Mary Blayney (52 page)

It was going to be an interesting life. God help him. And that was definitely a prayer.

39

M
ICHAEL KNEW
what the future held. He’d known from the moment that the vicar had said it was time for him to answer his call. He sat in his parlor, sipping a brandy, and considered all the forces that had brought him to this moment.

He did not deserve her. Why would no one believe that? Or was it that Olivia deserved so much better than a man who was a disappointment to his father, whose best work for his country had been as a thief and spy.

Before he’d thought that if he could find out who had kidnapped her, he could leave having started to earn his redemption. But once they had made love he knew that Olivia was the woman that filled the emptiness, the one who made him forget all others.

For the last two days he had avoided her and, to his surprise, she had not sought him out. She had left some berries and cream and billet-doux last night. He knew she was waiting for him to come to her.

It was a different kind of hell, to have found paradise and know that you did not deserve it.

Big Sam found him still nursing the glass of brandy as the sunlight began to fade. Samuelson was dressed in something that was a cross between an outfit suitable for hunting and a footman’s livery.

“Sir, Mr. Garrett. Excuse me, I do have some news for you. You know how you left word for the ostler at both inns and the smithy to let you know if any soldiers or strangers came through Pennsford? The smith sent a message that a man came in to have his horse’s shoe tended to. He said the man told him his name was Smith and he would be at the Fox and Hare.”

Giving no explanation for his departure, Michael left orders to call Lord David if anything happened before he returned. Michael hoped that the roof on the henhouse fell in the minute he was out of shouting range. There was no reason why Lord David should have a good night’s sleep if he wasn’t going to have one.

Just as Michael was finishing his interrogation of the smithy, who worked nights as the ostler at Pennsford Inn, one last guest rode into the yard. He was well traveled, with water dripping from his coat, and still in a hurry despite the fact that he seemed to have arrived at his destination.

Michael was not even sure why the man caught and held his interest, except perhaps for the red scarf he wore. It tickled some bit of memory and he decided to keep pace with Mr. Red Scarf since they both seemed to be bound for the same place anyway.

Despite the steady rain, Red Scarf tossed a coin to the ostler and announced his plans to stay if a room was available, all before he swung off his horse. Once his feet hit the ground Michael realized why he gave his commands atop his horse.

If Big Sam was the biggest man he had ever seen, Red Scarf was one of the shortest. Not much taller than Olivia, if he were to guess. Red Scarf took no note of the stares as he made his way to the inn.

Michael followed him into the common room, which was relatively empty. The smell of the rain and the endless damp was relieved by a ferocious fire that burned in a mammoth fireplace, one worthy of a baronial hall.

It did more than burn. It
ate
the wood with voracious flicks of orange and red. A boy sat nearby to feed it from a stack of logs as big as he was.

Any visitor was warmed and dried instantly, but that was still not enough to draw anyone but the few travelers who were in out-of-the-way Pennsford.

Even Red Scarf stopped to admire the fire and look about the room for a familiar face.

Michael found who he was looking for, Smith and his manservant Jones, the two men who had come to the cottage. They were seated at a table as far from the fire as possible. Smith stared at a crack in the wall, physically in Pennsford, but mentally far, far away.

Jones had his back to the newcomers but appeared to be staring morosely into his tankard. Michael had learned self-control but it was sorely tested now. He swallowed against the rage that made him want to scream his fury and confront them in the instant. He stepped back behind a convenient post and waited to see what Red Scarf would do.

Red Scarf arrowed to the table and did not care who was listening. His voice more than compensated for his height.

“You complete and utter idiots.”

“My lord!” Smith was surprised one minute and ready to argue the next. Mr. Jones took his cue from his leader. Mr. Smith had half a word out of his mouth, but that was all he managed.

“Close your mouth and listen, you stupid sons of Sodom.”

My lord?
The addition of those two words was an interesting development. As
Lord
Red Scarf spoke he seemed to grow by inches. It was nothing he did, but a power emanated from him that made the honorific a fact.

“My grandfather is obsessed with one thing: land. Land that will make him money is a double prize. This is not about anything else. And I will tell him that to his face, and my father will be with me on this. It ends now. No piece of land is worth what he had you do.”

So the little lord was another of Olivia’s champions. Who was he? More important, who was his duke grandfather?

“You will collect your things and leave at once and hope that you are not hunted down, beaten to within an inch of your life and left by the road to rot and on to hell for all eternity.”

It was too many words as threats go, but it did manage to convey that Lord Red Scarf was serious.

Smith drew a breath.

“You say one word and I will strip off your cravat and stuff it in your mouth.” Red Scarf threw some coins on the table and swore. “Out!” This one had a temper. “Do not keep me waiting. I will see you to the stable and on your way before I find my bed.”

“But my lord, the rain.” Jones did not seem to realize that Lord Red Scarf had ridden in it himself.

“A nice night ride in the rain is the least of what you deserve. With any luck you will develop an inflammation of the lungs and die before I see you again.” The two men moved to obey.

As they hurried up the stairs, Michael wanted to stop them. Even as he took a step forward, he forced himself to think beyond the red haze of anger. Olivia came first. If he caused a scene now, her reputation would take one more blow.

With a prayer for patience Michael approached the now empty table. Lord Red Scarf stepped back and took a seat at another table. The owner grabbed the money and came to the man, who looked most of a normal height when seated.

“I will take their room and pay you for it as well. If the bed has been used have the sheets changed. I will leave shortly after breakfast as I have a meeting with the Duke of Meryon.” He handed a coin to the owner, who nodded and left the room as quickly as he could.

Lord Red Scarf tapped his hand on the table, as though he had to rid himself of his energy in some way.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Michael walked over to Red Scarf, giving a chance to take his measure. The man gave off the aura of someone who would rather fight than discuss.

“And why are you out on such a ghastly night?”

“For the same reason you are. To catch the two bastards who kidnapped Olivia Pennistan.”

“Sit down.” Lord Red Scarf straightened, thumped the table as he spoke and added, “If you please.”

A woman came from the kitchen. Red Scarf turned to her and smiled. A smile that could have charmed the garters off a bishop’s wife. The woman smiled back, though she was old enough to be his mother.

“My good woman, I do appreciate your service this evening. Could you bring some ale and bread and cheese or whatever will fill this amazing hole in my stomach.”

She nodded, rushed from the room and was back in less than a minute with ale, bread, cheese and a hefty slice of cold ham.

Lord Red Scarf took the mug with a nod of thanks and downed half of it.

“I am Michael Garret, my lord.”

“Garrett.” He nodded but did not offer his hand. “I am Viscount William Bendasbrook.”

Bendasbrook. The name clicked. Olivia’s suitor from her Season. The one that had been “fun” but whom she could never marry. Now he knew why.

Lord William eyed Michael and the ham with equal interest, took a great bite of bread with ham on it and proceeded to talk with his mouth full.

“Sorry, hungry as a starving dog.” He chewed some more. “So I have no idea how you are involved in this, but I do believe you have just added to the Bendasbrook legend. Thank you. Not that I need any help, but if it comes without strings I accept.”

It was an instant decision, but he was bigger than the viscount if this did not go as Michael thought it would. “I came upon Lady Olivia when she escaped the two of them. Now I work for the duke.”

He did not add that he was about to marry the lady of the house. Somehow he thought that the viscount might resent that. “I came to the village when I was given word that these two were here. We have been looking for them for weeks.” He sat back. “My lord William, they are not leaving until the Duke of Meryon has his say in this.”

The viscount had just taken too big a bite of food to even try to talk, so he shrugged as if he might agree to it. He didn’t seem to realize that he did not have a choice. He finished the ale and wiped his mouth.

“If you don’t want to brain them, my grandfather does. Basically we agree on that. But not on the reason why. My grandfather must think the Tudors are still on the throne. He’s old enough to have known Elizabeth at least.”

Michael leaned forward. He was going to do something he almost never did: ask a question he did not already know the answer to. “Why did they come back here? Where have they been?”

“The old goat wanted to guarantee Meryon would be willing to talk marriage. So his plan was to ruin dear Lady Olivia. Smith actually argued that they had not failed, that Lady Olivia’s reputation was ruined even if she was not found wandering the Pennsford road naked. There were some of her clothes left here and there, were there not?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it! I raced here as soon as I found out his asinine plan. Was delayed by that incredible gale, and arrived too late to forestall them or find anything out without compromising her. Word was she was sick at the vicar’s manse. A story that would work as well as any even if it was lacking in imagination.”

Michael remembered where he had seen that red scarf before. The day he and Olivia had been making their way to Pennsford, the day after the storm. Lord William had been one of the people who had passed them on the road.

“As to why they came back and where they have been, they have been hiding out at the godforsaken cabin in the Peak.”

“I know the place.”
Better than I want to,
Michael thought.

“My grandfather told them to wait there until my suit was accepted by Meryon. You will note he did not think to include Lady Olivia in the discussion. He sent me to propose. I told him I was coming to terrorize the two of them and do whatever I could to ensure Lady O’s good name. My father backed me in it until we browbeat the old reprobate into doing it our way. I sent word that Smith and Jones were to meet me here.”

Michael believed every word he was saying. Only a complete fool would ride into enemy territory with an explanation so impossible to prove.

“Tell me, do you have a dungeon at the castle?” Lord William sounded as though it was what he most wanted.

“No, but there is a private boxing ring.”

“Boxing! A boxing ring. Capital. That is perfect. A little punishment and ship them off to my family’s sugar plantation in the Barbados.”

There would be more than a little punishment if Michael had anything to do with it. No doubt the duke and Lord David would feel the same way.

Smith and Jones came down with their kit. Both seemed to be traveling light. Lord William waved them over and looked them up and down for a long moment. Smith kept his eyes on the viscount but Jones looked over at Michael. Michael gave him a smile that was all Enoch Ballthur.

Jones drew the attention of Smith, who stepped back as recognition struck.

“The viscount told me you are looking for a place to stay tonight,” Michael began, speaking without his Yorkshire accent. “I explained that the castle has some room available.”

“And we will be off,” said the viscount as he gobbled up the last of the cold collation.

Michael saw Jones glance at the door and he stepped closer to him. “Do not even give a thought to running or I will track you down and murder you as brutally as an old soldier knows how. If you cooperate you will live.”

Jones nodded. Smith was not convinced. He must have noticed that Michael did not mention what was coming between the cooperation and the rest of their lives.

It took Michael and Lord William a few hours and Lord David’s help to settle the two men into one of the old castle’s empty rooms. One with a lock. It was not a dungeon, but as Lord William said with real glee in his voice, “Almost as cold, and it’s the one that is haunted.”

Samuelson insisted on acting as guard, and by the time Michael and the viscount were walking down the drive it was clear that their plan was going to work.

“Don’t want it in the courts,” the viscount agreed. “That would only make life a misery for Lady Olivia. And the duchess. And the duke. With a duke and a viscount involved, and my father, who is an earl, we should be able to keep this quiet. I’ll bring the carriage up in the morning and take them to Bristol. Always wanted to drive a carriage. I’ll find a ship headed south and they can recover on their three-week journey to the Caribbean. Could happen that they will be seasick the whole way. Or taken by pirates.”