His Wicked Charm. Candace Camp
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dark.”
Very nearly? Lilah could barely even make out that there was a path. It was even darker along the lane, with the high encroaching hedges on either side. “Why do you think it’s this way?”
“I’m not sure. This nearly hidden path made me think about what Anna said about it being secluded.”
There was no point in getting into another discussion about the unreliability of Anna’s “vision,” so Lilah kept silent. It was fully night now; the moon was rising. Fortunately it was a full moon. The hedges ended, and the lane curved around a tree. Lilah could make out a dark shape ahead of them.
The night was hushed, the only sound the plodding of the horses’ hooves and the carriage wheels turning, and even that was muffled by the dirt surface of the path. Neither Lilah nor Con spoke. The dark shape ahead resolved itself into a two-story cottage, a simple building of light-colored stone.
Lilah drew in her breath sharply, unconsciously grabbing Con’s arm. A shutter hung askew beside a window, and a large tree stood not far from the house. In the other direction, Lilah could make out a small structure of some sort. Con looked at Lilah, then pointed to a large tree stump a few feet ahead of them.
It was exactly as Anna had described. A shiver ran through Lilah.
If they needed further proof, a dark wagon stood near the stump, with a pair of tethered horses grazing nearby. Con climbed down and took his horses by the head, walking them around so that the carriage faced the opposite direction.
As Lilah joined him, he murmured in explanation, “In case we need to make a quick escape.”
“Then you plan to confront them?” she whispered back.
“There were only three men.”
“And only one you,” she retorted. “That’s if they don’t have accomplices who’ve joined them.”
Con tilted his head, considering. “Still, I have the advantage of surprise, and my mother and sisters will help.” His grin gleamed in the darkness. “You should see my mother brandish a cricket bat.”
He reached up to pull the long carriage whip from its holder. “Unwieldy.” He unscrewed the handle from the long supple stick and leather lash, leaving him with a sturdy truncheon capped by an ornamental brass knob. He turned to her. “Stay here. If things go wrong, run. They won’t expect anyone else to be here.”
“I’m going with you.”
“What?” His eyebrows flew up. “You said you’d go for help if needed.”
“No. I said I could go for help.”
“Blast it!” he hissed. “You’ll get in my way. I’ll have to worry about protecting you. Stay. Here.”
“You said your mother and sisters would be a help to you.” Lilah grabbed the longer, narrow end of the whip that ended in a leather lash, and faced him defiantly. “Are you going to tell me I am less capable than they?”
“Not when you’ve got that whip in your hand.” Con started for the house. Lilah followed, her heart pounding. She stumbled over a root, nearly falling. Con swung around, and Lilah braced for a caustic remark, but to her surprise, he took her hand and leaned in to whisper, “Stay with me. I have good night vision.”
“Of course you do,” she replied waspishly, resenting the way the touch of his breath on her ear sent a shiver through her. This was no time to be thinking about things like that—or feeling that tremble of heat deep inside her.
Holding the front of her skirt off the ground with one hand, she went with him, surprised at how natural it was, how easy, to walk with him, shoulders almost touching, his fingers laced through hers. It made her feel faintly breathless—the warmth of him, the touch of his skin on hers—but somehow it steadied her, as well. She couldn’t count on him to be appropriate in a drawing room or ballroom, but here, in a situation like this, she trusted him completely.
They skirted the edges of the yard, staying close to the shadows of trees and shrubs. Their care was probably unnecessary, for the front rooms of the house looked dark, but Con was clearly taking no chances. He edged up to the front window. “Nothing.”
They slipped around the side. Light spilled from a window in a rear room. Con flattened himself against the wall and inched over, turning his head to peek inside. Pulling back, he whispered, “Two men at the kitchen table, playing dice.”
“What’s your plan?” she whispered back.
“Open the door and knock them in the head.”
Before Lilah could point out that this was not much of a plan, he crouched down beneath the window and moved to the door. Lilah did her best to imitate him. It would be far easier if she weren’t wearing a corset. As she stood up, Con took hold of the doorknob and slowly, silently turned it. The handle moved freely. Con raised his cudgel, knob end up, and looked questioningly at Lilah.
She nodded and took a firm grip on her whip. She’d never hit anyone with a stick before, but she was sure she could do it. In fact, she was rather looking forward to it.
Before Con could move, there was an explosion inside the house. Letting out an oath, Con flung open the door and charged inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN THE KITCHEN, the two men jumped to their feet, turning toward the door. Several more bangs and crashes rang out upstairs as Con ran at the larger one of the men, swinging his whip handle like a club. The other man pulled a mug from the table and drew back to hurl it at Con, but Lilah swung the whip, cracking him smartly across the wrist. The mug fell to the ground, spilling ale over the floor. With a growl, he came at Lilah.
Lilah lashed the whip again, slashing across his torso, but the man grabbed the end of the stick and yanked it from her hand. Lilah jumped to the side as he slammed the stick down, hitting nothing but air. She darted away, grabbing a tin container from the counter as she ran, and whirled to throw the metal box at her pursuer.
He was quick enough to block the container with his arm, but the force of the blow popped off the lid, and flour exploded all over him. Coughing and cursing, he pawed at his eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Con exchanging punches with the other thug. No help there. She must do something herself.
Frantically she glanced around and saw a broom. Picking it up, she ran forward, wielding the long wooden handle like a knight with a lance, and rammed the end into the gut of her temporarily blinded opponent. He let out a whoof, clutching his stomach, and Lilah charged in, reversing the broom and hacking away at his head.
She was prepared for it this time when he tried to pull her weapon away, and she hung on as hard and long as she could. As she saw his muscles bunch to yank even harder, she released her hold, so that his momentum sent him staggering backward.
Lilah whirled, looking for a new weapon, and she smiled grimly when her eyes landed on a large iron skillet. But as she swung back to face her enemy, skillet upraised, she saw that Con, who had dispatched his foe, was running across the room at them. He slammed his truncheon down on the ruffian’s head, and the man’s eyes rolled up. He dropped to the floor.
“Con!” Lilah ran to him, flushed with triumph, and Con, laughing, swooped her up and twirled her around. When he set her down, they remained that way for a long moment, Con’s hands still at her waist, only inches between them. His eyes went to her mouth. Lilah’s heart began to pound.
Just then, a man’s scream pierced the air. Lilah and Con whipped around to see a man rolling down the hall staircase. He landed in a tangled heap at the bottom. His head and shoulders, Lilah noticed, were strangely wet. A moment later, the duchess trotted down after him, carrying a broken earthenware pitcher in one hand.
“Hello, Mother.”
Emmeline Moreland glanced over and smiled. “Why, Con,” she said, as if she were in a parlor instead of stepping over a body