Chapter 24

Harry had stood in the face of danger any number of times but never before had experienced a fear as numbing as that which now gripped him at the sight of Louisa with a dagger poised to slit her lovely throat. He suppressed his first instinct, which was to hurl his fist into the man holding the knife. Louisa's safety had to be his first concern.

His gaze flicked to her. She stood proudly, even regally, at the side of the towering sentry. No one save Harry, who had come to know her so thoroughly, would ever detect the worry on her sweet face.

"It seems I have outsmarted, you, Wycliff," Tremaine said. "Tell me, where did you hide all afternoon?"

Harry, the tip of a sword nipping at his chest, refused to answer.

"Never matter." Tremaine waved a bejeweled hand. "We have known you were here all day, but as I knew this room was your destination, we waited."

"I beg that you remove the rapier from the lad's throat," Harry said, watching Louisa as his fear mounted.

Tremaine threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Come now, Wycliff, surely you don't take me for an idiot. I know your traveling companion is none other than Godwin Phillips's lovely young widow."

Harry's pulse accelerated and his mouth dropped open. "Whatever makes you think such a thing?" Harry asked, trying to sound incredulous. Anything to throw them off Louisa's scent.

"I have spies in Falwell who inform me of the activities of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but it was not until you spoke of Godwin Phillips's widow yesterday that I actually knew." Tremaine's eyes were faraway. "I know the signs of a man deeply in love."

Harry realized in a flash of a second the truth in the words of the demented man. Harry was, indeed, in love with Louisa.

And he had to get her out of here.

"Let us go now, Tremaine, and you'll have your fifty thousand pounds — as well as my gentleman's pledge to never reveal your vileness. I only beg that you'll allow me to have my mother's portrait copied."

A ruthless look came over Tremaine's face. "I will not be able to oblige you. You see, Mrs. Phillips knows too much about me and my activities. I told that fool husband of hers not to tell his wife anything, but I see he did not keep his word, which should not come as a surprise to me."

"He told her nothing," Harry countered. "Let her go. Your fight is with me, not her."

"Actually, my fight is now with both of you, though I don't think fight is the right word." Tremaine stood back and stroked his beard, glancing first at Harry then at Louisa. "You see, fight implies two somewhat equal sides, some reciprocation. But you and Mrs. Phillips will not be at liberty to strike back." He looked at the dozen huge footmen. "I have not decided quite how I am going to get rid of the pair of you. It's most difficult to dispose of an earl, even if the good people of Falwell think of you merely as Mr. Smith."

"Please," Harry said, "let her go."

"I cannot do that. What I can do, however is lock you both away in the turret until I decide what to do with you."

Tremaine began to stroll from the room, then turned back. "Take heart, Wycliff. Ever the one to encourage love, I shall let you and Mrs. Phillips die together."

* * *

At least there was a window in the turret room they were locked within, Louisa thought. A feeble bit of light amidst stifling gloom. Of course, the narrow window was barred as securely as the bar slotting across the heavily timbered door.

Harry had used every bit of strength he possessed to try to dislodge the bars on the windows. Not that it would have done much good. The drop from the turret window had to be a hundred feet.

With the aid of moonlight, Louisa could see Harry, sitting on the stone floor. Unused to rough homespun, he had removed the shirt. She could no more remove her eyes from his magnificent body than she cold cease to draw breath. Her gaze trailed from his solid shoulders, down the taut muscles of his manly chest to his narrow waist, where a trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the rope-tied waist of the blacksmith's former  breeches.

She swallowed hard. "Harry?"

"No more Lord Wycliff?" he asked in a teasing voice.

"No more Lord Wycliff," she said with a sigh. "I have decided to forgive you for the life which you formerly led."

"That is welcome news indeed." He did not sound sincere. "Why, pray tell, do I warrant such approval?"

Her words came fast and with urgency. "Because we're going to die, and I can't go to my death without telling you how close I've become to you and how much I've come to care about you. That's why." She swallowed hard, thankful that Harry could not witness her humiliation.

He crossed the small room in two strides, fell to one knee in front of her and took her hand. "My dearest Louisa, I shall die a most happy man."

Then he drew her into his arms and held her close for a very long while. She could scarcely believe that he continued to whisper my dearest love and my angel into her ear as he lay a trail of kisses from her ear down to the top of her breast. Could he truly love her as she loved him? "Blast it all, Louisa, will you allow me to remove that ridiculous binding?"

She cradled his face in both her hands and solemnly nodded. Moving his hands beneath her shirt, he managed to unwind the rags and toss them to the cold stone floor. He then took her hands and kissed them. "I am not worthy of your affection. That's why I've behaved so abominably to you at times. You're far too good for me."

She stroked the strong planes of his cheek with one hand. "Don't say that, dearest Harry. I am glad that if we have to die, we will do so together, for I don't believe I could live without you."

"I think I've known since that day I first saw you that my life would be meaningless without you."

She moved to him with both arms open, and their lips met in a hungry, wet kiss. She loved the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell. . .everything about Harry Blassingame, the Seventh Earl of Wycliff. Even if he was an aristocrat.

"I love you with all my villainous heart, my dearest love," he whispered, burying his face into her neck.

"We'll be together for eternity."

He kissed her quickly then straightened. "Damn it all, Louisa, I don't want to die. Not now that I have you. Don't you see? We've got to live. I want to marry you. I want you to bear my children." He reached over and kissed her tenderly. "I want to grow old with this beautiful bluestocking at my side."

"Oh, my dearest Harry, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"I wanted to say it before now, but I didn't think you could tolerate me."

"What about when I called you dearest Harry when you regained consciousness after your illness?"

"I thought it was an angel who had spoken," he said teasingly. "I didn't think we'd suit because you are so fine and I'm so wicked."

"You're not wicked."

"Never mind discussions of the past. It's the future that's important now."

"But you've already examined every way you could think of to get out of here, and you pronounced an escape from the turret impossible."

He raised a finger to his chin and drummed. "There must be a way."

"Do you think Lord Tremaine meant it when he said he'd let us die here? Think you he plans to starve us to death?"

"We shall have to see."

* * *

Not just because they were starved from not having had dinner the night before, Louisa and Harry were relieved when a heavily armed pair of servants opened the door to the turret prison the following morning, dropped off two bowls of porridge and a slab of stale bread, then closed and locked the door.

They ate greedily, even though the porridge was cold and the bread hard.

"So we are not to be starved to death," Harry said when they finished. "That is good."

"That will give you more time to devise a plan of escape. I dare not try. My plan to get us in here proved disastrous."

"I'll think on it."

Louisa leaned against the wall of their tiny room and watched him.

His first thoughts were of Sinjin. What a pity he'd not asked his friend to come earlier than April first. The rational side of Harry knew that rescue could only come from external forces.

Only a fool would think it possible to stage one's own escape from a heavily guarded fortress such as this. But to assuage the woman he loved, he would set his mind to hypothetical schemes for their escape.

For the next hour silence filled their tiny cell as he contemplated an escape. Finally he said he had a plan but that it would be difficult. "Do you suppose they mean to feed us only once a day?"

She shrugged.

He came toward her and set his hands on her shoulder, kissing her gently. "I will assume that we will receive the meal — I will call it that for lack of a better word — each morning at about the same time. Do you agree?" Harry asked.

"I suppose so."

"What time would you say they came this morning?"

"I have no idea," she answered. "It was still dark."

He proceeded to impart to her the particulars of his plan.

* * *

Harry stayed awake that night. He could not allow himself to go to sleep. He lay beside her, his stomach aching from want of food, yet strangely drunk with contentment of Louisa's nearness. Even though he know escape was impossible, he vowed to try and get out of there. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted to live a long life with his dearest love.

When it was half past four in the morning by his watch, he left Louisa's side and attempted to climb the stone wall, but he succeeded in nothing but awakening Louisa.

"Ah, it's good that you're awake," he said. "I'm afraid I shall have to put my weight on your back."

She shot him a puzzled look. "You have to what?"

"Come here, my love."

"Now, if you will," he said when she crossed the floor, "put yourself in a dog position so I can climb on your back. I'll try to put weight on it only for a second."

She obliged him.

He looked up, then used her back briefly as a springboard, one foot on her back, the other propelling his movement upward. He leapt into the air, grabbed for the long disused lantern suspended from the ceiling and caught hold of it on his first try. "Thank you, madam. Your services are no longer needed." God, but his hands stung from holding the forged iron.

She looked up at him. "What are you doing?"

"I am suspending myself above the doorway. When I hear the striking of  feet outside the door, I shall tuck these long legs of mine under me, and when they open the door I'll pounce on them. If you are able, I will need you to relieve them of their weapons, but take care not to get hurt."

She smiled up at him. "A brilliant plan, my most intelligent lord."

"I'm blasted heavy to hold."

"I suspect you are."

His arms were killing him. They were so sore he doubted he would be able to strike a good blow when the jailers did come.

The ten minutes stretched into twenty. If it weren't for Louisa, he would have given up by now and accepted that escape was impossible.

He really didn't think he could last much longer. He thought about jumping down and waiting until he heard them before launching himself from Louisa's back again. But he remembered that yesterday the men were upon them as soon as he'd heard the sound of their steps.

He had to keep holding on. God, but it was hard, the most difficult thing he had ever done. It was a wonder his arms hadn't grown ten feet long.

Then he heard the click of the jailers' heels.

He stretched his legs parallel to the ground.

He heard the voice of one of the jailers. "Don't know how long the master plans to keep 'em here."

Keys rattled. Oh, God, please hurry.

Then the door squeaked open, then opened wider. The jailer with the food scanned the room for a sign of Harry.

Harry jumped on top the other jailer, the one with the drawn sword.