Passionately Yours

by Cara Elliott

  The threat to Isobel and Caro would be over. Thayer would be too busy trying to save his own skin to make trouble.

  Urging his mount into an easy canter, Alec turned his thoughts to triumphing in an even more difficult challenge—winning the hand of the lady he loved.

  Perhaps it was just as well that he had hours to go.

  A short while later, all arrangements made with Isobel and her aunt, Caro stowed the last of the bandboxes atop the travel trunks and helped her mother into the hired carriage.

  “Now, do not cause any mischief for Lady Urquehart,” admonished the baroness as she leaned around her maid and waggled a warning finger. “She is not as used to having several lively spirited girls to watch over as I am, so please do not cause her any heart palpitations.”

  “I shall try not to, Mama,” murmured Caro. “Bath is a very staid town, so you have no need to fret.”

  “Trouble can rear its head anywhere.”

  Her mother occasionally made an astute observation, but Caro refrained from making any reply. Instead she merely gave a cheery wave.

  “Have a lovely visit—and try not to lose all your pin money to those two card sharps.”

  The baroness exhaled a startled huff while her maid managed to stifle a chortle.

  Caro waved the driver on, then quickly turned and set off for Isobel’s residence, leaving her own maid to supervise the packing and transporting of clothing for the short stay with her friend. Anxious to get Isobel alone for a lengthy chat, she had proposed a walk to Sydney Gardens. No brilliantly clever ploy for entrapping Thayer had yet formed in her head, however she had made the decision that Isobel must be informed of what was going on.

  Alec might howl with outrage, but in her opinion, it was far more dangerous for him to keep his sister in the dark.

  “Now that the day has turned cloudy, it will likely be getting cooler.” Isobel was waiting for her in the entrance hall. “You really ought to have a cloak for our walk.”

  “My maid won’t be here for several hours with my trunk,” replied Caro. “I’d rather not wait.”

  “Then here, take one of mine.”

  Caro regarded the softspun wool garment, which was trimmed with carved silver buttons and a stylish little shoulder cape made of tartan plaid. “But that is your favorite.”

  “Yes, but that shade of forest green looks horrid with the apricot stripes of my gown, so I would rather wear my biscuit-colored one,” replied her friend. “And besides, it looks divine on you.”

  Refraining from further argument, Caro draped it over her shoulders and slanted a glance at the looking glass hung over the side table.

  Yes, it did suit her rather well.

  “Thank you.” She fastened the carnelian and silver clasp. “Shall we be off?”

  Isobel waited until they were out on the street before murmuring, “You seem in a hurry. Is there a reason?”

  “Yes,” answered Caro. “But I would prefer to wait until we have found a private spot in the gardens to explain.”

  “That sounds a little ominous.”

  She hesitated, letting the silence linger for several steps before replying, “That’s because it is. Your brother will be angry with me, but I feel you should know what is going on.”

  “Ha! I knew Alec was hiding something from me.” An uncharacteristic scowl darkened her friend’s face. “I wish he wouldn’t treat me as if I were a child.”

  “He wants to protect you,” pointed out Caro. “Which is admirable, of course. But it is my opinion that for any lady with half a brain, knowledge is far better armor than ignorance.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t agree more.” An unladylike oath followed, which did not bode well for Alec’s next encounter with his sister. “As to that…”

  Caro shook her head in warning. “We ought not discuss it until we have found a secluded place where we can talk without fear of being overheard.” She was determined not to give Alec any reason to accuse her of reckless behavior. “By the by, he had promised to tell me more about what is going on last night at the fireworks display, but Thayer’s presence prevented it. I had hoped he would arrange to meet me this morning, but your aunt mentioned that he rode off at first light.”

  No doubt to avoid a tête-à-tête.

  Isobel frowned. “He did leave a note for me saying an urgent matter required his attention, and that he planned on returning by supper.” A pause. “Well, it seems he shall find more on his plate than roasted capon and creamed mushrooms.”

  Ha! Let us hope he will not stick a fork in my derrière.

  The rest of the walk to Sydney Gardens passed in silence, each of them lost in her own thoughts. Passing quickly through the conservatory of the Sydney Hotel, they emerged onto the lawns, and from there Caro quickly chose one of the side paths, which wound around to one of the bridges that crossed the canal. She recalled from past visits that there were several wooded areas that were likely to afford some privacy.

  As they came to a copse of trees near one of the marble follies that dotted the grounds, Caro took Isobel’s arm and drew her into the leafy shadows. Spotting a small stone bench set in the shade of a spreading oak, she hurriedly took a seat and expelled a sigh.

  “Well?” pressed Isobel as she sat down beside her. “And please, I want to hear the whole story, not some carefully edited version deemed fit for delicate ears.”

  “And so you shall.” Caro took several moments to steady her breathing. “Once upon a time…”

  “That’s not funny,” murmured her friend.

  “Sometimes a bit of humor makes it easier to begin,” she responded. “And I must say, at times my experiences with your brother do seem like something out of a horrid novel.”

  To put it mildly.

  Caro pursed her lips. “I take it you know something of his activities in the movement for Scottish independence?”

  “Yes, and probably more than he thinks I do.”

  “I thought that might be true,” said Caro. “Perhaps you ought to hear the real story of the events that took place at Dunbar Castle, which will explain how your brother may have made enemies of a certain faction within the group.”

  With that, she quickly explained that the story of a jewelry theft had covered up a far more sinister plot, one in which both she and Alec—as well as her sister Anna and her soon-to-be husband—had been involved in a dangerous intrigue swirling around a visiting German prince.

  “Does he truly think I don’t know the full extent of his involvement in clandestine politics? Good heavens, I’m not a feather-brained goose. I knew exactly what message I was carrying to his associate on the night I was hurt on the moors.” Isobel huffed in frustration. “It seems he and I shall have to sit down for a serious talk.”

  “I think that would be wise,” replied Caro slowly. “But your brother won’t like it.”

  Isobel’s muttered response indicated that wasn’t going to stop her. “Please go on. I take it that Alec is at odds with Thayer, and because of the recent events, he fears I am being used as a pawn in the struggle.”

  “Correct,” said Caro. “Your brother has not confided all the details, but my surmise is that Thayer is the leader of the faction that favors violence to achieve the group’s goals, and he is trying to gain control of the movement…” She went on to explain what she knew.

  “I see.” Isobel sat back and stared up at the rustling leaves. “So, how are we going to stop Thayer?” she asked over the whispery sounds.

  “Damnation.”

  Alec’s stallion blew out an aggrieved answering whinny as he finished extracting a twisted shard of metal from the injured hoof and rose from his crouch.

  “Yes, yes, I know—it hurts like the devil.” He patted the big bay’s lathered flank, cursing yet again the bad luck of galloping over an errant nail lodged among the pebbles of the dusty lane.

  The nearest village lay several miles ahead. Fisting the reins, Alec set off at a slow walk, the lame stallion limping gamely beside
him. He prayed that he would find a horse for hire. Now that he knew the full extent of Thayer’s evil machinations, he was anxious to move quickly to protect his loved ones from any further threat.

  Tomorrow he would head north with his aunt and sister, carrying the documents that would put an end to the other man’s power.

  As for Caro…

  Tonight they must talk. About a great many things.

  “I wish I were as clever as Sir Sharpe Quill in devising a plan to snare a cunning villain,” said Caro wryly. “I have some thoughts, but as yet I cannot seem to come up with a workable plan.”

  “Perhaps if we put our heads together we can think of something,” suggested her friend. “What if…”

  For the next little while they batted around ideas like so many shuttlecocks, but none of them seemed to have enough feathers to fly.

  “I have an even greater respect for Wellington and his staff,” murmured Caro. “It is not easy drawing up a strategy of attack.” She slanted a sidelong glance at Isobel and felt a frisson of concern. The clouds overhead had thickened, and the deepening shadows accentuated the paleness of her friend’s face. Despite her much improved health, she still looked a little fragile.

  “Indeed, plotting is awfully hard work,” she added quickly. “I could do with a bit of sustenance, and I am sure you could as well. We passed a cart selling meat pasties that smelled delicious. I shall go fetch a pair for us.”

  “I can come along,” volunteered Isobel.

  “No, no, I’ll just be a few minutes.” Caro was already up and heading for the pathway.

  The breeze was freshening, and she tugged up the hood of her borrowed cloak, glad she had worn the garment to ward off the damp chill. The feel of the thickly woven tartan trim, so very warm and solid against her fingers, was a reminder of Alec.

  A comforting thought, as musing on Thayer’s wickedness had left her feeling strangely unsettled.

  “Miss, Miss.” A piteous voice interrupted her musing. “Can ye spare a coin for a former soldier wots been blinded in the war.”

  Looking up she saw hunched figure wrapped in a threadbare overcoat and muffler move awkwardly into her path. Eyes pressed closed, he rattled a cup holding several small coins.

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured, fumbling inside her reticule to find her money.

  “Yer a kind soul.” He shuffled closer.

  She tried not to flinch at the scent of rancid mutton and stale onions. “Here is a shilling for you, sir.”

  “God bless ye.” His boots scuffed against her skirts as he leaned into her.

  Biting her lip, Caro tried to edge around him. But a steel point suddenly pricked against her chest.

  “Not so fast,” he whispered. “Come with me, and quiet like, or my friend will hurt yer companion.”

  She darted a look back at the grove and saw another shabby figure loitering among the trees.

  “What—” she began.

  “Shut yer mummer and do as yer told. Yer brother may be a titled toff, but right now it’s me wot’s giving the orders.” The man shoved her forward, keeping one arm around her shoulders, and the knife pressed up against her ribcage. “March.”

  He thought she was Isobel?

  Casting off all thoughts of screaming or struggling, she bowed her head and meekly followed orders, hoping her masquerade would hold up until they were well away from the Gardens.

  Alec would be frantic with fear if Isobel were abducted.

  And besides, whatever the ruffians had in mind, she had a better chance of escaping from them than Isobel did. An eccentric upbringing had given the Sloane sisters an arsenal of unladylike skills, including an expertise in lock-picking, knot-tying and handling a pistol. Anna was the better shot, but Caro prided herself on foot speed and agility at climbing obstacles.

  Thayer—for she was sure it was Thayer who had planned the abduction—was in for a rude awakening.

  I have yearned for a swashbuckling adventure, and it appears that I have got it.

  With Isobel free from Thayer’s clutches, Alec would be…

  No, she wouldn’t think of Alec right now.

  Up ahead, waiting just across the canal bridge was a nondescript carriage with dark draperies drawn closed behind the small glass-paned window. Despite her resolve, Caro felt a burble of panic well up in her throat as they approached and her captor reached out and yanked the door open.

  It was awfully dark inside.

  “In ye go.”

  After hesitating for just an instant, Caro steeled her nerve and climbed into the vehicle without protest. Her captor followed on her heels, the knifepoint now tickling against her spine.

  A moment later, the springs rocked again, and a second man joined them. “Heh, heh, heh, that was easy as plucking a chick from a dovecote.” He rapped on the trap and the vehicle lurched into motion.

  “Aye, easy pickings,” agreed his cohort with a nasty laugh. “The cove that hired us will pay us handsomely fer His Lordship’s sister.”

  As Caro once again considered the confusion, over her identity, an idea suddenly took shape in her head.

  “He’s going to hand over the money when we make the exchange, isn’t he?”

  “Ye think I’m daft—of course he is.” She heard the sound of her captor tapping the blade against his calloused palm. “It’s just a few miles to the inn on the north road, and then we shall be rich as lords.”

  “Lords! Heh, heh, heh. I shall drink to that with The Black Duck’s finest ale.”

  Thankful for the hazy gloom, Caro pressed herself deeper into the corner and shifted the hood to muffle her face.

  The carriage rattled on, the cobblestones of town giving way to hard-packed earth of the country roads. It seemed to take forever to travel the short distance, but at last she felt the wheels slow and cut a sharp turn before rolling to a halt.

  She began to sob softly into the folds of wool.

  A moment later the door wrenched open. “You have her?” growled a low voice.

  Thayer. The swine.

  “Have a look for yourself,” answered her captor.

  The dappling of low light barely reached the hem of her skirts. Still, a flicker lit the muted pattern of the plaid.

  Thayer grunted, and she heard the chink of a coin-filled purse as he tossed it onto the stableyard ground.

  “Get out,” he ordered. “I’m in a hurry.”

  His two henchmen tripped over each other in their haste to scramble down the iron foot rungs.

  The door slammed shut, cutting off their rough-cut laughter. At Thayer’s signal, the carriage lumbered into motion again. A whip cracked, urging the horses into a shambling trot.

  “Forgive me for not being hospitable and offering you some refreshments, Miss Urquehart,” said Thayer with mock politeness. “But I prefer to put some miles between us and Bath before we make a more leisurely stop.”

  An unpleasant laugh reverberated against the paneling. “Your brother may be a dull-witted clod, but he’s a crack shot.”

  Caro kept up her snuffling. The farther they traveled before he discovered his mistake the better.

  “I do trust you will stop that caterwauling soon. We have a long journey ahead, and I assure you, it will not be an overly comfortable one for you if I am forced to tie a gag around your lovely face.”

  The seat creaked as he crossed one booted leg over the other. “However, if you behave yourself, there is no reason why we can’t travel together in reasonable comfort.”

  And pigs might fly.

  “Think about it,” he counseled, when she didn’t let up on her tears. “We have two hours until the next stop.”

  Two hours—time that Caro intended to put to good use in thinking and planning for the next move in this deadly game of cat and mouse.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Come, I am sure you would welcome a stroll to stretch your legs, Miss Urquehart.” Thayer roused himself from his thoughts as the carriage pulled to halt. “But be
advised that I have a pistol, and the inn is an out-of-the-way place whose proprietor has been paid to overlook any disturbances. So any attempt at escape would be futile.”

  He paused to peek out through the window draperies. “Not to speak of having unpleasant consequences for you.”

  Caro mumbled a muffled “No.” Her unmasking was inevitable, but she had decided to try to put it off for as long as possible.

  Thayer, however, had not meant the offer as an invitation, but rather as an order. He leaned over and grabbed hold of her arm. “Get out,” he snarled. “I warn you, there will be precious few stops on the way to Scotland, so you’ll take sustenance and use the conveniences when I tell you to.”

  Resistance was silly, so she allowed herself to be led out of the vehicle. Keeping her face averted, she made a quick survey of the place. It was, as Thayer implied, a ramshackle little establishment, surrounded by unpruned hedges and a rutted stableyard.

  A none too clean rutted stableyard, she noted, looking down at the muck squished beneath her half boots.

  Gritting her teeth, she started walking slowly, deciding to heed his warning and take advantage of the chance to gulp down a breath of fresh air. The faint scent of pine and meadowgrass felt cleansing.

  The atmosphere within the carriage was thick with the noxious stench of evil.

  Thayer kept close, the brush of his clothing sending shivers through her body.

  “Miss Urquehart.”

  She didn’t look around.

  “Isobel.” He said it softly, but the curl of menace in his tone squeezed the air from her lungs. Still, Caro kept her gaze on the faraway hills.

  Quick as a cobra, Thayer shot out a hand and yanked back the hood of her cloak.

  The wools snagged on her hairpins, allowing a tumble of dark curls to fall over her shoulders.

  Thayer let out a string of oaths that no gentleman ought to say in the presence of a lady.

  But then, he was not a gentleman—he was an odious serpent. A twisted coiling of malice and evil.

  A shudder snaked through her, but masking her fear, Caro said coolly, “I assure you, sir, I am no more happy with your hired ruffian’s mistake than you are.”