“Oh ye of little faith,” the earl teased. “Do you think I have so little regard for your judgment that I would not come the instant I heard from you?”
“Well no. I mean yes. I mean ...” That flustered her. Really, he was looking at her in the most disturbing manner—almost as though she were some delicious morsel that he was about to eat. The thought was both disconcerting and delightful.
“And what would you have done had I not appeared?” He probed gently.
Sarah was silent.
“Let me guess. You would have gone in my place.”
She nodded, the bright color staining her cheeks.
“You are incorrigible! Fortunately, I suspected as much, which is why I appeared as quickly as I did and why I shall tie you up and lock you in the storeroom at Ashworth if you do not promise me you will let me take care of this now that I am here. I suppose that I should be grateful that you even bothered to summon me.”
Sarah nodded again, but this time there was a distinctly impish twinkle in her eyes.
“You ought to be beaten, you know,” Alistair remarked conversationally, “but I have my hands full at the moment.”
“You would have done the same yourself,” she countered.
“Very likely.” The earl chuckled before continuing, “Now I presume you have your source who can explain in greater detail all that I need to know. Can you have him meet me at eleven tomorrow morning at the same place where I left you when I returned to London?” Alistair had chosen the location deliberately to see what sort of reaction he would arouse. It was not kind of him—he was fully aware of that—but he had to know what those last few minutes with him before he had gone away had meant to her, if they had meant anything at all.
There was a sharp intake of breath, her eyes widened, and her fingers stumbled over a chord before Sarah was able to regain control of herself. “Yes, I believe I can arrange for that.” Her gaze returned to the keyboard, and she refused to look at him until the end of the piece, but Alistair could tell from the delicate flush on her cheeks and the dampness that made the tendrils of hair curl at the nape of her neck that she was thinking back to that day and remembering it all in the most vivid detail. Good! He smiled to himself. He wanted her to remember it, every moment of it as clearly and with as much longing for another such interlude as he did.
Chapter Thirty-one
True to her word, Sarah instructed Ned as to his meeting with the earl, and the next day the marsh man materialized as if from nowhere the moment the earl pulled his curricle into the grove of trees. He was clear and succinct as to the arrangements for that evening, but eyed the earl with a wariness that showed he remained uneasy about the London gentleman’s abilities to ensure a favorable outcome to this adventure for him and his fellows.
Sensing this. Lord Farringdon hastened to reassure him. “I shall have someone else with me who is extremely experienced at this sort of thing, and it will be over in the wink of an eye. Lady Sarah has expressed the fullest confidence in you and your men, so I am sure that we shall, er, take care of the Frenchies and you will disappear before you can say King George, with no one the wiser.” To be sure, Sarah had not said precisely those words, but the invocation of her name seemed to have done the trick.
The man relaxed enough to give the faintest hint of a smile—it was more of a grimace really—before replying, “Very good, sir.” And then he vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
Apparently Lady Sarah commanded as much trust and respect from the marsh men as she did from Alistair himself, and with good reason, the earl thought as he turned the curricle around and headed back toward Cranleigh. There seemed to be nothing she was not capable of, no task too daunting or even too dangerous for her to attempt. In fact, the only time Lord Farringdon had seen her the least bit flustered was when it came to men and women and the more tender relations between them.
Alistair grinned. He was glad such things discomposed her, for it meant she was not so indifferent to them as she wished to be, and he was determined, once this business with the chevalier was settled satisfactorily, to discompose her a good deal more.
The evening was clear and cool, not a cloud in the sky to obscure the moon, and the earl, waiting in his bedchamber until the chevalier departed, was able to make the Frenchman out quite clearly as he headed across the fields. This time Lord Farringdon had made sure to have Brutus saddled and waiting and was thus able to keep much closer to his prey.
As Alistair neared the place where the track from the marsh joined the road, Ferdie emerged from the shadow of a hedgerow. He said nothing, but nodded and smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. They rode for some time, more quietly and cautiously than Alistair had the first time, for now that he was sure of his way and of what awaited them at the end of it, he had no need for speed.
At last they saw a flash of light, quickly dimmed, low in the grasses ahead of them. They dismounted, making their way on foot until they could make out the dark shapes gathered around the boat. Murmuring voices spoke rapid French, and the two men inched carefully forward until they could make out the speakers, who, luckily enough, stood with their backs to the stalkers. A few paces away stood Ned and another man, who had obviously manned the other set of oars in the boat. The marsh men, accustomed to every breath of the marsh, glanced quickly up and as quickly away again at the faint rustle of Ferdie and Alistair’s approach.
Alistair pulled his pistol from his pocket and glanced over to see that Ferdie had done likewise before he nodded and sprang for the chevalier while Ferdie lunged for his companion. The Frenchmen were barely aware of the movement behind them before two wicked-looking pistols were clapped to their heads and the earl was tossing two lengths of rope to Ned, who threw one to his companion and hastened to tie the chevalier’s hands behind him.
“Diable!” The Frenchman spat as the rough rope chafed against his wrists. “I shall kill you for this, Farringdon. This is no way to treat a gentleman.”
Alistair smiled grimly. “As you are no gentleman, I find that not the slightest impediment. However, since I am a gentleman, I shall give you the choice of how you would like to die—with or without a blindfold.”
“Sacrebleu,” the chevalier muttered and was about to speak again when there was another rustle of grass and Lady Sarah appeared as calmly as though she were out for a morning ride, clutching her sketchbook and a pencil.
“Blast! Sarah, I should have known—” the earl began angrily.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. I would not for the world have inconvenienced you,” Sarah interrupted him, “but I was afraid you might shoot him. That is of course what he deserves”— she swept the chevalier with a disdainful glance—”but it occurs to me that he might be far more useful to you alive. Send him back to France with misinformation. I am sure we have agents there who can keep an eye on him if need be. I propose that he purchase his life by writing here”—she held out the sketchbook—”the list of agents that he has here in this country. You can then verify the truth of this. If the names he gives you are false, why then you can arrange to have him killed or prove to the emperor that he has betrayed France. I also think he should be made to sign another paper releasing Richard from his debts. I am sure Rosalind would be much relieved.”
The silence that greeted her remarks was deafening. Then Ferdie burst out laughing. “You hinted that she was something out of the ordinary, Alistair, and by God she is!” Still holding his pistol to the other Frenchman’s head, Ferdie sketched a bow in Sarah’s direction. “Lieutenant Summers at your service. Lady Sarah, and may I say that I am honored to make the acquaintance of so gallant and intelligent a lady.”
Smiling ruefully and shaking his head, Alistair motioned to Ned to take his place guarding the chevalier, then sauntered over to take the paper from Sarah. “My little fire-eater,” he whispered as he took the sketchbook and pencil from her. He returned to the Frenchman. “Now, sir, you will do as the lady directs.” While Ned kept the pisto
l steady, the earl untied the chevalier’s hands and bade him begin writing.
“But I have nowhere to write,” the chevalier protested. “Here is your desk.” Alistair led the other prisoner over and pointed to his back. “Now write.”
The chevalier did as he was bid, though not without a great deal of muttering under his breath. If the truth were told, he was extremely happy to be alive at this point. For a moment it had looked very much as though he would not live even this long. The chevalier was not a courageous man; he had become a spy because it was easy. The British with their stupid code of honor were so gullible and trusting that it had been child’s play and most amusing to dupe them, besides which, it was extremely lucrative. As far as risking life or limb for some absurd devotion to a country or ideals, he was not inclined to do any such thing. If he could escape certain death at the price of handing over the names of a few agents, he was not bothered by it in the least.
The chevalier scrawled a few names on the piece of paper. “And their directions,” the earl added, looking over his prisoner’s shoulder.
“Very well.”
“And now I believe that Lady Sarah will dictate to you what is to be written on the other piece of paper.”
“But first,” Sarah interrupted again, “he should add to the list of agents that he, as an agent of the French government, did order these men to spy on His Majesty’s government and that he in turn passed these secrets along in order that the French might triumph over England in whatever field of battle they might be joined. Then he must sign it. Now he will know that you have an extremely damaging document to use against him, should he attempt any mischief in the future.”
“You are in the right of it, Lady Sarah,” Alistair agreed. “And while he is at it, he might as well write a confession to the French government that he gave up the names of his own agents freely. That should protect us against any eventuality and ensure his complete cooperation henceforth.” He turned to the chevalier. “Now do it.”
At last the papers were written and signed. The earl took them, perused them, and put them in his pocket. If any of the names on the list surprised him or were familiar to him, he gave no sign, turning instead to Ned. “I trust you know how to return this one”—he nodded toward the other French agent— “back to whence he came.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Very well. Do you think that you and your companion here can take care of both him and the chevalier?”
The marsh men snorted in a fashion that left no illusions as to their opinions of their unhappy-looking prisoners.
“Excellent. We shall leave them in your hands. You are performing a valuable service to your country, Ned Wittle. If you will meet me at the George and Dragon tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I shall prove to you that your country can reward you for such services and for your silence.” He smiled at Ned in the most friendly way, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. The marsh man knew that his lordship was a gentleman who kept his word and expected others to do the same.
Alistair turned to Lieutenant Summers and Sarah. “And now I suggest that you and I escort the lady home, not that she needs it in the least, but we are going in the same direction, and we owe it to any other ruffians who might be abroad now to protect them from her. We have stopped enough villainy for one night.” His tone was ironic, but as he bent over to help Sarah into her saddle, he breathed into her ear, “Thank you for all of this.”
They rode silently back toward Ashworth, taking time to admire the desolate beauty of the marsh with its undulating surface bathed in the moonlight, the waving grasses appearing like a silvery ocean as the breezes stirred them. After the previous tense hours it was delightful to ride along enjoying the peace and silence of the vast expanse.
As the dark clump of trees surrounding Ashworth appeared in the distance, Sarah came to a halt, breaking the silence. “I shall bid you good night here. There is no need for you to go out of your way to escort me.”
“What you mean is that you do not wish anyone to come along who might betray your presence or reveal your secret for escaping unseen,” the earl corrected her.
Sarah laughed. “Now that is a most unkind accusation, my lord. You make it sound as though I regularly steal out like a thief in the night. Why, I hardly—”
Alistair raised a hand. “No. Whatever it is, I do not want to know, Lady Sarah. I find you a rare handful already. The less I know about your activities the better. However I do mean to see you to your door.” They rode in silence to the French doors of the library. He guided Brutus close to Ajax and jumped off to lift Sarah down. Then raising one gloved hand he carried it to his lips. “Thank you, my lady. It was a brave though outrageous deed you did tonight. Your country, your sister-in-law, and I especially, owe you a great debt,” Then, realizing that his thanks had flustered her, he released her, touched Brutus’s flanks with his heels, and turned toward Cranleigh with the lieutenant close behind him.
The two men continued in silence until it came time for the lieutenant to break off toward Tredington Park. “Good night, Alistair.” He held out his hand to clasp the earl’s. “It was a good night’s work and a great success. You are to be congratulated. And she is a rare and wonderful woman.”
With that he trotted on down the road, leaving Alistair smiling to himself in the moonlight. “That she is, Ferdie, that she is,” he murmured before he too rode off in the direction of Cranleigh.
Chapter Thirty-two
Safely gaining his bedchamber without arousing any of the household, Alistair poured himself a glass of brandy and threw himself into a chair in front of the window. Gazing out over the moonlit gardens, he pictured the whole scene over again: Sarah emerging from the grasses, so cool, so calm, so self-possessed, taking up where he had left off; picking up and providing guidance at a moment when he could use it; taking his plans and refining them, improving upon them. What a team they made! What a wife she would be. Wife? Alistair sat bolt upright. Was that what he wanted? He had never truly articulated it before, even to himself, but that was what he wanted, and he wanted it so badly that he was ready to ride over to Ashworth immediately and tell her that.
He grinned. He probably could do that very thing, and she would think nothing of it. After all, she was used to having him crash in on her in the dead of night. But he would wait until morning so he could do it properly. Besides, he needed to see Rosalind to relate to her an abbreviated version of what had happened that night so she could concoct some story that would satisfy her guests. The earl tossed down the brandy and leaned back in his chair as thoughts of Sarah flickered through his mind, and he dozed gently off to sleep, a smile on his face.
Late the next morning after Alistair had met with Ned, he conducted as brief an interview as possible with Rosalind, whom he had arranged to encounter in the garden while Harold and Lord Edgecumbe were buried in the library and the others had not yet appeared for the day. That successfully completed, he rode over toward Ashworth, only to discover somewhat to his dismay the vicar’s gig in the drive. He declined to let Wiggins interrupt his mistress’s interview with the Reverend Mr. Witson, asking instead to be called from the garden when the gentleman had left.
Alistair had made up his mind to wait, for he did not wish to see Sarah with the vicar, nor did he wish to come back later. But he did not wait patiently. He was too eager to see the lady of the house. Instead, he strode back and forth on the terrace in full view of at least one of the occupants of the library.
In fact, Sarah only happened to glance up and see him by the purest coincidence as she found herself in the middle of the most astonishing conversation with Thaddeus. Too uncomfortable to meet the vicar’s eyes, she had looked up only to catch sight of the earl pacing back and forth in a most impatient manner. Once having caught sight of him, she could not ignore him. Sarah wished desperately that he would go away. The more he remained, pacing back and forth, the more annoyed she became with him.
In the meantim
e, there was Thaddeus saying, “It would be the greatest happiness imaginable to me if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Sarah could not believe her ears! Thaddeus had been the older brother she wished she had had, her teacher, her harshest critic, her sternest guide and inspiration. Now he was asking her to marry him? It did not make sense. At last she looked up at him. She saw a great deal of kindness in his eyes and, yes, even admiration, but nothing else—certainly not love.
“I know that you are convinced you enjoy your single state, Sarah, and you may very well do so at the moment when you are young, but what of the future? Will it not seem empty without a helpmeet to share it with you, to take care of you should you become ill or infirm? While it is true that I am a good deal older, we are fast friends, Sarah. I respect you and honor you above anyone I have ever known.”
A curious smile played around the corners of Sarah’s mouth. “I know, and I understand why you are doing this. I appreciate your gesture, believe me, but I could never marry without love, and I do not love you, any more than you love me. I, too, honor and respect you as you say you do me, and I treasure our friendship. Let us keep it at that—friendship.”
Thaddeus smiled in return. So that was how it was. He had been correct in his first assumptions. It was the marchioness who was mistaken. Spurred on by her need to have Lord Farringdon as her own, Rosalind had deluded herself into thinking that whatever she wished to make happen would happen, including duping the vicar into believing, however briefly, that Sarah needed to be rescued from herself. Sarah did not need rescuing, at least not by Thaddeus. If he was not much mistaken, the rescuer was waiting right outside, and most impatiently, too. “Yes, Sarah, we shall be friends always.” The vicar took her hand in his, bowed over it, and left her alone to her own welter of confusing thoughts and emotions.
The Reluctant Heiress Page 24