If the Earl Only Knew (The Daring Marriages)

by Amanda Forester

  “Yes, I seen such a coach. Bad people. What did you say you wanted with them?”

  “The owners stole something of great value to us,” Wynbrook said carefully.

  “What makes you say they were bad people?” asked Kate.

  “Traveling late, demanding whiskey, paid only half their tab. One of them clean drunk on the floor of the coach.”

  Kate pressed her hands together. Could that have been Robert? “How many of them entered the house did you say?”

  “Four gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, came in last evening and I still am owed for the bar tab.”

  Wynbrook produced a few shillings from his pocket. “Where did they go?”

  The landlady pointed the direction, and they were following the trail again moments later.

  “It must have been Robert on the floor of the coach,” said Kate.

  “Good news is we know where he was and can follow their movements.”

  “Why would they all leave him? They must not have feared he would get away. You don’t think he is—”

  “No!” said Wynbrook forcefully. “If he had died, they surely would have dumped the body.”

  It was grim comfort, but she clung to it, since it was all she had. Still, Wynbrook was right about one thing—at least they had found their trail and were following it again. “It seems they are making a direct line to the coast in the direction of Portsmouth. Since they mentioned a captain, I think that is our most likely destination.”

  “To Portsmouth it is.” Wynbrook flicked the ribbons and set the horses flying.

  They traveled for the better part of the day, stopping occasionally to ask if anyone had seen the coach with the broken window. No one had. Of course, Kate reminded herself, if the coach were traveling at night, no one would have seen it.

  With time on her hands and nothing to do but watch the road and hope to find them, her mind went over and over the events of the past day. She was going to drive herself mad if she didn’t think of something else.

  “Do you enjoy reading?” she asked, remembering that when Wynbrook had found her in the woods, he had been carrying a book.

  “Yes, quite. Admirable way to engage the mind.”

  “What were you reading yesterday?”

  “Yesterday?” His voice hedged a bit.

  “Yes. You had a book in your hand.”

  “Don’t know. So much has happened since then. Seems an age ago.”

  “Yes, but you dropped the book in your pocket. It must still be there.”

  “Must have fallen out, I fear.”

  “You didn’t even look,” said Kate, sure she was onto some mystery and not about to let it go.

  “Don’t want to.”

  “What was the book?”

  Wynbrook said nothing.

  “I could search your person myself.”

  “Oh yes, please, let’s do that. Much better idea.”

  “John! What book were you reading?”

  “Would you believe a commentary on modern warfare?”

  “Not now.”

  John sighed and pulled a book out of his greatcoat pocket.

  “The Captain’s Curse? Isn’t that one of those new horrid novels that ladies are warned against reading?”

  “Oh, that explains it. I thought I was reading a history of war,” said John, urging the horses faster as if it could somehow turn the course of the conversation.

  “You were reading a tawdry novel!” declared Kate, enjoying herself.

  Wynbrook refused to look at her, but his lips were tight and his hands were not quite as relaxed holding the ribbons. “It was my sisters’,” he grumbled. “I was only reading it to…determine if it was suitable reading material for them.”

  “That is quite admirable of you,” said Kate.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “And what have you determined is the value of such a book? Will you be allowing them to read it?”

  “Now that I have read a bit, I know it is not suitable for my sisters.”

  “Then why did you have it in hand when I saw you in the woods?” asked Kate sweetly.

  Wynbrook turned to her with a glare. “If you must know the truth, I did start to read it because I was concerned it wasn’t suitable reading material, which it most definitely is not. The trouble is the story is quite diverting and now I must finish the tale. If you hadn’t so rudely interrupted me, I would have found out how Miss Prudence escapes from the castle tower with treacherous Captain Hemlock stomping his peg leg up the stone stairs after her.”

  “Oh! Now I know why you were in the woods. I thought you had come to look for me, but you were just stealing away to read your lurid novel without anyone seeing you!” Kate accused.

  “It is not lurid.”

  Kate could not stifle a smile. “Captain Hemlock? Peg leg?”

  “Fine, laugh if you wish. It is the most riveting tale. Of course this real adventure makes the book pale in comparison.”

  “Oh, I do not know about that. We haven’t been attacked by a man with a peg leg.”

  “Yet,” said Wynbrook ominously.

  * * *

  They passed the greater part of the day companionably enough, though Kate was constantly on edge. She scanned the road, the carriages they passed, and the people they came across for anything that might give them a clue as to her brother’s whereabouts.

  Wynbrook slowed as they passed through a small hamlet near the coast.

  “Look!” Kate cried, not quite believing it was true.

  Wynbrook stopped the coach in front of a carriage house. Inside an open door was a blue coach with a broken window. “Is that it?” asked Wynbrook.

  “Only one way to know for sure.” Kate jumped down without waiting for any sort of assistance. She looked around, unsure if masked men would jump out from the bushes or from behind the hitching posts. Seeing none, she continued in a cautious manner toward the carriage house.

  She glanced behind her to note Wynbrook glaring at her for going ahead without him. He called for assistance from the carriage house but could not leave the coach box without someone holding the horses.

  She glanced around once more, but other than a stable lad who was mucking out a stall, not paying any mind, no one was about. She walked up to the carriage on light feet and peered through the broken window into the carriage. No one was there. She wasn’t sure what she had expected—perhaps to find her brother lying there, but of course, that was not to be.

  “Is it the one?” asked Wynbrook, who had managed to get the attention of the stable lad to hold the horses so he could jump down from the coach.

  “Yes.” She looked closer in the coach and a chill shot through her. There was a large bloodstain on the floor of the coach. “John,” she gasped. More she could not say because her heart was beating in her throat.

  “I see it,” he said grimly. “You there,” he said, hailing the stable lad. “Where is the man who brought in this carriage?”

  The young man shrugged. “Don’t reckon I know. Stable master would know more.”

  “And where is he?”

  The lad shrugged once again. “Pub, I reckon.”

  “Thank you,” said Wynbrook. “We shall rest the horses here a bit. See them fed and watered, there’s a good lad.” Wynbrook tossed the boy a coin, and the lad became much friendlier, doffing his cap to them with a smile.

  They made their way quickly to the closest pub and soon found the stable master, a ruddy man with good humor well on his way to having that humor enhanced by liberal amounts of ale. After a short interview, they left the pub without much more information than that three men had arrived, looking a bit worse for wear, according to the stable master. Any attempt to get descriptions of the men was greeted with failure.

  Kate left the pub frustrated. “What
now?” Before Wynbrook could answer, a young lady walked up to them. She was a beautiful girl, with blue eyes and golden hair that fell in ringlets, perfectly framing her sweet face. She had a full figure, bordering on plump, and despite wearing a modest, white muslin gown, her bosom defied its stays and quivered at the top of her bodice with every step. Kate had never considered describing anyone as looking angelic, but this girl did.

  On instinct, Kate glanced behind her to see who the girl was walking toward, because clearly such a creature could have nothing to say to her. Surprisingly, the young lady walked directly up to Kate and leaned close to her as if they were intimates.

  “Are you Lady Kate?” she asked.

  Kate glanced over at Wynbrook, but he looked as astounded as she was. “I am. Who might you be?”

  “I am Emma St. James,” she said with a pretty smile. “Your brother has been anxious to find you.”

  Twenty-five

  Kate followed Miss St. James across the narrow street to the Green Man Inn. She wondered if it could be some sort of trap. Could the sweet creature be working with the men who abducted her and her brother? It did not seem possible, but she had learned not to trust in appearances. She glanced back at Wynbrook; his hand was in the large pocket of his carriage coat, no doubt holding the coach gun she knew was there. It was a reassuring thing to know the man was cognizant enough of their situation to be wary.

  If Miss St. James was leading them into a trap, it was very nicely done. She beamed at everyone she met, bestowing her radiant smile on them as she entered the inn and led them up the stairs to the guest rooms. She was halfway up the stairs when she suddenly turned around, the smile gone from her eyes.

  “Into the taproom,” she whispered urgently.

  Kate heard footsteps coming from above and was practically shoved by the determined Miss St. James back down the stairs and into the taproom. Kate guessed Robert’s abductors must be coming down the stairs. She wanted to get a glimpse of these men, but of course, if she waited to see them, they could also see her. And they knew exactly who she was.

  Wynbrook sent her a glance, silently asking her if this was the moment to make a stand, but she shook her head. There was too much she did not know and did not want to make a move if it might put her brother in danger. Besides, Miss St. James didn’t look like much of a fighter. Kate waited in the taproom, just out of sight of the men. Wynbrook and Miss St. James stood next to her, quiet and still.

  “Maybe he’s dead,” grunted one of the men as he walked past the taproom door.

  “Maybe he is. Been shot, lost some blood. But we can’t trust a man to die when he ought to,” replied another.

  “Better hope he’s not dead,” said a growly voice. “Bones wants him alive and he won’t take kindly to this.”

  “We got to find him, that’s what. Either alive or we bring in his corpse, but we can’t go back without a body.”

  Their voices trailed away. Kate’s little group remained in the empty taproom for a minute longer until they were sure the men had left the inn.

  “Is my brother well?” asked Kate.

  Miss St. James gave her a bracing smile and continued to lead them quickly up the stairs. She led them down the hall and opened a door, welcoming Kate inside.

  “Robert!” Kate raced across the room to her brother, who was propped up in the bed. Though she was not particularly prone toward demonstrative shows of affection, she figured the past few days had allowed her some leniency and gave her brother a warm hug.

  “Kate, good to see you. Ow! Easy there.”

  “Do be careful, Lady Kate,” said Miss St. James, coming up behind them. “You might rip out the stitches.”

  “Stitches? Where were you shot? Are you all right? How did you get away?” Kate was nothing but questions, and demanding ones at that.

  “Your brother was shot in the side and lost some blood. Fortunately, it missed any major organ or he would not still be with us,” said Miss St. James matter-of-factly. “Please, sir, shut the door if you would and bolt it.” She directed this comment toward Wynbrook, who was standing by the open doorway.

  Wynbrook quickly complied and strolled forward to clasp Robert’s hand. “Good to see you, old man. I say, but you’ve looked better. But still, to see you this side of heaven is a good thing. Shot, were you?”

  “Not as bad as it sounds,” said Robert.

  Kate noted that he did not get up off of the bed, and he was, to her very great surprise, naked, at least from the waist up. He was pale, his face even thinner than normal, but he was alive, and for that she was incredibly grateful.

  She glanced around the room, noting it was a larger and nicer one than she had experienced the night before. A young teenage girl stood, wide-eyed, in the corner.

  “Let us all sit and make ourselves comfortable,” said Miss St. James in a friendly voice. “Let me introduce my maid, Sally Winters. She has necessarily been privy to these events.”

  “Yes, and allow me to make known to you John Arlington, Earl of Wynbrook,” said Kate.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss St. James,” said Wynbrook, and Kate felt a rush of hot jealousy flow through her. A pleasure, was it? Never mind that it was a common social response. She did not want him to say the word “pleasure” to anyone save herself.

  “Likewise. I am certainly glad to have met you both. Now, Dare and I will tell you our side of the story, and then you must tell us how you came to be here too.”

  Dare? Kate did not miss that this young lady was calling her brother by his common nickname. They must have become good friends fast. If he were anything less than critically injured, she would have been suspicious.

  “Please do tell us what has happened,” Kate said, and found something to sit on as directed.

  “After Kate escaped,” began Robert, “I made myself difficult to give you time to run. Not quite myself, being shot, I got struck on the head. When I came to, I was rattling around on the floor of the carriage. Head bad. Side bad. May have passed out. Woke again when the carriage stopped at night. Two men got out, leaving only one in the coach. They seemed occupied moving something from the road, so I figured it was time to part company.

  “I grabbed the knife from the knave’s boot and gave him a bit for what I had got. Jumped from the coach and saw those bastards had pushed an overturned carriage from the road and were robbing its occupants.” Robert paused for a moment to cough and catch his breath.

  “Indeed, the whole scene was quite terrifying,” said Miss St. James in a voice that indicated that terrifying was not an altogether bad thing, at least according to her mind. “I was on my way to Portsmouth when my coach must have taken a curve too fast and overturned. I can tell you it was quite surprising and rather unnerving to find oneself suddenly sitting on the side of a carriage instead of on the seat where one belongs. My maid and I managed to climb out and retrieve our trunks. The hired coachman could not right the carriage on his own, so he rode ahead with the horses to get help.

  “Another carriage came upon us, and I thought at first that we were to be rescued, but the men jumped out and instead of helping, they pushed the carriage deeper into the gully and proceeded to rob us at gunpoint. That is when Lord Darington arrived.”

  Miss St. James’s eyes shone with clear admiration, and she rose to her feet to give the story a dramatic rendition, acting out the scene with great enthusiasm. “He rushed forward like a hero of old and grabbed one of the robbers and held a knife to his throat, demanding the other men drop their pistols. But the other robber, without a blessed thought for the safety of his friend, shot at Darington and hit his own comrade. The robber Dare held dropped dead to the ground, but Dare caught the pistol as the man fell and fired, shooting at the other robber. The man turned to flee, staggered a few steps, and dropped to the ground. I thought he was dead, but later we realized he was not, so he must have fainted dead a
way.

  “A third robber rushed at Dare with a knife, but Dare dodged at the last second, tripping him and knocking him to the ground, where he moaned and lay still. It was the most amazing display I had ever seen.”

  Kate stared at Miss St. James, who was clearly delighting in such a dramatic if slightly romanticized tale.

  Emma St. James cleared her throat and returned to her seat. “Poor Darington was in a dreadful state. Having used his last strength in the fight, he was barely able to stand. I knew I must get him out of there before those base robbers regained consciousness.”

  “Dreadful state?” asked Kate. “How badly were you wounded?” She glared at her brother accusingly.

  Robert sighed and struggled to sit up. Miss St. James was immediately at his side, helping him up. Kate and Wynbrook exchanged a glance. If it were not for her brother’s obvious ill health, she would have been quite suspicious. Of course, this was Robert, and she knew more than anyone how terrified he was of young ladies. Yet he did not appear unduly frightened with Miss St. James assisting him, touching his bare arms to help him up. No, he appeared quite comfortable with her presence, if one looked past the grimace of pain from his injury.

  Robert pushed down the sheet and revealed a bandage on his right side, a few inches above his hip bone. He lifted it, revealing several stitches and a large, purple bruise.

  “Robert,” said Kate in a half whisper.

  “He was lucky—a clean in and out. I just cleansed the wound and stitched him up!” Miss St. James spoke as if she had trussed up a goose, not provided medical care to an unknown man.

  “You did? You stitched his wound, Miss St. James?” Kate stared at her in disbelief. The young lady before her looked like she was ready for her presentation at court, not conducting surgery.

  “Oh, please, call me Emma. My father was a gentleman physician, and I fear I followed him everywhere he went. He trained me to be his assistant. But, of course, that was when it was just the two of us. My mother died when I was young, so I fear my father treated me like a son, for he did not know any better.” The curvy bastion of femininity looked nothing like a son, and Kate doubted she ever had.