The Wild Baron

by Catherine Coulter

  Rohan couldn’t bear it. He interrupted his brother before he betrayed himself further. “Oh? What if you had discovered that you had a niece, that your brother had gone through a sham marriage because he wanted to bed your niece’s mother?”

  “I told you what she was.”

  “Yes, you did. But it is so utterly absurd, so completely far from the truth, it makes me wonder about your motives, Tibolt. She is indeed a lady. Did you proclaim her a strumpet because you had to justify to yourself what George had done? Yes, that is it, isn’t it? I can see it in your eyes.”

  “No, I saw her, just as I saw the others. Even though she was young, dreadfully young, I still saw no reason to change my opinion of her. She seemed just like the others.”

  “Then I begin to imagine that George did this to three very innocent young ladies. If, however, you simply saw what you wanted to see, then you made a grave mistake. You did not live up to your high calling, Tibolt. You should have sought her out and told her the truth. You have some serious praying to do about this. She has been used badly by our family. But no more. Now she belongs to me, as does Marianne.”

  Again, Tibolt shrugged. “But what of the others? What if I was wrong and they weren’t strumpets? Will you try to wed one of the others to me?”

  “You say that George did this to two other young girls. Do you know who they are?”

  Tibolt shook his head. “But if this one came to you, then why not the others?”

  “She didn’t come to me. Now, you will contrive to forget all the nasty little things George told you. Are you so ignorant, Tibolt, that you actually believed George? After he did this three times? Tell me, was Susannah the third?”

  “No, she was the second.”

  “She was seventeen when George talked her into marriage. She was born and bred a lady.”

  “She kicked me in the ribs. No lady would kick a man of God in the ribs.”

  “Tibolt, you are trying me sorely. Would you say that I’m a gentleman?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Very well. I hit you as hard as I could in your face.”

  “That is different.”

  Rohan rolled his eyes. “You amaze me. Now, if it would please you, I would be delighted to escort you to that miserable little plot out back that you call a garden and pound you until your brain begins to function again.”

  Tibolt raised his hands. “No, I will do as you say. It is nothing to me, really.”

  Then Rohan sat forward and said softly, “Now you will tell me about the map.”

  He saw only confusion on Tibolt’s face. “Map? What map?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about. Tell me about the damned map. I know that George told you about it.” It was then that he saw the knowledge, but Tibolt held himself silent.

  “Tell me, damn you!”

  “George did mention a map to me right before he died,” Tibolt said slowly. “But George always had some map or another. They fascinated him. I thought little to nothing about it at the time. It had nothing to do with me.”

  “You know Theodore Micah and Lambie Lambert, don’t you?”

  “Yes, certainly. Mainly they were cronies of George, but I knew them as well. I was only two years older than George, remember. Why? What is all this about, Rohan? What map?”

  “It was really only half a map. I have no idea what the full map leads to, but it’s something that these men want very badly.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  Rohan studied his fingernails, then the quill atop Tibolt’s desk, not looking at his brother as he said, “Either Lambert or Micah—or both—broke into Susannah’s house three times trying to find George’s half of the map. Then Lambert broke into Mountvale House once, failed again, and kidnapped Susannah.”

  “My God, you aren’t serious?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No, actually, he was induced to join His Majesty’s Navy. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t tell us a thing. But he was committed to finding that map, Tibolt.”

  Tibolt looked honestly shaken. The bruise on his jaw stood out starkly in the candlelight. “I had no idea,” he said, shaking his head, looking straight into his brother’s face. “No idea at all. I will tell you that Theodore Micah came to me just a week ago and asked me if I had any idea where George’s half of the map was. He had to remind me about it. That’s all I know, Rohan.”

  “Where is he, Tibolt?”

  “He told me if I remembered anything I could find him in Eastbourne. He said that there were certain men he had to avoid and thus he was disguising himself. He said he had moved in with a widow on the waterfront. As I said, that was a week ago. He wanted me to go to Mountvale House and search for the half of the map. I told him that even if I found it, it surely wasn’t enough, was it? He told me I wasn’t to worry about that. He also told me there was a tiny golden key. I remember saying that I felt uncomfortable about going to Mountvale House and asking about some map that had been in George’s possession. I told him what good would half a map do him? I asked him what it was to. I asked him who had the other half of the map. He just smiled at me—a very evil smile, Rohan.

  “There’s nothing more, I swear it. Except, of course, that he would kill me if he knew I had told you where he was.”

  “I want to know where he is staying. I want to know what he looks like. I will not have any more danger hanging over any of our heads.”

  Tibolt sighed. “I beg you to be careful of him. He is an actor. He is quite good. What he looks like . . . he must be near thirty now. He is not at all tall, he is rather slender, and he usually dresses like a dandy—a big watch fob, high and stiff shirt points, loud waistcoats, and the like. His hair is black as midnight and his eyes are just as dark. They’re empty eyes, Rohan, flat and cold. I never liked looking him in the face. Even if he smiles, you know it isn’t really a smile, that he doesn’t mean it. He is detached from his fellow man, very probably dead inside. I don’t think you should go after him. But knowing you, you will try to find him. You’ve always managed to get whatever you wanted, haven’t you? I caution you again—if you find him, watch out for yourself.”

  Rohan nodded, then rose. “If, Tibolt, I discover that there is more to this, and that you are involved, I will take measures to see that you are punished, even though I know it will hurt Mother. She is upset by what George did. Were she to know that you were aware of his perfidy, she would likely come here and kick you in the ribs herself.”

  “Just like your wife, our mother is no lady either. She was never an appropriate helpmeet for our father.”

  Rohan could only stare at his brother. He said not another word. He wondered if Tibolt was lying. Probably, but he still had no idea why or how Tibolt could be involved in this mess. He still couldn’t bring himself to believe that Tibolt was the man who had broken into Mountvale that first night. No, that wasn’t possible. But he knew there had to be more, much more. Damnation, he hated this.

  Susannah’s head was on his shoulder, her breathing light and shallow against his flesh. He knew she wasn’t asleep. He knew she was thinking about what he had told her. She hadn’t questioned him closely. He wondered if she suspected he’d omitted facts, which he had. He’d said nothing about Theodore Micah, nothing about his being in Eastbourne. She was probably hatching plots. It pleased him, this forthright nature of hers, this fearless deviousness of hers. It also pleased him that he was coming to know her well enough to realize what she was thinking. But he would not tell her about Micah. He didn’t want to frighten her. He didn’t want to take the chance she would scurry to Eastbourne and try to find him by herself.

  He kissed the top of her head. He doubted he would ever regret his marriage to this woman—not Susannah, a woman with grit and pride and ruthlessness. He tightened his arm around her. “Susannah, we’re nearly home.”

  He wanted to tell her as well that when he got her home, when he got her to their bedchamber, when
he finally got her into his bed, he would kiss every luscious inch of her, particularly the soft flesh behind her knees. His breathing hitched.

  “I know. Thank you for letting us leave the inn, Rohan. I didn’t think I could bear staying there another night.”

  When he’d walked into their bedchamber after his meeting with Tibolt, she’d been standing in the middle of the room, fully dressed, their valises at her feet.

  She’d taken one look at his face and walked to him, pressing herself against him, her arms around his back.

  She’d said nothing, just held him.

  “Not more than fifteen minutes now.” It was nearing one o’clock in the morning. There was a light drizzle falling from a black sky. It was cold; the fog was rising, a thick swirling gray, now nearly to the level of the carriage windows.

  “You won’t tell me more, will you?”

  “There is little enough more, really.”

  She sighed. “I don’t believe you. You’re trying to be chivalrous. Do you believe that George is the one involved with the map?”

  “I don’t know, and that’s the truth. Tibolt isn’t telling me the entire truth, and I just can’t seem to separate fact from falsehood.”

  Suddenly the quiet of the night was rent by the explosion of a gun. There were two shots. Rohan heard Elsay, his coachman, scream. Oh, Jesus, he’d been shot!

  He shoved Susannah onto the floor of the carriage and grabbed his gun from the leather side pocket of the door.

  The horses came to a plunging, rearing halt. Then Rohan heard a man yell, “All of you out of there now. No foolishness, my lord, else this wounded little man will get another bullet through his gullet. Come out now, bring that little tart as well.”

  The first thought in Rohan’s head was Thank God it wasn’t Tibolt. Just who the man was, he had no idea.

  Despite his wound, Elsay wasn’t about to have his master face the villain. He cracked the whip and yelled at the horses. Rohan was hurled on top of Susannah as the carriage abruptly started up.

  There was another loud shot. A man’s loud curses, the sound of a horse galloping after them.

  “Stay down, Susannah.”

  Rohan eased his head out the carriage window. The man was some twenty yards back, galloping hard. He wasn’t firing. He could have only one or two bullets left. The horses were racing wildly now, out of control. Elsay must be hurt badly.

  Rohan slipped the gun into his waistcoat pocket, turned on his back and pulled himself out of the carriage window. He grabbed the brass railing that circled the top of the carriage. It was sturdy. He managed to pull himself up. Then the coach lurched to the left, the horses now galloping madly toward a dangerous curve that gave to the cliffs at Beachy Head.

  The wind made his eyes tear, whipped his hair across his face, blinding him, but he managed to climb to the top of the carriage.

  “Elsay? Hold on, I’m coming.”

  There was no answer from the coachman. Rohan saw the man on horseback drawing closer. The rain thickened. If one of the horses slipped, they would die.

  He saw Susannah leaning out the window.

  He crawled to the front of the carriage, letting himself down slowly onto the driver’s bench. Elsay was gripping the wooden brake with all his might.

  “Hold on,” Rohan said again, as he eased into position. Then he saw that the reins were loose and hanging down between the two horses. “Damn,” he said. “Well, there’s no hope for it.”

  “Mi’lord, be careful.”

  The horses veered left, nearly overturning the carriage. Rohan simply dove onto Ramble’s back, managing to catch his harness to keep himself from falling beneath their hooves. He began talking to the horses, trying his damnedest to soothe them. He only wished he could sing like Jamie.

  He grabbed the reins from between Ramble and Oscar. Both horses were blowing hard, frightened, out of control. Slowly, very slowly, he began to pull up on the reins. He kept talking to his horses, hopefully soothing nonsense, and pulling on those reins. Back further, then a bit further. The horses lurched off the narrow road, causing the carriage to spin out behind them, and now they were headed straight for the cliffs over Beachy Head.

  He was inching back on Ramble’s rump to gain more leverage. He pulled and pulled, harder now, because if they didn’t stop soon, they would go crashing over the cliffs and fall some hundred feet to the beach below.

  An eternity passed with the rain blinding him, the wind howling like witches from hell.

  Finally, he yelled, “Ramble, Oscar, you damned bleaters, pull up! That’s an order!”

  To his astonishment and utter relief, Ramble reared up on his hind legs and ripped sideways. Oscar yelled and went with him. They slowed, stumbling. Finally, after another eternity had passed, they came to a wrenching stop.

  They were parallel to the cliffs. If Ramble hadn’t thrown himself sideways, they would have gone over.

  Rohan was so relieved he couldn’t move. He just sat there on Ramble’s rump and breathed in huge gulps of air.

  “Rohan!”

  The carriage door flew open and Susannah stumbled out. She fell to her knees, then was up and running to him. She stopped suddenly, realizing that she might scare the horses. “It’s all right, Oscar. You just wait, you brave lad. Jamie will sing to you and feed you carrots.”

  “Actually, it was Ramble who saved the day.”

  She smiled up at her husband, then said to the horse, “You were wonderful, Ramble. I will personally feed you the best oats and barley in the whole county. My lord, are you all right?”

  “Yes,” he said. Slowly he eased down between the two horses, patting them, soothing them. They were lathered, still blowing hard.

  The man. Rohan whipped about, but no one was there. The man hadn’t followed them.

  “Elsay, how badly are you hit?”

  “Me right arm, mi’lord. Not too bad, jest bleeding like I were a . . . well, niver ye mind that. I’ll live, no thanks to that sot wot shot me.”

  “And thanks to old Ramble here,” Rohan said, feeling oddly detached from himself. He knew it was shock, but he also knew he couldn’t succumb to it. “We’ll wait here just a while until the horses have rested. Susannah, tear off some of your petticoat. We’ll need to bind Elsay’s arm.”

  “That man wot shot me, mi’lord. Who the devil be ’e?”

  “I think it was a very bad man that I will find and kill. Don’t you worry, Elsay. You just hold on. We’ll get you all fixed up.”

  “Ye’ll not fetch the young dapper doctor, will ye, mi’lord? ’E fair scares me to me liver.”

  “Yes, I will, but I’ll stand at his elbow and if he dares to cause you pain, I will pound him. All right?”

  “Aye, that’s jest fine,” Elsay said and fainted dead away.

  25

  “I’M GLAD THAT ELSAY IS ALL RIGHT. I’M RELIEVED THAT both Ramble and Oscar aren’t lame. Your father was very fond of Ramble. He always said that Ramble had guts. Obviously I’m relieved that you and Susannah are without injury. Neither I nor Susannah, however, knows who was shooting at you. Nor do I understand why. Do you, Susannah?”

  “No, ma’am.” But she had a very good idea, he could see it in those clear eyes of hers. He’d again refused to tell her anything about Theodore Micah, merely repeated to her that Tibolt had denied everything. He’d lied to her because he was trying to keep her safe. To him, that meant keeping her ignorant.

  Rohan looked at his mother over a forkful of scrambled eggs. She was regarding first Susannah and then him with deep suspicion. It was ten o’clock on the morning after their harrowing ordeal. He’d been up at dawn, leaving Susannah sleeping soundly. He had hired men from the village to patrol Mountvale House. Hopefully neither his mother nor his wife would find out about them. He’d told the half dozen men that they were to detain any stranger they discovered.

  He knew in his gut that Theodore Micah must have been watching Tibolt’s house. He must have followed them in order to s
top them. Rohan couldn’t bring himself to consider that Tibolt may have sent Micah after them. His brother was a scoundrel, but could he be that evil? Rohan guessed Micah would have threatened Susannah if he’d gotten to them, perhaps even taken her. He must have ridden away quickly when he saw that the horses were out of control. If they had gone over the cliff, then all would have been for naught. Damnation! He hated the mystery of all this, the secrets, the uncertainty about his brother. He hated the danger to Susannah. He hoped she wouldn’t realize that there would always be someone guarding her, and Toby as well.

  He heard his mother say again, “Dearest? Didn’t you hear me? Susannah claims not to know a thing, but you do. Come now and cough it up.”

  But he couldn’t cough up anything. He wasn’t about to tell his mother that her other son very possibly was involved in this mess, whatever mess it really was. Macbeth and Pope Leo IX. What could those two possibly have had to do with each other? He merely shook his head. “It was a robber, nothing more, Mama.”

  “Yes,” Susannah said. “It must have been, Charlotte. Just a thief trying to steal my jewels and Rohan’s watch fob.” She glanced briefly at her husband before looking down at the rasher of bacon on her plate. She wouldn’t mention Tibolt. She’d spare Charlotte that.

  “You know, dearest, I’m not at all certain that it was a thief. There is this business of the map and King Macbeth and Pope Leo IX. Couldn’t there be someone else other than that dreadful Lambert man involved?”

  Without thinking, Rohan said, “Actually, I plan to ride to Eastbourne this afternoon to do a bit of checking. I think it likely that Lambert was staying there. If there is someone else, perhaps I’ll be able to locate him.”

  “I will, of course, accompany you,” Charlotte said, giving him a sweet smile.

  “No, I will accompany you,” Susannah said, suddenly leaning forward in her chair.

  Curse his loose mouth, Rohan thought. “No. Actually, neither of you is coming with me,” he said, every ounce of firmness in his entire brain coming out with that one sentence.