Chapter 25

 

Edward was bloody tired of Cornwall. For three days now they had gone to nearly two dozen remote villages, surveying every livery stable in Cornwall for Harry's coach. Though they had not come upon it, they had come across a number of stable hands who vividly remembered the grand coach and four. It was not often one came through these parts. Harry's trail pointed steadily west.

Edward had also learned that Harry and Mrs. Phillips were traveling as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Such a piece of information might come in handy.

He shot a stealthy glance at Miss Sinclair. At least Harry had the pleasure of traveling with a lady. A woman who dressed as a woman, breasts and all. And he would wager Harry had not had to sleep on any wooden floors, either. If he knew Harry as he thought he knew Harry, his cousin had gotten beneath Mrs. Phillips's skirts by now.

He glanced at Miss Sinclair and sighed. None of his friends would believe he could travel for days on end with a young woman, share a bedchamber with her, and not get beneath her skirts. Or in Miss Sinclair's case, beneath her pants.

But when he came to think on it, he realized he would never discuss this trip with Miss Sinclair to anyone. Do her unpardonable harm. And he couldn't have that.

For the past half hour Miss Sinclair had expounded on the finer points of Jeremy Bentham's series of talks. Glad of it he was. For in her retelling, he thought he actually understood what the deuced man had been saying. Not that he really cared, but he might be called upon to discuss it with Miss Sinclair, and he really did not like to sound like a bloody moron.

She stopped talking, and things got quiet. Too quiet by far. He had grown accustomed to Miss Sinclair's prattling. Finally, she started up again. "I was wondering, Mr. Coke. . ."

"Yes?"

"Well, I was wondering if you would like to share the bed tonight." Before he could respond, she explained herself. "You have proven yourself as a true gentleman, and I am sure it must be difficult for you to ride all day when your body must ache from sleeping on a floor the night before."

His mind streaked ahead to tonight. Unfortunately, he responded below the waist. It really would not do to share a bed with Miss Sinclair. After all, she unbound those breasts at night. . .and one morning when he woke before her he saw that she slept in a thin linen lawn under which he clearly saw the outline of her nipples.

He was not a strong enough man to resist such a temptation. And, besides, he had no desire to nurse for the rest of the journey the black eye Miss Sinclair was sure to deliver him. "I don't mind the floor at all," he lied. His debauching ways would be the end of him yet.

"Oh," she said meekly. She almost sounded disappointed.

They rode for another great while with her saying no more to him. He exceedingly disliked a quiet Miss Sinclair. And he also feared he had upset her.

Therefore it was with relief he heard her call him. "Mr. Coke?"

"Yes," he said, smiling because she did not sound angry.

"You must tell me of your other brave deeds."

"Other?"

"Racing through the whole of West England in singlehanded pursuit of evil-doers is a most brave thing, to be sure."

"Now, Miss Sinclair, we do not know that your sister and Harry have come upon evil-doers."

"But if they have, you are bravely prepared to deal with them."

He stuck out his chest with self-importance. "That I am most assuredly, Miss Sinclair."

They rode but a short distance more when she asked, "Have you ever fought a duel, Mr. Coke?"

How he wished he could tell her an elaborate tale about dueling with swords on Primrose Hill over a lady's honor, but, alas, he could not lie to Miss Sinclair. "I have not had that pleasure," he said sadly. That did not come out at all as he had wanted it to.

"See what I mean! You are so brave that to you a duel is a pleasure."

She really was an awfully clever girl. "Rest assured that I am well prepared if a duel should present itself."

"You are trained in swords?"

He nodded cockily. "And with pistols."

Filled with wonder, her face lifted to his. Quite a taking thing she was, too.

Enough talk about him. The girl would take him for a braggart, and he couldn't have that.

He looked at the sky and saw the sun had dropped lower. They would be lucky to reach Falwell before dark.

* * *

Taken completely by surprise, the armed guard crashed to the ground. Harry went to relieve the man of his weapon, but the other jailer, the one who had been carrying the food, drew his weapon and jabbed its tip at the base of Louisa's pale throat.

Harry sprang back, throwing up his hands. "Please, don't harm her. I'm the one who planned the escape."

The man on the ground leapt to his feet, drawing his sword and aiming it at Harry's midsection. "His lordship will not be happy." With a sadistic glint in his dark eyes, the jailer moved to Harry and pricked his side with the sword. "As happy as it would make me to drive me sword into yer gut, I must please me master. Lord Tremaine will want ye to suffer a slow, painful death."

"But not the lady. She's done nothing," Harry pleaded.

The man ignored him. "I'll guard the both of them," he said to his partner. "You go and get the chains."

* * *

Why in the devil did a small village like Falwell have two inns, Edward wondered. He would have to make inquiries at each. But as he cast cursory glances at the inns that faced each other across the high street, he had a strong feeling Harry would have selected the Speckled Goose. It was twice the size of its competitor, and because of that, it should have a broader selection of rooms, and the rooms were apt to be larger. After so many years aboard a ship, Harry enjoyed large bedchambers with blazing fireplaces.

"I'll go make inquiries," he told his female-disguised-as-a-male companion. "You try to look as if you're tending the horses."

Inside, he spoke to the innkeeper. He almost asked if Lord Wycliff were staying there, then remembered that his cousin had been traveling under the name Smith.

"Should ye like to stable your 'orse and procure a room for the night?" the burly man asked.

"Indeed I would," Edward answered. "I was wondering if my cousin, Mr. Smith, may have stayed here."

"Aye. 'E's still 'ere. Well, actually 'e and the missus ain't 'ere at present, but his coachman assures me 'e ain't gonna stick me with an unpaid bill."

Edward's gut roiled. "What do you mean he's not here now? When's the last time you saw him?"

The innkeeper rubbed his chin. "Three days ago when me wife served them breakfast."

"Do you know where they were going?"

"Nope."

"Where can I find his coachman?"

"He be staying in a chamber above the stables. I'll send for 'im."

As the man went to leave the reception area, Edward asked, "Could you oblige me with writing paper and something to write with?"

"Aye. Ye'll find it in the downstairs parlor." He directed Edward to a chamber just off the central corridor.

His heart beating erratically, Edward scribbled a quick note to Lord Jack St. John.

 

My Lord,

Come at once to Falwell. Harry has not been seen in three days.

Your servant,

Edward Coke

 

In his heart, he knew he was too late. He went into the innyard and paid a stable lad a shilling to post the letter. "The post chaise will be 'ere at four o'clock," the proud young man informed him. "This will get to Lunnon in no time."

Edward hoped to God it did.

As he stood there, Miss Sinclair came up to him. She was such a pretty little thing, he feared the others would instantly take her for a female.

"Something's wrong," she said.

"We don't know that for sure."

Her gaze swung to Harry's coachman. "Oh, look! There's Lord Wycliff's coachman."

Their countenances grim, the two men exchanged greetings.

"Do you know where Lord Wycliff's gone?" Edward asked. "He can't have taken the carriage, or you wouldn't be here."

"'Is lordship set off on foot three days ago and ain't been seen since."

Miss Sinclair gasped. "Was my sister with him?"

The coachman nodded.

Edward wanted to close an arm around her slender shoulders and offer assurances, but he couldn't. Not here. And if she turned into a watering pot, everyone would know she was a she and not a he.

"He must have gone to see Lord Tremaine." Edward gazed at the castle on a hill above the village. "Is that Gorwick Castle?"

"Indeed it is. 'Is lordship went to see it on visiting day."

"But he came back?"

The coachman nodded.

The only explanation for Harry's disappearance was that he had displeased Lord Tremaine. "You and I are going to the castle," he informed Harry's servant.

"Me too," Miss Sinclair said.

He must be firm. "I cannot allow you to go. It could be dangerous, and I can't risk your wellbeing." He pressed some coins into her hands. "Be a good . . . lad and go procure our chambers."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You can't leave me all alone."

She did have a point there. He did not at all like to think of her staying here unprotected and vulnerable. "You must stay in your chamber behind locked doors until I return."

"But . . . what if . . . what if you don't return?"

"Then you contact Lord Jack St. John. He's a powerful man who's my cousin's dearest friend." The pity of it was that it could take many days for a communication to reach Sinjin and many days more before he could reach this farthest corner of Cornwall.

As he walked away, leaving poor Miss Sinclair all alone, he fought the urge to draw her into his arms and kiss her.

* * *

Harry knew he was going to die. But how in the devil could he persuade the demented Tremaine to spare Louisa's life? Was there nothing he could do to bargain for Louisa's release?

This was the second day they had not been offered food. Was starvation to be Tremaine's method of a slow, tortuous death?

Tortuous, too, were the chains that had been tightened around their wrists. Escape was impossible.

Because it was an extremely gray day, the light within their cell was dim but not so dim he couldn't look at the woman he loved. Even under such harsh conditions, Louisa was lovely. Untucked, her man's shirt resembled a lady's nightgown. With the swell of her breasts beneath, she was a vision of beauty. It hurt like the devil to know he'd found his perfect countess but neither of them would live to see them joined in matrimony.

"I told you that you were far too good for me," he murmured. He wanted to press his hand against hers, but he did not want the heavy chains to hurt her. "I could have found Tremaine without you, but I selfishly wanted you for my traveling companion. Even though I knew it not then, I must have been in love with you even before we set foot on the journey." He paused and grew more solemn. "And now my love has doomed you."

"I regret that we're going to die, but I have no other regrets—certainly no animosity toward you. How could I? Your love is the finest thing that's ever happened to me."

He could weep bitterly.

The striking of heels sounded outside the door, followed by the voice of the man Harry hated most. Tremaine did not risk coming into their cell. He slid open the tiny square high on the thick timbered door and spoke. "I wanted to deliver the news myself. You and your lady love will die at dawn."

Then they weren't going to be starved to death. "By what means?" Harry asked.

"I have my own guillotine."

At least it would be fast. "I have a proposition to make."

Tremaine sneered. "I see no reason to bargain with a dying man."

"I propose to make a deal with you. Spare the lady's life, and I will supply you with the name of the powerful peer who knows all about your evil deeds. He will not rest until you are punished."

"I don't believe you."

Harry shrugged.

"And even if I did release the lady, how would I know you were telling me the truth? And what's to prevent her from revealing my so-called wicked deeds?"

"Nothing!" she hissed. "If you kill Lord Wycliff, I would spend every second of my life trying to destroy you."

Harry grimaced. "Louisa."

Her gaze met his. "I don't want to live without you."

"How tender," Tremaine said. "Perhaps you two can be together in the next life. Perhaps I shall be with Isobel in my next life."

"You are insane."

The wood slammed shut on the door's opening, and Lord Tremaine walked away.

* * *

The drawbridge was drawn when Edward and the coachman reached the castle, but a sentry stood outside. "I wish to see Lord Tremaine," Edward told him.

"His lordship don't see visitors."

"I beg that you send him a message. Tell him I wish to see him about Lord Wycliff."

The sturdily built sentry, who was younger than Edward, sighed. "Wait 'ere whilst I send the message to 'is lordship."

During their half-hour wait, the sun began to slip behind the distant coastal horizon, and it was dark when the sentry returned.

"His lordship says he ain't never 'eard of no Lord Wycliff."

Edward hoped to God that didn't mean the sinister peer had already murdered Harry. His gaze leapt to the impenetrable castle. He would have to go back to the inn and contemplate freeing Harry and Mrs. Phillips.

If they were still alive.

As he dejectedly walked back to the Speckled Goose beneath moonlight, his heart lifted when he thought he saw Lord Jack St. John and another man on horseback, thundering toward him.