Mr. Cantrell laughed. “I believe that is what we have been doing, my dear, and if my memory serves me correctly, you said no.”
Tremors scaled my back and down my arms. Run, whispered a voice from the recesses of my mind. But to where? The dark depths of the forest circled me, choking out the stars.
Suddenly, I wrenched back, ducking around the cart’s front before scampering to the far side. Desperate, I clawed at the blanket I’d used on the ride, fumbling with it as I ran. Mr. Cantrell merely walked into the open, amused by my actions.
“Tom,” he called, motioning for him to come up on my other side. Then back to me: “I suppose this means you choose the hard way. Lucky for me.” A pistol emerged from his jacket, and he leveled it at my chest. “Come here, my pet . . . now.”
I inched forward, my legs weak. If I was forced to drink that foul liquid, Mr. Cantrell would take a limp puppet to France, likely never to return. I stared down, grappling for an answer, but I’d left the Towers willingly with him. There would be no clues to follow, no hope of rescue.
I had no one but myself. Me. Just Sybil.
A sense of purpose settled the quivers coursing through my limbs. Mr. Cantrell must have sensed the change in my attitude, as his smile slid away and he advanced in stride. The pounding hooves of a horse at full gallop met our ears. He jerked his attention to the opening in the trees.
One of Mr. Cantrell’s thugs reined in his hack, panting as he spoke. “Highwaymen . . . coming down the road. Be here in seconds.”
Mr. Cantrell seized my arm. “My overzealous friend must have missed you already.”
Mr. Sinclair. My heart leapt.
My fingers tingled beneath a surge of energy as I jerked my arm free and thrust the blanket over Mr. Cantrell’s head, then bolted for the trees. I heard a crash behind me and subsequent swearing, but I didn’t stop running till I’d broken the tree line.
Darkness met me in the thick growth like smoke from a fire. I reached out, feeling for the damp bark and sticky brush, hiding somewhere in the black abyss. I wouldn’t get far at this rate.
Leaves crunched at my back, branches snapped. I held my breath, my pulse pounding in my ears as I strained to be as quiet as possible. Someone had followed me into the copse of trees. My leg muscles tightened, and cautiously I maneuvered through the darkness to get a view of the far side of the cart, using the looming trees as an invisible veil and the shadows as my friend. I crouched in the snowy brush and waited, straining to hear anything amid the unnatural silence of the woods. There were no more footsteps, but I couldn’t be sure I was alone.
At the cart, Mr. Cantrell stormed back and forth, passing in and out of the lamplight, his pistol ready in his hand. One of his hirelings came out of the trees where I’d been only a moment before and shrugged his shoulders. Mr. Cantrell thrust his stubby finger my direction to further the search, but called the man back as we all heard horses approaching. The highwaymen were here.
A shot rang out. Two riders broke into the clearing, and a large black horse reared up and tossed his head. Mr. Sinclair brought Hercules under control before aiming and firing his pistol.
The shot zinged straight toward Mr. Cantrell’s clenched hand and sent his pistol flying into the underbrush. He cried out in pain.
Mr. Sinclair dismounted in a flurry, wrestling a small sword from his saddle. Advancing on Mr. Cantrell, he pointed the tip at Mr. Cantrell’s chest then ripped the rag from his own face. “Where is she?”
Mr. Cantrell shrugged and cradled his injured hand. “She? What on earth do you mean, Sin? I was just about to conclude my business with these gentleman and head back to the Towers.”
Like a predator, Mr. Sinclair circled Mr. Cantrell, his gaze fixed on his prey. “Don’t trifle with me. I saw Sybil ride out in your carriage from the Towers. Have you lost her somewhere on the road?”
“Interesting choice of words.” Mr. Cantrell inspected his fingers, then looked up. “You must offer us your felicitations. Only moments ago she agreed to be my wife.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Hard to believe? Doing it a bit too brown now, aren’t you, Sin? Think back, my dear friend. Even you cannot deny that I’ve fascinated Sybil since the day she arrived. She could hardly take her eyes off me, and now—”
“You’re a liar and a cad. I no more believe that than I believe this little business of yours is mere smuggling.”
Mr. Cantrell moved to rise, but Mr. Sinclair’s sword didn’t waver.
Mr. Cantrell smiled. “What exactly do you plan to do with that thing?”
“Whatever is necessary.”
“That’s not like you, Sin.” Mr. Cantrell shook his head. “I thought you were a gentleman who honored a fair fight.”
The other highwayman, whom I recognized as Mr. Browning, stepped forward. “’Spect we better check the crates.”
Mr. Sinclair nodded. “Quickly.”
Mr. Cantrell seemed to acquiesce for a moment before he motioned to one of his men with his chin. Silence reigned while Mr. Browning approached the cart. Then one of the men leaped forward and took a swing at the back of Mr. Sinclair’s head just as Mr. Cantrell shoved to his feet. The sudden punch was a glancing blow that thankfully missed its mark. The scuffle drew Mr. Browning from the crates and he heaved to engage Mr. Cantrell’s other man with his own fists.
Mr. Sinclair, though, was momentarily thrown off balance. Mr. Cantrell utilized the reprieve to spring to the side of the cart and pull out his own sword, passing it into his uninjured hand. “I’m afraid I cannot allow a search. We haven’t the time.”
“No?” Mr. Sinclair pressed his palm to the back of his head, then redirected his blade to meet Mr. Cantrell’s. “Something tells me you’re the filthy traitor we’ve been looking for.”
Mr. Cantrell spit on the ground, enjoying a bit of a laugh. “Oh-ho. How you’ve got it wrong, Sin. Pity I won’t be around to see you embarrassed.” He attempted a step forward, but Mr. Sinclair held fast.
I looked around where I hid and noticed a large tree branch, ragged and broken at my feet. I curled my fingers around one end and stood. It was three against two out there and I had every intention of evening the odds at the right moment.
Mr. Cantrell bounded forward, his blade nothing but a blur as he thrashed into the void between the two highwaymen. Lightning quick, Mr. Sinclair leaped out of the way, deflecting the attack with a downward swing. The blades caught the moonlight in flaring streaks, illuminating the woods for seconds at a time.
It was clear everyone on the field knew what they were about—the flurry of swords, thrusting and parrying, the swinging of fists. One of Mr. Cantrell’s men shouted in rage as he attempted first one blow then another. Mr. Browning was everywhere, taking on both assailants at once, leaving Mr. Sinclair free to focus on Mr. Cantrell, who thrust time and again, but Mr. Sinclair shuffled around the far side of the cart to maintain his edge. For a moment I thought him trapped, yet he broke free at the last second as Mr. Cantrell lowered his point.
Mr. Sinclair pinked his shoulder, and Mr. Cantrell fought back in anger, almost arrogant with his blade, slashing forward with a riposte, but Mr. Sinclair was quick and knocked it away. Their thrusts came away cleaner and quicker, like moves in a well-rehearsed play.
I held back a scream as Mr. Cantrell lunged forward and missed Mr. Sinclair by mere inches. This was no Covent Garden.
Mr. Browning looked to be tiring between the two thugs’ swinging fists, barely missing what could have been a fatal blow, but he threw himself to the ground and rolled out of the way. Crimson spread down his chin in a line, but there was no time to wipe it away as he hopped back to his feet. The other attacker pushed in from the side, edging the fight closer and closer to Mr. Sinclair.
I gripped the piece of wood as hard as I could and took one wild step forward, but my hair was yanked back.
“Where are you going, my pretty?”
Pain circled my scalp as I fell onto my back.
Mr. Barineau’s sweaty face came into view, and he smiled. “I figure we stay right here till they fight it out.”
Tears welled. My gallant heroes would tire, and what then? Death? France? The branch. My fingers tightened. Mr. Barineau would never see it coming. I closed my eyes and swung up with a force I’d not known I possessed, crashing the branch into the side of his head. The man dropped like a sack of flour, motionless at my side.
I sprang to my feet and ran straight into the midst of the battle, swinging my club with all the passion and intensity I could manage. One of the two younger men fell first, reeling back against a nearby tree. It gave Mr. Browning the time he needed to strike the other attacker in one fell swoop.
Spinning around, I realized my surprise arrival had prompted a split-second halt to Mr. Sinclair’s battle as well, but Mr. Cantrell was quickly recovering. He raised his sword, intent on death, and I screamed. With a streak of silver, Mr. Sinclair beat the blade aside, sending Mr. Cantrell’s sword flying across the ground. Mr. Cantrell dropped to his knees.
Mr. Sinclair redirected his sword tip inches from Mr. Cantrell’s neck. “Now.” Mr. Sinclair wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’d like to have a look in those crates.”
Mr. Cantrell’s hands were bound before Mr. Sinclair rounded the cart, using his sword to pop open the nearest crate. His friend and I ran up behind him, glancing around his broad shoulders, as he peered inside.
Cloth. Reams of thick furnishing covers and other textiles.
Mr. Sinclair fell back a pace before busting through another wooden lid, only to find more of the same. “What the devil?”
Mr. Browning helped him dismantle the rest of the crates before holding up his hands. “They’re nothing but blasted smugglers.”
I touched Mr. Sinclair’s arm. “What is it?”
A pensive look settled across his features. “I was certain I’d found the traitors we’ve been searching for, but there is nothing here but goods for the continent.” He shoved the lid back, sending it crashing to the ground. “No newspaper clippings, dispatches, or even gold coins.”
The muscles in my body grew taut.
He ran his hand down his face. “I suppose the authorities will sort out the rest in the morning.” He took a deep breath, his voice weary. “Right now, I need to get you home.”
Mr. Barineau was collected from the forest and the four men tied and deposited in the cart like a pile of old clothes. Mr. Browning said he would drop them all off with the nearest dragoon, and he prompted the horse to a walk.
Mr. Cantrell glared at me as he rolled past, his eyes doing all the talking needed between us. Strangely, I found myself fighting a twinge of pity for him. People are curious creatures indeed, a unique mixture of good intentions, scarred nature, and bad decisions. I do believe at one time Mr. Cantrell had cared a little for me, before he learned my true identity, before his debts overcame him and greed entered his soul. Yet all along he’d been blackmailing his own aunt. And tonight he had intended something barbarous, but as Miss Cantrell had said, he was desperate.
Mr. Sinclair must have sensed my mixed feelings for he folded me into his arms. “Lucius fooled us all.”
A waft of cold air christened the cart’s exit, and we watched the carriage vanish from sight until the quiet hush of the forest leaked back into our consciousness. Mr. Sinclair held tight for a moment before gently turning me to face him. “Sybil,” he said, his voice marred with strain. “What the deuce were you thinking, coming out here alone . . . with Lucius?”
My shoulders sagged. “He told me he meant to meet Mr. Barineau. I thought I could deliver the package. I had no idea . . .”
Mr. Sinclair pressed his lips together, his eyes closing. “If I hadn’t looked out that window when I did . . .”
“I know.” I took a long breath. “I know.”
Gradually, a smile crept across his face. “You were fantastic, by the way, routing them all in one fell swoop.”
“Was I?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. There I was in the heart of battle when you appeared, wielding that club like a dragon. I’ll never see the like again. At least, I intend not to see such a thing again.” He lowered his chin. “We’ve something to settle between us, you and I.”
The serious tone of his voice made me look up, where I expected to see tiredness etched across his face. I was startled, however, not only by the soft intensity of his gaze, but by the irrepressible pull between us. Heavens, how I longed to fall into his arms.
His fingers feathered their way down my arms until they covered my hands. “You’ve a free spirit not daunted by this world, a beautiful soul, and a heart I love.” His blue eyes seemed to glisten in the moonlight. “I dare not wait a moment longer to speak my mind, for you’re likely to fall into some sort of trouble the minute I turn my back.” He placed a kiss on my forehead. “Although, considering you’re a veritable lioness, I’m not sure you need my humble associations.”
I laughed. “I’m not sure I do.”
“Little wretch. I should walk away with words such as those, but I find my heart would not allow it.”
“Nor mine.”
He tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Our road will not be an easy one. I have nothing to my name at present to pay my sisters’ board, but I’m determined to find a way. So, what do you say, partner? Shall we make this thing between us legal? Will you become my wife?”
Warmth filled my chest and I wanted to scream it to the hills. Curtis Sinclair loved me, no matter who I was or what I would become. A tear slipped down my cheek, and for the first time, dreams took shape in my mind, not only of the wonderful days I’d have as Mrs. Sinclair but also how I stood in the unique position to make a difference in the world. So many orphans, so many people like me who needed hope. Somehow I would find a way to help them.
Mr. Sinclair cleared his throat. “Am I to wait for your answer forever?”
“Oh, my darling Curtis. How can you doubt what I will say?”
His finger found a curl at my neck. “I’d still like to hear it.”
I reached around his shoulders. “Very well, partner. I happily accept such a fine proposal.”
My lips tingled with frost but warmed against his as I reveled in the promise we’d made. The first ray of sunlight broke the horizon and the earth bathed itself in an orange glow.
Curtis kissed my cheek. “Morning is upon us. I’m afraid there’ll be no hope of a quiet return now.”
I smiled. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not, Miss Delafield.”
I popped his arm. “That is Lady Sybil to you, at least until you may call me Mrs. Sinclair. Goodness, I’ll lose the title just weeks after I knew it was mine.”
Curtis drew back. “What do you mean—title?”
“Apparently you’ve captured an heiress after all. Of course half of the money will likely go to my brother, but I can’t imagine my grandmother leaving me nothing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that I’m half of a set of twins, born two and twenty years ago to Mrs. Chalcroft’s daughter, Anne.”
“You cannot be serious.”
I nodded like a little bird eager for the first time to take flight. “Perfectly serious. However, I’d like to speak with my grandmother as soon as she’s awake to be sure.”
Curtis grasped the horses’ reins. “As would I.”
Mrs. Chalcroft sat waiting for us in the drawing room with dark half circles under her eyes and her hair a mess of tangles. I wondered just how long she’d been there.
A shield separated her from a snapping fire, and the scent of smoke and roses circled the room. My steps were tentative until I met her troubled gaze. How we must have worried her. Like a child, I flew into her arms, careful not to crush her in my embrace. Her bony fingers clung to my back as they never had before.
When at last she spoke, her voice sounded weak. “I feared you’d never come back, and then . . .”
She took my face into her hands. “Then I’d never forgive myself.”
“I’m here. A bit cold, but nothing too dreadful.”
She waved for Curtis to join us. “Bring chairs to sit by the fire. I won’t keep you long.”
I bit my lip. “I’m sorry I had to involve your godson.”
“Never mind about all that. I’m well aware of your adventure to Reedwick even though Curtis dashed off before he could tell me the whole.”
I gladly took the chair Curtis brought, leaning as close to the fire as possible. “Then you know we were unable to deliver your package.”
“Yes.” She took a long pause, heavy with emotion. “My greatest fear has finally happened, and the cursed letter had specifics this time. The payment the man demanded was exorbitant. Whoever he is, he knows it all, and I fear he means to do real harm.” She turned to the fire. “I will have to send someone to Cambridge at once. I only pray we may still get out of this somehow.”
“Cambridge?” I shook my head. “Why there?”
“Harland, your brother, must be told the truth at last. He is no longer safe in his ignorance. It is imperative we get to him before Lord Stanton does. The boy must not trust that devil. Oh, how Stanton hated Anne, and revenge can be far too enticing for a man like him. Harland is in great danger.”
Curtis, who’d been standing beside my chair, touched my shoulder. “I’ll change at once.”
“Wait.” I cleared my throat. “First of all, you’ve been up all night. I don’t think it advisable to be dashing off once again without any sleep.”
“Goodness knows I’ve done it before.”
“Let me finish. Second, if it is because of the blackmailer, you mustn’t bother.”
Mrs. Chalcroft’s hand crept to her mouth. “What do you mean, child? Speak at once.”
The smuggling was enough to tarnish Mr. Cantrell’s name, but the information I was about to disclose would end his relationship with my grandmother forever. I glanced first to Curtis then back, delaying the difficult revelation as long as possible. “It was Mr. Cantrell. He’s the one who’s been pocketing your money.”
In the Shadow of Croft Towers Page 27