Would that he could believe his old friend, Haverstock thought wistfully, his eyes fixed on Morgie hopefully.
“She came to me the other day,” Morgie continued. “It was—indeed always has been—obvious that she’s devoted to you. She had come to realize Vinson had been duping her, that you were the one on the right side, not him. That’s when we set a trap for him.”
Three pair of eyes immediately attached themselves to Morgie. Not a sound could be heard in the room.
Morgie told them about Almshouse’s play with Sir Henry and finished by telling about nabbing the French courier, who was even now in custody.
A gush of relief washed over Haverstock. Certainly what Morgie told him about the trap for Sir Henry vindicated Anna of wrong-doing. Or at least of intentional wrong-doing. “I must talk with the man,” he said.
“Yes, I should have told you day before yesterday.” Morgie grumbled. “Daresay Anna would still be here if I had. I can tell you she positively loathes Vinson. No way she would go off with him.”
“That’s not true,” Lydia said. “She would go off with him if she thought she were protecting Charles.”
Morgie steepled his hands in thought. “How could he make her think that?”
“It has to have something to do with Charles being called away from London,” James interjected.
“Why did you leave?” Lydia asked Haverstock.
He proceeded to tell them about the hoax he was sure had been perpetrated by Sir Henry.
“Oh course!” Lydia exclaimed. “If he had you out of the way, he could persuade Anna that you were being blamed for whatever activities he was responsible for, and the only way she could clear your name was to admit her guilt and flee with him. Now I understand her letter to Colette.” Lydia withdrew the letter from her reticule.
“She wrote to Colette?” Haverstock asked.
Lydia nodded and handed the letter to him.
He read it solemnly.
Damn! Once again he had done Anna an unpardonable injustice. With a vigilante madness, he’d blindly blamed her for outrageous deeds: seduction, treason, murder—even adultery. Even while his heart proclaimed her goodness, he sought fault with Anna.
A bitter self-anger raged within him. He had driven away the most precious person in his life. Never had he given consideration to her feelings. Was it possible that Morgie and Lydia were right about Anna’s feelings for him? Her affection was not something he had ever allowed himself the luxury of presuming.
Whether she loved him or not, Haverstock could not allow her to be whisked off to France by Sir Henry. By God, she was his wife. And he would kill the man who took her away. The thought of Sir Henry forcing himself on Anna made Haverstock want to skewer the man on his sword.
Haverstock stalked toward the door. “I’m going after my wife.” My wife. The words conveyed a heady rush of possession. His Anna. His love. If only he weren’t too late.
James leaped to his feet. “We’re going after her.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
ANNA’S STOMACH NO LONGER ROCKED. The ship was moored, its passengers long gone. The cabin’s heat had been replaced by a night chill. But still Sir Henry had not come for her. What game was he playing?
She had decided she would go along with whatever he wanted. Until she could free herself and rush back to London. For Charles’s life depended on her. She must clear him.
Even if it meant her own death.
She heard footsteps, then the turn of a key in the lock.
Sir Henry opened the narrow wood door. “Feeling better, my dear?”
A barely perceptible nod tilted her head. She swept her hair back from her face and squared her shoulders, lifting her wrinkled pelisse. Then, she soundlessly followed him up a wood ladder to the deck.
“You’ll find we’re quite alone,” he said. “I should not want to leave a warm trail for anyone desirous of following us.”
“And who, pray tell, would choose to chase us to French soil?”
He tightly took hold of her elbow. “One cannot be too careful.” He continued to grasp her arm as they walked down the gangway.
Anna saw the hired chaise waiting and knew her only chance of escape must be attempted before they reached the carriage. Off to the right the dim lights of a tavern shone. She would run there.
The instant she felt solid ground beneath her feet, Anna shoved Sir Henry and lunged forward.
“Stop her!” Sir Henry yelled.
She ran as hard as she could toward the tavern lights. From the corner of her eye she saw the coachman spring toward her. Sir Henry’s footsteps pounded behind her.
She sprinted, propelled by fear and determination.
The stout coachman was able to get an angle on her and use his body between Anna and her destination. As she slowed to go around him, Sir Henry caught her from behind. He grabbed her with both his hands, the pressure so strong he dug into her flesh.
She struggled to break free, but his long fingers encircled her wrists, digging into her very bones. She fell down, and before she could stand up, he began to drag her as if she were a sack of grain. Her dress tore, and she stung from the dock’s weathered wood scraping her raw flesh.
The coachman walked ahead and opened the carriage door. Sir Henry shoved Anna inside, keeping one hand banded tightly about her slender arm.
“To Paris?” the coachman asked.
“No,” Sir Henry replied. “My wife and I go to Chateau Montreaux.”
~ ~ ~
AT THE FOOT of the Haverstock House staircase, Morgie planted his booted feet on the marble floor and greeted the brothers. Then he cast a wary glance at Lydia, who sailed down the stairs in a dark green riding habit. “I say, bit late in the day for you to go riding, is it not, Lyddie?”
“Oh, I shall ride as far as Dover with you,” she said casually. “I shan’t be any trouble. I plan to visit an old friend there. I’ll not take any trunks to slow us down.”
Haverstock gave his sister a sideways glance. “She does ride as well as any man, Morgie.”
“But what will the squire chap say about his betrothed traipsing around the country like that?” Morgie asked, hands on his hips as his eyes raked over Lydia.
“The squire has been obliged to return to Greenley Manor,” Lydia informed him. “So he need never know how utterly unfeminine I am.”
“Now, I wouldn’t say that,” Morgie said apologetically.
“Just who is this friend you plan to visit in Dover?” Haverstock asked, fetching his hat from the footman.
Lydia twirled her brown bonnet, suddenly quite interested in it. “Oh, dear me, this will never do.” Running back up the stairs, she called, “I believe I’ll get my green. I’ll just be a minute.”
Haverstock cast a suspicious look at his sister, but his worry over Anna quickly pushed Lydia’s uncharacteristic coyness from his mind.
~ ~ ~
“NOW, MORGIE, I am quite concerned about you,” Lydia pronounced, mounting the gangplank to the schooner. “I remember well how dreadfully sick you were back at Haymore just fishing from the placid little rowboat on our lake.” She placed a booted foot on the deck, linked her arm through his and led the way onto the sailing vessel. “I have determined you need a place directly in the center of the boat. Less sway.”
She swept by the profusely male passengers, Morgie silent at her side. “You must keep up your strength if you are to be of help to Anna. After all, she is our chief concern.”
“Undoubtedly.” His eyes darted from James to Haverstock—who were standing at the rail deep in conversation—to the plank, which was being raised. “I say, Lyddie, you had best depart now. The ship’s about to sail.”
“Another thing I’ve been concerned about,” she said, ignoring his comment, “is your deplorable French. They’ll take you for an Englishman straight away if you open your mouth. And that will certainly not help us find Anna.”
“Us?”
“I think perhaps I should accompany y
ou.” She did not meet his gaze. “I could pretend to be your wife. That way I could do the talking. My French, you know, is uncommonly good.”
“You can’t go into France with us! It’s far too dangerous.”
“Pooh, I’ll blend in with the natives.” She stopped and faced him.
“Now see here,” Morgie said, watching the ship inch away from the dock. “Haverstock!” he shouted.
The marquess, turning and seeing his sister still on the boat, rushed to her side. “What the deuce are you doing onboard?”
“I’ve decided to accompany you,” Lydia stated.
“This is no trip for a woman,” he said scathingly.
“Nothing will happen to me with my two brothers and dear Morgie to protect me.”
“Got to do something with her, Haverstock,” Morgie uttered.
Her brother watched the distance between the boat and dock widen. “What she needs is a good spanking.” His mouth tightened into a grim line, then he met James at the stern. He had to remove himself from Lydia’s presence lest he do something vulgar like shake her senseless.
“At least we’re on the right track,” James said hopefully. “Even if it is two days cold. We would have been mistakenly on our way to Bordeaux if you hadn’t found that fisherman who remembered Anna and the proper English gentleman on the Calais boat.”
The fisherman’s words still haunted Haverstock. “The lovely lady looked as if she were scared to death of something,” he had said.
Haverstock seethed with a rage toward Sir Henry. Any harm the man meted against Anna would visit him tenfold, Haverstock vowed.
He watched the waves lap against the sides of the ship and felt the spray of salt water in his face. Each knot forward seemed endless. If only he weren’t two full days behind! Not only were they at the disadvantage of two days’ start, but they had no idea which direction Sir Henry would have taken.
What could he do to gain on them, Haverstock wondered. Sir Henry was sure to be hiring a traveling coach, so riding horseback should make up some of the distance. Provided they could determine Sir Henry’s destination. Haverstock could make up additional time by not stopping for meals.
“Lydia’s not being her usual practical self at all, it seems,” James remarked.
“Lydia’s fortunate to still have her neck intact.”
“What do you plan to do with her?”
“Lydia has no part in my plans. Nothing will come between me and finding Anna. Lydia will have to take the first boat back to Dover.”
“You know that won’t be until tomorrow morning.”
Haverstock nodded. “And I’ll bloody well not wait. Morgie can take care of her.”
“But—-”
“But she will be compromised by being forced to spend a night in Calais with him.”
“Yes.”
“My dear brother, has it not occurred to you that is the very thing Lydia wants?”
~ ~ ~
BEFORE DOVER’S white cliffs were out of sight, Morgie’s face turned a decidedly raw shade of green, his brow grew moist and he looked as if he were about to expire. At Lydia’s insistence, he had plopped down on the wooden deck, dead in the center of the boat, putting his head between his drawn-up knees.
Pulling her skirts beneath her, she sat along side of him and stroked his sweaty brow. “Poor Morgie,” she soothed.
As wretched as he felt, the touch of Lydia’s hand brought him an almost settling feeling. That was the thing about Lyddie. She was settling. No wonder that squire fellow wanted her. What a fine home she would make for him and his brood. Perhaps it was because she was the first-born female. She had a way about her of completely taking charge. Of making things always run smoothly.
Quite surprising, actually, that she hadn’t been snatched up earlier by some lucky chap. But, then, she was not a beauty. His eyes traveled slowly over her. She had removed her hat, and her black hair glistened in the fading sun, the salt air whipping it away from her face. She was the same size as he was—a size he had never considered very feminine. But now, it seemed a very agreeable size. Like Lydia herself. Solid. Dependable. It wasn’t as if she were fat or anything. And her breasts really were quite spectacular. She had a very fine posture, too, and looked most becoming in her new dresses. Actually she had an elegance about her.
That squire was a lucky chap indeed.
Morgie shook his head and rued his own plight. He was going to be sick. Very sick.
Lydia sensed it. She got up, walked a short distance away and came back with a small wooden barrel. “Here.”
He gratefully accepted it and proceeded to heave the contents of his stomach into it.
At first he was too sick to be concerned over the embarrassment of his situation. Then, when it occurred to him Lydia was sharing a rather unpleasant intimacy with him, he seemed not at all to care. He rather fancied sharing intimacies with her.
~ ~ ~
“WE’LL USE THE LAST vestiges of daylight to try to learn their direction,” Haverstock told those gathered about him on the Calais dock. “Check the stage,” he told Morgie, who had made a remarkable recovery as soon as his feet touched the firm soil of Calais.
“I’ll see what I can find out at the livery stable,” James said.
Haverstock nodded. “I’ll go up to the tavern and see what I can learn.”
Hands on her hips, Lydia said, “I plan to make myself agreeable to all the ship’s hands I can. Maybe I’ll find one who remembers Anna.”
“Now see here, Lydia,” Morgie said. “You can’t be wandering about those ships unescorted.”
“Then you’ll just have to accompany me,” she challenged.
~ ~ ~
HAVERSTOCK SWALLOWED HARD. “It’s as if they were never here,” he said a half hour later as their discouraged group gathered in front of the now-empty schooner.
No one matching the description of Sir Henry and Anna had boarded a public stage, Lydia and Morgie learned.
No horses had been hired by an English gentleman two days earlier, James determined.
Not a soul at the tavern saw an English lady the day before yesterday.
Even Lydia’s queries of the deck hands yielded no information.
“You’ll just have to put yourself in Sir Henry’s position,” Lydia said. “What would he do?”
“He would take Anna to Paris,” Haverstock said bitterly. He put a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Come, James. We’ll take the road to Paris.”
“What about us?” Morgie asked.
“My dear friend,” Haverstock said, “you are responsible for escorting my troublesome sister back to London.”
“But—-there’s no boat tonight,” Morgie said.
Striding toward the stables, Haverstock threw a glance over his shoulder to Morgie. “I have full confidence in your sound judgment.”
TWENTY-NINE
AA SOON AS the brothers left, Morgie engaged a private dining parlor for Lydia and himself. What he was going to do after dinner, he did not know. He watched her as he moved toward their table near the hearth where a low fire was laid. But someone else was watching, too. He turned and saw a woman standing in the doorway, outlined by the cloudless night sky. Dressed in peasant clothing, she was of an age near his own and carried a babe in her arms. She looked straight at him and mumbled something in French.
“What’s she saying?” he asked Lydia.
Lydia sprang to her feet, walked up to the woman and began a conversation in rapid French.
“She’s worried about her husband. He hired out his carriage two days ago for a short ride to the Chateau Montreaux and has not returned yet.” Lydia questioned the young mother some more. “She says an English gentleman hired her husband, but she doesn’t know if there was a woman with him. The man matches the description of Sir Henry.”
Morgie pressed a coin into the woman’s hand and instructed Lydia to get the directions to Chateau Montreaux. “Assure the woman we’ll do everything we can to res
tore her husband to her. And find out who in this town owns the fastest horses. I intend to make an offer that cannot be refused.”
~ ~ ~
THE HEMP WHICH BOUND her hands together cut into Anna’s wrists. This was the second day she sat in the shabby drawing room on a faded damask sofa looking at a torn Aubusson carpet. Once a sparkling testimony to French aristocracy, the chateau now served as headquarters for espionage activities, though only a handful of minor French officials remained. And each of them—thankfully not in this room now—held Anna in contempt.
“You know you can untie me,” Anna told Sir Henry, who stood beside the marble mantle dressed impeccably in pale blue silk. “I daresay it would be impossible for me to escape with your spies about.”
A devilish smile played at his lips. He moved across the fragile carpet, withdrew a knife from beneath his waistcoat and cut the rope.
“You’ll have no need to try to run away again, Anna.”
“Oh, but I have a need. I must clear my husband’s name since you have no intention of releasing my confession.”
“What a fool you are. You do not have to end your life to preserve his. The marquess is perfectly safe. He has not been arrested. It was only a lie I devised to get you to come with me.”
Swept up in a savage rage, Anna stormed across the worn carpet, raised back her arm and slapped him as hard as she could.
Sir Henry’s expression flitted from stun to controlled anger. “You will regret that,” he said, stroking his reddened cheek.
“Where is my husband?” Anna demanded.
“He is probably at Haverstock House thoroughly furious with you for running off with me.”
Her eyes flashed. “I hate you!”
“And if you’re wondering about your confession, I can assure you it is in a perfectly safe place. It will ensure I have your cooperation in whatever endeavors I choose. The letter clearly discloses your French sympathies. So it is to your advantage to live in France now. With me.”
She had been an utter fool. And of course Sir Henry was right. She could never go back to England and never again see Charles.
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