The Baron's Betrothal (Dangerous Lords Book 1)

by Maggi Andersen

  “Who sent you?” Guy demanded.

  “None of yer business. ’Ere will do fine.”

  Hetty crouched and parted the leaves of a rhododendron. Her blood chilled. In a clearing, the assailant raised a pistol and took aim at Guy.

  Hetty screamed.

  The gunman swiveled to stare in her direction.

  Guy charged him, toppling him to the ground. The man’s shot went wild, spraying bark from a tree, as they rolled down a slope, locked together.

  Hetty emerged from her hiding place, her chest tight with fear. She hesitated, unsure what to do next. Her clammy hands clenched into fists as she danced around them. They gained their feet. Guy saw her, and his eyes widened. Distracted, he failed to block the man’s fist. It connected with his chin with a resounding thwack. He reeled back with a curse. “Get out of here, Hetty!” he yelled.

  The gun lay close to Hetty’s feet, but she had no means of reloading it. She snatched up a rock, ready to use it.

  Guy returned the favor with a punch to the man’s solar plexus.

  “Oomph!” The rogue staggered but managed to keep his feet. They cursed and gasped for breath as they circled each other, trading blows.

  The rogue pulled a knife from his boot and swiped at Guy, missing him by a whisker. The momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled and fell over a log. Guy followed and kicked him in the knee. He fell with a yelp of pain. Hetty had to bite her lip not to cheer.

  The man scrambled to his feet and darted forward again, slashing the knife across Guy’s chest. Guy dodged, but the blade caught him, slicing through his waistcoat. Guy managed to grab the assailant’s wrist and twisted.

  With a groan, the rogue dropped the knife.

  Hetty’s heart galloped. She was gasping as she edged closer. The attacker took note of her, and his eyes narrowed. He broke loose from Guy’s grip and snatched up the knife again.

  “For God’s sake, run, Hetty!” Guy yelled as he darted away from the lethal blade. The rogue followed, slashing wildly at the air.

  The attacker’s back was to her. She could stand no more, one false move and Guy would be dead. She rushed up behind the assailant and swung the rock at his head. It connected with an alarming thud. For a moment he stood still, then fell forward onto Guy, and they both went down.

  Guy rolled the unconscious man off him as blood spilled onto the ground from a gash on the man’s pate. He climbed to his feet. “What if he’d killed me? He would have killed you, too,” he said with a growl.

  She put her hands on her hips. “How ungrateful!”

  Guy’s jaw clenched. “I would have bested him. You should not have intervened. Go home before you are missed!”

  Hetty peered at the ruffian who lay on his back with his eyes closed, his narrow face pale as death. Her chest heaved in anguish. “Have I killed him?”

  “No.”

  “W-who is he?”

  Guy picked up the pistol, then knelt and searched the man’s pockets. “He didn’t seem obliged to tell me.” He looked up. “How did you come to be here? Not following me, were you?”

  “Well, how arrogant! As if I would. I was on an errand.”

  He stood and examined a piece of paper he had taken from the pocket of the man’s grubby coat. He flicked her a quick glance. “Alone? And riding your father’s horse, I suppose.”

  She raised her chin. “Yes.”

  “And your father remains ignorant of the fact.”

  “This is hardly the time…”

  “I’ll bet when you were a child, you never refused a dare.”

  “Well I…”

  A muscle ticked in Guy’s clenched jaw. “Do you now see how dangerous it is to ride alone, Hetty? This could have ended quite differently.” He glanced at the fellow. “Once he had you in his power, he may not have killed you immediately.” His eyes pinned her in place, his meaning clear.

  She shuddered. “Well, I don’t believe he was after me.”

  He scowled at her. “A woman should not go about on her own when there are dangerous canailles about.”

  “Canailles?”

  Guy scrubbed his face with his hand. “You call them highwaymen.” His eyes narrowed. “But you are well aware of my meaning.”

  Hetty put her hands on her hips. “I was the one who knocked him out, my lord.”

  “That’s true, but I had it well in hand.”

  “It didn’t look as if you did.”

  “You distracted me.”

  “Such ingratitude!”

  “I didn’t want to kill him until I learned who hired him. I must get him into custody, preferably before he comes to. I am most grateful. And should be pleased to show you if I had time.”

  Unsure what he meant by that, the possibilities made her heart leap. “Shall I go for help?”

  He shook his head. “You cannot. There would be gossip for a month of Sundays.”

  Anger robbed her of breath. “Surely you don’t care for such things.”

  “I care for your sake.”

  Hetty opened her mouth, then shut it again. “I do believe you are a man after my father’s heart,” she said finally.

  His eyes widened. “How so?”

  “You would keep a woman under your thumb safe from the world, because she is so helpless.”

  “There is nothing helpless about you, Hetty. You are reckless! If that was your father’s intention, he has certainly made a poor job of it. But I don’t blame him. It must be exhausting.”

  She clamped her lips down on a sharp retort and pointed to the prone man. He had not moved. She stepped closer.

  “Are you sure he’s not dead?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Can you reload his pistol? You can guard him while I fetch the parish constable.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh as he stripped off the man’s belt. “You most certainly will not.” He fastened the belt around the man’s wrists. “That should hold him.” He dropped the man’s hands and straightened. “I’ll get him up onto his horse. And you must go home.”

  As Guy dragged the man through the undergrowth, she grabbed the man’s feet in an effort to help. He was heftier than a sack of grain and reeked of rancid sweat, tobacco, and onions. She wanted to hold her nose.

  With Guy doing most of the lifting, they hoisted him sideways over the saddle, his arms and legs dangling.

  Guy gave her a leg up onto The General. The stallion danced around, unsettled by the other horses. Hetty spoke to him soothingly and patted his neck.

  When The General quieted, Guy mounted his horse and, with a pull on the reins of the highwayman’s horse, he turned the animals toward the village.

  “Did he try to rob you?” she called after him.

  He turned back to her. “He didn’t get a chance, although I doubt that was his intention.”

  She met his restless gaze. “Then what was? Have you no inkling why these people keep attacking you?”

  “I will learn more when he wakes. Say nothing about this, Hetty.”

  “You can trust me.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Will you come and tell me more, tonight? Come late, after dinner.”

  “Very well.”

  She glanced again at the limp form, fearing she’d dealt him a deadly blow. “I hope he won’t die.”

  “He’s in no danger of it.” Guy’s eyes flashed with anger. “It wouldn’t concern me too much if he did, as he did intend to murder me.”

  “That’s all very well for you. You wouldn’t have been the one to have killed him.”

  Guy gathered up the reins. “I promise you, I shan’t let him die. And I’ll resist killing him, myself.” He huffed out a heavy sigh. “It seems I am in your debt again. Thank you, Hetty. Now please, go home.”

  She watched Guy ride away toward the village, the other horse and its comatose occupant trailing at the end of the rein. She didn’t wish him to be in her debt, but she was so happy he was alive that her heart soared. But her spirits
soon plummeted when it occurred to her that the rogue had been hired to kill Guy. And whoever was behind it would no doubt try again.

  Hetty rode The General home. Had Guy killed a man? He was not the consummate liar Eustace suspected him to be, but she sensed there was much more to Guy’s past than he was prepared to tell her. Had he fought with Bonaparte? Eustace was right to demand documented proof. And she hoped Guy would be able to provide it.

  One thing she did know. Should Guy need her help again, she would give it, whether he liked it or not. Even if she saved him for Fanny or some other lady, she thought, as a lump formed in her throat.

  Simon led The General away with a raise of his eyebrows, but he didn’t question her. The house was quiet when she entered. Hetty hurried up to her bedchamber. She washed and changed into a house gown, praying she hadn’t been missed.

  Her father was at his desk in the library. He gave her a sharp look. “Ah, my dear. I had a visitor, Mr. Gantry. We’ve been visiting the farm. I sent word for you to join us for tea, but the maids couldn’t find you. Where have you been?”

  “I went out for some fresh air.”

  He frowned. “On foot?”

  “No, I rode, Father.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  He rose from his chair and came around the desk to take her hands. “I am surprised and shocked, Horatia. Without my knowledge and with highwaymen about? You are far too reckless.”

  Accused of recklessness twice in one day cut deep. Her chest squeezed at the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Papa. I am…stifled here sometimes.”

  He studied her. “Stifled, eh?”

  She had reached a stage where she couldn’t dissemble, not even to spare him. “Yes.”

  “That’s not good, Horatia. Not good at all.”

  Relieved that he didn’t ask her which horse she’d ridden, she placed a hand on his arm. “I should not have gone out alone, Papa. I am sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  He straightened his back, appearing more like the figure of authority he’d once been commanding his troops. “Raising a daughter is not easy for a man to do alone. But I’ve done my best. I’m hurt that you’ve kept your concerns from me.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you,” she whispered, as her eyes filled with tears.

  He chucked her under the chin. “There now, don’t cry.” He smiled. “We all make mistakes, my dear. We shall speak no more about it.” He returned to his desk. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Oakley called. He left some vegetables with Cook.”

  “How good of him. I’m sure they’re splendid.”

  “I had planned to play faro at Mr. Broadbent’s this evening, but I’ve half a mind not to go. I should stay and keep you company. The skies threaten rain.”

  “I am perfectly content to spend the evening with a book.”

  “Are you? Then I suppose I’d best not let Mr. Broadbent down. Are you sure you won’t be bored here on your own?”

  “No of course not, Papa.” A deep sense of shame lowered her spirits. She was neither a dutiful daughter, nor was she honest.

  Her father left after dinner in the curricle. When he’d turned down the lane, Hetty lit a lantern and slipped out to the stables. A light rain was falling. Familiar stable smells, warm hay, manure, and the sounds of horses snuffling in their boxes greeted her as she slipped inside. She pulled her cloak close, her nerves on edge. It had been a frightful day and she’d never hurt a living soul before. Her anguish faded to be replaced by a heady sense of expectation. The memory of Guy lying in the hay smiling up at her in that rakish way he had, his mouth on hers, made her want to throw all caution to the winds. Hooves rang on the gravel drive. With a deep breath, she hurried to the doorway.

  Guy appeared through the misty rain and dismounted. He led his horse inside, his shoulders slumped with weariness.

  She was immediately contrite. “Papa has gone out. Come into the house and sit by the fire.”

  “What about the servants? I don’t wish to compromise you.”

  “Don’t be so stuffy. Come to the front door. I want to hear what happened.”

  He glared at her, his eyes bloodshot, but didn’t resist.

  An unmarried lady receiving a gentleman alone at night showed a sad lack of propriety to heap on top of her recent misdemeanors. She was glad of her loyal servants, but she couldn’t make herself care about etiquette. Not when it was a matter of life and death.

  The maid answered the door and showed him into the library where Hetty waited. It was cozy with the walls lined with bookshelves and the fire lit. A reassuring smell of pipe smoke mingled with that of old tomes. Guy poured their drinks and settled with her on the leather chesterfield.

  Hetty allowed her fears to ease as she sipped a glass of sherry and watched Guy nurse a brandy. Guy wore a drab green coat, but his linen was fresh and white against his olive skin. He looked worried. He seemed more vulnerable tonight, which made him even more attractive.

  He turned the glass in his hands, watching the crystal catch the candlelight. “I found a map in the man’s pocket. It detailed the roads surrounding Rosecroft Hall, in relation to Sherrardspark Wood. The spot was marked where he held me up. The ruffian recovered his senses but has refused thus far to say who hired him. I’m at a loss. The one person who benefits by my death is Eustace. No one else. But I’m not about to accuse him of it. Yet.”

  Hetty gasped. “I simply can’t believe it of him. He doubts you are the real Baron Fortescue.”

  “He takes so much laudanum he’s incoherent.”

  “He’s in pain.”

  “He’s become dependent upon it.”

  “Oh!” She had feared it herself.

  “When the highwaymen attacked me on my way down from London, I lost my portmanteau. It contained all my important papers plus a letter from my father with his seal.”

  “Have you looked for it?”

  “Bien sûr! I search every day.”

  “Perhaps I can…”

  “No, you cannot!”

  “There’s no need to snap my head off.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I can’t anyway, I promised Papa I wouldn’t go out riding alone again.”

  Guy’s eyes widened. “He knows?”

  “Yes.”

  “That you ride his horse while dressed in a man’s clothes?”

  She flushed. “No. But I won’t do that again.” She wasn’t sure it would be good for her father’s health to hear it. “What will you do?”

  “Continue to search for my bag for a few days. Then I’ll go to my solicitor in London. Once that’s done, I’ll pay Eustace a visit.”

  “Why?”

  “To inform him of my new will, which disinherits him from all unentailed properties. I shall also tell him of my plan to marry.” He frowned. “But I must find those papers.”

  “I’m sure you will have no trouble selecting a suitable bride. You are, for the most part, perfectly acceptable.”

  “For the most part?” He cocked a dark eyebrow.

  “You are attractive, undoubtedly. And a nobleman…”

  He gave a cautious laugh. “I seem to detect a ‘but’ in there somewhere. Unless my English…”

  “Don’t fudge,” she scoffed, looking at her hands. “Your understanding of English is excellent.”

  He took her chin in his big hand and forced her to meet his gaze. “Then what?”

  She shivered at his touch and tried to ignore the way her breath quickened. Annoyed, she pulled away from him. “Your wife must be prepared to obey her master in all matters. Entertain and embroider and keep the hearth fires burning while you hunt and shoot and visit your club in London or a mistress…”

  His blue gaze heated, and he gripped her shoulders hard, making her wince, more from his closeness than discomfort. “Mon dieu, but you are a tease, Hetty!”

  She wriggled out of his grasp. “Fanny Kemble is an excellent choice. She is very sweet-natured. Could it be Fanny?”
>
  “Fanny? Where did that harebrained idea come from?”

  “You flirt with Fanny every time you’re in her company.”

  “Flirt? I? What about you and that beanpole Oakley!”

  “You are not exactly short yourself, my lord.” Beanpole described tall thin Frederick, perfectly, and she stifled a giggle. “Frederick called today while I was out,” she said coolly. “He has asked me to marry him.”

  “He has? Impudent man.” His eyes narrowed.

  “Papa approves of him.”

  He gave a derisive laugh. “Since when do you rush to obey your father?”

  She firmed her lips. “I have refused Mr. Oakley.”

  “That was kind. You would exhaust the fellow within the first year.”

  “I don’t believe I would. In fact, I might reconsider. You are behaving like a boor, my lord.”

  “It is Oakley who would bore you to death.”

  She could say nothing to that, for she feared it was true.

  He took her hands. “Let’s not quarrel, Hetty.” His eyes softened. “You might do more to help me.”

  “How?”

  “As you know, I’m not yet able to marry. I have need of a fiancée, however. It will give Eustace something to think about. He is very fond of you. Would you agree? It would be only for a period until all this is settled.”

  She stared at him. “A faux betrothal? What would my father say?”

  “I shan’t ask you to lie to him. Again,” he added, making her frown. “But he needn’t be told the precise truth just now. You want to go to London, no? This offers you a good reason to visit your aunt. You won’t remain bound to me, and should something happen, well… you are free.”

  “Nothing must happen. Guy you will be careful? London is a dangerous place.”

  He grinned. “The countryside isn’t so safe.”

  “Digswell is usually.” A faux engagement was deceitful, but he was right. For Eustace to learn her happiness depended on Guy would give him pause, should he be behind this. She pushed the thought away, ashamed at her disloyalty. Her father would at last agree to a season with her aunt. As Guy’s fiancée, she would have the freedom to discover all those things in London that called to her. Her eyes met his and she nodded. This must be kept on a business footing. She must guard her heart.