Escape with A Rogue (15 page)

The man Jack had been punching toppled to the ground like a felled tree.

The second man was a fierce fighter. Light flashed on two blades he swiped at Jack. She’d never seen a man move so elegantly—even the fencing master who’d taught Philip looked clumsy in comparison.

Jack sliced back with his own blade. Then he shouted in pain and clapped his hand to his arm for a moment before fighting again.

Jack could see her coming. She imagined he must be furious. But the attacker was so intent on watching Jack swipe at him, she found herself getting closer and closer.

The man suddenly threw one knife and it struck Jack’s forearm. It fell from him but she saw the pain etched around his mouth.
No screaming. Dear God, Madeline, do not scream.

“Got you now, Hart,” gloated the man.

She swung the pistol by its muzzle and slammed the butt of it as hard as she could into the man’s head.

The attacker staggered and turned around, his face purple with malevolent fury. “You stupid cow, I’ll slit your blasted throat.”

Jack jumped at the man, and grabbed his head at the jaw, and twisted and let the man fall to the ground.

Madeline realized she was still gripping her pistol. She was shaking and her chest rose and fell frantically, but no air was coming in.

The dark head was tilted at an inhuman angle.

Jack’s arms went around her and he pressed her to his chest, just as he had before that terrible scene in the cottage. She struggled to move away, because she didn’t need to be coddled, and she didn’t want to tempt him into anything—

“You came to my rescue again, my lady,” he said softly.

Ah, yes. A soothing tone to keep the lady from panicking.

“It appears someone has to, Jack Travers.” Put on a mask. That was for the best. “These men—they aren’t soldiers. They were going to kill you . . . both of us, even. Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Your guess, savior, is as good as mine. Whoever they were, they didn’t intend to drag me back to Dartmoor.”

“Did you kill anyone, Jack? I mean before that man—today.” She felt odd, and she had to lean heavily on Jack. Where were they walking? The cottage?

“Three times with my own hand,” he said matter-of-factly.

She stayed silent, and he went on, “The three men I killed myself. None was vulnerable or defenseless. In all cases, my motive was not greed or power. But whatever you do, Lady M., do not ever excuse what I’ve done.”

“You stopped that man from k—killing me.” Then, finally, she realized it wasn’t over. They were out in the open, with nowhere to go. “There were three men
here
—where’s the other?”

“I kicked him down the hill and he conveniently knocked himself out on a rock.”

“What are we going to do now?”

Madeline could not believe Jack took this moment to grin widely. “I expect those men didn’t walk to Rundlestone, love. Somewhere they’ve left a carriage. I intend to make use of it.”

“Steal it? But we can’t do that.”

His wry laugh washed over her. “Lady M., a man could very easily lose his heart to you.” His tone implied that wasn’t a wise thing to do.

Chapter Nine

They didn’t steal the carriage. Instead, they took two of the horses.

Hardly less of a crime, Madeline thought. Sin upon sin. She’d opened her own private Pandora’s box and now was not sure which of the evils she’d released would be beyond her limits. Or maybe there was no sin she would stop at anymore.

“How are you faring, my lady?” Jack reined in his horse, then trotted back to her side. Worry etched lines in his brow—he’d looked nothing but worried about her since they’d begun to follow this track north across the moor.

“Fine,” she returned, as coolly as she could when her horse stepped down sharply in a washed-out rut and her tailbone collided with the animal’s back. For all she’d insisted she could manage astride and bareback, she was ready to eat her words. She wore oversized clothes stolen from the one of the unconscious men—the smallest—and the trousers bunched uncomfortably beneath her bottom. “But two things worry me. That poor hound, for one.”

They had shut the animal in the cottage with food, and she hoped the poor thing would be all right. They’d had no choice—the dog could follow Jack.

“He’ll be fine. What’s the other?”

“We have no idea where we are, do we?” She tried to be crisp about it, but panic licked at her like flames on wet wood. Not enough to make her combust, but enough to make her sizzle uncomfortably. She had never been lost before in her life.

Then again, before today she would never have just leaped on a horse and ridden out into the middle of
nowhere
without a plan.

Jack urged his horse on ahead once more. “We’re going north, my lady.”

His derriere flexed with each step of his horse, and his thighs were powerful and beautifully shaped. She kept looking from the path, where her eyes should be, to Jack’s stunning body—his wide, wide shoulders, the pronounced vee of his back, and the tight curves of his rear.

He rode easily and gracefully. Of course, she had often seen him astride a horse when he’d played groom at her home. He must have learned in London, when he’d ruled his gaming dens.

How could the man who was so gentle with horses be one of those men she despised—a gaming hell owner who preyed on people’s weaknesses?

“Do you have any idea what’s ahead of us?” she threw back “Our trek north might be leading us right into a treacherous bog. We should stop and think.”

“We can’t afford to. I know where we’re headed.”

His gentle tone grated on her. She couldn’t understand Jack. One moment he wanted to drive her away, the next he was back to kindness and concern. While his mahogany hair and his green eyes might be familiar, in truth he was a complete stranger.

She knew almost nothing about this man. Why had he left his “empire,” as he called it, to live in her stables and care for her family’s horses? Had it been because of the murders he’d spoken about? Had he been running from the law?

He had saved her life just now. But he’d broken a man’s neck without even changing his expression, and she didn’t know what to think of it.

“I don’t believe you, Jack. Apparently, you lie when it suits you.”

He recoiled as though she’d hit him, but what did he expect? She had just taken the greatest risk of her life for him. It could cost her
everything
—respect, position, her future, even her freedom. But after all she’d risked, he still would not be completely honest with her.

All along, he’d told her to leave him alone, to walk away from him. Now she knew why. She supposed it was churlish to blame him when she’d forced her way into her own mess.

If he was a criminal and a murderer, he could rot in prison if he wished to. But she needed to find out who had murdered Grace and Lady Sarah.

“How can you possibly know the land around here?” she demanded.

“I’ve had a year to talk with Beausoleil, who knows the moors well. We’re headed for the prison leat—the fresh water supply—and we’ll pass by the Great Mis Tor, which will keep us to the west of a bog.”

It sounded convincing, but how would she know? “That’s all well and fine, Jack, but where are the bogs? Have you any idea?”

“Where the ground is very wet, my lady. But I’m in the lead. You’ll have fair warning.”

Meaning if he disappeared in the bog, she would know not to follow. It twisted her heart, that noble self-deprecation. It took her back in her memories to the paddocks by the stables. To all those wonderful afternoons where she’d done the unheard-of thing of talking with a man who was considered far beneath her, because he’d bluntly told her he liked to do so.

All her life, she had been reluctant to make friends. She’d feared it could accidentally come out that she was not really Lord Evershire’s daughter, just the by-blow of her mother’s affair. Being secretly illegitimate—at least secretly to her siblings and the rest of society—she’d lived a life of lies. She hated now knowing all her good memories of Jack had been based on lies, too.

The path led downhill. Madeline tightened her grip on the reins. Jack negotiated the rocky, treacherous path with aplomb, while she had to stare at the ground, scanning for every stone and rut. He had always been masterful with horses. At Eversleigh, he had been able to coax even the most tempestuous horse to eat from his palm and wait with devoted patience for his stroking hand—

“Hear that, Lady M.?” Jack’s deep, cheerful question snapped her gaze from the tortuous path to the back of his head.

She strained to hear. Insects buzzed in the miles of grass around them, and rooks swooped and sang. She caught it—a faint burble. Water. Blessed water.

“That will be the prison leat.” He dismounted with a swift swing of his leg and caught hold of her horse’s reins. She jumped down, winced, and rubbed her aching rear.

The prison leat looked exactly the same as the one that ran down from the prison toward the Ockery Bridge, near Princetown. The granite-lined channel wound past them, seemingly endless, and contained a small babbling stream.

 “You are a remarkable lady.” He led both horses to the stream. “You’ve endured much without a word of complaint. I’ve never known a woman quite like you.”

Water was a godsend, but Jack’s eyes gleamed with a bit too much delight. Suspicion took root in her heart. “You look too
relieved
. You really didn’t know where we were, did you?”

“No need to worry about that when it’s all worked out for the best.”

She leveled a gaze at his green eyes, seeing the strain in them. “That is the sort of man I used to think you were, Jack Travers, when you were in the stables. You always appeared happy, content, and carefree. But none of that was true, was it?”

“It was then,” he said, meeting her curious gaze without a blink.

“You don’t look like you are lying.” She spoke softly. “But I think you are.”

He turned away, to take the horses’ reins. “There was one thing I learned in my gaming hells, my lady. When a man tells you something without moving his eyes, he’s lying to you.”

* * *

Lady M. saw too much. Jack rested his hands on the backs of the two horses while they drank at the stream. He’d pretended to be a carefree sort when he’d been a groom, but he’d never been a man who believed everything would work out. Back then, Juliette’s death had still haunted him. He’d had the Crown pursuing him because Stephen had framed him.

His coolness was forced now and not because he was facing recapture and death. It was because of desire. Every time he looked at Madeline, he wanted to continue where he’d stopped in her cottage.

Soft footsteps pattered beside him and he turned. He swallowed his breath so hard he almost choked. Lady M. had crouched by the edge of the stream. She scooped up water in two hands and drank. Her too-large trousers gaped at the back, enough to reveal the swell of her buttocks, the shadowed valley between.

He could easily slip his hands down and squeeze a handful.

Hell.

He had no right to be lusting over the sight of her rump. “Everything will work out, Lady M.” His voice came out hoarse. “We’ll get you safely home. No one will ever know you’ve broken the law.”

Water droplets dribbled from her lips, dripped off her chin. Her lips were moist, reddened by the coolness of the stream. “What then?”

His groin tightened painfully. “I’ll find out who really murdered Grace Highchurch and Lady Sarah Sutton. Then your brother will be clear of suspicion.”

Or would he? The Lord Philip Ashby he remembered was the kind of lout who would force himself on a woman. But was he capable of killing one? What would happen if Jack found out Philip was guilty?

If Madeline’s grandfather had let him go to prison, it had to be because he believed his grandson was guilty.

Jack knew Lady M. would hate him for eternity if he proved to her that was the truth.

She dug into the pockets of her coat and pulled out one of the cloth-wrapped hunks of cheese she’d stowed there. “Are you hungry?”

After opening the cloth like a tiny blanket, she broke the cheese into pieces for them both. Who else could create a picnic from such meager things?

He led the horses to a gorse bush and tied the reins. Her voice rose coolly behind him. “What will you do after we find the truth? I intended to clear your name, to give you your freedom.”

“You can’t do that now.” He returned to her. She sat beside the burbling leat, her long legs stretched out to the side. The yearning to stop pushing her away almost overwhelmed him. “If I’m caught, I’m back in the clink, Lady M., because of my past.” He softened his voice. “I’ll help you find the truth. Your risks won’t have been in vain.”

“Thank you.” She looked up at him, her large eyes honest and vulnerable. “But why did you . . . murder someone?”

The almost pleading note in her voice made his heart ache. “It doesn’t matter why. The point is that I did. I never hurt an innocent person—I want you to understand that. You have nothing to fear from me.” He longed to cup her face as he spoke, but he sat on the other side of her handkerchief. “Do you understand that?”

Poor Lady M. He’d seen her turn a bit green when they stole the horses. How she had not fainted after witnessing him break a man’s neck, he didn’t know. She had the green look again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Much easier, all this, when you thought I was innocent.” She looked so bleak he changed the subject. “Who is taking care of your family, Lady M.?”

He’d meant it as a casual question, but it speared him to his heart. As far as he knew, Lady M. had never left her family before. She had dreamed of travel but hadn’t gone because she wouldn’t leave them. She’d dedicated her life to caring for them.

She’d left her family to rescue him.

No, she had left her family to protect her brother. He had to remember that.

“Lady Lindale is staying at the house.”

“I thought Lady Sarah’s father was a widower—no, I remember. You told me Lindale remarried.”