by Deb Marlowe
She blinked, and then scowled ferociously. ‘That sounded remarkably final. I hope you don’t think you are going to do this without me.’
‘And have you sneaking out of the house to follow me?’ He grinned down at her and squeezed her hand where it lay on his arm. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. In any case, I fear this is a job too big for even the two of us.’
They had arrived back to where Matthew Grange stood at the edge of the dancing. He handed her over to him in a formal manner. ‘Mae has a story to tell you, Matthew. I hope you will listen carefully.’
Mr Grange spared a smile for her. ‘I should be delighted to do so.’ He shot a curious glance between the two of them. ‘Something tells me it will be a fascinating tale.’
Stephen didn’t respond. His focus had remained on her. ‘This isn’t going to be easy. Are you sure?’
She gave a quiet nod.
‘Explain everything to Matthew. Afterwards, I’m afraid you’ll need to develop a headache and retire early.’ He glanced across the room. ‘Will your parents worry overmuch?’
She shook her head.
‘Two o’clock, then. Behind the clapboard barn beyond the stables. There’s a narrow lane behind it. You and Josette meet us there. Wear dark clothes. And be careful.’
‘Us?’ Matthew said hopefully. ‘I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but it sounds like too much fun to be missed.’
‘Oh, we definitely need you,’ Stephen assured him.
Mae felt Matthew straighten a little, under her arm. Perhaps he had not expected to hear such a thing again.
Stephen bowed and turned to go. After a single step, though, he paused. ‘Mae?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you. You can’t know, but I find that this is even more important to me than I had thought.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she whispered. But he was wrong. She knew it was important to him. She only wished she knew why.
Chapter Seventeen
Had they been in London, the hour would have been too early and society would just have hit its stride. This was Newmarket, though, and aside from a few dedicated gamblers tucked into taverns, most of the town was anticipating an early morning at the course and had gone to bed.
Stephen’s leg bounced impatiently as he and Matthew made their way through the darkened streets and headed north towards Titchley. He’d done what he could. They were perhaps a few minutes late, but he judged that they were thoroughly prepared.
The ladies were waiting as Matthew manoeuvred their farm cart down the narrow lane. Swathed in dark cloaks, they emerged from the shadows of the barn.
‘Don’t stop, just slow to a roll,’ Stephen said low to Matthew. He clambered to the back edge of the cart and pulled the women in one by one.
‘A farm cart?’ Mae asked as he hauled her in.
‘We are in disguise,’ Stephen told her.
‘Addy’s going to be so angry that she missed this,’ she muttered.
Stephen laughed. He held her a tad too close, for just a little too long, considering their situation. His blood immediately heated, but her huge grin only broadcast her delight in the adventure.
He found he couldn’t let her go. For just a moment he wanted to hold her tight. Ridiculously, in the midst of all this, he actually had the urge to take the risk and lay bare his heart. Mae made herself vulnerable every day. How could he do less?
But he could not. He still had to secure Fincote Park’s success before he could worry about his happiness.
And they had work to do before any of that could happen. So he contented himself with a sly grin and a quick, clandestine caress to her backside before he settled her safely towards the front of the cart, between two casks of oats. Josette he perched comfortably on a saddle. He paused for a moment, swaying with the cart’s slow and steady motion, and had to laugh at his incongruous cargo.
An heiress. A French maid. Oats, carrots and sugar. Loaded pistols, assorted tack and a special basket with a latch. All of the implements needed for stealing a not-truly-kidnapped thoroughbred currently masquerading as a sick hack.
He met Mae’s eye and grinned. ‘Of all of the rigs we’ve got up to, all of the pranks we’ve pulled in the past, this must be the oddest.’
Her answer came back unexpectedly fierce. ‘But the one with the biggest pay-off.’
Stephen silently seconded that as he moved to return to the bench with Matthew. ‘Keep your heads down, ladies. We’re going to stop to formulate our strategy after we leave the town.’
‘Dead.’ Mae whispered in answer. ‘Addy’s going to kill me quite dead.’
They pulled the wagon to a halt in a stand of trees somewhere between Newmarket and Stetchworth. Matthew pulled a covered lantern from beneath the bench seat and climbed awkwardly down. Nimble as goats, Mae and Josette hopped out of the back of the cart before Stephen could make it back to assist them.
The night was warm and clear. Through the treetops, starlight twinkled like a spill of diamonds across the sky. When Matthew slid back the cover of the lantern, however, the four of them found themselves isolated in a bubble of warm light.
Stephen cleared his throat. ‘I wish to be clear about a few things. Despite my earlier remark, this is no childish prank.’ He cast a wry glance around the group. ‘I don’t think anyone here has ever shied away from a chance at mischief, but this man we are facing tonight is dangerous. We have to approach this in a serious and thoughtful manner. And I need to know now if anyone wishes to abstain from participating.’ He sighed. ‘God knows I wouldn’t blame you.’
He was met with silence. And a snort from Mae.
‘Then I will assume that we are all united in this by choice.’ He pulled the map Cray had drawn from his pocket. ‘Let’s start with the layout of the stables.’
Everyone leaned forwards over the open back of the cart. Josette flipped her cloak back and out of the way.
Stephen forgot what he was going to say next. Beside him, Matthew gulped audibly.
‘What?’ The silence had gone on too long for Mae. She followed the direction of their gazes. ‘Oh.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘Josette knows what she is doing.’
The French girl was dressed in a skirt with a high waist and a higher hem. Her ankles and section of calf showed below—and above … Stephen swallowed.
‘I thought you told them to wear dark clothes?’ Matthew choked out.
Josette rolled her eyes. ‘Dark clothes?’ she asked. ‘Bah. A situation like this—it calls for violence or seduction, non?’ The disparaging look she cast in his and Matthew’s shared direction might have shattered a lesser man’s confidence.
‘We assumed it would be seduction,’ Mae put in.
‘And since I would never in a hundred years allow mademoiselle to do such a thing—’
Not in a million years.
‘—I dressed appropriately,’ the maid finished. She ran a hand over the blouse made of the lightest linen. It lay low across her shoulders and practically non-existent next to her bosom. It was clear—abundantly—that she wore nothing underneath.
‘This shirt, it is made for seduction. It starts high—’
That was high?
Josette shrugged a shoulder and the whole thing slipped even lower on the right side. ‘And it goes lower with each—’
‘No need for a demonstration,’ Stephen objected quickly.
‘Shut up, man, and let the lady finish.’ Matthew’s eyes were firmly fixed on the maid’s widening expanse of skin.
Mae frowned at Matthew. ‘Stop teasing them, Josette,’ she ordered. ‘We have work to do.’
The maid muttered something in French. Something about what Mae was wearing. He eyed her cloak and looked away. Stephen didn’t want to know. Or perhaps he just didn’t want Matthew to see.
He shook his head to clear it. ‘This is a rendering of the stables. Mae, if you can add anything, let me know.’ He pointed. ‘The gates are here. Ryeton is either worse off than we thought, or h
e is arrogantly confident—’
‘I vote for the latter,’ Mae said, low.
‘—because they appear to be neither locked nor guarded.’
‘There was no one attending them when the ladies came through.’
‘I checked it out earlier this evening, as well. I circled around and found the back gate, where the deliveries are made. We’ll enter there.’
‘How did you get onto the estate?’ Matthew asked.
‘Before I attended Lady Toswick’s soirée as an invited guest, I stopped by Lord Ryeton’s stables as a hired messenger.’ Stephen laughed at the look on their faces. ‘I dressed in old clothes and went to speak with Pratchett’s old groom.’
‘Patrick,’ Josette spoke up suddenly. ‘I spoke with him.’
‘Yes, Patrick. Mae said you didn’t believe he was involved. I’d hoped for his co-operation.’
‘He has no part in this hoax. I would swear to it.’
‘That is what he maintained this evening when I spoke with him.’
‘I believe him,’ she insisted.
‘I did too. He was genuinely angry when he thought about that blow to his head.’
‘He has suffered headaches,’ Josette said sadly.
‘Well, no one else is likely to believe that he had nothing to do with this great mess,’ Matthew asserted. ‘I hope you told him so.’
‘I did. I advised him to pretend I had brought a message regarding a family emergency and make himself scarce. I also gave him enough blunt to head back home to Dublin and perhaps on to the Americas.’ Stephen watched Josette, but she didn’t appear to have anything to say to that. ‘In return, I asked him to make a couple of arrangements regarding the box stalls. What that means for us is that Pratchett’s old stall is still empty, of course, but now the one next to it will be as well.’ He pointed out the spot on the map.
‘All the rest of these,’ Mae said with a sweep of her hand, ‘will have grooms sleeping inside. But they are locked in and not let out until morning.’
‘Yes, but still, we are going to have to keep this quiet if we don’t want to raise an alarm.’ Stephen pointed again. ‘Pratchett is currently here—at the end of the row, away from the others.’
‘Yes, because of his illness.’ Mae’s sarcasm was cut short when she blinked and straightened. ‘You don’t think he’s really ill, do you?’
‘I doubt it. It just gave them a good excuse to keep everyone away.’
‘Pratchett’s groom doesn’t sleep in with him,’ Mae said. ‘I got a good look in his stall, after he tried to bite me. There was no cot.’
‘His groom is no groom at all, but the thug Ryeton hired to see all this through. And if he’s not in the stall, then you can be sure that he’s somewhere nearby.’ Stephen looked very seriously at the French girl. ‘He’s a bad man, Josette. Are you sure you’ll be fine? That you can handle him?’
She threw her shoulders back. ‘Of course.’
‘Of course,’ echoed Matthew.
Mae shot him another discomforted look.
‘We’re not bawds and pimps, here,’ Stephen protested. ‘There is no need for you to actually seduce him, Josette. Cray says he has a weakness for expensive French brandy. I’ve got some and I’ve doctored it with a bit of laudanum. There’s a decanter and a couple of mugs in the cart. If you can get him to drink enough of it, even we should be able to handle him.’ He laughed.
Matthew didn’t.
‘But, Josette, will you be able to fend him off, if he wishes to … you know.’ Blushing furiously, Mae refused to look at anyone but her maid.
‘But of course. This I know how to do.’ Josette patted Mae’s hand in reassurance.
‘I thought you might pretend that you had planned to meet Pratchett’s groom.’
‘Patrick.’
‘Patrick. And that you were dejected to find him gone.’
‘Ah, yes. First I sprinkle a little of this brandy about me.’ The maid was warming to her role. ‘Then I will be sobbing a little—quietly and very prettily.’
‘Outside Pratchett’s stall, so he is sure to find you.’
‘Yes. I shall offer him a drink and I shall begin to tell him of my life. It is a very interesting story I tell, you see, with just enough spicy bits to keep any man listening. And drinking.’
‘Perfect,’ Stephen told her. ‘It would be best if you could lure him down the row of empty stalls a bit. Get him all the way to Pratchett’s old box if you can. Tell him you need a little privacy.’ He glanced at that blouse she wore, once more. ‘He won’t object. Trust me. Once you are in a stall, then I will sneak in and dose Pratchett with one of these.’ He held up a small leather bag.
‘What is it?’ asked Mae.
‘Opium balls.’
Matthew shook his head.
‘Don’t ask,’ Stephen answered his friend’s silent question. ‘Just be happy that while Peck is getting inebriated, so will Pratchett. It’s the only way we’ll get that horse out of there without a colossal fuss.’
‘You have oats in the cart?’ asked Mae. She pulled a thick bottle from her cloak. ‘Mix them with this. Molasses. Pratchett likes it and it’s likely the only way you’ll get the drug in him without getting your fingers taken off.’
‘You’re an angel,’ Stephen told her as he took the bottle. ‘After we dose the horse, Mae and I will wait in an empty stall next to Josette. If you need help, or once you are ready for me to come in and take him out, all you’ll have to do is rap on the wall.’
‘Why, exactly, am I here?’ Matthew asked plaintively.
‘Who else can drive the wagon half so well?’ Mae asked him.
Stephen wished she’d stop paying his friend so damned much attention. If she was going to show anyone a preference, he damned well wanted it to be him.
‘I need you to keep watch,’ he told Matthew. ‘I’ll need you to park here.’ He showed his friend the spot on the map. ‘Once Peck is taken care of and Pratchett is ready, then bring the cart around so we can hitch the horse to the back.’
‘But then what shall we do with him?’ asked Mae.
‘We’ll take him to my estate,’ Matthew told her. ‘It’s not far, just a few miles away, in Mildenhall. I’ll keep him safe there until the stewards and the magistrate can decide what to do with Ryeton.’ He took on a malicious cast. ‘It’ll be my pleasure to do it, too.’
The admiring look Josette cast at Stephen had him nearly blushing. ‘You are an accomplished schemer,’ she said with approval. ‘You have thought of all the things we need. Let us hope you have also thought of all the things that might go wrong.’
‘Good Lord, everyone cross your fingers and pray nothing goes wrong.’ Stephen couldn’t help glancing in Mae’s direction. Look at me. That compliment would have sounded much sweeter had it come from her.
She was staring at the map, seemingly completely absorbed in the plan. Watching her, his heart sank a little.
‘It’s going to take all of us to bring this off,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Does everybody understand the plan?’
A chorus of affirmatives answered him.
‘Then let’s get moving.’
Chapter Eighteen
Mae crouched low in the farm cart as they approached the back gates to Lord Ryeton’s estate. This was it—the last push to rescue Pratchett. The last chance to push Stephen into seeing that they had a future together beyond Ryeton’s exposure.
She had indulged in such rich fantasies as she prepared for this. She’d imagined the intimacy as she and Stephen worked in tandem, how they would think and act in synchronicity. She had to laugh at herself a little, now. This was dangerous business. And they were caught up in a fellowship, not a partnership. She understood the necessity. But she could still mourn the lost opportunity.
It was not in Mae’s nature to leave anything to chance—especially not something as important as her future. Yet, she had determined that in this battle between them, the ball was firmly in Stephen’s court. If they
were to move ahead together, then Stephen was going to have to make some difficult decisions.
She looked down and adjusted her cloak. Of course, that didn’t mean that she couldn’t give him a little incentive.
They made it to the designated spot. Mae quieted the carthorse with a feeding bag while Stephen mixed the drugged oats for Pratchett and Josette collected her brandy and mugs.
Mae prepared to deploy her secret weapon. She waited until Stephen was gathering pistols to hand out. Once he was behind her, she removed her cloak. She tossed it into the cart with a small flourish.
She’d chosen her ensemble carefully tonight. A glance over her shoulder at Stephen’s eye-popping, stuttering response told her that she had chosen well.
‘Is something wrong, Stephen?’ She turned to take a pistol from his lifeless hand and casually tucked it into her waistband.
‘What are you wearing?’ he demanded in a harsh whisper.
‘It’s only a divided skirt. I had it made when we were crossing into Italy. The riding was rough and these provided so much more freedom of movement.’ And so much gratifying male attention. She ran a hand over her derriere, where the soft fabric fit snugly; hugging her bottom like no other garment had ever done before.
‘But … your back … behind your …’ Stephen couldn’t finish his sentence.
‘Well, I am usually astride when I’m wearing them,’ she explained.
‘You aren’t astride now!’ he protested.
Matthew twisted about in his seat, trying to see what the fuss was about. He blinked. ‘Thank you, Stephen, for bringing me along tonight,’ he breathed.
With a strangled cry, Stephen stepped to block his view. ‘Stay here,’ he snarled at his friend. ‘Keep watch. Whistle if you have any trouble.’
Keeping Mae in front of him, he jerked his head at Josette and led them both to the row of box stables. He positioned the maid along the outer stable wall—also the outer side of Pratchett’s box. Pressing a finger to his mouth to signal silence, he tugged Mae with him to the small shed and tack room across the way. This was to be their vantage point.