by Cheryl Bolen
"On the next floor. I believe we should take the servants' stairs."
He crowded in front of her so he could be the first out the door. He crept into the cold stone hallway and turned back to motion for her to come. Then he rounded the stairway, placing his foot on the first step. As soon as he did so, he heard two laughing maids on the landing above.
He and Louisa scurried back to the silver closet, with their ears to the door. They waited until the women had passed, then left the sanctuary of the closet once more.
This time they made it all the way up the stairs. They saw and heard no one.
"Which way's the dining room from here, do you think?" he asked when they arrived at the central hallway.
"I believe it's on the other end of this hall," Louisa said, "but how can we avoid being seen by those footmen at the end of the corridor?"
"We can sneak into the first room, and from there I can climb out the window and make it over to the window of the dining room."
"Just because the dining room has been modernized with large windows doesn't mean the other rooms have. Do you remember how high and how small castle windows normally are?"
"You have a point there," he said.
"Not to mention we're on the second floor. You know how to climb horizontally?"
"You have another good point."
"It's a very good thing I came along with you."
They stood there at the base of another flight of back stairs with no idea how they were going to get into the dining room. After some length and a dozen faulty scenarios, he exclaimed, "I have an idea."
"What?"
"I'm afraid we'll have to use you as a distraction. You will need to try to creep along the main rooms of this level of the castle and creep up the main staircase, then distract the footmen who are on the other end of this hall."
"How can I distract them?"
"Certainly not with feminine wiles," he muttered. "Not dressed like that."
"I know! Pretending to be a boy, I'll say I'm looking for my Papa, who had business at the castle. I'll say I was playing with the baby kittens, and I fear he must have left me."
"How do you know there are baby kittens?"
"I don't." She smiled. "But they don't, either."
"There's one major problem," he said hesitantly.
"What, pray tell?"
"Your. . .your breasts." He coughed.
She looked down at her chest. If one looked closely, two smooth humps the size of small apples could be seen. "You do have a point there."
"More like two," he mumbled. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself."
She glared at him. "I suppose it's back to the silver closet. There were many rags in that room I could use to flatten my bosom by binding it."
To his consternation, his heart raced as they went down the same flight of stairs they had just climbed.
In the silver closet, Louisa took the longest rags, presented her back to Harry, shed her boy's shirt, and asked him to wrap several layers of rags tightly around her chest, tying them in the back.
It was bloody difficult not to think about her breasts, and the devil take it, he could not repress the desire to see them, to feel them. But, of course, he must.
When they were finished, it was back to the second floor. He stood near the servants' stairs while Louisa stole through the main corridor where she was supposed to distract the footmen.
Just around the corner from the two liveried servants at the other end of the hall, Harry waited and worried for the next ten minutes. It was with relief he heard Louisa's child-like voice speaking with the sentries.
With that as a distraction, Harry dropped to his belly and crawled like a snake, slithering into the first chamber. Fortunately it was the lady's study, which was a good thing, since there was no lady of the castle. He got to his feet and walked across the room, then dove to the floor again to crawl a few more feet down the hall to the dining room. Louisa's voice carried as she talked to the footmen, whom Harry felt would not be as likely to notice a dot on the ground as they would to notice a brute of man like himself strolling down the hall.
All was well, and he got safely to the red dining room, breathing a sigh of relief. He remembered the housekeeper calling it the rose room. The room's candles were no longer lit, but the room was not in total darkness because its large windows gave out onto the lantern-lit castle yard below.
He looked up reverently at the portrait of his mother, a lump in his throat. God, but it looked so much like her he could almost smell her lavender water and hear the soft whisper of her loving voice. He stood for a moment gazing at her elegance. The darkness of her hair contrasted against her smooth, milky flesh and ivory silken gown. It was as if her serene presence filled the room, lifting away his fears.
Then he scooted a chair over to the fireplace so he could stand on it to lift down the gilded frame of his mother's painting. It was deuced heavy, but he managed to hold on to it until it stood on the floor. Then he set about removing the canvas from the frame.
Just then the room became filled with bright candlelight.
He turned to see a dozen or so footmen, some bearing candelabra, others, swords. They flanked Tremaine, who had a sadistic grin on his face.
And Louisa was there, too, a gag over her mouth, a knife held to her throat.
Chapter 24
Harry had stood in the face of danger any number of times but had never before experienced a fear as numbing as that which now gripped him at the sight of Louisa with a rapier poised to slit her lovely throat. He suppressed his first instinct, which was to hurl his fist into the man holding the knife to Louisa. Louisa's safety had to be his first concern.
His gaze flicked to her. She stood proudly, even regally, at the side of the towering sentry. No one save Harry, who had come to know her so thoroughly, would ever detect the worry on her sweet face.
"It seems I have outsmarted, you, Wycliff," Tremaine said. "Tell me, where did you hide all afternoon?"
Harry, the tip of a sword nipping at his chest, refused to answer.
"Never matter," Tremaine said with a wave of a bejeweled hand. "We have known you were here all day, but as I knew this room was your destination, we waited."
"I beg that you remove the rapier from the lad's throat," Harry said, watching Louisa as his fear mounted.
Tremaine threw back his head and laughed heartily. "Come now, Wycliff, surely you don't take me for an idiot. I know your traveling companion is none other than Godwin Phillips' lovely young widow."
Harry's pulse accelerated and his mouth dropped open. "Whatever makes you think such a thing?" Harry asked, trying to sound incredulous. Anything to throw them off Louisa's scent.
"I have spies in Falwell who inform me of the activities of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, but it was not until you spoke of Godwin Phillips' widow yesterday that I actually knew." Tremaine's eyes were faraway. "I know the signs of a man deeply in love."
Harry realized in a flash of a second the truth in the words of the demented man. Harry knew he was, indeed, in love with Louisa.
And he had to get her out of here.
"Let us go now, Tremaine, and you'll have your fifty thousand pounds -- as well as my gentleman's pledge to never reveal your vileness. I only beg that you'll allow me to have my mother's portrait copied."
A ruthless look came over Tremaine's face. "I am sorry I will not be able to oblige you. You see, Mrs. Phillips knows too much about me and my activities. I told that fool husband of hers not to tell his wife anything, but I see he did not keep his word, which should not come as a surprise to me."
"He told her nothing," Harry countered. "Let her go. Your fight is with me, not her."
"Actually, my fight is now with both of you, though I don't think fight is the right word." Tremaine stood back and stroked his beard, glancing first at Harry then at Louisa. "You see, fight implies two somewhat equal sides, some reciprocation. But you and Mrs. Phillips will not be at liberty to strike back." He looked at the dozen huge foot
men. "I have not decided quite how I am going to get rid of the pair of you. It's most difficult to dispose of an earl, even if the good people of Falwell think of you merely as Mr. Smith."
"Please," Harry said, "let her go."
"I cannot do that. What I think I can do, however is lock you both away in the turret until I decide what to do with you."
Tremaine began to stroll from the room, then turned back. "Take heart, Wycliff, ever the one to encourage love, I shall let you and Mrs. Phillips die together."
* * *
At least there was a window in the turret room they were locked within, Louisa thought encouragingly. Of course, it was barred as securely as the bar slotting across the heavily timbered door.
Harry had used every bit of strength he possessed to try to dislodge the bars on the windows. Not that it would have done much good. The drop from the turret window had to be more than a hundred feet.
With the aid of moonlight, Louisa could see Harry, sitting on the stone floor. Unused to rough homespun, he had removed the shirt. She could no more remove her eyes from his magnificent body than she cold cease to draw breath. Her gaze trailed from his solid shoulders, down the taut muscles of his manly chest to his narrow waist, where a trail of dark hair disappeared beneath the rope-tied waist of the blacksmith's former pants.
She swallowed hard. "Harry?"
"No more Lord Wycliff?" he asked in a teasing voice.
"No more Lord Wycliff," she said with a sigh. "I have decided to forgive you for the life which you formerly led."
"That is welcome news indeed." He did not sound sincere. "Why, pray tell, do I warrant such approval?"
Her words came fast and with urgency. "Because we're going to die, and I can't go to my death without telling you how close I've become to you and how much I've come to care about you. That's why." She swallowed hard, thankful that Harry could not witness her humiliation.
He crossed the small room in two strides, fell to one knee in front of her and took her hand. "My dearest Louisa, I shall die a most happy man."
Then he drew her into his arms and held her close for a very long while. She could scarcely believe that he continued to whisper my dearest love and my angel into her ear as he lay a trail of kisses from her ear down to the top of her breast. Could he truly love her as she loved him? "Blast it all, Louisa, will you allow me to remove that ridiculous binding?"
She cradled his face in both her hands and solemnly nodded. After he had unwound the rags and tossed them to the cold stone floor, he took her hands and kissed them. "I am not worthy of your affection. That's why I've behaved so abominably to you at times. You're far too good for me."
She stroked the strong planes of his cheek with one hand. "Don't say that, dearest Harry. I am glad that if we have to die, we will do so together for I don't believe I could live without you."
"I think I've known since that day I first saw you that my life would be rather meaningless without you."
She came to him with both arms open, and their lips met in a hungry, wet kiss. She loved the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell. . .everything about Harry Blassingame, the Seventh Earl of Wycliff. Even if he was an aristocrat.
"I love you with all my villainous heart, my dearest love," he whispered, burying his face into her neck.
She moved closer and kissed him lightly on his mouth. "We will be together for eternity, my love."
He kissed her quickly then straightened. "Damn it all, Louisa, love, I don't want to die. Not now that I have you. Don't you see, we've got to live. I want to marry you. I want you to bear my children." He reached over and kissed her tenderly. "I want to grow old with a beautiful bluestocking at my side."
"Oh, my dearest Harry, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"I wanted to say it before now, but I didn't think you could stand me."
"What about when I called you dearest Harry when you regained consciousness after your illness?"
"I thought it was an angel who had spoken," he said teasingly. "I didn't think we'd suit because you are so fine and I'm so wicked."
"You are not wicked."
"Never mind discussions of the past. It's the future that's important now."
"But you've already examined every way you could think of to get out of here, and you pronounced the turret impossible to escape from."
He raised a finger to his chin and drummed. "There must be a way."
"Do you think Lord Tremaine meant it when he said he'd let us die here? Think you he plans to starve us to death?"
"We shall have to see."
* * *
Not just because they were starved from not having had dinner the night before, Louisa and Harry were delighted that a heavily armed pair of menservants opened the door to the turret prison the following morning, dropped off two bowls of porridge and a slab of stale bread, then closed and locked the door.
They ate greedily, even though the porridge was cold and the bread hard.
"So we are not to be starved to death," Harry said when they finished. "That is good."
"That will give you more time to devise a plan of escape. I dare not try for my plan to get us in here proved to be quite disastrous."
"I will think on it," he said with authority.
Louisa leaned against the wall of their tiny room and watched her beloved Harry as he thought. She had come to love everything about him.
Finally, he said he had a plan but that it would be difficult. "Do you suppose they mean to feed us only once a day?"
She shrugged.
He came toward her and set his hands on her shoulder, kissing her gently. "It may take some time."
No more meals were served that day.
"I will assume that we will receive the meal -- I will call it that for lack of a better word -- each morning at about the same time. Do you agree?" Harry asked.
"I suppose so."
"What time would you say they came yesterday morning?"
"I have no idea," she answered. "It was still dark."
He nodded.
Harry stayed awake. He could not allow himself to go to sleep. He lay beside her, drunk with contentment and vowing to get out of here so he could live a long life with his dearest love.
When it was half past four in the morning by his watch, he left Louisa's side and attempted to climb the stone wall, but he succeeded in nothing but awakening Louisa.
"Ah, it's good that you're awake," he said. "I'm afraid I shall have to put my weight on your back."
She shot him a puzzled look. "You have to what?"
"Come here, my love."
"Now, if you will," he said when she crossed the floor, "put yourself in a dog position so I can climb on your back. I'll try to put weight on it but for a second."
She obliged him.
He looked up, then used her back rather as a springboard. One foot on her back, the other propelling his movement upward. He leaped in the air, grabbed for the long disused lantern suspended from the ceiling and caught hold of it on his first try. "Thank you, madam. Your services are no longer needed." God, but his hands stung from holding the forged iron.
She looked up at him. "What are you doing?"
"I am suspending myself above the doorway. When I hear the striking of the men's boots outside the door, I shall tuck these long legs of mine under me, then pounce on the men when they open the door. If you are able, I will need you to relieve them of their weapons, but take care not to get hurt."
She smiled up at him. "A brilliant plan, my most intelligent lord."
"I'm blasted heavy to hold."
"I suspect you are."
They waited ten minutes. His arms were killing him. They were so sore he doubted he would be able to strike a good blow when the jailers did come.
The ten minutes stretched into twenty. If it weren't for Louisa, he would have given up by now and accepted that they would never get out.
He really didn't think he could last much longer. He thought
about jumping down and waiting until he heard them before launching himself from Louisa's back again. But he remembered that yesterday the men were upon them as soon as he'd heard the sound of their steps.
He had to keep holding on. God, but it was hard. The most difficult thing he had ever done. It was a wonder his arms hadn't grown ten feet long.
Then he heard the click of the jailers' heels.
He tucked his legs under himself, then stretched them out parallel to the ground, which made them higher than they would be tucked beneath them.
He heard the voice of one of the jailers. "Don't know how long the master plans to keep 'em here."
He heard the sounds of keys rattling. Oh, God, please hurry.
Then the door squeaked open, then open wider. The jailer with the food scanned the room for a sign of Harry.
Harry jumped on top the other jailer, the one with the drawn sword.
Chapter 25
Edward was bloody tired of Cornwall. For three days now they had gone to nearly two dozen remote villages, surveying every livery stable in Cornwall for Harry's coach. Though they had not come upon it, they had come across a number of stable hands who vividly remembered the grand coach and four. It was not often one came through these parts. Harry's trail pointed steadily west.
Edward had also learned that Harry and Mrs. Phillips were traveling as Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Such a piece of information might or might not come in handy.
He shot a stealthy glance at Miss Sinclair. At least Harry had the pleasure of traveling with a lady. A woman who dressed as a woman, breasts and all. And he would wager Harry had not had to sleep on any wooden floors, either. If he knew Harry as he thought he knew Harry, his cousin had gotten beneath Mrs. Phillips' skirts by now.
He glanced at Miss Sinclair and sighed. None of his friends would believe he could travel for days on end with a young woman, share a bedchamber with her, and not get beneath her skirts. Or in Miss Sinclair's case, beneath her pants.
But when he came to think on it, he realized he would never discuss this trip with Miss Sinclair to anyone. Do her unpardonable harm. And he couldn't have that.