“Of course you were.” Guy raised his brows in mock innocence. “So was I.”
“Really?” Trev fully turned around and slowly, oh so slowly walked back towards the bed, a young, golden lion on the prowl. “How interesting.” He stopped beside the bed and his eyes dropped to a certain part of Guy’s anatomy that was tentatively moving towards him. And under his regard, it rose even more. Trev’s lips twitched. “Are you utterly, entirely sure about that?”
“Of course.” Chuckling, Guy rolled onto his back and crossed his hands behind his head. “Utterly, entirely.” Even though his body chose to belie his words even more.
One of Trev’s brows arched. “Impressive.” His gaze met Guy’s. “I wouldn’t have thought that an old man like you had it in—”
“Old man?” Guy took a swipe at him with his foot. “I’ll give you ‘old man,’ you silly young buck, you!”
Laughing, Trev evaded his foot and plopped down on the bed beside him. “Got you, didn’t I?” he said smugly, and brushed his blond curls out of his face.
Guy watched him from under lowered lashes. “I demand satisfaction for this slight, sir,” he growled.
“Satisfaction?” Thoughtfully, Trev tapped his index finger against his lips. “Shall I amuse you with the latest gossip, then? I assume you haven’t looked into the papers yet, have you? After all, old men like you need their sleep.” Grinning, he clamped his hand around Guy’s ankles. “Twitchy, aren’t we? Were was I?—Ah yes, gossip,” he continued loudly to drown out Guy’s menacing growls and mutterings. “Did you know, for example, that it turned out Lord Ashburnham has twin sons? For surprisingly and scandalously, his wife has turned up again after she vanished seventeen years ago.” He didn’t notice the sudden stillness that had gripped Guy. “Seventeen years ago... Gosh, I think I can even remember the scandal back then, even though I was hardly more than a lad. Didn’t she commit adultery with the man’s cousin before she vanished?”
With a curse, Guy wrenched his ankles free and got out of bed.
“Guy?”
He started to pick up his discarded clothes.
“Whatever is the matter, sweet?”
His chest so tight that breathing had become difficult, Guy whirled around. “Damn it, Trev, I am Ashburnham’s cousin. I am the man she was accused of committing adultery with!”
His lover’s eyes widened. “You? But... but...” he spluttered. And more forcefully, “Never!”
Snorting, Guy stepped into his smalls. “Exactly.” He tied them around his waist and then went to the man he loved more than his own life, but to whom he had still lied all these past years. He bent down to frame Trev’s face with his hands. “And this is why I have to go back this time and help her.” His thumbs stroked over Trev’s cheeks. “Seventeen years ago, I was such a coward. I let them run me off, even though I was fairly sure what would happen to her. But I was alone and scared and, yes, a coward. Such a big, big coward, even though she was my dearest friend.” He swallowed, hard. “I must go back.”
“Of course you do.” Trev looped his hands over Guy’s wrists and gave them a gentle squeeze. “When shall we leave?”
At the “we,” Guy’s shoulders sacked, and he closed his eyes with relief. “Thank you,” he murmured around the lump in his throat. “There’s so much I need to tell you.”
“Good. You can do so in the carriage.” Trev clapped his shoulder. “And now off we go. We’re men on a mission, I understand.” And then the light, cheerful voice broke. Abruptly he rose and drew Guy into a fierce embrace.
Guy pressed his face into the curve of his neck and inhaled the sweetly familiar smell of oakmoss and Trev.
“Whatever you’ll need to do,” his friend whispered into his ear, “you’re not alone this time. I swear it, you’re not alone.”
Chapter 13
One hand leaning against the window frame, Ash stared out over the drive. The papers he had wanted to go through that morning lay scattered and deserted on his table. His concentration was all shot to pieces.
Where was she?
Had she read that filth in the society pages this morning? When he had come across that outrageous piece of tittle-tattle, he had thrown the newspaper into the fire in a fit of red-hot rage. How anybody would dare...
Had she read the article, too? Perhaps she was so upset that she had decided to stay away. To... to hide.
But why then hadn’t she come yesterday?
Ash pressed his lips together.
Where was she?
A knock on the door.
He whirled around. Perhaps she had come through the gardens and entered the house through the back door. “Yes?”
The door opened. “My lord?”
Ash’s shoulders sacked. Only Jones. He rubbed his forehead. “Yes, what is it?” he bit out irritably.
The butler’s face remained impassive. “Her ladyship inquires whether you would like to partake in a small luncheon.”
“So my mother has finally come down again?”
“Indeed, my lord. The dowager countess is quite recovered.”
“Yes, yes.” Yet Ash’s gaze had already strayed towards the window again.
Where the hell was she?
His fingers beat against his thigh.
Surely she wouldn’t have vanished once more, would she?
“My lord? What shall I tell Lady Ashburnham?”
“Tell?” Frowning, Ash looked back at Jones.
“The luncheon, my—”
St. Asaph barrelled past him, his face flushed a hectic red. “She still hasn’t come,” he growled. “You must have done something! All that talk about a walk was just balderdash! She isn’t at the inn and that bloody man just said...” He swallowed visibly and his face became even darker. “What have you done to her?”
Ash narrowed his eyes. “What—”
But before he could upbraid his heir, Finnian had already beaten him to it. “Really, Gary.” He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Mama would be quite shocked to hear you talk like this!” Then he turned to Ash, and the worry lay over his young face like a grey veil. “Forgive us for disturbing you, my lord, but we went to the Ash Tree Inn to see if Mama was there and the innkeeper claimed he didn’t know where she was.” His even voice faltered.
“Yes?” Ash bit out.
Finnian took a deep breath. “I am sure he wasn’t telling the truth, my lord.”
“The whole thing stank!” St. Asaph cut in aggressively.
“We will see about this, will we?” Ash said and straightened, ignoring the apprehension that tightened his stomach. “Jones, send to the stable for three horses. Now.”
“Yes, my lord.” The man slipped away.
“And you two”—Ash turned to the boys—“will come with me. I’ll be damned if we don’t get to the bottom of this affair.” He brushed past them. “Come. What are still you waiting for?”
Like two young dogs, they trailed after him as he strode to the entrance hall. A sense of desperate urgency had taken hold of him, so he had to restrain himself from barking at the footmen, who fetched their coats, hats, and gloves, to hurry.
What the hell could have happened to her? What if, like St. Asaph—no, Finnian—she was lying in some ditch, hurt and helpless. He felt sick at the mere thought of her in pain.
Oh Ginny, Ginny...
Jones opened the door, and Ash could see two of the stable lads leading the prancing horses to the front steps. A fine shudder ran through him, and he gritted his teeth.
Where was she?
The boys were the first to climb on their horses, while he still struggled with his gloves.
“My lord?”
“Yes, Jones?” he gritted, not bothering to look up.
“You will surely consider me too forward, but...”
Something in the voice of the older man compelled Ash to look at him after all.
“...I always thought there was something rather suspect about the whole affair that led to Lady..
. to Mrs. Crawley’s disappearance seventeen years ago.”
Impatiently, Ash shook his head. Really, what was it about this woman that turned everybody around her into maudlin fools? “Suspect indeed, Jones.” Sarcasm lent Ash’s voice a biting edge. “After all, she coupled with my cousin and then proceeded to steal away with one of the twins.”
“My—”
“Not now, Jones.” And with that he took his hat and hurried through the door and to his waiting horse.
The ride to the Ash Tree Inn was swift and short, but still not short enough for Ash’s peace of mind.
Where the hell was she?
When he slid out of the saddle, the innkeeper, no doubt having recognised him, stepped outside to make his bows. “Good day to you, my lord, good day. What an honour—”
“What do you know about the whereabouts of Mrs. Crawley?” Ash interrupted him.
The man blinked at him, obviously confused, and for a few moments his mouth opened and closed like that of a fish on land. “My l-lord?”
“Mrs. Crawley? My former wife? Surely you remember her?”
“I... I...”
Ash narrowed his eyes. The boys were right: the man was behaving in the most peculiar fashion. He pinned him with his most intimidating glare. “She is staying at your inn, yet my sons tell me you have no idea where she is. I find that hard to believe.”
The innkeeper’s eyes flicked to the boys and back to him. Sweat glistened on his forehead. “But, my lord, I thought it more appropriate to... given that they’re her... uhm... sons...” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
Tension now formed a tight knot in Ash’s stomach. His hands clenched into fists. He stepped closer to the innkeeper. “Where is she?” he hissed in a voice dangerous enough to make the man scramble backwards.
“Why, the constable took her away, my lord.”
Ash’s blood ran cold.
“What!” St. Asaph exploded somewhere behind him, and through the roaring in his ears, Ash thought he heard Finnian shush his brother up.
“The constable took her away,” Ash repeated. His voice seemed to come from very far away.
“But yes, my lord.” The innkeeper nodded eagerly. “But you knew that. You sent him, did you not? You must have—”
“I did nothing of the sort!” Ash thundered and had the satisfaction of seeing the man turn pasty white.
Oh God, Ginny... Ginny...
“Where is she?” he forced out, his jaw clenched tight.
Sheer panic made the man’s eyes bulge out and all he could produce was a hoarse whisper. “H-hastings, my lord.”
Hastings. The gaol. Had she been there all this time?
Icy cold fury flowed through Ash’s veins. “And you never saw it fit to inform me?”
“B-but I thought... I thought...”
Contemptuously, Ash turned his back on the innkeeper. “Boys...” They still sat on their horses and watched his every move. Anger had darkened St. Asaph’s face, and Finnian’s hand gripped his brother’s arm so tightly his knuckles shone white. St. Asaph looked ready to commit murder. “Pack your mother’s things and bring them to Ashburnham Hall,” Ash instructed in clipped tones.
“And you?” St. Asaph spat.
“Me?” Ash raised a brow. “Why, I will ride to Hastings and get your mother out of gaol.” And woe betide the person who would dare to stand in his way.
~*~
For a determined rider on a hardy horse, Hastings was only a stone’s throw away. And still so far away that it might have been on the other side of the world. Far enough to let a person disappear.
Ash gritted his teeth and spurned his horse on.
Hastings: a quaint fishers’ village, where the fishers still dried their nets in the same lofts they had used hundreds of years ago. Perhaps the net lofts had stood there even when the Norman castle on the hill above the village had not yet lain in ruins—who knew? More remnants of the past as Ash rode down the high street, which was lined by old, half-timbered houses. The village gaol looked just as old. In a flash, Ash was off his horse and banged on the door. After a considerable time, it opened and a grey-bearded man scowled at him. “Whut?”
“Georgina Crawley? I want to see her. Now.”
The fellow looked Ash up and down. “That’s foive shillings, guv’enor.” He spat out brown tobacco juice.
“What?”
Another slow perusal followed. “Foive shillings if you want to gawk at the prisoners.”
“Gawk—”
“Mind you, we’re not sensationalist like them big prison up in London. No murderers an’ the like with us.” He shrugged, spat out some more tobacco. “So if that’s what you’re fancying...”
Only slowly it dawned on Ash, for whom country entertainment consisted of shooting and riding his horse across the weald, that the gaoler thought he was here for recreational purposes.
For a freak show.
Which included Georgina.
Fury descended on Ash like a red veil. “You,” he bit out, “will immediately lead me to Mrs. Crawley, do you understand?”
Another disinterested shrug. “Foive shillings. And mind you, I have to chain them to the wall first.”
Chain her—
The reins of the horse slipped from Ash’s fingers as he raised his hands and, gripping the man’s collar, hoisted the gaoler up. “If you so much as lay a finger on her, I will kill you, do you hear me?” Ash snarled.
The face before him turned a dark, sweaty red. “Hey there—” the man choked.
Ash thrust him away. “And now go and show me where she is!”
Fingering his neck and mumbling something about “bloody quality,” the man scurried away with Ash stalking after him hard on his heels. The gaol was a dark, dank place, which smelt of damp stone, overlaid by the sharp tang of human sweat and old piss. It was enough to make Ash’s skin crawl. When he saw Georgina huddling in a corner of one of the communal cells, a shuddering moan escaped his lips.
“There, there,” the gaoler hurried to inform him. “You mean her.”
But Ash had already brushed past him to step up to the bars. The other occupants of the cell—a young, scrubby girl and an older woman wearing a garish headscarf—eyed him with interest, yet Georgina didn’t even look up. She remained crouching in the corner, her forehead pressed against her bent knees. Another moan was wrenched from him, and he gripped the iron bars so hard his knuckles shone white. “Georgina.” His voice so hoarse he barely recognised it as his own.
At her name spoken, she finally raised her head. Her hair hung in lank strands around her face, and her eyes were dull. She stared at him as if she were seeing an apparition.
“Open the cell,” Ash growled. When the gaoler wasn’t fast enough to obey, his head whipped around. “Open the bloody cell!”
The man took a hasty step back. “B-but... I c-can’t...”
Fury threatened to choke Ash. Straightening to his full height, he snarled, “I am the Earl of Ashburnham and I demand that you open this cell now!”
The gaoler blanched. “Of... of course, my lord.” Nervousness made him fumble with the keys, and in the end Ash snatched them from him and opened the door himself.
“Ginny.” In an instant, he was before her and lifted her to envelop her in his arms. “Oh, Ginnny.” After a while he drew back and with unsteady hands brushed her hair out of her face. “Ginny... Whatever happened to you?—No, don’t talk. We will get you out of here first.” He took her hand. “Come.”
“Oi!” the gaoler cried out in dismay when they stepped through the door of the cell. “You can’t just...” he spluttered. “She’s staying until the assizes.”
“The hell she is!”
“But... but she kidnapped a nob’s child, she did, and—”
“My child. Seventeen bloody years ago. You had better tell that constable of yours to come and see me at Ashburnham Hall tomorrow, so I can tell him a bloody piece of my bloody mind.” Leaving the man gaping behind th
em, he led Georgina out of the building. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’m taking you home.”
When they stepped outside, a surprise awaited him: there in the street in front of the gaol stood the Ashburnham coach. A circle of curious gawkers had formed around it, yet unperturbed, Will Coachman sat on the box seat. When he caught sight of them, he slid to the ground and opened the door of the coach. “Mrs. Crawley. My lord.” He bowed. “Mr. Jones sent me as soon as the two young masters came back to the house. Young Davies has taken your horse, my lord, and went ahead.”
“God bless Jones. And thank you, too, Will.” Ash nodded at his coachman. He had never thought past getting Ginny out of that horrible place. Now he handed her into the carriage and marvelled at Jones’s foresight: with the curtains drawn, nobody would be able to see inside and catch a glimpse of Georgina’s bedraggled appearance. Anxiously, he watched her settle into the comfortable leather seats. The coach rumbled into motion. “We will be home in next to no time,” he assured her.
Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. “Why are you doing this, Ash?”
“Pardon me?” Her question, her frigid tone made him reel back in surprise. Curiously enough, as she sat there in his carriage, all bedraggled, yet with her back ramrod straight, she appeared so much stronger than she had a few moments before.
“This. First you send the constable after me—”
“I did not!” he interrupted fiercely. “I swear I did not, Ginny! Indeed I was out of my mind with worry—”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said tartly, and, drawing the curtain back, looked outside.
Ash frowned. What the hell was happening here? “How can you think I would do such a thing?” And when she didn’t answer, “You are the mother of my heir!”
She gave an indelicate snort. “Oh come now, Ash. That has never kept any man from locking up his own wife. But then”—she threw him an arch look—“I’m no longer that, am I?”
What was the matter with her? Shouldn’t she be grateful that he had rescued her? “So I would have you imprisoned? Is that what you are thinking? Good God! What utter rubbish!”
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