“A gentleman,” she whispered. “But who?”
The dull light provided no details, and the stranger’s bent-over stance hid his features in his chest. Angel prayed it was not her father or Lord Malvern or Lord Remmington. She hid her nose again, wondering how long she would be expected to endure the breath-stealing stench.
“Pray not so long as to join the gentleman,” she said through watery tears.
The disgusting odor, now that she knew from where it originated, clung to the inside of her nose. Her growing fears brought another round of tugging at her bindings. If she could free just one hand, she possessed the means of escape, but her abductor had secured her to the post with unforgiving tightness.
* * *
“Are you certain two strangers were staying at the Briar Rose?” Hunt asked the smith a second time.
“Seen ’em there fer nigh on a fortnight, my lord. Stabling their horses in the back,” Mr. Carter assured. “Only departed a couple of times. Said they be in the village until the month’s middle. I be guessin’ they be employed by one of the duchess’s guests.”
“Did these men use their mounts last evening?” Remmington asked.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And three nights prior?” Remmington continued.
“Kint say fer certain, but took them out one night this last week. In truth, I kint imagine just sittin’ in the inn and playin’ cards all day. They been wenchin’ over with Mrs. Taylor’s girls a couple times. Must be good work. Wishin’ I could gits paid for wenchin’.”
Hunt good-naturedly slapped the man on the shoulder. “Most men would fight for such a position.” He slipped a coin in Mr. Carter’s hand. “Do not mention speaking to us on this matter.”
Carter’s smile displayed several missing teeth. “Me memory just took a turn fer the worst, my lord.”
“How should we handle this?” Hunt whispered as he and the earl turned their steps toward the inn.
Remmington’s sour countenance spoke of the earl’s frustration. “We speak with the innkeeper. The smith has good sense. Possibly, these men are outriders for one of your mother’s guests or perhaps they are opportunists, looking for easy prey. The innkeeper will have a better idea.”
Within minutes, they partook of a passable lamb stew while conversing with the innkeeper, Mr. Tillis. Hunt scanned the common room, but he did not recognize any of the faces—not that he expected to. He would not have known Tillis’s name if he had not heard his father speak it when the duke made arrangements for Mr. and Mrs. Christian’s withdrawal after Devilfoard’s announcement of Lord Newsome’s demise.
“Do you know of the men of whom we speak?” Remmington asked softly.
“Aye, my lord. Been stayin’ her for more than a sennight. Not caused no trouble. Drinkin’ but not to excess.”
“Do you know their employer?” Hunt inquired.
“Didn’t say, my lord, but I expects it be someone of merit.”
“How so?” Remmington eyed the few customers within the room, and it eased the tension in Hunt’s chest to know the earl kept a wary eye on their surroundings.
The innkeeper followed the earl’s gaze. “They not be within ret now. They say something about lookin’ at another property.”
“What type of property?” Hunt demanded.
The innkeeper’s eyes spoke of curiosity, but as the village depended upon the dukedom, the man would not dare to deny the request from Devilfoard’s heir.
“Be the reason I thinks the men be employed by a wealthy cit or a minor son. Said they be seekin’ a property for their employer. Needn’t be in pristine condition. Said they not feared a bit of repair.”
Hunt noticed a flicker of something dangerous in the earl’s eyes. “I assume you suggested several parcels of land in the area,” he prompted.
“Aye, my lord.”
“Which ones?” Remmington demanded.
“The Thompson place along the main road. Ye know the one, my lord?”
Hunt fought the customary panic. Having lost his past proved deuced annoying.
“We will find it, Tillis. Any others?”
“The McPherson estate down by the river. Been empty since old McPherson passed some ten years back. As McPherson’s heir be somewhere in the Canadian wilderness, a man could let the place easily. Then there be the Searles’ property on the other side of Palmerson’s estate. The men didnae say how large the house and land shud be. Searles’ place ain’t nothin’ compared to the others, but it has what the city folks refer to as ‘capable.’ I’s assumed they’d know whether to pursue the land title or not. Not me business unless their employer decides to stay.”
Remmington tossed a coin on the table. “Do not mention our questions to anyone, especially the men involved. Come along, Malvern.”
Hunt nodded to the innkeeper as he caught up another slice of the dark bread. He knew more hunger than he expected. “Thank you, Mr. Tillis. I will relay your kindness to my father.” He followed the earl from the inn. “What is next?”
“I do not suppose you hold a memory of any of these three properties?” Remmington inquired.
“Not a farthing of a chance,” Hunt replied.
“Then we provide the smith with an additional coin. I do not want too many of the locals to take notice of our interest in the strangers.”
Hunt nodded his agreement. “We should ask for a description of the men. Something else of which I am not aware, but neither are you,” he said cockily.
* * *
Once they spoke to Mr. Carter, Hunt sent the smith’s son to Devil’s Keep with a message for the duke. The Thompson property was farther set, and he asked the duke and Lovelace to investigate it, while he and Remmington examined the Searles’ bit of land some two miles set and then on to the one owned by the McPherson family.
Mr. Carter looked upon Hunt oddly when Hunt appeared to hold no knowledge of the properties. So Hunt acted as if a loose belt upon his saddle distracted him while the earl asked for specific directions.
“Ye might encounter the men ye seek,” Carter warned. “They’ve not returned. I thought they be gaming elsewhere, but mayhap they be squatting on another’s land. Not be the first ta do so.”
“I pray we do,” the earl said baldly. “I have questions, which require honest answers.”
* * *
Hunt followed Remmington as they searched the Searles’ property, literally going through the rooms of the house. Hunt felt as a criminal, examining what remained of the family’s belongings. He could not help but wonder why the owners had left the property unattended. It was something else he must address to his father. As the future duke, he would be expected to know the prospects of those in his part of the shire.
“Nothing inside,” Remmington grumbled. “We should examine the barn and the storage buildings before we depart for the other property.”
“It appears we may have rain later. The clouds are building,” Hunt noted. He pointed off to the horizon.
“Great.” Remmington turned toward the door. “I love being soaked to the bone.”
His friend’s irony was not wasted upon Hunt. He understood the earl’s concerns. Hunt felt similar qualms regarding Miss Lovelace’s predicament. He simply could not speak his feelings aloud, especially as Hunt was not certain what kind of future he could offer the woman. Certainly, she could be his duchess, but Hunt knew the title would mean little to Angelica.
The earl strode across the overgrown lawn toward the barn. Hunt trailed behind, scanning the buildings at a distance, as well as the tree line, for any signs of life.
“Not even a rabbit or a squirrel,” he murmured.
“What say you?” Remmington asked over his shoulder as he slowed his pace.
Hunt shook his head to clear his thinking. “Just seems odd,” he confessed. He despised second-guessing his every thought. “We are the only things moving across this land. No small animals or even bird song. I would think a deserted property would be prime for all so
rts of creatures.”
Remmington came to an abrupt halt and cocked his head to listen more closely. “Something is amiss,” the earl whispered, and a bolt of dread ricocheted down Hunt’s spine. “I should have taken note.” Remmington reached in his inside pocket to retrieve his gun, and Hunt followed suit. “Excellent observation, Malvern.” Again, the earl led, but this time more cautiously. “Keep a sharp eye.”
Hunt swallowed hard. When he mentioned the lack of movement within nature, he had not considered the significance of the silence. He knew he had served England’s home front, but, from all tales, he never encountered a situation where he had to fight to survive. Other than that time upon the Continent, he thought. Revolutionaries or opportunists? His frown deepened. Now that he considered the event, no one had spoken to him of what had occurred in that small prison cell. Did his dear family conceal the worst from him? And as they had not shared his past, were these shards of memory a signal of his healing? Concentrating hard on the event, fragments began to fall into place. He was one of two Engishmen being detained. The other man was his father’s age. Unconsciously, Hunt froze in his pursuit of Angelica’s kidnapper. Instead, he looked about him in bewilderment. The shadowy figure of his cellmate clung to Hunt’s mind.
“Did you note something not in place?” Remmington demanded as he returned to Hunt’s side. The earl’s eyes searched the area.
Hunt shuddered before shaking his head in the negative. “I had an image of the dark cell in which I was held.” He dared not move a muscle for fear the small memory would flee before he could claim it. “Was there another Englishman among the prisoners? Do you know?” He reluctantly turned his gaze to meet Remmington’s.
A twitch along the earl’s jaw line spoke of Remmington’s unease, but his friend’s tone did not betray anything beyond the spoken words. “My orders were to see you to safety. When we entered the facility, I only looked for you. I suggest you direct your question to Sir Alexander.” The earl’s expression softened. “It is good you found your first memory.”
“Perhaps it is because I fear Miss Lovelace knows like a treatment,” Hunt ventured.
He could feel the sweat forming along his spine, an uncomfortable reminder he was not yet whole. Moreover, there was the underlying need to run home to find his parents, just as he would have done when but a child, and to know their approval.
The earl flinched. “It is our responsibility to see the lady does not suffer.”
“Naturally.” Hunt nodded his agreement. “I can contemplate this success at a more appropriate time. Lead on.”
Remmington tapped Hunt’s shoulder in companionable sympathy before he turned guardedly to the empty stable yards and the back of the barn. He motioned to Hunt to circle the structure on the right side, while the earl searched the left.
Although not comfortable in the role, Hunt followed along the back of the structure, which stood sound in the late afternoon haze. He stepped lightly, choosing where to place his feet. Reaching the far corner, he edged his way about the angle before ducking below the small window’s casing. He thought to peek inside, but the glass remained thick with dust.
With nothing remaining to do but stay the course, Hunt continued his search. Working his way toward the front of the barn, he frowned when he came upon a door standing ajar. He could not sneak past it without examining what rested behind the opening, but he still questioned his bravery enough to enter the unknown. His previous imprisonment still played havoc with his composure.
Sucking in a steadying breath, he continued his slow survey, moving vigilantly closer with each step. However, before he could clear the opening, a thud, a shout, and the sound of wood cracking sent him charging through the portal to be swallowed by the shadows. He blinked several times to clear his vision.
Some fifteen feet ahead, Lord Remmington exchanged blows with two unrecognizable figures. Placing his innate fears aside, Hunt rushed into the melee, pulling one of the earl’s attackers from Remmington’s back before delivering a hard punch to the interloper’s chin. He turned just as the man’s partner rose from the ground to strike Hunt in the gut, doubling him over with a rush of air. The man he struck previously launched himself onto Hunt’s back to drive Hunt to his knees and to knock the gun from his hand. The scoundrel rained down a torrent of blows upon Hunt’s head and neck.
Even so, as Remmington’s attacker scrambled to his feet to resume his assault upon the earl, Hunt caught the man’s leg, bringing him down with a crash upon the hard dirt floor. Having had enough of the trespasser’s knuckles striking his head, Hunt bucked like a wild horse, effectively tossing the man to the side. Without rising, he ordered, “Move, bastard, and I will shoot you where you lie.” He pressed the gun he had retrieved from the floor to the man’s head.
His declaration must have given the second stranger pause for, within seconds, Remmington had the other attacker in a like position. “Many thanks, Malvern,” Remmington said upon a raspy rush of air. Lord Remmington rubbed the red marks on his neck several times.
Hunt pressed his knee upon the chest of the man with whom he fought and tightened his grip upon the gun.
Remmington pulled the second man to his feet. “Do not release yours until I secure this one,” he warned.
“No chance.” Hunt’s voice shook, but he prayed no one would notice. He could not stop the silly grin creeping to his lips. He had survived a violent encounter and had proved to be an asset to the earl.
From the corner of his eye, he was aware of the earl’s movements, but Hunt made himself watch his captive closely. He wondered briefly if he stared upon the countenance of someone he should recognize immediately. The man squirmed beneath his knee, and Hunt pressed the gun harder into the fellow’s temple.
“I have him,” the earl said authoritatively. Hunt concentrated so closely upon the stranger’s identity he did not realize his friend’s approach. “Stand up.”
Hunt stood slowly—the sharp movements of only moments prior quickly fading away. He noted where Remmington tied the other attacker to the center post. As he did with the man’s partner, Hunt examined the earl’s attacker, searching for familiar features. However, none arose.
Remmington jerked Hunt’s attacker to his feet and dragged the culprit to where the other man pulled frantically upon his bindings. “You will pay for this,” the man postured. “You cannot come upon a man’s land and attack him.”
“Do not offer me your untruths,” the earl growled. “We know this land is not yours, and we know why you are in Warwickshire.” Remmington handed his gun to Hunt while he secured Hunt’s attacker to the same post.
The man’s expression lost some of its fury, but not before he challenged, “And what business is it of yours if we are examining properties for our employer?”
“It is my business if you took one of the Duchess of Devilfoard’s guests as a hostage,” Remmington hissed.
Hunt noted the knowing glance exchanged by the men. “If you think we will not see you hanged for your offense, then you erred,” he growled.
The stranger shrugged off their threats. “Then we have nothing to lose.”
“We must continue our search,” Remmington declared.
“What of them?” Hunt jerked his head in the direction of their prisoners.
The earl smiled wickedly. “They are going nowhere.” He accepted the gun Hunt handed him. “Let us find the lady, and then we will turn this pair over to Sir Alexander.”
They searched the barn, before systematically working their way across the cleared property.
“What if they left Miss Lovelace in a cave or grotto?” Hunt asked as they closed the door of a small outbuilding, which held shovels, augers, axes, and the like.
“Perhaps it is my vanity speaking, but I cannot imagine our two prisoners as being so creative. However, if we do not discover the lady soon, we will send for your father, who likely knows more of the area than do you.”
Hunt shrugged ironically. “It would not
take a duke to know more than I, but I am grateful for your softening the criticism.”
The earl smiled wryly. “Miss Lovelace delivered a firm reminder to me recently of how those who claim your regard have too quickly forgotten your infirmity. Your physical appearance leads one to believe all is well.”
Hunt thought of the difficult conversation he had had yesterday with his mother and father. Evidently, Miss Lovelace had also delivered a sound reprimand to the duke and duchess. The thought of the lady coming to his defense gladdened his heart. Despite his placing her in an impossible situation, Miss Lovelace had never deserted him.
“Miss Lovelace’s friendship is a cherished gift,” he admitted.
Remmington scowled, but he kept his comments to himself. “Let us continue our search.” He turned to lead the way around the back of the house, a residence too large to be a cottage, but not large enough for a manor house. As they approached the kitchen gardens, a familiar odor caught Hunt’s breath.
“What the—” Remmington brought a handkerchief to his nose.
Hunt froze. The smell was more familiar than was his parents’ countenances.
“Death,” he announced solemnly. “Someone has lost his life. I lived with that odor for months while held captive.”
“Dear Lord!” Remmington growled. The earl sought the source of the foul odor. “Miss Lovelace!” he called. “Where are you?”
The earl’s entreaties brought Hunt to his senses. “Please God!” he joined the earl’s frantic search. “Dearest God,” he prayed aloud as he flipped over boxes and dried potting plants. “Do not take her!” he whispered. Fear filled his chest.
“Here!” Remmington called. The earl jerked hard at a locked door. “Miss Lovelace?”
Hunt joined his friend.
“I have it?” He raised one of the garden’s paving stones over his head and slammed it hard against the metal. The lock bent, but did not come free.
“I will fetch an ax from the out building,” the earl declared. “Hit it again!”
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