Suddenly, Ancilla was forced to cast this thought aside, as a gunshot caused the carriage to swerve unsteadily across the path and onto the soft, velvety grass verge. The first was closely followed by a second, and as the team in the baggage carriage behind began to gallop in disarray, the two carriages converged upon each other and they were well and truly ditched. There were loud, coarse noises, further shots and an anguished cry from Cordelia. It all happened so quickly that no one could make much sense of anything. Captain Argyll had vanished and Winthrop, as white as a sheet and blustering, was attempting to open the carriage door. It was jammed and his panic was incalculable. Seraphina looked about her and realised at once that they were the victims of a highwayman.
She heard the cock of a pistol and further shots. Cordelia whispered that they ought to remain still. Doubtless the outriders and Captain Argyll combined would overpower them. Seraphina nodded. Her confidence in the captain was enormous. Still, if they were armed . . . Captain Argyll had climbed down from his box. Had he taken his pistol with him when he did so? Perhaps he was lying lifeless even now . . .
“I must get to him!”
“Sit still, Seraphina!”
A long, low whistle, then the sounds of hooves flying across the paddocks. Cordelia, sitting unnoticed in a pool of seeping blood, felt faint and a little sick. She heard fumbling with the door and her eyes widened in fear. If it was a highwayman, then Captain Argyll must be injured at the very least. He would not permit common felons of the road to approach them without a fight. Her muscles tightened imperceptibly and she could see a similar nervousness cross Ancilla’s pretty, butterfly-like features.
“Take off your necklaces!” she whispered to both Seraphina and Ancilla before struggling with her own.
“What?” Winthrop sounded outraged. “Hand over your gems to those rapscallions? Never! I shall scold them roundly for their impertinence and so I tell you!”
Neither Misses Camfrey bothered to reply. Ancilla already had her string of pearls dislodged from her neck and was now working at unscrewing the pretty matching earrings. Seraphina was not wearing a necklace, but she silently edged off a pretty little gold bangle that she’d insisted on keeping despite Cordelia’s small efforts to economise. Blood trickled down Cordelia’s arm, staining her light carriage dress of sprigged lawn as she pulled at the small cameo. A gift from her papa. She put the thought firmly out of her mind.
Lord Winthrop was still protesting loudly that they should not forfeit their gems. The door opened and the stench of sweat and alcohol assailed the occupants’ senses. Cordelia felt her heart sinking, for they would surely be overpowered.
“What is the meaning of this?” Winthrop shifted in his chair uneasily.
“ ’And over the pretties and none shall be ’armed. Quickly now!” The man’s tone was urgent and he repeatedly looked over his shoulder as if hearing something. Cordelia wondered what had become of the outriders and why he was looking so uneasy. Perhaps they were not dead, just stunned.
The intruder seemed in a tearing hurry, but then, it was twilight and his felony might be witnessed by any passing chaise. Since highway robbery was a hanging offence, she supposed she could understand his agitation.
Perhaps they could make it work for them. If he would only take the bounty, he might be in such haste to disappear that they’d be allowed to pass on their way, or at least live.
When Winthrop moved forward, a blunderbuss was pointed rather inelegantly at his face. “Don’t move! ’Urry up, I say!”
Lord Henry looked disdainful. “You shall hang for this! I am a magistrate of the peace! Allow us to continue on our way and I shall dismiss this matter from my mind.”
“Oy! We ‘ave a sense of ’umour! Very good, guv! Now ’and over the stash!”
The womenfolk practically begged Lord Henry to desist from argument and give the man what he wanted. Lord Henry’s outrage, though, was growing every moment. Cordelia felt very close to an uneasy faint, for her arm was aching, and though she was only losing blood slowly, the anxiety of the situation was causing an unsteadiness that had her swaying. Seraphina’s fingers clenched over a bottle lying discarded from the hamper. If necessary, she would hit the man over the head, though her aim would be slightly off due to the rocking of the carriage.
“Lord Henry, cease being a dolt and give the man the gems!” Ancilla’s tone was suddenly imperious and Winthrop was so startled by the unexpected admonishment that he meekly handed over the loot.
The man’s eyes narrowed when he noted the paltry takings, but he was fidgety in the dusky twilight and anxious to get on. Disappointing, for the well-appointed carriage had promised of more. Still, a quick glance at the ladies indicated that there was indeed no more to yield.
When the highwayman’s eyes rested on Winthrop, they rounded in satisfaction, for the man was wearing several ornate seals and a signet ring that, if not a ruby, was almost certainly a garnet of high calibre. When the thief pointed to them and bade them be removed. Henry turned a spluttering, purplish colour, and Cordelia, in her weakened state, nevertheless feared he might have an apoplexy. She was faintly aware of noises in the background, but she was too riveted on the scene within to give the matter much thought. The man released the safety catch of his overlarge blunderbuss, and at last, with the sharp click, Winthrop stopped dithering. He pulled off his treasures and gingerly proffered them to the highwayman.
“Mighty wise, guv!” The felon nodded approvingly.
Whilst his attention was momentarily diverted, Seraphina raised the bottle above her head. Too late! He caught sight at once of what she was about. Moreover, the noises echoing around him were suddenly brought home to him. Torn between teaching the party a very good lesson and escaping with his hide intact, the highwayman chose the latter. Just as Seraphina was preparing for the worst, his face disappeared from the window. The sound of hooves once again, then a certain eerie stillness before a yell of surprise. Against the darkening sky, the highwayman’s henchmen—a threatening, foul-smelling creature—dropped in front of their very eyes.
Then Frederick was upon them, prising open the door with a stick from the meadows. He ordered the outriders—lying impotently sprawled across the ground—to resume their positions. As he did so, the thundering of Arabian hooves, ever steadier, was upon them. His grace the Duke of Doncaster slid off his horse and cast a meaningful, speaking glance at Frederick.
Frederick! The coincidence was uncanny. He would have laughed had the situation been anything but as dire as it was. How strange that of all the music masters in the world, it was Lord Argyll that the Camfreys had chosen to employ. When he’d offhandedly suggested Seraphina’s tutor accompany them, he had little dreamed that Frederick would finally land up accepting his offer to be his guest in this ridiculous guise. Was he to be placed in the servants’ quarters?
The logistics were fascinating, but the duke did not allow himself to linger on them. He’d instinctively responded to Frederick’s call and the blood was still pounding through his veins as in one summary glance he took in the exact series of circumstances that had just occurred.
When the highwayman had chosen to strike, his eyes had been focused entirely on the outriders. It was unfortunate for him that he’d obviously not noticed the captain dismount, the better to slow the horses and inform the ladies that they were on Huntingdon grounds. The outriders had been quickly disabled and forced to lie prone on the floor, but Frederick had seized the opportunity to creep round from the other side and take the felon by surprise.
Not before, however, he’d emitted the high-pitched whistle that both Seraphina and Cordelia had heard in the confusion. If Rhaz was anywhere about, Frederick knew he would respond. The whistle was unique between them, used in the heat of Iberian battles and panic situations only. Frederick had whistled almost unconsciously, but the effort was not entirely derived from instinct, for he’d half anticipated the duke to turn up at some stage, his grace more than likely being prepared to gree
t his guests as they entered the estate. Consequently, in the split second Frederick had had to think, he had taken the chance that Rhaz would be within hearing distance at least. One last peacetime chance to pair up together against an unseen enemy.
With a slight twitch to his lips, the fifth Duke of Doncaster surveyed the scene of the crime. As usual, Captain Argyll had acquitted himself well, but that was to be expected. Rhaz almost had it in him to be sorry for the poor, unconscious second highwayman. Being coshed over the head by the likes of Frederick must be no small matter. But then, neither was a hanging. His eyes turned grim as he caught sight of Cordelia, mildly deflecting Winthrop’s loquacious outpouring of rage. The way he was talking, he had single-handedly saved both chaises and the damsels within.
He was just working himself up to the climax of his piece when the duke’s eyes met those of his soul mate. The anguish in them was unmistakable. So, too, was the silent plea. A moment later he was noticing the brown stain that was discolouring her gown quite fearfully. He barked an order at the second outrider and sent him scurrying for help and further coaches from the extensive Huntingdon stables. Then, entirely ignoring Winthrop, he nodded at Frederick and heaved the heavy gilt door open.
Lord Winthrop fussed within and was the first to step out, proclaiming loudly that no one had seen fit to attend to the horses. Casting a disdainful stare at the miscreant, who still lay in a heap at the captain’s feet, he strode off to examine both teams’ fetlocks. He declared the bays as “right as a trivet” but equivocated a little on the condition of the chestnuts. He might have spared his breath, for no one, least of all his grace, was listening.
Rhaz addressed Ancilla, though his eyes never left Cordelia’s face, and his arms were stretching out for her long before Mrs. Camfrey understood the full import of his words.
“Miss Cordelia is hurt. I shall have to take her down from the chaise, though I fear movement may be painful. I shall try to be gentle.”
Ancilla nodded, but Seraphina, her attention drawn to the stained carriage dress and the sleeve that even now was reddening, exclaimed in horror. “Delia! Are you all right, my love?”
Cordelia nodded, though by now she was feeling far weaker than a few moments before. The duke’s hand was brushing soothingly against her own and in minutes—probably more likely seconds—his hand was placed firmly around her. She had little recollection of being lifted out of the excellent equipage, but for a vague sense of quickening pulses and overall well-being. If her arm ached, it seemed of little or no account, for Rhaz held her. Indeed, his grace cosseted her as if she were the most precious little package on earth. The bewildering sensations, all following one after another, finally took their toll. Though her head swam, she was aware of two salient facts beyond the sweet, deeply masculine scent of his most noble grace. The criminal was apprehended and she was safe. Upon these confused thoughts, she closed her eyes and fell into a heady, highly uncharacteristic and remarkably intoxicating swoon.
FIFTEEN
There was a moment’s silence as all eyes turned to Cordelia. Lord Winthrop returned from his inspection of the horses, cast his eye upon the duo but refrained from comment, other than to mention, rather sardonically, that it was a shame that the first highwayman had made good his escape.
No one paid him any special heed, which quite overset him. Accordingly, he announced to a strangely silent group that, since they all had addled brains, it must be left to him to truss up the prisoner and sternly question him when he came round.
Relieved to give the baron some activity beyond merely upsetting his betrothed, Frederick handed him some rope from the corded picnic basket and allowed him to occupy himself in this prudent, slightly priggish manner. Rhaz was still holding Cordelia, the expression in his eyes softer than anything Frederick had ever witnessed before. He seemed happy to just stand mutely with his burden, gazing upon the soft, delicate lashes that were now firmly closed against the peachy, sun-streaked sunset.
For an instant, Frederick’s heart leaped in sudden hope. Surely it could not be Seraphina with whom the duke’s interest lay? And yet, everything seemed so certain. Even now, the duke was quietly lifting his eyes from the still dazed Cordelia and asking, with considerable concern in his voice, whether Miss Seraphina and Mrs. Camfrey were not too shaken from their ordeal. His eyes rested, for a moment, on Seraphina, and Frederick felt close to throttling him. Instead, he unclenched his fists and stilled his heart.
No doubt there would be time enough to catechise Rhaz on his intentions. In the meanwhile, the debacle of this carriage trip had to be attended to before an oncoming stage or curricle was overturned. He promised to attend to this and his grace threw him a grateful glance. Ancilla noticed the gesture between these two apparent strangers and something flickered at the back of her mind. She said nothing, however, for Seraphina, was treading gingerly out of the coach and staring with bright-eyed interest at the prisoner.
It was left to the captain, then, to point out the urgent need for Cordelia to return to the house. “If she has lost blood, your grace”—he stressed these words to remind Rhaz of his lowly role as music master—“she must be instantly attended to. I suggest you take her back to your house whilst a doctor is called for.”
Rhaz agreed, but he was very conscious, for the first time, of observing the proprieties. He had no wish for it to be whispered that he had compromised Cordelia. Accordingly, he begged Ancilla to join him on the trip back up to his home. Ancilla would willingly have agreed, but for two facts. Whilst Cordelia could conceivably ride up on Rhaz’s mount, there was no suitable horseflesh about for Mrs. Camfrey to commandeer. Then there was the necessity for sidesaddles and the fact that Seraphina would need chaperoning if she were left with two gentlemen. All things considered, it would probably be better if his grace took Cordelia, for he could hardly be expected to seduce her whilst she was in such a dismal state. Not even the harshest critic could raise a quizzical brow at the arrangement. Of course, Mrs. Camfrey took rather too optimistic a view of gossipping, tongue-wagging society, but she remained in happy oblivion to this.
“Your grace, I am in the greatest agitation over Cordelia! I have not brought up my girls to swoon becomingly. If she is in a dead faint, I fear it must be just that. Take her immediately, if you would be so kind. His lordship, Seraphina and I—oh and Captain Argyll of course”—she nodded to him encouragingly—“shall follow you just as soon as we are able. You will send word to a wheelwright?”
Rhaz nodded, hardly trusting himself to speak. Nothing mattered beyond the fact that his darling was ill, suffering the rigorous effect of a stray bullet. Without another word, he carefully eased her into the saddle and mounted himself.
Instantly, her breathing became less ragged and she regained all of her faculties. They were all crying out, of course, but not from pain. Cordelia decided not to examine those faculties too closely, for if she did, the spectre of both Winthrop and her dear Seraphina might loom to haunt her.
The steadying trot of hooves across brambles and grass allowed her to rest. Presently, she was able to shut her mind to the delicious sensation of his grace’s abdomen rubbing up close next to her. She was even able, at times, not to notice his strong arms tucked up against her and the reins, nor the way he smelled and the tantalising way he gently spoke to her through her pain. It seemed like a blissful age before the hunting box was finally reached. Rhaz drew her down very gently by the waist and snapped his fingers so that, by a ripple effect, a dozen house servants or more came rushing outside to do his bidding.
Still holding Cordelia close against him—she felt as light as down in his arms—he begged the doctor to be called and two fresh carriages sent down from the stables. As an afterthought, he called for a smith and a wheelwright, but truly his preoccupations were elsewhere.
Cordelia protested feebly that she could be set down, for whilst her arm was undoubtedly aching, it appeared to have stopped bleeding. Rhaz raised his brows and ignored her, loath to set d
own his precious cargo no matter what the reasoned logic. Instead, he held her ever more fiercely against him until the flush upon Cordelia’s cheeks could not be attributed to the heat or excitement, but rather to his intoxicating intensity. When she finally was settled down, it was not, as she thought, to await the arrival of the good doctor although that man had, indeed, been summoned.
She was startled and bemused when his grace the duke condescended to kneel beside her, wiping her brow and murmuring gentle nothings as his practiced eye took stock of the situation through her modest, though decidedly becoming, gown.
His hand was upon her shoulder, gently, ever so gently, testing the thin film of material that so elegantly encased her arm. It was loose in places, but near the wound it was damp and matted, so Cordelia winced a little at his cursory examination. His tone was very gentle as he rang the bellpull and checked that Cordelia rested comfortably against the brocade sofa.
When his manservant arrived, Miss Camfrey cast a startled glance at the perfection of his livery and the silvery powder with which his wig was brushed. Even in her pain and tumultuous emotions, she could see that the butler was dressed to the first stare. Still slightly dazed, she allowed her thoughts to wonder to Rhaz’s indisputable rank and fortune. He was second only to a prince and here he was, ministering to her needs as humbly as one of his own servants. She shook her head at the wonder of it, then scolded herself for a widgeon. His grace was obviously a gentleman of the first stare. He would accord such civility to anyone in need. Such was the magnitude of both his good nature and his breeding.
Madrigals And Mistletoe Page 15