Enchanted in Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge
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to do. Give me the key.’
She handed him the letters and he gave her the key to the Marquess’s shackles.
‘I’ll wait until you have time to get well on the road,’ she said. ‘Tell William not to worry when you see him. And, Martin, whatever you do, do not bring him here. The Marquess is not to blame for this.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Something tells me you are keeping something back. You should go to your brother yourself. Tell him the whole story to his face.’
No fool, Martin Brown. ‘Martin, do this and I promise I will never ask you for aught else. Now make haste. You don’t want to miss William’s arrival.’
He sighed. ‘Very well, my lady. But I will keep you to your word.’
Another night in the pitch black with only his mare’s soft breathing for company. Instead of kissing the wench, he should have forced her to untie him. Used her as a hostage. Instead he’d let his lust overcome reason.
That and her tears. He hated to see any woman cry. Something that had cost him dear over the years in farewell trinkets.
Where the hell was Le Clere? Surely a ransom note would have had him scouring the countryside? And Dan knew of this place. He would have told Johnson where to look.
An owl hooted. Had something disturbed it? Garrick listened. Nothing. He returned to his fingertip exploration of every board in the wall behind him, every crevice within reach on the floor. One little nail to poke in the padlock was all he asked.
A splinter drove under his fingernail, sharp and agonising. He cursed.
‘Is that you, my lord?’ The whisper came from the direction of the door.
Puzzled, Garrick peered into the impenetrable darkness. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Dan.’
Thank God. ‘Have Johnson or someone break open the door, boy.’
‘There’s only me, my lord. You told me it was a secret.’
Not what he wanted to hear. ‘Go for help. Hurry up.’
The sound of splintering wood drowned out his words. Would the lad never listen?
‘Where are you, my lord? ’Tis so dark, I see naught.’
‘Over here.’ Garrick kept talking until Dan stumbled into him. He grasped the boy by the arm. ‘Has there been no hue and cry at Beauworth? No one out searching?’
‘No, my lord. Everyone thinks you are visiting friends.’
No ransom note? How bloody odd. ‘Very well. Take my horse and ride back to the Court. Tell Le Clere he will need a hammer, a chisel, tools.’ Garrick rattled his chain.
‘Nay, not so much, my lord.’ Pride filled the boy’s voice. He fumbled with the chain, his breathing a dry rasp in Garrick’s ear. ‘Gimme a tick,’ he muttered. The sound of metal against metal, scratching, a click. The padlock fell with a clunk, followed by a rattle of iron.
‘Good God. I had no idea you were so accomplished.’
‘No, my lord.’
Garrick got to his feet. ‘Come on, show me where you got in.’ He followed as Dan felt his way along the walls to the broken plank. By widening it, Garrick was able to crawl out.
‘What on earth brought you?’ Garrick asked, looking around for signs of his captors. The waning moon lit a silver path across the pond and stars winked a greeting.
The boy shuffled his feet. ‘I was afeared you was goin’ to tip the old fellow a double. I thought you’d gone off and left me.’ He wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘I weren’t goin’ to stay there on me own. So I followed. I didn’t know where else to start.’
Garrick ruffled his hair. ‘Well, I’m bloody glad you did.’
‘I brought this.’ Metal glinted as Dan handed Garrick a pistol. ‘I borrowed it from Mr Johnson. If yer joining the army, I wants to go, too.’
The weapon dated from the last century, but looked serviceable and clean. ‘Did you ask Mr Johnson?’
He shrugged. ‘He would’ve said no.’
Incorrigible. ‘I don’t suppose you thought to bring bullets and powder?’
Dan’s teeth flashed white. ‘That I did.’
‘Damn me, boy, you are a marvel.’
‘I got a blade, too.’ The boy pulled forth a knife. A sliver of steel with a bone handle. A deadly weapon in the right hands, and also useful in opening padlocks.
‘Where did that come from?’
‘It’s mine.’ Dan caressed the blade with a fingertip. ‘A friend gave it me. I were going to use it on him if you ‘adn’t come along.’
‘Then I saved you from hanging. May I borrow it for a while?’ The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to teach his captors a lesson they wouldn’t forget. And with surprise on his side, they were in for a nasty shock.
The boy handed over the knife and Garrick tucked it inside his boot.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to ambush them inside the barn. Wait for me in the trees yonder,’ Garrick said. ‘Watch carefully. If anything goes wrong, ride for help. Can you do that?’
‘I’d sooner hide in the barn with you.’
‘I need you to stand watch. It’s an important job.’
Dan looked unconvinced, but he finally agreed and Garrick squeezed back into his prison. Dan replaced the broken plank behind him. ‘Be careful, my lord,’ he whispered.
‘I will. Try to stay awake.’
A snort greeted his words, then he heard the boy move off. Once back in his corner, he lay down in the straw with the manacle loose about his ankle. He was going to enjoy giving these rogues a taste of their own medicine. They deserved a little bit of terror, before he got his property back.
Dawn lightened the eastern sky, but it was still dark in the valley as Eleanor pulled back the barn door with shaking hands. If she had any sense she’d send Le Clere a note, tell him where to find his missing nephew and flee.
And they’d be out on the streets with no money and deeply in debt. No. Taking advantage of his attraction was the last arrow in her quiver. The fact that she found him equally attractive wasn’t a bad thing either. It would make playing her part easier, perhaps even enjoyable, although thoroughly disgraceful. She shivered.
She touched her mask. If only she could keep it on. But she couldn’t. He would have to know she was both Lady Moonlight and Ellie Brown. She’d have to tell him as much of the truth as she dared without actually admitting to her real identity. Once it was over, she’d disappear.
She took a deep breath and perched her hat on top of her boy’s wig. It must look strange with her blue dimity gown, but she wanted to break the news gently.
Dust motes danced in the fingers of light poking through the knots and gaps in the walls. The Marquess lay on his back in the straw, his chest rising and falling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His lashes lay like dark fans above high olive cheekbones. So peaceful. His horse blew out a breath, a snort of disgust no doubt.
She shook his arm. ‘My lord.’
He mumbled and opened his eyes, slowly gazing around.
‘What is it? It’s still the middle of the night,’ he grumbled. ‘The deuce.’ He stared at up her,