Escape with A Rogue (16 page)

“She was Catherine Worthington. Do you remember the beautiful widow who was staying at our house? She is a friend of my mother’s. She is watching my mother now, as Mama cannot be left on her own. She wanders and becomes lost, or she gets agitated and hits people. The servants have no idea how to cope with her. Neither does Father. But Catherine offered to stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

She sliced more cheese for him. “Lindale never comes to our house, and certainly I don’t press him to. He blames us.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I believe he suspects Philip. There was a bad encounter between the two of them at the inn in the village.”

“Both foxed, were they?”

She nodded. “Philip was such a fool. He actually struck Lindale. It was in self-defense because Lindale went at him with a heavy tankard, but he knew how wounded the man was. It—it looked bad. I wish he had dealt with the poor earl like a gentleman.”

“He could have feared Lindale’s anger and conviction could work up a mob.”

“True. I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you, Jack.”

Thanking him for giving her the hope to believe in her brother? If Philip did prove to be the killer, Jack didn’t doubt Lady Madeline would face it with courage.

But it would break her heart.

He picked up a piece of cheese. It had been a warm spring afternoon, the first time he had coaxed Lady Madeline to share a bit of his luncheon, which he’d been eating by the paddock fence. They’d discussed Byron’s poetry—he liked it, she thought it too romantic. He’d seen her surprise to discover he could read. It had hurt at the time, even though most grooms could neither read nor write.

She’d come back again. They’d gone riding together. There were times when the simplicity of riding beneath the sun on a summer’s afternoon and watching butterflies flit around Lady M. had seemed too close to heaven—

He heard footsteps, sensed someone behind them—and knew the person was too close. He’d allowed someone to sneak up on them. He jerked around.

Beausoleil came out from behind a patch of gorse, striding along the mossy path that followed the leat. “Travers! Satan’s steaming hell, I thought you’d been caught.”

A bedraggled Simon followed. Beausoleil’s grin quickly jerked to the side. To Madeline. Despite her disordered hair and the masculine clothes that dwarfed her slenderness, she sparkled like a jewel. If anything, she was more enticing when sensuously disheveled.

Beausoleil, the bastard, widened his smile until it dazzled. Then he saw the horses and gave a low, pleased whistle.

* * *

“We can’t deny them the use of the horses,” Lady M. insisted. “We could share one.”

Jack held the reins of the gray. He could point out they were barely moving faster on horseback than a man could walk, but Lady M. swept away to turn her horse over to Simon.

The boy accepted with stammered thanks.

“I’ll be delighted to share with you, my lady.” Beau gave her a sweeping bow.

“She will ride with me,” Jack said.

Beau laughed as he sauntered past. “You’re a bloody fool, Travers. Too bloody noble to touch the lass, I can see, but not bright enough not to fall in love with her.”

He
had
touched her. He’d gotten her down on a bed like a lust-driven blackguard. But he growled at Beau the way Black would have done in the prison, the sound a clear warning.

Lady M. ran her hand gracefully along the horse’s withers.

“I’ll mount first,” Jack said to her, “then lift you—”

Bracing her hands on the horse’s back, Madeline sprang up and threw her long leg over the animal, settling to the front of the place a rider would normally sit. “Now you, Mr. Travers,” she commanded in her crisp way.

“It would be better for me to ride in front.”

“This will be satisfactory.”

Christ, did it always have to be a battle for position with her? He wanted her behind because otherwise his groin would be pressed up against her derriere for the journey. It meant a painful ride for him.

But if soldiers caught up with them, they’d shoot from behind. Better that he was in the back to take the bullet. So he swung up behind her.

“There are some stone settlements to the east, further along the path.” With his gaze fixed on Lady M., Beau urged his horse into a slow canter along the edge of the leat. Simon held onto Beau’s waist. “We can take shelter for the night.”

“With men in pursuit?” Jack growled.

“We’ll leave the main path and they won’t find us. We can’t ride all night.”

Lady M. nodded in approval. “It is good to be with an experienced guide.”

Beau flashed an enormous grin and winked at her. Color rose in her cheeks.

Jack was certain she no longer wanted him in her bed—he’d done a good job of driving her away. If she wanted a hero for her risky journey, she appeared to be looking to Beau to fill that role. Why not? Beausoleil Smyth was charming and, as he’d bragged in prison, he never bothered women with the pain of the truth.

If he were going to have to endure a ride filled with Beau’s flirtation, he’d rather take his chances with the bog. He leaned to Lady M.’s ear. “Remember, Beau was married to three women—at the same time.”

She gasped.

What in Hades was he doing? But he knew. He couldn’t have her, but he could still protect her. Lady M. flicked the reins and guided the horse to follow Beau’s mount.

* * *

Jack’s hands rested on her hips. Madeline could not ignore the gentle pressure of his palms and the wrap of his fingers around her curves. He’d washed his face with water from the leat and he smelled somewhat earthy, but also of mossy coolness. His body pressed tight to her back. There was no other way they could share a horse.

It was hard to ride with a tight chest and shivers tumbling down her back.

The sun dipped low, tinting the hills a burnished bronze. Light struck a tall stone cross, turning the granite to reddish-gold.

She shivered. Alone in the midst of vast emptiness, the cross gave her an eerie feeling. A sense of isolation, oddly, even though it was evidence people had traveled this way for centuries.

“The cross marks the Lych Way. The way of the dead,” Jack murmured.

“Don’t speak so ominously.”

“It makes me feel ominous, Lady M.”

“It must be some sort of signpost. It’s meant to guide people, but it makes me feel as though I’m intruding.”

Beau laughed and encompassed the vast darkening sky with a wave of his hand. “This is a magical time of the day,” he said. “We call it dimsee.”

Dimsee
. A pretty word. She could understand where it came from. She could still see, but barely. Nothing had any distinct form and negotiating her horse on the path proved tricky. To the east, rain-dark clouds massed toward them. The soft breeze became a stiff, cold wind, ruffling her loose trousers and tossing her hair.

The track went uphill again, and she slid back. Her bottom bumped against Jack’s solid groin. Her back and shoulders ached with tension. Having Jack’s hands on hers made it harder—at the exact same instant, he would give one command, she a different one.

Finally, she half-turned in exasperation. “I’m quite content to have your arms around me, but you’ll have to let me guide the horse.”

He didn’t let go. “You could let me guide, Lady M. and just savor the warmth.” A pause. Then, “That wasn’t meant as a flirtation.”

“I didn’t presume it was. I know you want me to dislike you. But I’m not afraid of you, Jack.” Even knowing the truth about him, she hated the cold distance she felt between them, despite how scandalously close their bodies were. Jack Travers, the groom, had been the only man she’d ever spoken freely to. The only person with whom she’d dared let down her ladylike reserve.

“This is it,” Beausoleil called. He urged his horse to pick a path up the hillside to the west of the track.

Granite blocks had been piled in a large circle to make an enclosure. Inside it, smaller stone circles—the foundations of huts—dotted the green-gold expanse of grass. It was a deserted settlement thousands of years old.

With his hands firmly on the reins, Jack turned their mount to follow Beau. The horse’s hooves sank into the damp moss, but then he scrambled upward, his shoes striking rocks with a metallic clang.

Beausoleil stopped outside one hut that still had tall stone walls. “Not elegant, but it will hide us from sight.” He gave the young lad, Simon, a nudge with his elbow, and the boy dismounted. Then he leaped down. “Best if we all sleep in the one—to share warmth. It may be summer, but it will be cool tonight. We’re surrounded by peat, but it’s not much good to us. It can only be burned when dry.”

There were no trees, only scrubby bushes. Those would be green. A hare bounded away and Beausoleil muttered a curse. “That would have been a good dinner.”

“We have some cheese and bread,” she said, as Jack dismounted. “We’ll have to make do with that.” Her stomach clenched at just the word
cheese
.

“You are all generosity, my lady.” Beausoleil grinned and gave her another elegant bow.

“You are welcome, sir.” His grin was charming but she didn’t entirely trust him.

The glare Jack shot Beausoleil looked almost murderous. However, when he had actually killed, he’d worn no expression at all.

Simon rubbed his stomach. His threadbare shirt hung off his shoulders and revealed how bony and thin he was. Madeline saw how nervously he looked to Jack. “I’m sorry about the escape. I want to thank ye for dragging me along the roof and not leaving me.”

“He managed well as we ran,” Beau said. “He behaved like an innocent man.”

“I wouldn’t have left you behind, Simon,” Jack said, and his words seemed to instantly put the lad at ease. “I understand why you told the Crown about our escape.”

Goodness. Simon had betrayed his plan? Yet he was forgiving the lad. No wonder Simon looked so relieved. Awed by Jack’s kindness, she swung off the horse. And her trousers slipped.

They came perilously close to falling low enough on her rear to show the tops of her cheeks. Jack was the one to pull them up quickly. Simon’s gaze jerked away. Beau winked.

Madeline took a quick, shallow breath. She was a lone woman with three strong, desperate men. One who now freely admitted to being a criminal.

On shaky legs, she crossed over the mossy grass to the hut. Blocks laid in a circle made its base. It must be barely ten feet across. She ducked her head beneath the large stone lintel and stepped inside A low stone plinth stood along one wall, and there was nothing else but a grass floor. All four of them were to lie down in there? They’d almost be on top of each other.

She felt vulnerable. Very, very vulnerable.

“My lady.” The masculine voice was soft and compelling. “Why would you want to rescue a wretch like Jack Travers? Why would such a fine lady such care so much about a man like him?”

She spun around. Beausoleil stood in the door, barring her way out. Then her eyes widened. Jack stood behind him, looking as he had when he’d broken that man’s neck. “Leave her alone, Beau. I’m not letting her tell you a thing.”

Beau crossed his arms over his chest and gave his insolent grin. “The lady can tell me whatever she wishes. Does she know who you really are, Travers? Does she know about the London gaming hells and the woman who killed herself over you?”

Chapter Ten

A woman had killed herself because of him? The words echoed in Madeline’s head. Jack’s face had gone chalk white. If Beausoleil had run a sword though Jack’s stomach, he could not have made him look more agonized.

It had to be the truth.

All along he had tried to push her away, and she’d resisted. Even now, she couldn’t just retreat in her shock. She had to
know
. “Who was she?” she demanded.

“She was the wife of my best friend, and she did not take her own life. She died in an accident.” Jack snarled at Beau, who took a step back in the face of Jack’s icy fury. “Leave us.”

Beausoleil’s cocky smile vanished. He bowed to her, then strolled out, passing Jack in the doorway.

She was alone with Jack in the small stone hut, and his ragged breathing seemed to fill her head. Obviously, he didn’t want to speak of it. But no matter what, she had to understand him. “Tell me,” she whispered. “It hurt you. Surely I’ve shown you can trust me.”

Jack braced his hand on the stone lintel. “All you need to know is that I did not seduce her.”

He took a step, clearly intending to leave, but she caught his wrist, clasped her fingers around it, and would not let him go. “That’s not enough. I’ve risked so much—why won’t you confide in me?” She felt so distant from him now. So lost and confused about him.

“I’ve never talked to anyone willingly about it. Beau only knows because I muttered in my sleep. He believes there is something dark and painful behind it.”

“I can see in your face that there is. I won’t let go of you until you tell me what happened.”

“She died senselessly and I ripped two men apart. There was nothing recognizable left of them when I’d finished. It’s a long story.” His eyes were blank, and lines of agony were etched on the sides of his tense lips.

Nothing recognizable.
It made her feel nauseous, but she said, “We have time.” Her need to understand this man was undeniable.

“You won’t let me escape this, will you?” He took a deep breath, waved his hand to the stone plinth. “Make yourself comfortable, my lady.” He waited until she perched on the edge of the rough stone. “I grew up with Stephen Bells in London’s stews. He was like a brother to me.”

Madeline could guess where he was leading and fought not to judge, for he looked so tortured. “She was the wife of this man who was like a brother. Did you fall in love with her?”

“No, anything but. Juliette was an ambitious young courtesan when Stephen met her at a masquerade. He was my partner in some gaming hells and we’d both become rich. I was twenty-two and he was two years older. He was much more handsome than me.”

A wistful, self-deprecating smile showed he was thinking of his friend with affection, but his lips suddenly firmed into a hard line. “Juliette wanted him—but as a husband, not a protector. She was stunning, so Stephen was smitten also.”