’t kill me!” George shrieked.
“I won’t,” Daniel stated. “Not today, at least. But if you come anywhere near Whipple Hill again, I will kill you.”
George nodded furiously.
“In fact,” Daniel continued, reaching down and scooping up the knife, which Hugh had kicked over to him, “if you come anywhere near London, I will kill you.”
“But I live in London!”
“Not any longer, you don’t.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “I have to say, I don’t much want him in Cambridgeshire.”
Daniel glanced over at his friend, gave him a nod, then turned back to Chervil. “If you come anywhere near Cambridgeshire, he’ll kill you.”
“If I might make a suggestion,” Hugh said smoothly, “it might be easier for all concerned if we extend the ban to the whole of the British Isles.”
“What?” George cried. “You can’t—”
“Or we could kill you,” Hugh said. He glanced over at Daniel. “You could offer advice on living in Italy, couldn’t you?”
“But I don’t know Italian,” George whimpered.
“You’ll learn,” Hugh snapped.
Daniel looked down at the knife in his hands. It was dangerously sharp. And it had been but an inch away from Anne’s throat.
“Australia,” he said firmly.
“Right,” Marcus said, yanking George to his feet. “Shall we take care of him?”
“Please do.”
“We’ll take his carriage,” Hugh said. And then he gave them a rare smile. “The one with the unicorn horn.”
“The unicorn . . . ,” Anne repeated in bewilderment. She turned to Daniel. “Frances?”
“She saved the day.”
“Then she’s unhurt? I had to push her from the carriage, and I—”
“She’s fine,” Daniel assured her, pausing for a moment to watch Hugh and Marcus bid them farewell and drag Chervil away. “A bit dusty, and I think my aunt may have lost five years from her life, but she is well. And once she sees you—” But he couldn’t finish. Anne had started to cry.
Daniel immediately knelt at her side, pulling her close. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be all right.”
Anne shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She looked up, her eyes shining with love. “It’s going to be so much better.”
“I love you,” he said. He had a feeling he would be saying this frequently. For the rest of his life.
“I love you, too.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Will you marry me?”
“I already said yes,” she said with a curious smile.
“I know. But I wanted to ask you again.”
“Then I accept again.”
He pulled her close, needing to feel her in his arms. “We should probably go down. Everyone’s worried.”
She nodded, her cheek brushing lightly against his chest.
“My mother is in the carriage, and Aunt—”
“Your mother?” Anne yelped, pulling back. “Oh, my heavens, what must she think of me?”
“That you must be amazing, and lovely, and that if she’s very very nice to you, you’ll give her a bushel of grandchildren.”
Anne smiled slyly. “If she’s very nice to me?”
“Well, it goes without saying that I’ll be very nice to you.”
“How many children in a bushel, do you think?”
Daniel felt his soul grow light. “Quite a few, I imagine.”
“We will have to be most industrious.”
He amazed himself by maintaining a serious expression. “I am quite a hardworking fellow.”
“It’s one of the reasons I love you.” She touched his cheek. “One of the many, many reasons.”
“That many, eh?” He smiled. No, he was already smiling. But maybe now he was smiling just a little bit more. “Hundreds?”
“Thousands,” she confirmed.
“I might have to request a full accounting.”
“Now?”
And who said women were the only ones who liked to fish for compliments? He was more than happy to sit here and listen to her say lovely things about him. “Perhaps just the primary five,” he demurred.
“Well . . .” She paused.
And paused.
He gave her a dry look. “Is it really so difficult to come up with five?”
Her eyes were so wide and innocent that he almost believed her when she said, “Oh, no, it’s just that it’s a challenge to pick my favorites.”
“At random, then,” he suggested.
“Very well.” Her mouth scrunched up on one side as she thought. “There is your smile. I adore your smile.”
“I adore your smile, too!”
“You have a lovely sense of humor.”
“So do you!”
She gave him a stern look.
“I can’t help it if you’re taking all the good reasons,” he said.
“You don’t play a musical instrument.”
He looked at her blankly.
“Like the rest of your family,” she clarified. “I just don’t know if I could bear it, having to listen to you practice.”
He leaned forward with a roguish tilt of his head. “What makes you think I don’t play an instrument?”
“You don’t!” she gasped, and he almost thought she might be ready to reconsider having accepted him.
“I don’t,” he confirmed. “Which is not to say I haven’t taken lessons.”
She gazed at him questioningly.
“The boys of the family are not required to continue lessons once they leave for school. Unless they show exceptional talent.”
“Have any shown exceptional talent?”
“Not a one,” he said cheerfully. He rose to his feet and held out his hand. It was time to go home.
“Wasn’t I supposed to give you two more reasons?” she asked, letting him help her to her feet.
“Oh, you can tell me later,” he said. “We have lots of time.”
“But I just thought of one.”
He turned with a quizzical brow. “You say that like it took a great effort.”
“It’s actually more of a moment,” she said.
“A moment?”
She nodded, following him out the door into the hallway. “On the night we first met. I was prepared to leave you in the back hall, you know.”
“Bruised and bleeding?” He tried for outrage, but he rather thought his smile ruined the effect.
“I would lose my position if I were caught with you, and I’d already been trapped in that storage closet for heaven knows how long. I really didn’t have time to help tend to your wounds.”
“But you did.”
“I did,” she said.
“Because of my charming smile and lovely sense of humor?”
“No,” she said plainly. “It was because of your sister.”
“Honoria?” he asked in surprise.
“You were defending her,” she said with a helpless shrug. “How could I abandon a man who defended his sister?”
To Daniel’s embarrassment, his cheeks grew warm. “Well, anyone would have done so,” he mumbled.
Halfway down the stairs, Anne exclaimed, “Oh, I thought of another one! When we were practicing Harriet’s play. You would have been the wild boar if she’d asked.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
She patted his arm as they stepped outside. “Yes, you would.”
“Very well, I would,” he lied.
She looked at him shrewdly. “You think you’re just saying that to placate me, but I know you would have been a good sport.”
Good gracious, it was like they were an old married couple already.
“Oh, I thought of another one!”
He looked at her, at her shining eyes, so full of love, and hope, and promise. “Two, actually,” she said.
He smiled. He could think of thousands.