The Hired Hero

by Andrea Pickens

  He went to fetch the animal from a stall at the back of the small stable while Caroline began to wrestle with a tangle of harness hung from a wooden peg. Jeremy pulled a face as he watched her drag it down and nimbly sorted out the straps and reins.

  “What a helpless idiot I am,” he muttered.

  She slanted him a look as she began to fit the horse’s bridle. “You are only an idiot if you truly believe that. Rather than mourn for what you don’t have, you should feel very fortunate to possess such a rare talent as you do. You are luckier by far than most people.” Her fingers quickly did up the last few buckles and tightened a strap or two. “Besides,” she added. “I saw what you did. Hardly helpless—Gentleman Joe himself couldn’t have landed a better blow.”

  Her words caused his brow to furrow slightly. He stood silently, as if deep in thought, as she backed the animal into the traces and finished making things ready. It was only when she hesitated and asked his aid in moving the earl’s prostrate form into the back of the gig that he snapped out of his reverie and rushed over to help. Together they somehow managed to lift him up into the pile of straw covering the rough boards. Caroline added an old horse blanket she spied hanging from the door of a stall. Though hardly in a pristine state, it would help in warding off the chill.

  Jeremy had taken up an old stovepipe hat sitting atop a pile of discarded burlap bags and planted it firmly over his curling locks. It came down to nearly his eyes and she would have been wont to giggle if he hadn’t looked so resolute.

  “I can drive a gig,” he announced, his tone almost daring her to challenge his assertion. “I do it quite often. You should lie down in back with Julian with the blanket drawn up over you both until we pass out of town. It is less likely anyone will take note of a poor farmer in a simple gig.” He turned the collar of his coat up to heighten the effect.

  Caroline had to agree it was a good plan. She took her place under the musty wool, stifling the urge to sneeze at the cloud of dust and horsehair that mizzled over her head and shoulders. At least the smell wasn’t unbearably rank. Jeremy slid the door of the stable open and checked that all was clear.

  With a flick of the reins, they were off.

  * * * *

  The gentleman watched from the shadows as a small group of men gathered around the man lying in the mud. As he was helped to his feet, blood streaming from his broken nose, voices demanded to know what had happened.

  “Thieves,” croaked the coachman. “I was merely stretching my legs after a day of driving when suddenly I was set upon by three of ‘em. Armed they was, too. But I managed to fight them off.”

  A murmur of consternation ran through the group.

  “Thieves? We don’t countenance such goings on here. Did you happen to get a good look at them?”

  “Aye. One was a tall, well built fellow with a scar on his cheek, another was kinda skinny, hardly more than a boy. And the third was a cripple—missing his left hand, he was.”

  “Why, that sounds like Mr. Leighton,” cried one of the tradesman who had rushed out from a nearby tavern at the sound of the shot. “But I cannot believe that such a gentleman would be involved in this.”

  “He’s a bit queer in the head,” muttered another man. “Roaming around the countryside with his paints and such.”

  As the group helped the coachman back towards the inn, the gentleman slipped from his spot and hurried away. Damn his man, he had bungled things yet again. The trap had been sprung before things were in place, and now the quarry was at large again. His fingers curled around the butt of his own silver chaised pistol, itching to put it to use. He would pay a call on Mr. Leighton, but he doubted that he would find anyone there. He would have to set to casting his net in a wider direction and hope that it pulled in something—and soon. His polished boots hurried along the uneven cobblestones.

  Time was running out.

  * * * *

  It could have been worse, she thought, as the gig hit yet another rut. If the vehicle was able to travel at more than a plodding walk, the jarring would no doubt be even more noticeable. As it was, the comfort was tolerable but the sedate pace set her teeth on edge. Would she never make any progress towards London?

  Yet another bump caused the earl’s leg to bounce and press up against hers. She could feel the solid contours of his muscled thigh, the heat emanating from beneath the snug buckskins. It was disconcerting, yet oddly comforting. There was no move on her part to pull away. In fact, her arm reached out to cradle his shoulders as it occurred to her that the jostling could be doing no good for his wound. She shifted even closer to him, settling his head on her chest. His breathing was slightly labored but there was no sign of fever on his brow. Unconsciously, she brushed the dark locks back, letting her fingers linger on the smooth skin. In repose, the planes of his face were softer, more vulnerable than he ever allowed them to appear when awake. Still, the signs of worry and strain were visible in the lines etched around his eyes, in the set of his lips.

  With a swallow, Caroline realized she had only added to them. Even yesterday, the thought of it wouldn’t have upset her greatly. Now, she found she cared a great deal. Rather than add to his burdens, she wished she could help ease them. She wished she could keep the laughter and the lightness she had glimpsed in his quixotic eyes from being chased away by the black moods that blew in quicker and heavier than storm clouds.

  His breath tickled her throat with the gossamer lightness of a summer breeze. Stormy yet capable of great gentleness. She squeezed her arm tighter. There was so much think about in regards to the earl—if only she could keep her eyes open.

  Davenport awoke with the strangest feeling that a horse was sitting on his head—a bizarre dream, no doubt! Still muzzy with sleep, he shifted slightly to banish the odd sensation. The soft warmth beneath his cheek was no figment of his imagination, however. It felt quite pleasant and he had no desire to do away with it. With a deep sigh of contentment, he burrowed his head deeper. His hand also came up to seek out the heat, closing lightly over a tantalizing mound of...

  “Oh!”

  Davenport’s eyes flew open in confusion. His hand slid away from Caroline’s chest and he started to sit up.

  Caroline’s arm restrained him. “Don’t try to move, my lord. I fear you may open your wound.”

  He was suddenly aware of the sharp throbbing in his shoulder, the jostling of the gig and the prickle of hay under his coat. “What happened? Where the devil are we?”

  “You’ve been shot,” she replied. “You fainted, then Mr. Leighton and I carried you to a stable and, well, we have borrowed a gig and are taking you somewhere safe where you can be properly looked after.”

  “Fainted?” he muttered. “Only females faint—where are we going?”

  Caroline repressed a grin. “I meant, sir, that you passed out from loss of blood. As to where we are going, I don’t know.”

  His finger probed gingerly at his injury. “It’s been bandaged. How...”

  “I managed to stop the bleeding, though I fear that both of our shirts are quite the worse for it.” She slid up into a sitting position so that his shoulders rested in her lap and his head remained cradled on her chest. Her arms remained wrapped around him in a protective manner “But truly, you must stop moving about. Please try to get some more rest.”

  It was a novel experience, someone fussing over him, caring about his own well-being. He found he had no inclination to disobey her order to remain still. He was quite comfortable where he was. His eyes were on the verge of closing when he noticed the cut on her mouth. Instead, they narrowed in consternation.

  “Damnation, he struck you. “

  “Yes, well, I suppose another bruise hardly matters, does it?” Her tongue ran lightly over the split in her lip. To his consternation, the fleeting gesture sent a frisson through his limbs. Caroline tugged the blanket up higher.

  “Are you chilled, my lord?”

  He merely grunted, closing his eyes to hide the flare of
desire he was sure would be evident in them. His senses must be addled from shock, he thought. There was no other explanation.

  “You have real backbone, Miss Caroline,” he said softly, finally managing to take control of his thoughts.

  She swallowed, trying to quell the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. It was the first time he had spoken her name. For some reason, it made her feel rather giddy.

  “It’s quite easy to appear brave when someone is always coming to the rescue. Once again you had to—how did you put it—scrape me out of the mud. It must be getting very tiresome.”

  He mumbled something under his breath.

  “I’m sorry to have put you to so much trouble,” she continued. “Dear me, it seems to keep getting worse.”

  Davenport chuckled at that. “Worse? Let me see, I’ve been engaged in a mad chase on horseback, I’ve been shot at, punched and now winged. I figure at this rate I shall be sticking my spoon in the wall by tomorrow.”

  “No! I—” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “Hear now, I was merely teasing. Don’t let me overset you.” Was it his imagination, or had her hand brushed up against his cheek in something akin to a caress?

  “Hmmph. Well, it’s no joking matter.”

  He didn’t answer. But when he closed his eyes, there was a slight smile on his lips.

  * * * *

  Caroline awoke to the palest glimmerings of dawn on the horizon. With a stab of guilt, she sat up, careful not to disturb the sleeping earl. The gig was moving at a faster clip, she noted with satisfaction, but poor Mr. Leighton had been driving for hours. He must be exhausted.

  “Mr. Leighton,” she called softly. “Forgive me—I fear I have abandoned you all night. Surely you need some sleep yourself. I could take the reins for a time.”

  Jeremy turned his head. He did look a bit peaked, but there was also a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “No need. We will be there shortly. And actually, I find I have enjoyed the task. It is rather novel to be able to partake in an adventure again.” His eyes shifted to the lump next to Caroline. “I take it Julian has not taken a turn for the worse?”

  “He seems to be resting comfortably enough, but I think his wound should be properly cleaned and bandaged soon lest a fever set in.”

  Yes, well, that won’t be a problem. But let us hope that it is his temper that does not become inflamed. I’m afraid he won’t be overly happy with our destination, but I couldn’t think of where else to go.”

  Caroline wondered what he meant, but Jeremy seemed loath to continue. With a shake of the reins, he turned his attention back to the road and began whistling a lively country melody.

  The air had taken on a tang of salt. They must be near the sea, she thought, as she leaned back in the hay and stared up at the fading stars. The question was, had she managed to come any closer to London, and how would she continue? Perhaps wherever it was they were going, there would be a carriage, a horse—anything. She let out a little sigh. Despite his growls and snaps, she would miss the reassuring strength of the ear’s presence, for surely he would have had enough by now. Indeed, she had. She wouldn’t allow him to risk his person any longer. No, from now on, she was back on her own.

  Davenport stirred. His eyes fluttered open, then narrowed as they took in the lightening sky. “How long have I been asleep?” he demanded.

  “Hours. But Mr. Leighton says we are nearly there.”

  “Where?” His head was still resting on Caroline’s lap.

  She shook her head. “That he has not told me.”

  “Jeremy,” he called out. “Where are you taking us?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Jeremy?”

  After a slight hesitation, it seemed the younger man decided it was wiser to give in to the inevitable. With a resigned shrug, he finally answered. “To Lymington.”

  Davenport’s brows came together. “Who do you know in Lymington?”

  “Lady Helen.”

  The earl shot up, wincing at the pain that shot through his shoulder. “The devil we are!” he roared as he started to get to his feet. “I —”

  Caroline’s hand caught him full in the chest. Off balance, he fell back in the hay.

  “Julian, there was really no other choice. We needed a place where you can get some attention to your wound, and I didn’t think we could have risked anywhere close to town. I am sorry if it does not meet with your approval, but in truth, it is the perfect place— it’s quite isolated and away from prying eyes. It will give us a chance to decide how to proceed.”

  Davenport looked to argue but Caroline fixed him with a glare. “If you so much as twitch, sir, I shall be forced to act again. You heard Mr. Leighton. His reasoning makes sense.” The beautiful, delicate lady in Jeremy’s drawing came to mind, and she found herself wondering why the earl should be disturbed about the prospect of ending up on her doorstep anyway. How romantic, she thought a bit acidly, to arrive bloodstained and heroic, in need of help from one’s beloved. Lady Helen would be his for the taking.

  She found herself taking a distinct dislike to Lady Helen.

  He glowered at her, but other than a few choice words muttered under his breath, he remained silent.

  The gig turned onto a long, winding drive that carried them through a stand of ancient beech and elm. At the crest of a hill was a modest stone manor house overlooking a rocky inlet. Jeremy pulled the exhausted animal to a halt in the courtyard and an elderly groom shuffled out from the stable to eye the vehicle with a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

  Davenport climbed down stiffly from the back, brushing wisps of straw from his rumpled coat. “Kindly inform Lady Atherton that she has some visitors, Davis.”

  The man stared open mouthed at the disheveled figure before him until it suddenly dawned on him who it was. “Y...yes, Mist...er, my lord. Right away.” His head bobbed and he scurried away.

  “Oh, devil take it, we might as well wait inside,” muttered the earl. He stalked towards the entrance, trailing the other two in his wake.

  Not waiting for a servant to answer his knock, he yanked the massive oak door open and entered. The entrance hall had recently received a thorough going over. The woodwork gleamed from a fresh coat of wax, the rugs looked newly beaten and a duster had been run over every possible surface, including the single ornately carved picture frame that dominated the wall opposite the curved staircase. Fresh flowers stood on the mahogany sidetable.

  A man Caroline took to be the butler stepped forward. His carefully schooled features betrayed no hint of emotion at the odd little party in front of him. “My lord, I have sent word to her ladyship of your arrival. If you would care to wait in the...”

  “Julian!” There was a rustle of silk above them, and a slender figure appeared around the curve of the banister. The lady paused for a fraction, her hand flying in a gesture of surprise to her alabaster throat, then rushed down the remaining stairs. “Dear heavens, what has happened?”

  “I apologize for intruding on you in such an unseemly manner—”

  “It’s my fault, really, Lady Helen,” interrupted Jeremy. “You see, we had a —”

  “Have you basilicum powder, hot water and clean linen ?” Caroline was in no mood to let the two men stumble through long winded explanations. The earl was looking decidedly pale beneath all the dust and she didn’t like the look of the new splotch spreading out from the rent in his coat.

  Lady Helen turned. She took in the figure before her, from the muddy boots, ragged breeches and torn shirt to the long strands of honey gold hair that had come loose and now dangled lower than the shoulders. Her mouth fell open in shock. It took a moment to recover her wits. “ I...I imagine so. Mrs. Dawkins would know...”

  “Then let us ask her right away.”

  Lady Helen looked confused, then nodded at the butler, who hurried off.

  Davenport shot an reproachful look at Caroline, then continued. “I’m afraid we’ve gotten into a bit of
a scrape. I’m sorry that Jeremy saw fit to come to you, but now that we are here, perhaps we might clean ourselves up and have a bit of breakfast.”

  “Julian, you know I would be glad do anything to help.” Her hand came up to rest on his arm. It was then that she noticed the damage to his coat. “Why, you are hurt!”

  “Just a scrape,” he muttered.

  Lady Helen shrunk back. “Oh, but there is...blood. Shall I send for a doctor? Or perhaps Mrs. Dawkins knows what to do.”

  “A doctor may not be necessary. I believe I can attend to his lordship, if you will show us a room where he might lie down.”

  The butler reappeared, followed by the housekeeper bearing a large tray holding all of the items Caroline had requested. Lady Helen seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Dawkins, please take his lordship right up to the bedchamber overlooking the garden.” She faltered, then added, “And perhaps his...friend would like to make use of the one next to mine.”

  As everyone moved towards the stairs, Lady Helen held Jeremy back. “Who is that...urchin with Julian?” she whispered in his ear.

  “It’s rather a long story.”

  * * * *

  Viscount Sheffield reined his horse to a halt and stared in frustration at the raging waters.

  “Lucien!”

  “Over here, Uncle,” he called out. With a last, helpless look at the swollen river, he spurred his mount back towards the group of riders waiting on the crest of the hill.

  “I’m afraid there’s no chance of crossing here,” he reported. “The currents are much too strong.”

  The Duke’s face became even grimmer..

  A portly Austrian officer accompanying their detachment began to speak in fractured English, drawing puzzled looks all around. After a slight pause, one of the young adjutants cleared his throat and ventured to speak. “Your Grace, if I understand correctly, the major says that he recalls there is a small bridge not more than a few miles downriver. The rains may not have washed it out.”

  The Duke waved an arm at the foreigner. “Well man, what are you waiting for? Lead on!”