Outside, the sun shone brightly on the garden in the centre of the square; inside, the house seemed to be full of fog. She couldn’t see or feel, or hear. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing. She didn’t want to breathe.
Her eyes burned. She’d sent her man off to war and never once told him she loved him.
“What did William say?” Somehow Sissy’s voice reached through the void. She held out the paper without looking at Sissy’s face. If she saw sympathy, she might start to scream.
Her grip was so tight on the paper, Sissy had to force open her fingers.
“Oh, no!” Sissy’s cry of anguish came from a great distance, then the floor shifted and a strange darkness descended. It was fitting that the world should be dark, she thought, as she watched the floor come up to meet her.
———
The months were passing and Eleanor moved through her life like a stranger. Only the child growing in her body held any real interest. This morning, as usual, she sat in her drawing room, waiting for Sissy to call and see how she did. No doubt Sissy would report on her progress to William, whose last letter had been full of news of Paris under the allied army of occupation. He had sounded cheerful and anxious to return home as soon as Wellington agreed to release him from his duties. While their reconciliation by letter had been wonderful, many things remained unsaid between them. It would be good to finally clear the air once he returned home.
Nidd knocked at the door. “My lady?”
“Yes, Nidd, what is it?” She spoke gently. The old Yorkshire man looked thinner and more like a skeleton than ever. The loss of the Marquess had been difficult for all of the Beauworth servants.
“There’s a man at the servants’ door, said he was sent by Captain Smith to help Johnson in the stables. Is it all right if I give him your permission?”
This was the third unemployed soldier Dan Smith had sent. Starving men who had served with the Marquess in the Peninsula. Dan had insisted Garrick would want her to help them. Eleanor trusted Captain Smith, but she had found the other two men rather frightening. They were large and rough and clearly not used to serving in a gentleman’s establishment. Once or twice she had found them lounging around in doorways or outside the stables with seemingly nothing to do.
“Perhaps I will speak to him first.” She followed him back to the kitchen.
———
Slouched against the doorpost, Garrick had to hold himself back when Ellie entered the kitchen. Would she know him, disguised as he was? He’d spent the last four days perfecting his disguise while his men, with Dan’s help, infiltrated her house.
God, he’d missed her. She looked pale. Too thin, despite her blooming body. He longed to put his arms around her, hold her close, feel that soft body melding with his, run his hand over the soft swell of her belly full with their child. His child. Months he’d been without her, praying she’d wait for him. Thoughts of her had kept him alive during some of the worst days of his life.
Forcing himself to play his part, he pushed away from the wall. “Look busy. “Ere comes “er ladyship,” he said in a hoarse voice straight from London’s gutters.
“Let’s have a little more respect from you, my lad,” Nidd said. “This is the Marchioness of Beauworth. Bill Dodds, my lady.”
Garrick gave her a sloppy salute and kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his shoulders hunched. The patch he wore over one eye covered most of one side of his face and obscured his vision. The growth on his chin formed a straggling beard and his hair, cut short by Dan, he knew showed patches of white skin.
God, he hoped she wouldn’t know him. It would ruin all his plans. He shambled across the room and made an awkward bow.
“Captain Smith suggests you help in the stables. What knowledge have you of horses?” She sounded tense, almost afraid. He didn’t blame her. He cut a dreadful appearance.
He kept his one eye fixed on the cap he twisted in hands he’d roughened by working in the stables at Horse Guards. “I looked after ‘orses for the cavalry, yer ladyship.”
“You are fit enough for these tasks?” She gazed at his leg, which he favoured, giving an impression of an injury and reducing his height by leaning heavily on his hip.
“Aye, milady.”
She peered at his face, as if looking for someone she knew.
Dammit. For all his efforts, Ellie was going to see straight through the filth. God, he loved this woman.
He coughed, a harsh, chest-racking sound that bent him double. He hawked and looked around for somewhere to spit and decided on the sink.
With a grimace, she turned her face away. He hated that his ploy had succeeded so well she would not look at him. But he kept on coughing.
“Very well, report to Mr Johnson,” she said.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Le Clere might strike at any moment, but he would have to go through Garrick and his men to get to Ellie.
Without glancing at her face, he touched his forelock and shuffled out of the door. He sensed her staring at his back. He’d have to be very careful around his clever wife.
Chapter Twelve
A day or so later the weather turned fine and Eleanor decided to drive out in her carriage. She was a little surprised to see the scruffy Dodds on the driver’s box when she stepped out of the door. She frowned. “Where is Johnson?”
“’E’s got a touch of the rumytism, milady,” the shabby Bill Dodds explained.
Strangely, Johnson had spoken highly of Dodds’s competence, despite her initial misgivings, and so she had left things alone. “Well, Dodds, if you are going to drive my carriage, I would appreciate it if you would borrow Johnson’s coat.”
“Er, yes, milady. Thing is, it don’t fit.”
Eleanor grimaced. The man was far taller than Johnson, despite his slouch, and broader across the shoulders. “Wait here.”
She returned with the oldest of Garrick’s greatcoats. “See if this fits.”
It could have been made for the man, she thought, as he shrugged himself into it.
“Thank you, milady. Right kind o’ ye.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth through the thick beard. A strange sense of recognition flooded through her. He turned away quickly, fiddling with the reins.
She was imagining things. Every tall man with dark hair on the street made her heart jump. She had stopped running after them, but her heart still gave a hopeful little lurch.
She stepped into the carriage. The horses trotted sedately through the traffic under the firm control of Bill Dodds and it wasn’t long before they turned into Hyde Park. It was too early for the ton to be much in evidence. Some fresh air and a spot of exercise would do her good. Tired of the way everyone, from Sissy to Nidd, fussed because she was increasing, she longed for a rest from their anxious faces and solicitous words.
She tapped the overhead door with the handle of her parasol. It opened. “Pull over, Dodds. I’m going to walk.”
“I don’ know, milady. Better if’n you stay with the carriage.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Are you going to start now?”
He muttered an apology and stopped the carriage. He helped her down and stepped back quickly. There was something almost guilty about the way he refused to meet her gaze. She shook off her discomfort. The man was competent, that was all that mattered.
“I will be back within a half-hour. Feel free to walk the horses if needed.”
She was aware of the gleaming dark eye that followed her as she strolled away. She should not have been so fierce. It was their respect for the Marquess making them all so attentive. Given the rumours about Garrick, she was grateful for that respect.
Her spleen relieved by a brisk walk, she sat down on a stone seat beside the lake and watched the ducks dabble. She would bring the baby here. Garrick would have approved.
What would he have thought, had he known she was with child? Would he have left for France? She couldn’t help a wry little smile, because she didn’t doubt it for a moment. But she did
wish she’d found the courage to tell him her true feelings. If they’d had more time, they might have rediscovered the joy they’d shared so briefly. In time, perhaps she would have found in him the handsome Marquess with warm brown eyes and wicked smile with whom she had fallen in love.
She would never know.
The pain in her chest rose into her throat in a hot, hard lump. Damn. She blinked back the watery veil obliterating the view.
“’Scuse me, miss.” She gazed through the mist at the urchin standing in front of her. The boy seemed ill-at-ease and out of breath. “You the Marchingness of Bosworth?”
She frowned. “What of it, child?”
“I got a ‘portant message. But yer gotta promise not to tell.” The ragamuffin shifted from foot to foot as if on the verge of flight.
Her heart picked up speed. She desperately tried to quell the rush of hope. It was foolish to hope. And yet she’d received no official confirmation of Garrick’s death and it was always there, catching her unawares, like a candle that refused to be snuffed. “I promise.”
“’Ere.” The boy flung a dirty scrap of paper at her and dashed away.
Eleanor uncrumpled the paper. A bold scrawl emblazoned the page.
Meet me tonight after Midnight at the corner of the Square.
B.
B. meaning Beauworth? It would be like Garrick to issue such a command. Who else could it be? Garrick was alive. Hands shaking, she stared at the note. She pressed it to her lips, inhaled the scent of ink. Her eyes burned and blurred. What? Crying? Now was not the time for tears. Think. He must be in danger if he couldn’t come openly to his house. So she would go to him.
She tucked the note into her reticule. Alive. She leapt to her feet, her heart so light it could have carried her away on a breeze.
What would she wear? What would she say? Would he ask her to go with him? She headed back for her carriage and home. Would he be happy about their child? No matter what his circumstances, she would go with him this time. Even if it meant flight to the ends of the earth, if he asked. She pushed a surge of fear aside. When she reached the carriage, Dodds had a strange look on his face. If she’d hadn’t known better, she might have thought it was utter relief.
———
The rest of the day passed far too slowly, the clock’s hands creeping minute by minute until she thought her head would burst. After dinner, she went upstairs to her chamber, and after sending her maid away, changed into a practical walking gown, dressing her hair in a simple knot. If they were going to be on the run, the less fuss the better. Since he’d not asked her to bring anything, she decided not to pack a valise in case there wasn’t room. On the other hand, he might be in need of money, so she stuffed her reticule with bills. What else? She paced in front of the hearth. A weapon?
She ran to the dressing room and opened her trunk to find the only thing she’d kept from her madcap youth in the bottom. Her sword.
She drew it part way from the scabbard. The blade caught the light of her candle with a wicked glint. As instructed by her father, she’d cleaned it and oiled it faithfully at regular intervals. Father had been right. You never knew when a sword might come in useful.
A woman with a sword wasn’t exactly a common sight. She rummaged through her clothes’ press and found a thick woollen cloak. She wrapped the sword and scabbard in the folds of the cloak and stood in front of her mirror. If she carried it like so, tucked under her arm parallel with her body beneath the cloak, it should pass unnoticed. After all, no one expected a woman to carry such a weapon.
Unable to think of anything else, she sat down to wait.
———
It was the most horrid hour she’d ever spent, but finally the clock on the mantel chimed twelve and she slipped downstairs and opened the front door, feeling a little bit like Cinderella. Garrick was waiting. She hugged the thought close.
What if he took her with him tonight? Sissy and William might never know what had become of her. It didn’t bear thinking about. She took a deep breath. Deal with one problem at a time. First she had to see Garrick. Find out what was happening. Her palms damp and her heart racing, she stepped out of the house and into the dark street.
Dark shadows loomed between the houses and beneath the trees in the middle of the square, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Her footsteps a light tap on the flagstones, the scent of coal fires in her nostrils, she stepped out briskly.
———
“Who’s that?” Garrick, lounging against the side of the house, prodded his companion.
“I dunno. One the maids, I ‘spose. The little saucy one, most likely. She slips out sometimes to visit her fella.”
“She ought to be careful, walking the streets at this time of night.” Garrick limped out on to the footpath, careful to avoid the light cast by the streetlamp. The maid paused at the curb, then crossed the street under a light. His breath hissed between his teeth. “What the devil? Fetch my horse. Now.”
He dashed to the other side of the street, maintaining his halting gait and staying close to the park’s iron railings where the shadows were deepest. He turned the corner of the square in time to see the woman step into a waiting hackney. The driver whipped up the horses as soon as the door closed.
Gut in a knot, he ran back. Abandoning stealth in favour of speed, he shouted orders as he ran for his horse. “You, follow me. You, take this message to the Captain. Damn the woman. And damn Le Clere.”
The faces of his men looked tense as they hurried to do his bidding.
———
When the horses drew up at an inn somewhere near Hampstead Heath, Eleanor thought, she opened the door and jumped down.
The driver clambered down and waved her towards the entrance of a small, mean-looking place with moss-covered thatch and grimy windows. “After you, my lady.”
The voice struck a chord of memory and she stared at his face. A face she only saw in her nightmares. “Matthews?”
“I didn’t think you would recognise me, my lady, after all this time.” He grinned.
A sick feeling churned in her stomach. Why would Matthews be helping Garrick? She hesitated. No. She would not turn away again. There must be some reasonable explanation.
“Where is my husband?”
“In there.” He jerked his head at the open door of the inn.
Eleanor strode into the taproom with Matthews close behind. The room was empty and Eleanor turned to him with raised brows, only to find the man holding a pistol. She stepped back. “What does this mean?”
“It means, my lady,” said a hoarse voice from behind her, “you have very kindly assisted me in my quest.”
She turned slowly and took stock of the man who had entered the room through another door. He was old and so bent over he was forced to look sideways up at her. Deep lines etched his heavily jowelled face below a shock of pure white hair.
Eleanor had never seen him before. “Where is the Marquess?”
“Dead.”
Eleanor’s knees weakened. The room seemed to spin. She clung to the back of a chair. “No! I received a note.”
“Oh, yes. A note. Meet me tonight after Midnight at the corner of the Square.” The old man cackled. The sound pierced her heart like knives.
“Really, my lady, do you think my traitorous nephew would be foolish enough to walk into England for you, even if he lived? British spies watch you every minute in case he returns. You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, did you?” He glanced at the other man. “Matthews, you are sure you were not followed?”
“No, sir, nary a sign or a peep.”
This twisted gnome was Duncan Le Clere. She recognised his cold eyes. Her heart beat became erratic. He’d tricked her. Garrick was dead. An ache spread through her chest. Cruel man to raise her hopes, then shatter them with a single word. She wanted to curl into a ball. To shut out the world. To let the darkness dancing at the edge of her vision descend. But she couldn’t, for the sake of the child.
Garrick’s babe.
“Why?” she whispered, her voice breaking.
“Please be seated, my lady.” He waved towards one of the chairs. “You carry his child, do you not?”
Eleanor put one hand protectively over her belly and held her ground. “What concern is it of yours?”
“I want it. And I want a certain letter only you can get for me.”
The whole thing became clear. What a fool she’d been. She should have guessed. “I see.”
His piercing dark eyes glittered like the eyes of a snake laid out on a rock watching a rabbit. She felt very much like a rabbit. “You know, don’t you?” he said.
She would not show her fear. “That it proves you a murderer? Yes.” He cocked his head on one side, his mouth twisting. Clearly the wrong thing to say. “You cannot keep me against my will.”
“Can I not? You will be well looked after until the birth of the child. If you fail to produce an heir, there is a woman standing by with a male replacement. But you won’t. Le Cleres always beget boys.”
His voice was so cold, so rational, she had no trouble believing he meant every word, mad as they sounded. She couldn’t breathe. It was as if something was wrapped around her chest and was slowly squeezing all the air from her lungs. She felt dizzy. What a fool to walk into his trap. She had to do something. Her hand clenched around the scabbard hidden in the folds of her cloak. What could a sword do against a pistol? Perhaps something, if the right moment came along. She’d have to be patient. The safety of her babe depended on not making another mistake.
Le Clere grinned. “Do what I tell you and who knows, I might let you live.” He withdrew a pistol from his pocket and cocked it. “Matthews, have one of the men take the hackney back to London. There must be no trace. Then bring the coach around and let me know when you are ready. I will not be thwarted this time. I will have the heir in my control and this time he will be obedient.”
A shudder of horror crept down her back. Clenching the scabbard, she held herself rigid, aloof, waiting her moment.
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress Page 22