The Earl's Captive

by Lorna Read

  As they turned a bend in the track and she spied the dark patch of trees that shielded Darwell Manor from the winter winds, the question that had been preying on her mind leapt from her tongue. “Is Adam really your brother?”

  Philip heaved a deep sigh, as if she had touched on a subject that caused him distress. “My half-brother, I suppose you could call him.”

  “But … Martha and Matthew …”

  “They adopted him. They are not his true parents. We shared the same mother.”

  Lucy let a shocked gasp escape her lips. A philandering father, especially an Earl, she could understand, men being the morally weaker sex, but for a gentle, beautiful and, by all accounts, delicate married woman to give birth to another man's child? She could not believe it.

  “I realize that it sounds like a sordid story, but it is a sad one, too, if you will permit me to tell it.”

  They still had a mile or so to ride before they reached the Manor and Lucy was only too eager to listen to this tale which she knew would explain so much about Philip, about Adam, about the strange, haunted atmosphere of Darwell Manor.

  “You have seen the portrait of my mother that hangs in the banqueting hall?”

  “Yes. She was beautiful.”

  “All men adored her, particularly my father. I was born and Father, partly out of respect and partly I think out of fear of damaging her fragile health, refused to share her bed again. My mother was spirited. She was fond of music and dancing and loved to be admired, by men especially. When I was a year old, she insisted that a ball should be held.

  “Something happened at that ball and not long after, my mother found she was expecting my half-brother.”

  “Do you know who Adam's father was?” asked Lucy, full of sympathy for all of them, the beautiful, wayward, neglected mother; the adoring, misguided father; Philip, the lonely boy deprived of a mother; even poor, obsessed Adam.

  “I believe he was a young army officer, the cousin of one of the guests, who had brought him along as he happened to be home on leave after a campaign. Shortly after his … dalliance with my mother, as I have no reason to suspect that it was rape, he went abroad again and was killed in a skirmish.

  “My mother was not in love with him. In fact, she was full of remorse and begged my father for forgiveness, blaming her wantonness on too much drink, but his pride was hurt so badly that he refused to give it. My mother moved to the top floor of the house and she and my father did not speak to each other again until after Adam's birth, when it was obvious that she was dying.

  “Seeing her so ill, and truly loving her, my father forgave her, but it was too late. After her death, he never stopped punishing himself for his unyielding attitude towards her. It preyed on his mind. He refused to remarry and became totally obsessed with her memory.”

  “So it was Adam's birth that killed her, not yours. What became of him then?”

  “My father would have nothing to do with Adam. He refused to adopt him or acknowledge him in any way, so Martha and Matthew, being childless themselves, found a wet nurse and brought him up as their own son and took over the raising of me, too when my aunt could no longer do it.

  “Then, being young and thoughtless, I made a big mistake.”

  He paused for so long that Lucy thought he was not going to continue. “What did you do?” she urged.

  Philip sighed heavily. “One day when I was eight or nine, I let slip that if only my mother had not disgraced herself, Adam would have been my true brother and would have inherited a share of the Darwell fortune and shared my privileged life, but he couldn't because he was a bastard. My father, you see, had made the mistake of telling me the truth when I was too young to understand its significance, so I used it as a childish taunt, being too young to know any better.

  “The word 'bastard' must have really stung him. From that moment onwards, our easy friendship turned into a kind of rivalry. Then, when we grew older, Adam developed a kind of fawning admiration for me which I could not bear. My father and I decided it would be best if he were sent away from the Manor.

  “The position in Rokeby Hall became vacant, Adam was fond of horses and so it was all arranged. He continued to treat Martha and Matthew as if they were his true parents, because he knew that, without them, he would have been left on a doorstep as a foundling.

  “I now suspect that even then he was scheming against me, though it was only today that I had proof of my suspicions. He must have thought that if I were dead, he might inherit the Manor, even though the family fortune had long gone.”

  “So he did not know that your father had lost the Manor to Hardcastle?”

  “Not until he heard Hardcastle boasting about it. After that, it was in his interest that I should recover the deeds.”

  “So why use me to steal them back, when he could have done it for you?” Lucy asked, frowning. “When you said it was more fun to see me do it, I didn't believe you. I felt there was more to it. What was the real reason?”

  “Because I couldn't trust him.”

  “But he could have done it anyway. At any time, he could have taken them and blackmailed you into paying him to hand them over. He might even have insisted you signed the Manor over to him!”

  “Yes, he could. But I don't think he was bright enough to think of anything like that. The thing about Adam is that he has never been able to act on his own initiative. He needs to be told what to do. He is a hopeless leader but a good foot soldier.”

  He acted on his own initiative when he grabbed me up on the moor, thought Lucy. She felt that Philip had underestimated his half-brother. Having him so close, even if he were trussed up, made her feel uneasy. If Philip couldn't trust him, then who could? Certainly not her.

  But how would Martha and Matthew react, seeing their son brought back to them, tied to a horse like a corpse? She feared for Martha and she felt that life in Darwell Manor could never be the same and that both she and Philip were destined for lonely, unhappy futures.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Philip lapsed into a silence which persisted for the rest of their journey, throwing Lucy back on her worried thoughts. Why was Philip bringing her back to the Manor? What was to become of Adam – and herself, for that matter? And why had Philip made her the gift of the emerald ring? Guilty conscience at the way he had treated her?

  Why, too, had he seemed so unsurprised to see her up on the moor? Why had he remained in his highwayman's guise in order to meet Adam? These and a dozen more questions occupied her thoughts until their horses' hooves rang on the cobblestones of the stable yard.

  “Wait here,” Philip ordered her. “I will fetch Matthew and Martha to take care of Adam.”

  Lucy felt nervous about being left alone with Adam who, bound and gagged as he was, was making strenuous efforts to free himself from his bonds. She could not look at him, remembering the way he had mauled her. She knew instinctively that he was a dangerous man, cunning and violent.

  She rubbed the arm that he had gripped so tightly, knowing she would have a bruise there in the morning. He was making grunting sounds, like a wild animal, and she was terrified in case he should suddenly escape from the ropes that held him and try to kill Philip or herself.

  The appearance of Matthew and Martha put an end to her fears. On seeing them, Adam stopped struggling. He was untied from the saddle and helped down. His ankles were unbound so he could walk, but his hands remained tied behind his back. He stumbled, perhaps still dazed from the blow to the head, and Philip and Matthew supported him as they walked to the servants' entrance.

  As soon as they were alone, Martha turned to Lucy and inquired, in a nervous whisper, “Has he told you?”

  “You mean, told me about Adam?” asked Lucy in turn.

  “Yes.”

  “A little. I know he is not your son, and that he was jealous of Philip.”

  “He loves you, you know. I think that's what finally turned his mind.”

  Martha was weeping. Great, silent tears sl
ipped down her worn face and Lucy put a comforting arm around her, just as Martha had, in the past, done to her.

  “They'll hang him or put him in Bedlam. Poor lad, he's not right in the head. All those years I cared for him, since he was a little 'un. We loved him, Matthew and I, like he was our own lad.”

  “There, there. Come on,” murmured Lucy consolingly. “I'm sure Philip will not insist on anything so drastic.”

  “But Adam tried to kill him!”

  Martha broke into fresh sobs and there was nothing Lucy could do but wait quietly with her until Matthew returned and led his weeping wife into the Manor. Lucy shivered in the chill night air. She didn't know what to do – whether to follow the two servants back into the house, or wait until Philip reappeared and settled her fate for her.

  She retreated into the stable building, where the body heat of the horses and the bulky bales of straw provided some protection from the cold, damp air. As she stood there, idly stroking the muzzle of Philip's bay, its owner strode into the building, swinging a lantern.

  “Oh, there you are. I thought maybe you had slipped off again, like you did earlier this evening.”

  There was a challenging tone in his voice which made Lucy raise her chin defiantly. “You looked for me, then?”

  “Yes. I wanted to speak with you. Your room was empty and Martha, after a great deal of prompting, I may add, told me that you had taken the gelding and run off. I must say that I had my own suspicions about where you were heading, and somehow your home didn't enter into them.”

  “But I …”

  Philip interrupted. “It so happened that I knew that someone else was out roaming the hilltops this very evening.”

  Lucy gasped. “You didn't think for a moment that I … ? That Adam and I … ?”

  She was horrified. If that was honestly what he thought, then she was done for. There was no way he would fail to give her up to the officers of the law. Suddenly, she realized why he had forced his emerald ring onto her hand – so that he could accuse her of stealing it!

  “Look at it my way, Lucy Swift.” His voice was firm and did not betray any clue as to how he now viewed her – as partner in crime, slut or traitor. His gaze was level, his face expressionless. Her legs felt weak and she sank down onto a hay bale.

  He continued. “That night Adam brought you to the farmhouse, you left and he followed you out. I was right behind the door. I heard his offer and I did not hear you turn him down. Not in the way a disinterested woman would slap down an unwanted suitor.

  “Oh yes, you put up a modest showing, full of maidenly protests. You did not wish to return to the Hall, you did not wish to spend your life as a serving maid. But I did not hear you tell Adam that you could not go with him because you did not love him, or were in love with somebody else.”

  During this speech, Philip's eyes had begun to flash with anger. Or was it something else, a different emotion entirely? His level tone had deserted him and an odd suspicion formed in Lucy's head. He sounded almost like a jealous lover – but no, that was impossible. Still, she kept him under acute observation as he continued his speech.

  “I thought nothing more of your … alliance, until the business with the horses. That is when I decided that you and Adam were in league to foil my plan.”

  “He sent a lad with a note which said they were going to use the greys. That's why I put the potion on them!” Lucy protested. “I have no idea why they decided to use the chestnuts instead. Perhaps Adam lied to me. You may think he is incapable of thinking for himself, but I think you have misjudged him. I wager he was planning something all along.”

  “I think you both were. It could be that Adam planned to kill me as I held up the coach, claiming ignorance of my identity. He would then collect a sizeable reward from the Hardcastles for having beaten off the highwayman and saved their lives.

  “Then, after pretending to search for me – having buried my body on the moors, of course – he would return to Darwell Manor, stake a claim to the property and the title and make you his wife. You and Adam, Earl and Countess Darwell.”

  Lucy burst out laughing at this preposterous suggestion. Her laughter turned into near hysteria and she fought to regain control of herself. Finally, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, she looked up at Philip who was regarding her with some irritation.

  “And what is so funny, pray? Can you not see how it all seems to fit into place?”

  “B-but …” Lucy's voice still shook with laughter. “If you really suspect me of siding with Adam and being involved in it all, why are you telling me? I should be wherever Adam is, tied up like he is, awaiting trial by a judge and jury.”

  Philip's stern look dissolved into something softer and he reached out and touched her hand.

  “My dearest Lucy, I had only to eavesdrop on your surprise meeting with Adam on the moor and witness the way he treated you, to know there was no liaison between you. And when I saw him attack you, I wanted to kill him. It would have been so easy!

  “But then I would have had blood on my hands which I would have been forced to explain. And when it came out that he was my half-brother … well, judges never quite know how to deal with matters involving the nobility. I would not like to guess how it might have gone for me.”

  “And the horses? Do you still believe I told Adam not to harness the greys?”

  She held her breath. So much was riding on his reply. Behind her, a horse stamped and snorted in its stall. Still Philip had not answered her question. Then at last his stern face twitched into a smile.

  “Lucy, Lucy, you are so quick to jump to conclusions and so easy to fool. I must admit I have been playing with you to a certain degree.” He bit his lip, a look of merriment in his eyes.

  Lucy felt wounded. “That isn't fair,” she said. “I have been torturing myself, wondering how to prove my innocence to you. I think you owe me an apology, sir!”

  “Madam, I humbly apologise,” he said, performing a deep bow which almost made her giggle.

  “I have learned the truth about the exchange of horses,” he said.

  “And…?” She raised her head and stared at him, eager to find out what had gone wrong with their plan.

  “It wasn't Adam's fault, though I am sure we both thought it was. I just heard from Martha that a few days ago on a visit here, Adam told them both that he had overheard George Hardcastle saying that greys were for ladies and chestnuts were a man's choice and by Jove he would have his carriage pulled by the chestnuts on the night of the ball. Adam was laughing, he thought it was very funny.

  “Apparently, both Harriet and Rachel begged Hardcastle to let them use the greys, but he insisted it was his coach and four, and the four were to be chestnut and even Rachel's tears could not persuade him otherwise.

  “So, my dear, I fully believe that you did indeed carry out my wishes. By the time the Hardcastles returned from the ball, the two greys you nobbled would have been restored to health and nobody would have been any the wiser.”

  Relief swept over Lucy and she sank down onto a bale of hay and asked one of the other questions that been preying on her mind.

  “Why did you follow me in your highwayman's outfit tonight? And why did you not reveal who you were straight away, instead of playing out that ridiculous charade? I must admit, though, your accent was most convincing!”

  “Thank 'ee kindly, mistress!”

  They both burst out laughing. In the glimmering light shed by the lantern, Philip looked five years younger than he had seemed earlier that evening. The strained, tense lines had melted from his face and he looked quite boyish, although there was still an air of restless unease about him that Lucy could find no reason for.

  Suddenly, the smile left his face and she steeled herself for whatever this unpredictable man was going to do or say next. Sitting down beside Lucy on the hay-bale, he placed the lantern on the floor and laid his hand on her arm.

  Instantly, she felt her muscles jump and an excited thrill run t
hrough her. So her feelings for Philip still persisted, after all her attempts to eradicate them!

  “I shall tell you why I was dressed as a highwayman. Firstly, because that was how Adam expected me to look. He had not seen me steal away, long after his shot had been fired. He thought I might be lying somewhere, wounded. My plan, if I did not find you first, was to leap out and surprise him and give him a piece of my mind. At least!” he added, leaving her in no doubt that there would have been a fight of some sort between them.

  “And what were you intending to do with me? Shoot me?” She gave him a quizzical glance.

  “No, Lucy. Not shoot you.”

  His grip tightened on her arm and two of his fingers strayed to her wrist and began to stroke it, absently at first, but then meaningfully, sending agonizing shivers of desire for him coursing through her veins. “I was going to give you a fright and kidnap you, and not reveal until later that your abductor was myself. But …”

  “But what?” She shifted a fraction so that she could feel her hip resting against his. What had he had in mind for her? Where had he planned to take her?

  More importantly, what had he planned to do? Carry her into his bedroom and lay her gently on his bed, where she wouldn't cry out or protest but would open her arms and moisten her lips ready for his kisses? Stop it, Lucy Swift, she told herself sternly. The man feels nothing for you. He's an Earl and you're nothing but a horse dealer's daughter!

  But … the emerald ring. It was still on her finger. What was the meaning of that? Another of his jokes? Yes, that was it. She felt it, twisted it on her finger, began to ease it over her knuckle, ready to hand it back to him.

  Philip looked away, the glow from the lantern reflecting on his cheekbones and making fringed shadows of his long eyelashes.

  “It seemed to be taking the game too far. I hardly dared expect that you would have welcomed it. It wasn't as if you cared for me, or felt anything for me.”