His Lordship Possessed (2 page)

are impassible from the inside of the room. Even if you

could get at the locks, there is nothing you can use to

pick them.” He turned about one last time, studying my

prison. “It will have to be a possession, then.”

“A what?”

“Stay here.” He fl oated out through the door.

“Harry!” I went over and pounded on the door. “Come

back here.”

Th e door opened, but in came Connell, who

slammed the door behind him. I shuffl ed back, unsure

if I should try to dodge round him or kick him in the

unmentionables.

“You’ve been ill,” he told me as he walked right up

to me and studied my face. “You believe you’ve been

poisoned. Th ere’s blood coming from your lips.”

“What are you talking about? Th ere’s no bloo—”

My head snapped as he slapped me, hard enough to

make my ears hum.

“Now there is.” Connell handed me the container of

scented powder. “Toss this in the guard’s face. It will

blind and choke him long enough for you to get outside.

Th en lock him in.”

I stared at him. “Connell, why are you helping me?”

“Charm, it’s me, Harry.” For a moment I saw the old

man’s face appear atop Connell’s, like a half-transparent

mask. “I’ve taken
possession
of this man’s body.” He glanced down at himself. “Which isn’t all that bad.” He

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LYNN VIEHL

stretched out an arm. “Very strappy fellow.”

“Get out of there,” I almost shrieked.

“If I dispossess him now, he’ll regain his senses

immediately and spoil your escape.” Harry/Connell

patted my cheek. “Now remember, give the guard a good

dousing with that powder.”

“You’re possessing a guard, so why don’t you simply

walk me out of here?” I demanded.

“No time to explain that now,” my grandfather said.

“Th ere’s a guard in the front hall, and one repairing the

door you smashed in the kitchen. Once you get out of

here, go to the servant’s stairs and take the tradesmen’s

entrance out.”

“All right.” I gingerly tested the bleeding cut on the

inside of my lip before smearing the sides of my mouth

with the blood to make it look more convincing. “Once

I’m outside, then what?”

“You’ll fi nd three horses in the stables,” he told me.

“Saddle the black gelding with the white star on his nose.

Ride through the pasturelands, and don’t allow anyone to

see or stop you.”

I stirred the powder with a fi ngertip. “You’re certain

this will work?”

“I wasn’t a hoodlum, you silly twit. I was Houdini.”

He gave me an awkward, one-armed hug. “And your

lover will not remain in town forever, so you had best get

going.”

“
Former
lover.” I dragged some hair over my eyes and

went to stand by the door. “Did you become Houdini as

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Disench anted & Co., Part 1

a cover for the spying?”

“You mean you haven’t worked it out yet?” Incredibly,

he chuckled. “I possessed the body of a spy, Charm, and

used him as my cover. Being a spy concealed the fact that

I was, ah, Houdini.”

“Why would you have to hide that?” I demanded.

“From what I’ve read everyone adored him—you.”

“Everyone but your parents, and that story will have to

keep for another time. Wait.” He picked up my pendant

from the fl oor and set it on a table near me. “Count to

ten after I leave, put this on, and don’t take it off unless you need me.”

“Why?”

“Th ings have changed now that I’m . . . never mind.”

He opened the door and hurried out.

I slowly counted to ten before I put my pendant back

on, drew a deep breath, and then bowed over, concealing

the powder behind my arms. “Please . . . help me,” I

called out in a strangled, frightened voice. “I’m throwing

up . . . blood. I think I’ve been . . . poisoned . . .”

I had to keep that up for several minutes until the

brute who had brought me to the room from the garden

stepped in and scowled at me.

“What’s all this?” he demanded, peering at my face

and then straightening. “Where did you—?”

I hurled the scented powder in his face, shoving him

aside and darting past him through the door. As he

coughed, I slammed the door shut and engaged the locks.

He began immediately swearing at me and hammering

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LYNN VIEHL

on the door’s inside panel, but I didn’t linger to hear his

poor opinion of me. I ran down the hall to the servant’s

stairs then took them to the fi rst fl oor, where I stood in the shadows until I saw the guard there rushing upstairs.

Th en I ran round the corner and fl ed to the deliveries

door.

It refused to open at fi rst, but then the knob gave way

and I was outside. I scanned the grounds to look for other

guards and saw the coast was clear.

Bunching up my skirts and running across the lawn

put me in view of the house, but I felt sure I had another

minute or two before Powder-face and Dredmore’s

other hooligans came after me. I made it to the stables

and darted inside, stopping long enough to listen for a

moment and a glance out. Lamplight fl icked against the

side windows of the house, descending from the second

to the fi rst fl oor.

I turned and dashed to the stalls, where fi ve black

horses were watching me with some interest.

“All right, which one of you has a white star?” I went

to the center stalls, avoided a nip from a cranky-looking

mare with a white stripe, and then found the gelding, a

placid-eyed fellow who nuzzled my fi ngers looking for a

treat.

“Saves you for the ladies, does he?” I glanced at the

saddles hanging on the end wall before I took down a

bridle from a post peg and unlatched the stall door. Th e

gelding dipped his head as I bridled him, and only gave

me a mild look of surprise when I tossed a blanket over

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Disench anted & Co., Part 1

his back.

“Sorry, no time for anything else,” I told him, and

climbed up the side of the stall to swing onto him. Th e

only times I rode horseback were when I dressed as a

native male, so I was used to sitting astride. For his part

the gelding turned his head as if to inspect me. “For

God’s sake, just
pretend
I’m a man.”

I guided him out of the stall and rode him to the

double doors, where I reached up for the latch pull.

Dredmore had installed a mechanized opener, the wheels

of which whirred as four telescoping bars pushed open

the big doors. Th rough them I saw the indistinct shapes

of two men halfway between the stables and the house.

“Now, let’s make a run for it.” I thumped my heels

into the gelding’s sides, and he trotted out with a sedate,

fastidious trot. “I said
run
, my lad, not
mince
.”

After two more insistent thumps, the gelding

reluctantly stretched his legs and galloped across the lawn

away from the manor and across the clearing that led to

the cliff s.

I reined in the gelding when I reached a grove of

cypress and took cover there to watch for Dredmore’s

men. When the horse became restless, I stroked his

neck. “I know, George, fi rst time you get a decent rider

and now you have to wait. You don’t mind if I call you

George, do you? You look like a George.”

George snorted and dropped his head to crop some

grass.

I rode horseback often enough not to be sore, but one

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LYNN VIEHL

already tender portion of my anatomy made me acutely

aware not only of how daft I’d been, but why women

were rarely seen in public the day after their weddings.

“I’ll wager
he
isn’t suff ering,” I muttered to the gelding as I watched several men riding Dredmore’s other

horses gallop past. “I imagine he’s swaggering about and

bragging of his conquest and feeling quite the master of

al he surveys. I should have set fi re to that damned hovel of his before I escaped.”

Once the posse had disappeared over the next hill,

George and I came out of the cypress and went in the

opposite direction, toward the fi rst spread of pasturelands that surrounded the city. Th e gelding perked up as soon

as we were in the clear, and I eased off the reins to let him have his head.

“Go on,” I said as he went into that mincing trot

again. “Th is is probably the only chance you’ll ever have

to really run.”

George seemed to understand me and took off in

a long, elegant lope that gradually increased in speed

until we were fairly fl ying across the pastures. I glanced

back now and then, but no one appeared behind us.

Dredmore’s men were too accustomed to dealing with

ladies, I imagined.

I stopped the gelding twice: once to water him at a

spring-fed trough in a cow pasture, and the second time

just within sight of the city’s streets. George had proven

himself a worthy steed, so I abandoned my initial plan

to turn him loose outside Rumsen and instead rode him

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through the back alleys to Halter’s, a small stable near my

fl at that I often frequented.

A few minutes after I rang the service bell, John Halter

came out of the barn in his shirtsleeves, his penders still

hanging round his hips. “We don’t open ‘til dawn, so you

can . . . sod me, Miss Kit? Th at you?”

“No, John, it’s not me.” I handed him the reins and

dismounted. “It’s just George here. Say hello to my mate

John Halter, George.”

Th e gelding blew out some air.

“Morning, George.” John gave his neck a few gentle

slaps. “So why is this big fellow getting me up out of bed

before I’ve had m’tea?”

“Last night George wandered away from home and

has since become lost,” I said. “You can tell by the sadness in his eyes.”

“Bugger looks right happy to me.” Th e stablemaster

frowned. “Where’s George’s home, then?”

“Th at would be Morehaven.”

John swore softly.

“I’ve watered and rested him. He’ll need a rub and

some feed, and his master will pay you when he comes

to collect him.” I hesitated. “He’ll likely have some

questions, John.”

“Th en I’ll let George answer what he can.” John

sighed. “You’re not here, Miss Kit. Best you go on home.”

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From John Halter’s I did go home, arriving at my door

a few minutes before sunrise. I scowled at the row of

wardlings nailed above the entry before I went inside and

bolted the door behind me.

Glancing down, I saw how my night’s adventures had

reduced Bridget’s beautiful gown to little more than a

bundle of dirty rags. I stank of horse sweat and my own

sweat, and something else.

Beneath it all, I smelled of Dredmore.

I was distracted from my dark thoughts by looking

at my bare forearm. Dredmore’s men hadn’t found my

pendant but had relieved me of all my other, borrowed

jewels before locking me up; hopefully Bridget’s husband

could use his infl uence to get them back because I could

never aff ord to replace them. A suspicious little trickle

between my legs made me crane my head round, and I

saw spots of blood on the back of my skirt.

Reminders of more things that could never be taken

back.

I ran to my bath, tearing off the gown before I grabbed

my sponge and stepped into the tub. Th e cascade doused

me in frigid water as I scrubbed myself all over, washing

away the sweat and the blood, the dirt and the tears.

And Dredmore.

After ridding myself of all the unwanted reminders of

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the night before (as well as a layer or two of my skin) I

dried my hair and dressed, ignoring the siren song of my

sympathetic bed. I’d triumphed over a tragedy of my own

manufacture; my life would go on. My monthlies had

just fi nished, so chances were that I would not become

pregnant. If anything I could be grateful to Dredmore for

smashing the last of my romantic notions.

Men and romance, two notions I fully intended to

avoid in the future like the rats and plague they were.

When I arrived at the Davies Building, Horace Eduwin

Gremley the Fourth stood hovering just outside the

main entry. He rushed over as soon as he saw me turn

the corner.

“Mr. Gremley.” I bobbed. “You’re in early today.

Making up some hours to allow for an early day on

Friday?”

“No. Yes. Ah, Miss Kittredge.” His eyes darted

back before returning to gaze at me with a kind of wild