JORDAN Nicole (24 page)

The curricle lost some speed as Arden negotiated the turn, but then he urged the grays faster. Roslyn clung to the side railing as the curricle bucked and shuddered over the uneven ground. Yet she could tell they were losing the chase.

She was certain of it when suddenly the bay horse plunged off the lane and disappeared into the woods.

Arden slowed the curricle when they reached the path the rider had taken, but the opening in the trees was too narrow for the curricle to negotiate. Having no way to follow, he drew his panting grays to a halt. They could hear the dull echo of hoofbeats growing ever more distant.

“Blast, blast, blast!” Roslyn sputtered, banging her fist on her knee in frustration.

“So explain to me why we were chasing him,” Arden said when she finally fell silent. “You believe he was the highwayman who held you up last week?”

“Yes, didn’t you see his right arm? He wore it in a sling.”

“And you found him in Lady Freemantle’s house?”

“Yes. At first I thought he was one of her footmen, but I caught him in her dressing room, in the act of rifling through her jewel case. I don’t think he had time to steal anything—he ran from me as soon he saw me—” Roslyn broke off suddenly to point at the lane in front of them. “Why are we just wasting time sitting here? We need to hunt for the thief,” she said urgently.

“Just what do you propose we do?” Drew asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“He was headed in the direction of Chiswick. We should at least inquire in the village if anyone has seen him.”

She reached for the reins, but Drew held them away. “No you don’t. I still haven’t recovered from the shock of you absconding with my rig. And I’m damned if I want you risking my horses’ lives again, or our own.”

He set his pair into a brisk, ground-eating trot, heading toward Chiswick, which calmed Roslyn enough for him to question her about the highwayman.

“Why did you think him to be a footman?” Drew asked as they drove.

Her brow furrowed. “I just assumed so because he was dressed in livery.”

Drew shook his head. “He wore a different color livery than the Freemantle servants. His coat was dark blue with gold trim. Her ladyship’s colors are burgundy and silver.”

“I didn’t think of that,” she said.

“So why was he in disguise?”

“I’m not certain. Perhaps he thought he could more easily sneak into the house if he could be mistaken for a servant.”

“But why take such a risk?”

“Because,” Roslyn mused aloud, “Winifred was too well guarded after last night’s ball?”

“I suppose that’s possible,” Drew conceded.

“He must have wanted her brooch. He didn’t seem interested in her diamonds this time, just like the last.”

“What the devil is so special about that brooch?”

“I have no idea,” she answered. “Its value is mostly sentimental since it contains a portrait of Winifred’s late husband inside. But I wouldn’t think Sir Rupert’s likeness would be of any interest to anyone but her.”

“Was the brooch in her jewel case?”

“No. After the holdup, she decided to keep it in a safer place, thank heavens. She would be devastated if it were stolen.”

“You realize that searching the village will likely be futile? I doubt he will have let himself be seen there—or anywhere else near here for that matter. Not with every farmer and tradesman in the district on the lookout for him.”

“I know, but I must dosomething .”

“What you should do,” Drew muttered under his breath, “is allow me to take you home.”

“Don’t you want to catch him?”

“Of course. But I dislike the way you keep putting yourself in dangerous, possibly life-threatening situations.”

Roslyn turned her head to stare at him. “You can’t honestly fault me for trying to prevent him from stealing my friend’s prize possession?”

“In fact I do. I admire your determination, but you could have been seriously hurt just now, not to mention that you could have lamed my horses.”

“I’m sorry, but I was desperate.”

“Have you ever even driven a pair before?”

“No,” Roslyn replied a trifle guiltily, “but I am quite proficient at driving one horse since I take out our gig frequently.”

“It isn’t the same thing. I shall have to teach you how to handle a pair.”

“No, you will not! I have had more than enough lessons from you, your grace, thank you all the same.”

“Stop addressing me as ‘your grace’ in that stately tone. We have gone far beyond such formalities. My name is Drew.”

“I know what your name is. But that doesn’t mean I care to use it.”

“Why not?”

“It would signify too much intimacy between us.”

He didn’t point out that they had already been a great deal more intimate than merely using their given names, since he didn’t wish to remind Roslyn of their acrimonious parting last evening. Instead, Drew cast her a sideways glance, surveying her. She had to be chilled. Her afternoon dress of gray twilled silk was not meant to withstand a windy drive on such a stormy day.

He drew the horses to a halt and handed her the reins. “Don’t you dare drive. Just hold them for a moment.” Taking off his coat, he slid it around her shoulders.

“You don’t have much sense, chasing after him without so much as a shawl.”

“I don’t care about my comfort. I just want to find the thief so he will stop terrorizing Winifred.”

Drew bit back the sharp remark that was on the tip of his tongue. It exasperated him that Roslyn would chase after the thief with no thought to her own safety, even though he had to admire her courage and her determination to get to the bottom of the mystery and protect her friend, Lady Freemantle. But he knew she wouldn’t rest until she had her way.

In a few moments they arrived in the small village of Chiswick, which boasted a market, a posting inn and tavern, a blacksmith, and a church, in addition to several shops. Drew escorted Roslyn into each one and took over the questioning. But the result was just as he’d expected. No one had seen any sign of the thieving footman; his trail had gone completely cold just like before.

Roslyn was not happy to admit defeat. “This is sofrustrating, ” she exclaimed as Drew handed her up into his curricle. “He has escaped twice now.”

“I know, but we’ve done all we can do this afternoon.” Hearing a distant roll of thunder, he glanced up at the darkening sky. “I need to return you to Freemantle Park. There’s a storm brewing, and we don’t want to be caught in it.”

“We can’t simply give up,” Roslyn protested. “I doubt he will stop trying until we apprehend him.”

“I’m not giving up,” Drew assured her as he turned his horses back toward the Park. “But there are smarter ways to conduct a search than chasing about in this haphazard fashion.”

“What ways?”

“We start by identifying the livery he was wearing.”

“How can you possibly identify his livery?”

Drew delayed answering momentarily while he urged the grays to a brisker pace. The wind was blustering now and the scent of rain was rife in the air, and he wanted Roslyn safely back before the storm hit.

“I’ll hire a Bow Street Runner to investigate,” Drew said then. “Think about it. He had to have acquired his attire somewhere. He may very well be employed as a footman in some noble household. And if not, it will still put us closer to discovering his identity if we can learn where his costume came from.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “That might indeed work. But I want to speak to Bow Street myself. You have done more than enough already.”

“I don’t mind in the least.”

“Perhaps not, but this is not your problem.”

“I am making it my problem.”

“Your grace,” she said, her tone exasperated, “Winifred is one of my dearest friends, and I wish to handle this problem on my own.”

Drew’s mouth twisted wryly. “Didn’t any of my lessons sink in? Your authoritarian manner is likely to put off your suitors,” he chided lightly. “You should be playing damsel in distress instead.”

“So you can play the silver-armored knight?”

“Quite. It’s good for a man’s self-esteem, letting him feel heroic once in a while.”

Roslyn rolled her eyes. “There is only one difficulty. I have no desire to attract you—orto have you for my suitor.”

“I know. Which I find rather amazing. How many women would reject the hand of a duke?”

She gave him a quelling look. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

“And I don’t wish to discuss my involvement any further. I’ll pay a visit to Bow Street as soon as I return to London. Now just say a gracious thank-you, sweeting, and hold your tongue.”

“Very well, thank you, your grace,” Roslyn said grudgingly.

“That wasn’t gracious enough,” Drew observed. “I can be of help to you and you know it.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Very well, you win. I would appreciate your help.”

Drew regarded her with satisfaction. After their tumultuous parting last night in the garden, he wanted very much to have Roslyn smile at him again. “That is much better—”

He had only completed half the sentence when a sudden crack of lightning split the sky on their left, followed swiftly by a ferocious clap of thunder. His high-strung horses shied violently at the boom and lunged forward, jerking the curricle behind them.

Drew swore under his breath and tightened his grip on the reins, struggling to hold the grays, yet it was difficult when a gusting wind began buffeting them. And when a second jagged streak of lightning was accompanied by more explosive thunder, the pair panicked and bolted into a gallop.

It was all Drew could do to maintain control as the curricle went careening down the country lane. He had just started to slow the frightened horses when one of the wheels hit a pothole with a loud crack, jolting the vehicle so hard that both he and Roslyn were nearly thrown from their seats.

Drew caught her and clung precariously as the curricle canted at a dangerous angle. They were dragged behind the racing pair for a hundred yards or more, until at last he managed to haul the horses to a trembling halt.

“Are you all right?” he demanded of Roslyn.

“Yes,” she said shakily. “What of the horses?”

Tossing her the reins, Drew jumped down and went to their heads, trying to soothe them. “They’re unharmed, but the wheel is shot.”

The metal rim had come off and the wooden wheel had splintered in fragments, so that the axle was almost touching the ground. The wheel would have to be repaired before the curricle was functional again.

In any event, outracing the storm was out of the question, for already they were being pelted by stinging raindrops.

He was debating whether to walk back to the village or search for the nearest farm when the heavens suddenly opened up. In seconds they were drenched by a torrent of icy rain.

Drew immediately set to work unharnessing the horses, and when another lightning bolt shook the ground, Roslyn climbed down from the curricle and pointed at a shadowy structure set back off the lane.

“There is a cottage,” she shouted. “Can we take shelter there?”

“Better than remaining here,” Drew responded over the din. The cottage would offer nominal protection from the lightning and slashing rain at least.

Roslyn helped him to unbuckle the leather straps of the harnesses, but for her safety, Drew led the nervous horses through the deluge.

It was slow going. They could barely see in the downpour, and her shoes were not made for trudging over uneven ground made treacherous with mud.

The lightning struck dangerously close again just as they finally reached the cottage. The small dwelling was built of stone with a thatched roof, Drew saw, and boasted a shed for livestock against one wall.

“I recognize this place,” Roslyn shouted again. “It belongs to the Widow Jearson, but she may not be here. I heard she is visiting her granddaughter for her lying-in.” Stumbling forward, Roslyn dragged open the door to the shed. “Yes, I was right. She has a pony and cart, but they are both are gone. There is room for your horses, though.”

Drew led the skittish grays inside while Roslyn quickly shut the door behind them to keep out the fierce gusts of rain. As he took stock of the shed, she leaned back against the door in obvious relief, her breath a little ragged. Through the dim light slanting through the one window, he could see she was soaked to the skin, with her hair plastered to her head. His coat had been useless in protecting her, but at least she was now safe from the ferocity of the storm.

There was only one stall, but it would serve to hold the horses, Drew decided, and there was even a forkful of hay in the manger to keep them occupied. He removed their bridles and turned the grays loose, but to his surprise, Roslyn followed them inside.

She had rummaged in a cupboard and found some rags, which she proceeded to use to wipe down their soaked hides.

“You don’t have to curry my horses, sweeting,” Drew said, relieving her of a rag.

She flashed him a damp smile. “I feel obliged, since they suffered enough abuse at my hands for one day. And it won’t be good for them to be put up wet.”

It didn’t totally surprise him that she would place the animals’ comfort and well-being over her own, but it did surprise him that a lady of her breeding would know how to properly care for blood horses.

“Where did you learn to groom?”

“My sisters and I had to care for our own mounts for the past four years, since our step-uncle wouldn’t let his grooms assist us.”

Drew found his jaw tightening at the reminder of the late Lord Danvers. The miserly curmudgeon had treated his step-nieces like supplicants, not only forcing them to work for their livings and become teachers at their academy, but to perform the tasks of menial servants.

“We didn’t mind,” Roslyn added when she saw his frown. “And Lily thrived on it. She would much rather spend her time in a barn than a ballroom.”

When they had finished, the grays not only were much drier but had calmed down significantly. They stood quietly munching hay, even though rain still drummed fiercely upon the roof and outside thunder rolled and lightning crackled.

Roslyn, however, had begun shivering in her wet clothing.