I
t was a fine day for target practice. Mild, sunny. Not overly breezy.
Kate Taylor cocked her pistol and stared down the distant bull’s-eye.
Weekly shooting lessons were the legacy of Miss Susanna Finch, a gentleman gunsmith’s daughter and Spindle Cove’s first patroness. She believed every young lady should know how to defend herself.
Susanna had married Lord Rycliff last year and was presently staying with him in London. So Kate had taken responsibility for the ladies’ schedule in her absence.
On Mondays, they had country walks. Tuesday’s sea bathing was on hiatus until summer, of course, but on Wednesdays, they turned their hands to gardening. And on Thursdays . . .
Bang
.
Thursday was their day to shoot. Here at Summerfield, the Finch estate. Sir Lewis Finch always made the young ladies welcome, offering his finest weaponry and refreshments for their enjoyment. The old man obviously missed his daughter greatly, and took some comfort in hosting her friends. And for her part, Kate couldn’t get enough of being in a family home. Even if it wasn’t her own. She loved soaking up the sense of shared history, old portraits, fond memories.
Charlotte Highwood tugged at her sleeve. “Miss Taylor, look. Is that the militia?”
Kate turned her gaze, staring over the open meadow. Indeed, the members of the local militia were dressed in full uniform and marching in formation. Straight for them, it would seem.
Strange.
“I didn’t think they had drill today,” Diana said.
“Neither did I.” And even if they did, why would they be marching here, toward Sir Lewis Finch’s estate?
“It’s like a sham battle.” Charlotte perked with excitement. “Ladies versus gentlemen. Can we fall into a formation of our own? Fix bayonets and charge?”
Diana tugged her sister’s hair. “Goose.”
As the column of red-coated men approached, Kate recognized Corporal Thorne leading them. He wasn’t difficult to make out. He stood several inches taller than most of the men. His shoulders were near twice as broad.
And his demeanor was a thousand times more unpleasant.
“Ladies,” Kate called, keeping her voice even. “Weapons down, please. It seems the men have something they wish to discuss.”
With a barked command, Thorne brought the men to a halt. Another harsh order, and they’d fallen into a single line, facing the ladies.
He approached Kate. She grew uneasy, her spine withering in that massive shadow that completely blocked the sun. She hated his effect on her. So the man didn’t like her. What of it? He didn’t like anyone, and why should she care? Why should she allow him to make her feel so small, so powerless?
“Corporal Thorne,” she said, nodding in lieu of a curtsy. “To what do we owe this . . . interruption?”
“I mean to conduct an inquiry. Of your ladies and my men. I want to know if anyone has reason to believe that Miss Minerva Highwood and Lord Payne were . . .”
“In love?” she finished.
“Involved. In any way.”
Kate shrugged. “I should think the fact of their elopement might serve as ample evidence of their involvement, Corporal Thorne.”
He shook his head. “It’s not right. There’s something not right about it.”
“Mrs. Highwood has said—”
“I know that, Miss Taylor. I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I know what Mrs. Highwood has said,” he said, “and I’ve decided I don’t care. In Lord Payne’s absence, I’m in charge of the militia. And that means, I’m responsible for the safety of this place and every man, woman, and child in it. Including Miss Minerva. If her health, happiness, or virtue is endangered in any way, it’s my responsibility to see her back home. Safe.”
“And what if she’s not endangered, but merely eloped, happily?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
He took a few backward steps and called out. “I’m going to walk down this line of my men, and then going to walk up the line of ladies. And I’m going to ask each of you the same question. Prior to their disappearance, did you have any reason to believe Lord Payne and Miss Minerva Highwood were . . .”
“In love,” Kate supplied for him, once again. “You seem to have a problem with that word, Corporal. Or is it a problem with the concept?”
He betrayed no response.
“I don’t understand that man,” she muttered to Diana. “Either he has rocks in his head or a stone for a heart.”
Diana smiled. “I doubt it. If either were true, Minerva would have been taken with
him
, and not Lord Payne. She does so love rocks and stones.”
Corporal Thorne stood before Mr. Fosbury, the Bull and Blossom’s proprietor. “Fosbury.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Before they disappeared, did you have any reason to believe Lord Payne and Miss Minerva held one another in affection?”
Mr. Fosbury chuckled. “The two of them? No, sir. That came as a true surprise.”
Thorne moved down the line, to the blacksmith. “Dawes. Same question.”
The big man tipped a gaze in the ladies’ direction. “No, Corporal. From everything I saw, I would have marked him as fancying Miss Diana. And lieutenant or no, I think he’s a right bastard for leading her on. If you do go after him, I’d ask to join the pursuit.”
“Well, that’s . . . kind of him, I suppose,” Kate murmured to her friend. “If unnecessary.”
Diana didn’t answer.
Corporal Thorne continued down the line, interrogating each of his men in turn. The vicar, a few farmhands. After the eighth or so staunch denial, Thorne slid Kate a brief, smug glance. A look that said,
I told you so
.
She merely raised her eyebrows in reply.
“Hastings,” he barked, moving on to the next man. A fisherman, by trade. “Before they run off together, did you have any reason to believe Lord Payne and Miss Minerva Highwood were involved?”
Hastings squared his shoulders. “I did, sir.”
Thorne pulled up short. He’d already started moving on to the next militiaman. But in the wake of Hastings’s reply, the hulking officer turned. He turned only his head, not his body. The motion struck Kate as menacing and unnatural.
He said, “What was that, Hastings?”
Even Hastings looked unnerved. “I . . . I said I did, sir. Have reason to believe the two of them was carrying on.”
“Why? What? How?” He fired the questions like howitzers.
Kate laughed nervously. “One question at a time, Corporal. Allow the poor man some opportunity to answer.”
Oh, and the look he gave her then. It was pure dark, demanding threat. Well, Kate threw it right back. She was not one of his soldiers to be disciplined. Even without fortune or family, she was a gentlewoman. He had no power over her.
She thrust her hand behind her back, lest he see it trembling.
Hastings found his voice. “I saw them together in the cove. Just a few days ago, as I was headed out with my nets in the early morning. Miss Minerva was in her bathing costume, and Lord Payne was stripping down to his breeches.”
“A swim?” Diana said. “In April?”
“I don’t know what they done afterwards. I just know what I saw.” Hastings shrugged. “And when I come back in, a few hours later, they were just leaving.”
“I know it’s not my turn yet,” Rufus Bright called from the end of the line, “but I saw them together too.”
“When?” Kate and Thorne spoke in unison, much to their shared dismay.
“The other night, when I was standing watch at the castle. Sometime after . . .” Rufus shot a glance at the women and tugged his collar. “Sometime after midnight, I saw Miss Minerva leaving Lord Payne’s quarters. Alone.”
Charlotte shrieked, then clapped both hands over her mouth. Diana tried to soothe her sister.
“Why didn’t you say something that night?” Thorne demanded. “You let her walk home alone, unprotected?”
“Well, you have to admit it weren’t the first time he’s entertained a lady visitor after dark.”
Oh dear Lord.
Kate strode forward. “Corporal Thorne, isn’t this enough? You wanted evidence. I believe Hastings and Rufus have given you ample proof. Now can we conclude this public inquisition, before we unearth more details that prove unnecessarily embarrassing to the Highwood family?”
The big man released a slow breath. “You really think Payne will marry her.”
“I do,” she answered.
“Well, you’re right on that score. He
will
marry her. I’ll see to that. The only question is whether he’s doing it willingly now, or whether he’ll marry her when he comes back”—the big man cracked his neck—“at the point of my pistol.”
G
od preserve him from incompetence.
As he sat on the forest floor, arms wrenched behind his back and tied around the trunk of a chestnut tree, Colin felt a pang of wistful nostalgia for the Spindle Cove militia. They might have been a sorry group of volunteers at the outset, barely able to march in time—but this band of fool highwaymen made them look like a crack infantry unit by comparison.
First the thieves had argued for a good half hour over whether to believe he was a prince, a viscount, or a charlatan. Then they’d argued for a similar length of time over what to do with him. Colin, of course, had plenty of suggestions—each of which earned him another cuff across the face.
So far, these criminals had proven skilled at only one thing: Tying knots.
Finally, they’d decided to report back to their leader—some boss of their thieving gang, apparently. And so they’d tied Colin to the chestnut tree and left their youngest, most anxious-looking member to watch over him. The young man sat about ten feet distant, keeping a pistol trained on Colin’s chest.
It wasn’t the boy with the gun that troubled Colin, it was the ropes lashing him to this tree. He hated feeling confined, couldn’t abide being bound to anything.
Stay calm. You’ll be released. Eventually.
He was simply too valuable to kill. But the longer he remained tied here, the captive of the robbers’ indecision, the longer it would take word to reach Bram. And the longer Minerva would be on her own, alone and penniless.
The thought of her huddled frightened and hungry in a strange village . . . it made him shake with impotent anger. He raged and strained against the chafing ropes.
Enough with patience. There was no waiting this out. He had to escape.
“Why you?” Colin asked his captor, trying to sound calm.
“What’s that?”
“Why’d they leave you in charge of a valuable hostage? You look barely old enough to shave.”
“I’m nineteen this summer.” The robber scratched his jaw. “Reckon Grubb and Carmichael wanted to be the ones to tell the boss. They’re probably fighting over it right now, who gets to tell the tale.”
“Ah.” Colin tilted his head. Behind the tree, he struggled and pulled against the ropes binding his wrist. No slack. Damn it, if only he could reach the knife in his boot . . .
“So,” he said, “this . . . Grubb and Carmichael, was it . . . wanted the glory for themselves?”
“That’s how I see it.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” He nodded. “Very astute. But you know, you probably shouldn’t have told me their names.”
The younger man’s eyes went wide. He cursed unimaginatively.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure Grubb and Carmichael won’t kill you.”
He waved the pistol at Colin. “Don’t . . . don’t . . . don’t you say those names again.”
“Well, it’s not like I can just forget them, is it?”
The young man pushed to his feet. “You’ll forget them if I shoot you.”
“But then you’d be in a very bad situation. Once Grubb, Carmichael,
and
this boss of yours come back and find you’ve killed their valuable hostage?” Colin whistled low. “You’d not be long for this world then.”
The robber’s hands started to tremble. “I didn’t agree to this. I was just supposed to be lookout, while they done the robbing.”
“No,” Colin said smoothly. “Of course you wouldn’t agree to this. Kidnapping a peer of the realm? That’s not like you.”
“It’s not, is it? I only wanted a few bob to take my sweetheart to the fair.”
“Buy her a trinket, slide a hand under her skirts . . .”
“Exactly.”
Colin paused. “I’ll tell you what. These boots I’m wearing? They’ll fetch a tidy sum in any city. If you untie me, you can have them. Run off, make your money, take your sweetheart to the fair. When the law comes looking for Grubb and Carmichael—and mark my words, they will hang—you’ll be long gone. Forgotten. I don’t even know your name.”
The youth eyed him warily, slowly approaching. “I have a better idea. Mayhap I’ll just take your boots. And then I’ll leave you here.”
A sliver of fear pierced Colin in some vital artery. His composure bled from the wound in gasping spurts. Just the image of being left alone, tied to a tree . . . with night coming, eventually . . .
He could have begged the man to shoot him dead.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
Stay calm. This was what you wanted. What you knew he’d do.
Still holding the gun with one hand, the youth began tugging at Colin’s left boot with the other.
“You’ll never get it off that way,” Colin said, forcing a nonchalant tone despite the sweat trickling down his back. “You may as well set aside the gun. There’s nothing I can do, trussed like this.”
After a few more moments of struggling, the robber swore and did as Colin suggested, setting the pistol to the side and wrestling the boot with both hands. At last, it slid free with a
whooshing
sound.
Casting the first boot aside, he started to work on the other.
“Slowly, now,” Colin joked. “Have a care for my aging joints.”
In actuality, he cared nothing for his joints. He was wagering everything on the hope of that small folding knife secreted in his right boot. If the thing slid free where he could see it . . . and if his captor didn’t notice it . . . and if he could somehow manage to get the knife into his hands . . . in a matter of minutes, he could cut himself free.
But if any one of those things went wrong, he’d remain tied here. For only the Devil knew how long. Until night, most likely. Until the dark descended, thick with ominous rustling. Until thirst and hunger became animate demons, tasked with his ceaseless torment.
Until the wild dogs came.
Jesus. Please, God, no.
His heartbeat thundered in his chest.
As the youth lifted his leg and tugged on the boot, Colin flexed his leg muscle, pulling the boy close. He had to keep that knife within reach when it fell. If the thing went flying when the boot came off . . .
“Easy,” he said through gritted teeth. He could feel the boot starting to give way.
Crack
. A faint snap in the undergrowth drew his attention.
His captor didn’t notice the sound. He was too absorbed in his struggles with the boot. But Colin slid his gaze to the side, and what he saw there stalled his pounding heart.
Minerva.
Minerva Highwood, in her governess-blue traveling gown, slowly emerging from the undergrowth. Creeping toward them with all the stealth of a cat, intent on grabbing the discarded pistol. She put a finger to her pursed lips, gesturing for Colin’s silence.
Colin made his eyes wide.
No
, he mouthed.
No. Go back.
She crept closer still. Her foot snapped a branch.
This time, the robber noticed. His head whipped up, swiveling toward Minerva.
With a vicious growl, Colin gathered his strength and kicked him in the face. Scissoring his legs, Colin caught the man by the throat. He had him stunned and caught off guard. But he wouldn’t be able to hold him long.
“Get the pistol,” he managed.
As Minerva dove to retrieve the weapon, Colin tightened his legs about the highwayman’s neck.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, his voice strained with effort. “You’re thinking that she’s just an innocent miss with spectacles. That she can’t possibly know how to fire that weapon. But you’re wrong. She’s had training.” He raised his voice. “Min, show him. Shoot that birch tree over there.”
“I’m not firing at a tree! I’d waste my shot, and I haven’t more powder. Then what help would I be? Really, Colin.”
“See?” Colin said to the suffocating man. “She knows what she’s doing.” He released the robber with one final half-strength kick to the jaw. “No sudden moves.”
Minerva focused her gaze and held the pistol steady. “Do I shoot him?”
“No. No, there’s a knife in my right boot. Fetch it, kindly.”
Keeping the pistol trained on the robber at all times, she moved sideways until she could reach the boot. She found the knife with one hand and fumbled it open, wielding it like a dagger.
“All right,” she said, glaring down at the highwayman. “So where do I stab him?”
Stab him?
Colin stared up at her, amazed. Her hair was hanging half loose, curling around her shoulders. Her eyes sparked with feral intensity. Her plump lips curled in a little snarl.
He’d seen this wild, savage look on her face before. In Spindle Cove, he’d known her to fell a grown man with her rock-filled reticule, and once she’d even challenged Colin to a duel. She wore that look of righteous fury when she thought her sister was in danger, or one of her friends. Even Francine.
But this was the first time she’d worn that look defending
him
.
Amazing. She wasn’t supposed to be here. But here she was, for him. Willing to shoot or stab a man in his defense. And she was goddamned beautiful.
“You don’t stab him, pet,” he said gently. “You use the knife to cut me loose.”
“Oh. Oh yes.” A drunken laugh bubbled from her throat. “I suppose that makes more sense.”
Working one-handed, she couldn’t free him as quickly as he might like. But a few minutes’ sawing and hacking at the ropes, and she had him freed.
Colin took the pistol from her the first instant he could, and promptly bashed it across the robber’s face, knocking him cold. He plucked the powder horn and spare lead shot from the man’s insensible form.
He turned to Minerva. “Hurry. We must be gone before he wakes.”
“Oh, Colin. They hit you.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at the bloodied corner of his mouth, wincing as she did.
“It’s nothing.”
“What about our money?” she asked, looking around.
“Gone with the other robbers.”
“Oh. At least I still have a sovereign. It’s sewn in the lining of my stays.”
“Well,” he muttered, cramming his left foot back into its boot. “Aren’t you resourceful.”
“You sound upset.” She balled the handkerchief in her hand.
“I am upset.” He pushed to his feet and began walking in the direction from which she’d come. They needed to be gone, as soon as possible. “I can’t believe you’re even here. Minerva, I gave you specific instructions to ride on to the next town. Where you’d be safe.”
“I know. But I made Miss Gateshead let me out, a quarter mile down the road. I . . .” She grabbed for his wrist. “I couldn’t just leave you.”
He turned and stared at her.
God, he didn’t know how to feel. Relieved to be free? Infuriated with her for flouting his commands? Overwhelmed with gratitude to see her whole and safe, and to have her here with him? The emotions seething within him were some mixture of all these.
He knew one thing. He didn’t dare touch her right now. Whether he ended up shaking her senseless, clutching her mindlessly to him and sobbing into her skirts, or tupping her on the forest floor until his bollocks ran dry . . .
She’d get hurt, one way or another. And that would make this whole damned ordeal for naught.
“Wait.” As they left the small clearing, she called him aside. “My trunk’s over here. I hid it under some branches.”
“You brought Francine?”
So that’s why she’d made such a delayed appearance.
“Well, I couldn’t leave her behind.” She knelt on the forest floor and began clearing branches from atop her hidden trunk. “Not after what you’d done to save her.”
“After what I’d done to . . . to save
Francine
?” He crouched beside her, helping in the excavation. “You are an intelligent girl, Min. But sometimes you can be remarkably stupid. I wouldn’t give two fingernail shavings to save this miserable piece of plaster. Much less risk my life.”
“But the five hundred guineas.”
“Believe me, you couldn’t pay me five
thousand
guineas to sit roped to a tree like that. I would never have left with those highwaymen if you hadn’t forced me to do it.”
“Forced you?” Her tone jumped an octave. “I didn’t force you. I could have throttled you myself when you volunteered. I was so frightened.”
“Well, it was either volunteer or watch you be murdered. You’d have risked everything to save this wretched lizard, if I hadn’t intervened. And you’d have ended up dead. Or worse.”
“So you did it for me?”
“Minerva.” He started to reach for her, then thought better of it. He gestured impatiently instead. “You left me no choice.”
“I’m sorry.” She touched a hand to her hair. “I’m sorry to have put you in that position. It’s just . . . my life’s work is in this trunk. It’s my one chance at gaining recognition from my peers, my one chance at success. I’ve already risked so much for it. When that highwayman tried to take it, I didn’t think, I just . . . reacted.” Sniffing, she looked up at him. “Can you understand?”