She
couldn’t bear it either if something happened to Grey. Her heart would shatter, and how could anyone live with a heart that was nothing but little bits and pieces?
At first the groom denied everything. Dixon shook his head as Lady Winterhaven asked him question after question. Did Lady Maryanne ever speak to a gentleman? Did she arrange to meet someone? Was she ever left completely alone? Had she revealed she was in love?
“No, there was nothing ever like that, my lady.”
But Helena saw the man’s hand shake as he tried to groom a large gelding. She stepped into the stall, giving the huge horse a wide berth. She touched Dixon’s shoulders. The man dropped the brush and stepped into horse dung.
“You must tell us the truth,” she implored. “You must do this. I am sure you are frightened about what will happen to you. But Maryanne could be in terrible danger. So could the Duke of Greybrooke. Maryanne has disappeared, and we fear she has put herself in this man’s power. We must learn who he is.”
She looked to Lady Winterhaven. “You would not condemn him for keeping Lady Maryanne’s confidences if he does the right thing now, would you, my lady?”
The countess nodded. Obviously she understood. They must not frighten the man or they would learn nothing. “No, I would not condemn him.”
Dixon leaned against the horse. He looked weakened, older. “She could be in danger, and it is my fault for saying naught.”
“Tell us now, before it is too late,” Helena urged.
“ ’E were a gentleman, right enough. Fancy riding clothes, but not too ’igh in the instep to talk to a groom like me. The gent met Lady Maryanne in Hyde Park. There didn’t seem no ’arm in letting them talk and ride together. ’E were a bit older than ’er, though that’s just me guess.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Never told me. Got the idea ’e was a peer. But I don’t know all of them by sight.”
“What of his appearance? The color of his hair? His eyes? How tall was he?” Helena asked.
“Couldn’t judge the ’eight as ’e were in the saddle. Couldn’t see the ’air for ’is tall ’at. Might have been a blondish color or maybe it were dark. ’E always stood in the shadows or with the sun behind ’im so I couldn’t see ’im well. And me eyesight is not so good.”
Dixon told them the gentleman paid him a small fortune to allow him to ride with Maryanne. The groom watched them from afar—they never left his line of sight. The gentleman kissed her hand several times. On the last time, the gentleman kissed her. He expressed his intention to court Maryanne, claiming the Duke of Greybrooke would never permit Maryanne to marry because she was a blind. “I just wanted to see Lady Maryanne ’appy.”
But Lady Winterhaven did not recognize the man from Dixon’s meager description. Helena had thought of Blackbriar—he was older than Maryanne. He had been obsessed with his wife Caroline, but had he struck up a friendship with Maryanne as part of his plot for revenge?
“Where is Lord Blackbriar’s estate?” Helena asked quickly.
“Lord Blackbriar? He is—was—married. And his estates are far to the west of ours.” Lady Winterhaven put her hand to her mouth. Her face paled, her hand trembling. “They must be somewhere on the road. I will catch up to my husband, tell him what we know. If she’s eloping, they will be on the road to Scotland.”
Helena watched Lady Winterhaven’s landau disappear around a bend in the drive. Servants headed in every direction in the search. Every carriage and every horse in the stables had been put into use.
It seemed the most logical that Maryanne had gone to Gretna Greene, where she could marry without her family’s permission.
How could Lady Maryanne have left the house alone, then met this man somewhere on the road? Lady Winterhaven believed she had. Helena was certain she must have had help. Maryanne had learned to fend well in the house, but how could she make her way down the road to meet someone? Even if he’d waited right outside, how could she have done it without being caught?
What if she’d had someone in the house help her? It would have to be someone Maryanne could trust. Someone she was sure would never give her away. Not a servant . . .
Goodness, how stupid she’d been. She rushed up to the nursery. Sophie looked up from her book as Helena reached the doorway, gasping for breath. She didn’t even need to ask the question—guilt, fear, agony were etched on the young girl’s pretty face.
Helena’s fingers shook as she swiftly wrote three notes. One to Grey. One for the Earl of Winterhaven and the countess. One to leave with the—
“Who are you and what on earth are you doing writing at her ladyship’s desk?”
At the stern words, Helena erupted out of the seat. The housekeeper stood in the doorway, a tall, foreboding figure, her brows arched with disapproval. Helena did not know this woman, who looked after the house of this estate.
“I am Helena Winsome and was governess to the children.”
“The one who left so quickly?”
“Never mind about that!” Helena cried. “This is about Lady Maryanne! I know where she is, and we must get to her. You must take these. Get one to Lady Winterhaven or the earl, and one to the Duke of Greybrooke. At once! Read this one, and instruct any servants that return what to do. Follow my instructions to the letter.” She hurried over and thrust the three folded notes at the housekeeper.
“Where is she then?”
“Borderleau House. It has been rented by the Earl of Blackbriar.” This was what Sophie had told her. Helena had done her best to make Sophie believe she was not at fault for keeping Maryanne’s secret. Once she had Maryanne home safe, she would try to ease the girl’s guilt.
The housekeeper glared. “No, you are mistaken. The house was rented by a gentleman named Mr. Nutall.”
“That was the name Blackbriar used. But that is where she is. Please, you must do as I ask.”
“Miss Winsome, I think you must be mad!”
“Is that what you will tell the Duke of Greybrooke when it is discovered his sister has run off to get married? How shall you explain that to Lord Winterhaven?”
The housekeeper paled.
“I am going to go there now and try to bring Lady Maryanne home. I am certain I can convince her not to go through with an elopement. The Earl of Blackbriar is a dangerous man. I am now certain he murdered his wife.”
The woman gasped in shock. Then she came to her wits. “What shall we do?” she cried. “We must get this to his lordship, but everyone is already out searching for Lady Maryanne!”
Helena hesitated. It was madness to go alone, but she had to move quickly. “We must get it to the earl and His Grace somehow. But I will go right now and see if I can speak to Maryanne.”
With every horse out of the stables, Helena had to walk. At least the housekeeper—Mrs. Philpot—and every other servant in the house knew where she was going. She’d thought of bringing some of the female servants, but then wondered what use they would be if Blackbriar was dangerous. The notes were enough. Mrs. Philpot had sent every last person in the house in pursuit of other male servants, whom they could send to find the earl on the road.
She had to be careful. Maryanne was going willingly with Blackbriar, having no idea what sort of monster he really was, but Helena knew to fear him. Had he murdered his wife because he wanted Maryanne? Had he pursued Maryanne from the beginning to get revenge on Grey, since he believed Grey had been his wife’s lover?
Surely he wouldn’t hurt Maryanne. Surely his revenge involved marrying her, not hurting her.
Helena ran along the track that crossed the field toward the house as fast as she could.
The earlier rain had stopped, but now thunder rumbled again. Thick, ominous clouds had amassed over Borderleau, an elegant manor house that stood about two hundred yards ahead of her. She shivered. The slate-colored clouds had mushroomed into the shape of an anvil. In the distance, gray cloud stretched down to the horizon. A wall of rain was racing toward her.
Mud caked her skirts. Her lungs heaved. Helena half ran down the hill, along a track that Mrs. Philpot promised would take her to Borderleau in the quickest way. She was at the bottom of a small valley that ran between the Winterhaven estate and the Borderleau property, and now she had to climb the lawns as quickly as she could.
The lawns ran along the side of Blackbriar’s house. There were thick shrubs that would give her cover. Each step pounded her aching legs now. The last time she’d run like this, it had been to save Michael from the carriage.
It felt like a lifetime had passed since then—for her life had completely changed. She’d discovered passion. She’d fallen in love. She’d lost love.
She had to stop Lady Maryanne from making a choice that would ruin her life. Blackbriar was a beast who had abused his wife, then killed her.
She couldn’t let that happen to Maryanne. Helena could see now that Maryanne had been desperate for a love she believed she could never have. It must have been easy for Blackbriar to capture her heart.
Why had he done it? To hurt Grey? Or did he truly care for Maryanne?
Helena raced from a shrub to a clump of laurels. The house was just ahead. Her heart hammered.
It didn’t matter if Blackbriar loved Maryanne; the poor girl was in terrible danger. He had loved his wife, Caroline, and he had warped love and turned it into something horrific.
From behind the laurels, she surveyed the house. It looked quiet. Still. No sign of servants, no lights glowing in the windows. Doubt hit her.
She couldn’t hesitate now. Acting as a spy had taught her a few things, such as studying a house to find the best way in. Here, it would be through a terrace door. She could try the kitchens, but she no longer looked like a servant. And in her lovely clothes she was no longer invisible.
She hurried across the small lawn, trying to stay hidden behind the laurel bushes. A terrace ran along the west side of the house, facing the valley and Winterleigh, Winterhaven’s house. At the front of the house there was a circular drive and an entrance with a long portico. Borderleau Park wouldn’t be as large as Winterleigh, but it would still be a maze inside. Where would Maryanne be?
“Who might you be?” snarled a guttural voice. It came from behind her, sharp and vicious.
She fought numbing fear and turned—only to face a huge chest. An enormous man towered over her, peering down at her with narrow black eyes. He had a grizzled face. Deep scars slashed along both his cheeks. His clothes were the sort a farm laborer would wear. He looked very much like the giant of a man who had attacked Grey.
“ ’Is lordship don’t like snoops. Ye’ve dropped yerself in a ’eap of trouble, missy, seeing as ’ow ye’re ’ere all alone. Watched you come over from Winterhaven’s ’ouse. Come to find Lady Maryanne, I bet. Well, yer wish is granted. Ye’re going to see ’er soon.” The man chuckled and gave her a wink—a horrid wink that made her skin crawl.
This beast was not taking her anywhere. But she was not going to wait to debate.
Helena spun, yanked up her hems, and ran. The man laughed uproariously. She tore away like a madwoman. Right now she was running for her very life.
Another man stepped out from behind the bushes. In his hand, he held a pistol. Fat as Friar Tuck, he wouldn’t be able to outrun her, but he did not need to. A smirk of triumph reigned on his fleshy face. “Come on, miss. Try to get past me. I do like to watch females die.”
Oh God.
R
opes secured her arms behind her and kept her ankles bound together. Helena struggled, but she couldn’t loosen the knots. Each tug of her arms and legs only seemed to tighten them. And her hands were going numb.
When Grey had tied her up, playfully and for pleasure, it had been
nothing
like this.
She lay on the rug in a bedchamber, a few feet from the bed. There was no fire in the grate—she could have risked burning the ropes. Outside the windows, it was almost as dark as night, and rain pelted the windows.
Her cheek stung. Desperate to get free of the burly man who had dragged her in here, she’d resorted to a child’s attack—she’d bitten his arm where it was clamped across her. He’d punched her across the cheek in retaliation. Her head ached from the force of his blow. She’d never been hit before in her life, and her brain felt as if it had slammed into her skull.
How had Grey stood up to constant abuse? Aching everywhere, sick with fear, Helena had no idea where a young boy had found such strength. She admired Grey so very much. She understood what a struggle it must be for him to forget the past, to not give in to bitterness and rage. It made her want to help him all the more.
Bother, now was not the time for such thoughts. She had to worry about Maryanne first.
The girl must be freed from Blackbriar’s clutches. He was the true monster, and he employed monstrous men.
Tears leaked to her cheeks. She wouldn’t give in to them, but she couldn’t help crying in fear over what might happen to Maryanne.
She needed Grey. So much for her plans—she wasn’t going to be able to take Maryanne home. Unless she got her wits about her, she wasn’t even going to get out of this room.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Panicking, she gave one more fierce and furious battle against the ropes, straining until she let out a scream of frustration. How could it hurt so much when she got nowhere? She fell back, gasping for breath as the door swung open.
Gleaming black boots filled her vision. Helena strained to look up.
Blackbriar stood above her, smirking. “How delightful. This is fortuitous, Miss Winsome.”
“Why?” She’d been such a fool. But at least she had left those letters. At least Grey would get one and he would know where to find Maryanne.
“I thought Maryanne would tempt him to come in pursuit. I thought I would allow him to run about the countryside in a panic for a few hours. Then I would send a note, requesting him to come to me. But now, I have something much more tempting. For you, my dear, are expendable.”
Expendable. The careless way he threw the word at her hit her as hard as his lackey’s slap. Fear made her body numb. She knew what he intended to do, and she was utterly helpless to stop it. Voice shaking, she accused, “You’re going to use me as bait for Grey.”
He bowed. “Exactly, Miss Winsome.”
“He won’t come for me. I’m not important to him.”
“He will come for Maryanne, but do not underestimate your charms, my dear. Greybrooke is quite besotted with you, or so I have heard. He will come for you. I think I will arrange a charming scene. There’s an old cottage on the Winterhaven estate. Grey will have taken you there—and shot you. He will have killed you in revenge for publishing those stories about him and his family. Then, since he will have murdered my wife, the blackmailer, and you, he takes his own life.”
Blackbriar recounted his story with relish and rocked back on his heels as if awaiting her approval.
Horror gripped. “This is utter madness.” Anger at this demented man gave her strength. “This is wrong and evil. You have no right to destroy Greybrooke’s name, nor take his life. You had no right to take the life of your wife. You certainly have no right to touch Lady Maryanne.”
Blackbriar threw back his head, laughing. “You expect me to untie you and let you go because you disapprove. If I were you, I would not displease my captor.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“For now, leave you here.”
“Where is Lady Maryanne?”
“She is having a deep and relaxing sleep. I saw no reason to trouble her with sordid details while I take care of her damned brother.”
“Why in heaven’s name are you doing this? Was it to be free to marry Maryanne? Are you doing this to hurt Grey, or because you want her? He would never have let you have her.”
Blackbriar smirked at her. “You are quite clever. Obviously he would not let me marry his sister. And he took my wife from me. When I first married her, I loved her. He had always owned her heart, and he would not set her free. He worked at her until she refused to love me.”
“There was nothing between them. They weren’t . . . weren’t lovers. You are the one who drove her away.”
“I did not. I was the most devoted of husbands. But no matter what I did, she loved that careless rake instead of me. Then I met Maryanne.” He steepled his fingers, closed his eyes, looked heavenward. “So beautiful and so vulnerable.”
“You don’t mind that she is—”
“Blind? Of course not.” He glared at her. “What sort of pitiable man do you think I am?”
He was a murderer, yet offended by that?
“She is so vulnerable, so sad and wounded. I knew she was suffering under the weight of a terrible secret. She would not reveal it to me. How was I to learn it? I needed to know what it was.”
Oh heavens. Now Helena saw how she had been used. It wasn’t Greybrooke’s secrets she was to uncover, it was Maryanne’s.
Blackbriar paced on the floor, hands clasped behind his back. “I overheard your brother in a gaming hell, bragging about the mysterious Lady X and how she could ferret out any secret. I also had a small problem. I was in dun territory a few years ago and was forced to pass along some information for a substantial payment. Unfortunately, the Crown had grown suspicious of my sudden ‘good fortune.’ I saw that using you and your brother gave me everything I wanted: Maryanne’s secret, a scapegoat for treason, a motive for Greybrooke’s eventual ‘suicide.’ Of course, you didn’t reveal the truth about Maryanne, but your discussion with her prompted her to reveal it to me. So there would be no secrets between us as we embark on married life.”
He smirked. “I really must thank you, Miss Winsome. Now I can help Maryanne. She is growing to depend on me.”
Helena saw then what Blackbriar wanted: a woman who was utterly dependent on him. But poor, vulnerable Lady Maryanne could not marry this violent madman.
“You might as well rest, Miss Winsome. I have to contact Greybrooke and tempt him here. I will not need you for several hours. But you will soon play an important role. You will ensure Maryanne’s future happiness. You will be pleased to know that. And you will die with Greybrooke.”
She shivered. She had time, now she must think of a way out.
Blackbriar bowed, in a parody of politeness that sickened her. He turned abruptly and marched from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
His poor horse, Brutus, was soaked to the skin. The beast’s hooves were caked with mud, and he had forced the animal to gallop up the roads leading away from Winterleigh. Grey couldn’t push Brutus any further.
He didn’t believe Maryanne had left by the roads. At every small farm or croft he had passed, he’d asked if a carriage had passed, or a couple on horseback or foot, or a woman alone. No one had seen anything. Servants were combing the woods. If Maryanne and her captor had taken that route, they would have been found. Blind, Maryanne would not have been able to move quickly through the dense woods.
He’d been a fool to rush out without thought. Helena had shouted that to him as he’d run out. She’d been right. He’d wasted precious time, driven his horse to the point of exhaustion.
He forced Brutus into one last trot, which took them toward the stables. In the distance, he could see footmen, maids, grooms searching Winterleigh’s grounds—the meadows, fields, woods that surrounded the house.
Maryanne had to be somewhere close. Damn it, she could have been hidden by her captor somewhere on the estate.
He had to believe she was alive. He couldn’t face the alternative—
A madman wanted to destroy him, to kill him. The only person he knew who hated him was Blackbriar. He’d found no way to prove Blackbriar had hired the blackmailer or the actor who had played Whitehall, but in his gut he knew the bastard was behind this.
If it was Blackbriar, where in hell had the fiend taken Maryanne? Had he taken Maryanne to use her as bait? That was what Grey suspected. So why hadn’t Blackbriar lured him into a trap?
Brutus clopped up the gravel path to the stables. He would shelter the horse, quickly dry him, and use that time to employ his wits. Running around like a madman had done nothing. Helena had been correct—he’d been blindly driven by guilt. He must think. If it was Blackbriar, how would he have gotten to Maryanne? Had he waited until she went outside and grabbed her then? Why hadn’t she screamed? Why had no one seen a man kidnap her?
Grey dismounted, led Brutus to a stall. Quickly he removed the saddle and bridle, wiped the animal down, then put on a warming blanket. It took precious minutes, but he could not let his horse suffer for his—
“Yer Grace! I saw ye on the path!” A young lad, one of the bootboys, ran up to him, panting. “I were told to find ye and give ye a message. From Miss Winsome. She wants ye to go to Borderleau ’ouse. Said Lady Maryanne is with a bloke named Blackbriar. Said to warn ye ’e’s dangerous. Coo, has Lady Maryanne been kidnapped?”
Helena had gone?
Borderleau was right beside Winterleigh. There were fields between the two properties, also the dense woods that bordered the lawns of Borderleau and would make a good place for him to hide servants. He couldn’t charge the house—that would be too dangerous. Looking down at the lad, he said softly, fighting for calm, “Tell as many of the other servants as you can, and send them to the woods on the south side of Borderleau. They must remain hidden. Get word to Lord Winterhaven and give him the same directions. Can you remember all this?”
The boy puffed out his chest. “Indeed I can, Yer Grace.”
“Good.” Quickly, Grey outlined his plan. Then he sent the boy away. Taking the shortcut to Borderleau across the fields would put him out in the open. As a boy, Grey had come here a few times. Sometimes the Winterhavens had taken him, Jacinta, and Maryanne for summers. They’d treasured those times they could escape their hellish home. And they’d all kept their secrets even when away from home—their parents had trained them well, he thought bitterly.
But because he’d come here as a lad, he knew a secret path through the woods to Borderleau. Grey was running to it, when a horrifying thought hit him. He skidded on the wet ground and caught his balance by slamming against a tree.
Helena must have gone there—she and Maryanne must be Blackbriar’s prisoners.
The fear, the guilt, struck him so hard, it was a wrenching physical pain. It made him want to vomit. But he wasn’t a boy anymore, who could be frightened into immobility.
Despite the slick ground and pounding rain, he raced like a madman to the path in the woods.
Grey stared down at the unconscious man. Using the element of surprise, he’d taken Blackbriar’s lackey from behind, swung the man around to meet his fists. After dragging the unconscious body behind a grove of laurels, he had divested the paid villain of his pistol and a knife. Arming himself was something he’d forgotten to do in his blind panic.
“With my upbringing,” he muttered, “I know exactly how sadistic bastards think. And I know where they position their henchmen.”
Screened by the laurels, he assessed the house. Blackbriar wanted him dead, which meant eventually he should have been led to a trap. He must be early. Good.
Keeping out of the line of sight of the kitchen door and windows, he crept to the wall of ivy that ran down the house. It was thicker now, but he sliced it away with the knife. There was a long forgotten door behind it. The door was still unlocked—no one must remember its existence. Grey pushed it open. He had to get Maryanne. And get to Helena—he had no doubt Blackbriar had caught her. She was filled with good intentions, filled with the need to rescue Maryanne, and she wouldn’t have watched out for herself carefully enough.
He couldn’t lose either of them. God, they had to be both alive.
He didn’t even have to use the pistol to threaten Blackbriar’s man, who was watching out the partially open kitchen door. A hefty rolling pin sent the man to the floor. He had no mercy for these louts. He remembered the cruelty of the servants in his parents’ employ—they did it for money or because they were sick and evil.
Blackbriar was probably keeping the women in bedchambers. Grey made his way up the servants’ stairs to the upper floor. He had his pistol ready, but he encountered no one. If Blackbriar had touched them, hurt them—
Rage flooded him. It made his jaw twitch, his heart pound, his hands turn into fists. He wanted to kill someone right now. . . .
“The tart’s tied up upstairs. Supposed to be the mistress of a duke. His lordship wouldn’t know if we had our fun with her. Wouldn’t you like to poke a hole that’s been filled by a duke’s cock?”
“I don’t think you’re going to be in any condition to touch anyone,” Grey said coldly, stepping out into the hall. His boot drove into the man’s crotch, sending him choking and gasping to the carpet. The man was so fat, his stomach hit the floor, and he curled like an oversized cricket ball. “Oooh, I’m dying.” He vomited on the rug.
Grey waved his pistol at the second man—the villain Baldy—who brandished a knife. “Drop it,” he growled. “Where is she, the woman you were just speaking of?”
Baldy glowered, clearly hating being in a position of weakness when he’d assumed he would get to have the power in this. “The room at the end of the hall.”
“And the other lady? Lady Maryanne? Where is she?”
“His lordship’s bedchamber.” Baldy smirked—Grey knew his horror had been written on his face. “After all, they’re going to be wed. His lordship’s probably sampling the goods first.”
Baldy fell back, hitting the hallway rug like a load of bricks. Grey glanced down at his knuckles. His gloves had split, and blood dribbled from his broken skin again. Fury had given him the strength to knock the bastard cold, but it had felt damned good.