The Match of the Century (7 page)

And he could have kicked himself.

Why was nothing simple when it came to this woman?

Moments before he was completely sympathetic to her. But he always seemed to be waiting for her to say one thing wrong. To offer any criticism . . . and he didn’t understand himself.

“That was crude of me,” he murmured. “Ignore me.”

Now she appeared genuinely confused. “Well, you do smell better than you did that night.”

“I’d traveled a long way that day and the days before it,” he admitted.

“And had drunk quite a bit.”

“I bathed in whisky,” he agreed, and surprised a laugh out of her.

She covered her mouth as if afraid she offended him again, and he waved her fears away with a motion of his hand.

“I wasn’t good that night,” he confessed.

There was beat of silence. “It was a terrible night.”

“I know.”

Now it was his turn to pause, to consider carefully what he wanted to say. A year and a half ago, he had attempted to make amends and had not heard one word from her until she’d run into the Oak’s taproom this evening.

And what did he want to say?
She still isn’t yours,
an inner voice reminded him
.
She’d announced in front of Hooknose and the others that she was bound for London to marry his brother and all of her own free will.

But she wasn’t married yet.

It was amazing how insidious those little voices in his mind were. How they battled with each other, but only over this woman. Especially when she looked as vulnerable as she did now.

Her hair was a tangled mess and her face pale from worry and smudges of dirt from her ordeal. However, her dark eyes told him she was grateful to have found him.

Grateful. What a weak word. Too weak for what he wanted from her, and it was as if the years fell away, and he was once again under her spell. A spell she hadn’t woven because she was oblivious to him.

Self-pity, anger, and heartache started to raise their ugly heads. He forced them back.

God damn it all. He was a bloody fool.

And the sooner he scooted her out of his life, the better he would be. He’d found peace without her twice now. He would find it again.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands to punctuate the word and return his mind to good sense. “You need your rest, and tomorrow, we’ll take you to your father.” He moved toward the doorway, and half-out of it, pulling the door shut when Elin took a step toward him—and that was all it took for him to pause.

“Thank you, Ben,” she whispered. “Thank you for being here.”

Elin had never had guile. She had always said exactly what she thought. It wasn’t her fault that this defenseless side of her ripped all of his good intentions to shreds. He wanted nothing more than to fall on his knees in front of her and beg her to give him another chance.

But he was a man. Men didn’t beg.

“Right,” he said, sounding almost cheery. “Tomorrow.” He shut the door and, at last, took a full breath.

“Ah, yes,” he muttered to himself. “St. Benedict Whitridge, martyr to lost causes and defender of stray kittens.” He balled his hand into a fist and pounded it into the wood of the wall across from her room.

The pain felt good.

It felt manly.

And suddenly he realized what was missing between them. The love he’d once hoped they shared—and it was strictly all his belief because she had never professed it—had died, lost to his adolescent fumbling and to his foul temper over a year ago.

And there was nothing he could do about the impression. In truth, Gavin was a better man than he was.

Never once in his life had Ben had such a thought, and now here it was, full-blown in his mind. His ducal brother was the better man—especially where Elin was concerned and perhaps everywhere else.

Ben walked back to the taproom, his hand smarting, as was his ego.

He’d prided himself on his honesty. He knew he resented his brother. He just didn’t want to delve into why. It was enough that Gavin had effortlessly claimed Elin. And if there was more to his resentment, Ben wasn’t certain he wished to examine it—

Three feet from the light flowing from the taproom door, Ben sensed something was wrong. There were no voices, no idle chatter, no rattling of the dice. Cautiously, he moved forward, and as he did so, Hooknose took up a post in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Ben came up behind him. Hooknose was expecting him. “We have visitors,” he murmured.

Leaning around his friend, Ben’s gaze fell upon three hulking men who looked the worse for wear. They stood at the bar gobbling down Osprey’s stew. In their long canvas coats and worn boots, they would fit anyone’s image of “murderers.”

Ben wanted to return to Elin, to see her safe. However, the moment he prepared to back up, the tallest of the men caught sight of him in the doorway. For a long moment their gazes held, and if Ben had any doubts about Elin’s story, they were dispelled.

The leader had removed his hat. Greasy dark hair stood this way and that. He would have appeared comical if not for the growth of beard on his jaw and the menace in his light brown eyes. Wolf’s eyes.

His gaze shifted from Ben, scanning the room.

“You don’t have any bread?” one of his men growled at Osprey, who was pouring more ale into their mugs.

“They ate it all,” the innkeeper said, nodding to the table where Nate and Big Roger sat. They had started taking turns disinterestedly rolling the dice. Ben’s winnings were still on the end of the table. That was too bad, because Ben had a feeling he wasn’t going to be staying long enough to collect them. He just hoped the other lads would enjoy the bounty.

The Wolf took a moment to glare at the two young men who stood at the far corner of the bar. Ben hadn’t paid much attention to them himself. Osprey had said they were local lads who left their wives for a night out every chance they could. The heavy one’s face was marred by spots. The other had a huge Adam’s apple. Ben’s thought was that their wives were probably happy to have them out of their way. They didn’t look like the sort who were hard workers.

Feeling the Wolf’s scrutiny, they hunkered down, not wanting trouble. He dismissed them with a curl of his lip and picked up his tankard.

Ben decided to take a step back and see what happened. He knew he could depend on Hooknose, Nate, and Big Roger. He could feel them watching him, waiting for a signal of what he wanted to have happen. It should be easy to overpower the threesome—

The Wolf slammed his empty tankard upside down on the table and pulled a horse pistol from the inside of his coat. He cocked it.

Ben froze.

“We are looking for a woman,” the Wolf said, his voice deep, gravelly, and surprisingly cultured. “She may be lost. We’d like to find her. Has anyone seen her?”

Osprey quickly said, “I’ve not seen any lost women wandering in here.”

“Haven’t either,” said Hooknose. Nate was quiet, but Big Roger shrugged his agreement with his mates.

The Wolf’s glance fell on Ben. “She left tracks. It’s dark out there, but I’m a good tracker. She was coming this direction. I think she would have been attracted to the light. We were.”

And then he turned to the two lads standing at the bar, the ones who had been trying to make themselves unnoticeable, and he smiled. It was a horrible expression to see because his teeth were sharp and jagged from having been broken. He aimed his pistol at them, and the lads were undone.

“There was a woman,” Spot Face said, “and you can ask that man where she is.” He pointed to Ben in the doorway.

“Ah,” Ben said with mock sincerity, “you didn’t need to tattle, lad.” On those words, Big Roger and Nate picked up the table where they’d been sitting and threw it at the Wolf and his men.

Ben turned and ran for Elin.

Chapter Seven

E
lin had heard Ben slam his fist into the wall and had even heard the small grunt of pain he’d tried to swallow afterward.

He had never been one to hide his feelings. In their youth, she had witnessed him giving vent to his temper with his fist against a wall and once into a tree trunk. But only when he was truly,
truly
angry.

Of course, in the past, his anger had been directed at his father.

Tonight, she knew it was directed at
her
.

Or was it that they were once more thrown together whether he liked it or not?

She raised a weary hand to her hair and pushed the weight of it back over her shoulder. “I don’t like it any more than you do,” she whispered.

And yet she was so blessedly grateful for his presence.

All would be right now. She knew it. Ben was a return to a reality she understood. What had happened on the road had shaken her, as it would anyone. Her servants didn’t deserve to die, not even Madame Odious.

A part of Elin wanted to pretend the murders had never happened and that she was meant to be in this rabbit warren of a tavern. She could imagine her meeting with Ben had been planned . . . once again practically on the eve of her wedding to his brother.

That thought gave her pause and indicated just how exhausted she was. She unfastened the frog of her cloak. She was so tired, yet she feared sleep would be impossible and, in spite of her doubts, she wished Ben hadn’t left her, that he’d stayed close or even in this room.

Of course, he was not far away, but right now, she felt very fragile. It had been good to have his strong arms around her and his quick mind to challenge hers.

Gingerly, she sat on the edge of the rickety bed where Osprey slept. It smelled of the onions and meat he used in his stew. She huddled under her cloak, pulling it around as if it were armor. Her nerves refused to settle. She glanced at the door. “Ben, come back,” she whispered.

Then, maybe she could sleep in spite of the place smelling of turnips. In the morning, they would talk sensibly and kindly to each other. She might learn why he’d hit the wall, what she’d done or said.

And maybe he’d explain why he had left all those years ago, why he had betrayed
her
trust—?

A muted crashing sound came from the direction of the taproom. Elin leaped to her feet, her senses alert. A beat later, her door was thrown open, and Ben came barreling though.

“Are you dressed?” he demanded, answering the question himself with, “Good. You are. Shoes? Good.” He opened the window. It was stuck, so he pounded it with his fists to knock it loose.

“What is happening?” she asked.

“Blow out the candle,” he ordered, raising the sash.

Elin did as bid, throwing the room into blackness. He grabbed her shoulder. “Out the window,” he commanded, practically picking her up and tossing her, with her cloak, out onto the ground.

Fortunately, the ground was soft albeit uneven. She wobbled, but before she could regain her balance, Ben landed beside her. “Run.”

He didn’t have to say that word twice. She understood the danger.

Clutching her still-unfastened cloak, Elin ran. Ben was right behind her. His hand on her back guided her once again into the woods.

“What is happening?” she repeated at the first opportunity.

“Your friends.”

Shots came from inside of the inn, confirming his words. Ben stopped; he turned. He would have gone back, but she found his arm and gripped it tight.

There was a beat of silence, of Ben’s indecision, then the leader’s unmistakable voice shouted, “
Find her.
”

“
Run,
” she whispered, and run they did. Ben’s arm scooped around her and he half carried her forward. Behind them there was the sound of horses running and men shouting. Everything seemed to be happening at once, and the silent woods were a perfect foil for the confusion they heard at the tavern.

Elin’s feet only touched the ground every other step—and then they were falling.

There was a drop-off that Ben had not seen in the darkness. He lost his footing, and they went flying, then rolling over and over again into what seemed to be the blackest pit, the dry bed of a brook that no longer existed. The ground was rocky, hard, and covered with damp leaves.

Elin didn’t make a sound as they rolled. She couldn’t. Every time she thought to scream, his weight was on top of her, and yet, he seemed to be trying to bear the brunt of the force of their falling. She knew her suspicions were right when they finally came to a halt, and she was on top of him.

Panic threatened, but Ben rolled her on her back, his body covering hers. “Are you all right?” he whispered, running his hand over in the dark as if the check for himself.

“I think so.”

“Wiggle your toes.”

She frowned. Considering the circumstances, his order sounded silly. Still, she obeyed. She circled one foot and then the other. She would be covered with bruises, but her toes moved.

“Wiggle yours,” she whispered back.

She sensed that mobile, irrepressible mouth of his stretching into a grin. “As you wish.”

“I can’t tell if you moved them,” she only half-mockingly complained.

“You would have heard me groan if they were broken.”

“So you are together?” she asked.

“I believe so.”

“Good, because you may need to carry me—not because anything is broken,” she quickly added lest he mistake her meaning.

His hand came up to cup the side of her face as if he were reassuring himself that she was well. Or perhaps he wished to bolster her, which the gesture did. His hand was rough, masculine. He had calluses; then again, Ben had always been ready to work with his hands. Still, his hands were in stark contrast with those of most gentlemen she knew.

Nor was his body soft.

He was taller than his brother and leaner but as muscular. She preferred being with him right now. He had fought in war and experienced who knew what other adventures. He would see her through.

Ben started to rise, but then his body went rigid, and he came back down, gathering her to him.

A beat later, she heard what he had. “Over here,” a man’s voice carried in the night. “Darby, I heard something over here.”

Elin stopped breathing. She inched even closer to Ben.

“Where?” the leader’s unmistakable voice asked. A horse blew and stamped the ground. It sounded too close.

Darby was the leader. Tucker, Peters, Darby.
These were the names of her attackers and Elin stored this information away.

“Along here.” The light from a lamp flashed above them.

She inched closer to Ben, praying they were hidden in the shadows.

And then there was the sound in the distance of running hooves.

Darby swore. “They were at the horses.”

“We looked there.”

“They are riding away.” Rocks, twigs, and leaves fell down into the dry bed as the men turned their horses and went riding toward the sound.

And then they were gone. Elin heard them go crashing through the woods after the riders.

Elin released her breath, as did Ben. He jumped to his feet. “Stay,” he whispered, and scrambled up the bank to scout.

He jumped back into the dry bed, proving he was completely sound. “They are gone. For now. Let me help you up.”

She needed his help. Her knees hurt, her ankles hurt, the left side of her hip hurt as he helped her up the bank. He took her hand, lacing his fingers in hers. “Can you walk?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Possibly. Let’s see what we can find out. Come.”

Elin followed. It seemed the most natural thing to do at this moment. Follow Ben; be safe.

Of course, there had been a time when she’d followed him into all sorts of adventures. Being with him right now seemed natural to her. Peaceful, even, as if she’d found a part of her that had long been lost—until she realized he was leading her to the tavern.

She dug in her heels. “Shouldn’t we be going
away
from here?”

“We will, but we need a few things first. If you wish, you may wait here.”

“I’m not staying alone,” she informed him, but he had already let go of her hand and was stealthily making his way to the front of the building. She followed.

Her night vision was very good right now. She noticed that the horses were gone.

Ben peered through a window, then opened the front door and walked right in. Elin came behind him. She blinked in the light from the hearth and a few candles, then she saw the bodies.

A beefy man lay on his back next to the door. He was Peters or Tucker. There was a trail of blood where they had dragged him from where he died.

The room itself was in a shambles. Tables had been overturned and chairs broken.

Osprey came in from the outer room. He held an ancient blunderbuss. He smiled with relief at the sight of Ben and raised the gun, nodding to the body beside the door. “Still works. I wondered, but now I know.”

“So you returned,” Big Roger’s voice said as he stood up from where he’d been in hiding behind the bar. He, too, held a gun, a horse pistol like the one Darby and his men had been using.

“What happened?” Ben asked.

“You left in the ruckus, Whit,” Big Roger said. “Those are dangerous men. They don’t hesitate to kill.”

“How did that one die?” Ben asked.

“I shot him,” Osprey answered, waving his gun.

Big Roger placed the horse pistol on the bar and lifted a tankard he’d been using. “They didn’t want us. They want your lass. They want her bad. After they saw you leave the room, they went after you, but I was right on them. I thought I was handy with my fives, but they are meaner.” He lifted a hand to his jaw to show what he meant.

“Knocked him out,” Osprey said, impressed. “So, I shot one of them. They didn’t even stop for their companion. Roger is right. They want you,” he said to Elin.

A coldness stole over Elin. A dread.

“Who rode off?” Ben asked Big Roger

“Who else? Nate and Hook Nose. They think to lead those bastards a merry chase, pardon my bluntness, Miss.”

Elin waved away any offense. As she did so, she realized she still wore her gloves. After everything she had been through this day, she had the absurd notion to laugh at her properness.

Ben cast a worried glance at her and walked to the bar. “Any more of that brandy?”

“Nate bounced it off the head of that lad who pointed a finger at you,” Osprey said. “That lad is a fool. Always thinking he is better than he should be. He won’t be showing his face here again.”

“Try this,” Big Roger said, and pushed his tankard toward Ben, who carried it to Elin.

“Courage,” he said as he handed it to her. The mug was full. She drank, then wanted to curl up and weep.

“Do you have any food we can take?” Ben asked the innkeeper.

“I have cheese and some dried apples. That’s all you and your mates haven’t eaten.”

“We’ll take that with your leave,” Ben said. “I don’t know where the money I won is now that the table is broken, but you can have it all.”

“Don’t worry,” Osprey said, turning on his heel to fetch the food from someplace in the back.

Ben went to the dead body and knelt. “It is too bad we couldn’t learn his secrets.”

“Such as?” Big Roger said.

“Who hired him. I have no doubt he is being paid well for his services. The heels of his boots aren’t even worn down.” Ben started going through the man’s pockets, something that gave Elin the chills.

“Already did that,” Big Roger said. “He had nothing but this gun and a powder pouch.” He placed the pistol and pouch on the bar. “Here, take it.”

Ben felt something in the man’s sleeve. He rolled it back to reveal a hidden pocket. He pulled out a small pistol, the size of his palm. It was an ornate thing, with a gilded wheel lock and ivory carvings embedded in the grip.

Big Roger whistled. “It is too pretty to work.”

“Why else would he have it?” Ben held the gun to the light and cocked it. “It’s loaded.”

“Tricky bastard, wasn’t he?” Big Roger said. “He meant business.”

“We already knew that.” Ben stepped over the man’s body. Uncocking the pistol, he offered it to Elin. “Are you still a good shot?”

“With a hunting gun.”

“There isn’t much difference,” he assured her. “You cock it and fire.”

She took the weapon. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. She dropped it into a pocket inside her cloak. Meanwhile, Ben went over to the hook where his wool coat, one from his military days, was hanging among the others. The length went down to the top of his boots.

He also collected the horse pistol and gunpowder Big Roger was generously giving him. “Thanks, mate.”

Osprey returned with a sack of food for them. “Here you go, Whit. Good luck to you.”

“Thank you, Osprey. Big Roger.” He nodded to them. “Our paths will cross again. Come, Miss Morris.”

But Elin had something to say. These men had risked their lives for her without even knowing who she was.

She stepped forward. “Thank you. I will remember this, and so will my father. You don’t know, but the man you called Whit is the Duke of Baynton’s brother.” She felt impelled to share this. “Whit” had powerful connections.

The two men appeared unimpressed.

“You know who the Duke of Baynton is?” she prodded.

“Aye, we’ve heard of him,” Big Roger said with a touch of distaste. “And we always knew there was more to Whit than meets the eye.” He turned to Ben, and said, “Nate served under you. You wouldn’t remember him, but he said you were a right one. Having spent my time marching for the king, I knew what he meant. Most officers are bloody fools. You’re not. We helped you, Whit, because we like you. And,” he added, a bit of mischief in his eye, “you don’t win that often at dice. I hope your luck is better giving those bully lads a chase.”

Ben moved forward and took Big Roger’s hand in a strong grip.

“Safe travels,” Big Roger said.

“Same to you,” Ben answered. “Come, Miss Morris.”

“We’ve heard of Fyclan Morris as well,” Big Roger called after her, as she went out the door, then he began laughing, a huge, hearty sound that followed them into the night.