Already His (The Caversham Chronicles - Book Two) (43 page)

“There is no way of knowing for certain,” Cartland said honestly. “But my man was stationed at the service gate of the Whippleworth property and he’s one of my best. I’m willing to bet this entire fee that if he saw something suspicious from his post at the
rear
of the property, he’s got your lady in his sight and will not give up the chase.”

“Camden.” Lady Sewell had entered the room while his back was turned to the door. He looked at her furrowed brow and worried eyes and his heart ached for her. “You must find her. I feel responsible.”

Michael went to her side and took both of her gloved hands in his. “Ma’am this is certainly not your fault,” he breathed deeply to calm his own racing heart, and continued.

Elise’s grandmother shook her head. “It is my fault, Camden, because she did not wish to go tonight.
I
encouraged her to attend with us as you asked, because
I
wanted the two of you back together and Elise happy again.” She took her hands away and dabbed at her eyes with the linen she held. “I swear to you Elise would not voluntarily leave that party. I know my grand-daughter.” The old woman folded the linen square and tucked it into her glove. Straightening her back she looked straight into his eyes. “At dinner she said she wanted to return to Haldenwood on the weekend. When I asked her why, with only two weeks left to the season, she said she couldn’t bear to run into you anywhere these remaining weeks.”

Michael winced at that, and deservedly so. Especially when he remembered the callous way he’d treated her. In the days since his cruelty to her, it appeared she’d never said one word to her brother or her grandmother. Apparently Beverly knew something, likely not the entire story, as it was so very like Elise to keep the pain to herself.

It made him feel even more of a brutish ass.

He met Beverly’s gaze and said, “I don’t believe she left willingly.” Turning to Lady Sewell, he said, “I will find her, my lady. I promise.”

Huddleston set the cup down and asked of no one in particular, “Why would he be on the Oxfordshire road, when Gretna is in a different direction? What is out west for him?”

Michael’s eyes lit with sudden realization. “That property he inherited recently is near Gloucester, in the Cotswolds. I’ll bet that’s where he’s headed.”

“You know for certain?” Christopher asked.

He nodded. “I make it my business to know everything about a threat to my family.” Michael went to Ren’s armoire and opened the cabinet. He took out a pistol for himself. He asked if the other two men needed weapons, Huddleston patted his chest, signifying he already carried his. Cartland did the same.

Niles entered and announced that the two mounts had been readied and all three horses were waiting up front. Michael gave thanks for the rain earlier that day. It meant the coach would not move as quickly as riders could through the mud and with luck they would overtake Sinclair’s coach shortly.

“Camden go fetch my granddaughter,” Lady Sewell said as they walked from the office and into the foyer where the gentlemen donned their rain gear for the ride to chase down the coach.

Lady Beverly had waited in the hallway for Huddleston, she kissed his cheek to wish him a safe journey. “I have sent a note to my father, do not worry about me. I am safe here.”

Michael addressed Lady Sewell. “Hopefully, I shall return before Caversham. But if not, tell him about Gloucester, and the property inherited by Sinclair.”

The older woman nodded, and the men were off.

T
hree men tracked westward through the dark. Michael thought if it weren’t for the bloody quagmire the Crown called a road they’d have overtaken Sinclair by now. As it was, they were forced to slow their pace as the horses began slipping in the tricky footing. The only saving grace, if there was one, is that if they were having trouble so was the coach ahead of them.

The drizzle had tapered off, which helped the mounted trio as it made the tracks from the carriage ahead of them still somewhat clear. They would have been in trouble had the rain continued as it would have washed the tracks away. From what he’d discerned from Cartland, who heard from the last informant with whom he spoke, traffic on this road had been scarce all day because of the earlier bouts of heavy rain. The last coach the man saw go by was not more than an hour ahead of them, and by the looks of the wheel tracks in the muck that appeared to be about right.

Once out of town they lost the light from the street lamps, leaving them to ride on in the dark. Their eyes quickly adjusted to what little light filtered through the fog from the quarter moon. He trusted in the fact that horses see better in the dark than humans, and usually know where to place their hooves.

If Sinclair so much as harmed a hair on Elise’s beautiful head, Michael would see the man hang. If he did worse, he would kill the bastard himself.

The depth and strength of the emotions he was having frightened him. These were very possessive, deeply primal feelings. Those of a man who loved the woman he wanted to have back at his side. His soul wanted her, his heart needed her.

He didn’t think he could live without her. The past few days have proved that. He’d been miserable without her. When he thought about a wife and partner, mother for his children, he could only picture Elise. No other.

He had to find her and save her. Save her from the malicious gossip that would now hound her for years to come because of actions not her own. He knew of only one way to do that. At one time she’d wanted him. Michael prayed there still was a chance she would again, because he was going to marry her.

After helping his horse carefully pick his way through the muck, his party reached a rise where the road improved somewhat. As soon as the footing felt more firm, he urged his horse into a canter. They had to increase their pace or the bastard would harm Elise. Soon the horses started calling out, and in the distance another responded. He wondered if they could be closing in on the coach. Through the fog they noticed another rider, coming toward them. Michael thought someone perhaps on his way to London on this miserable night. But after traveling a few yards, Cartland immediately recognized his employee and motioned for them to halt.

“They’ve lost a wheel on the coach,” Cartland’s investigator said. “The driver didn’t want to press on through this mess, but the customers inside forced him along and now they’re stuck. The man who’d joined their group on the outskirts of town has taken one of the horses and gone on to High Wycombe to get another carriage, and procure a room at an inn.”

“That would be Marlowe,” Michael stated.

“The coach is just over the rise, on the left,” said the rider. “Two men are still with the coach, the coachman and the suspect. The coachman is innocent in this. From my position in the woods I heard their conversation. He’s got the rest of his horses unhitched and tied off at the edge of a field. The suspect inside did not offer to come out to help. Said something about not wanting to get mud on his boots.

“The woman was drugged,” the man said. “I saw the whole thing at the house. They kidnapped her, right fast, like it was planned. Dunno if she’s come ’round yet. But she ain’t makin’ noise that’s for sure.”

God, please let her still be alive.
He kept repeating the mental prayer over and over as he spurred his horse onward.

He quickly rode over the rise to the disabled coach, its doors closed and no light coming from within. A stooped over man came forth from the woods, and Michael lifted a finger to his lips, then dismounted his horse, handing the reins over to the man, then motioning for him to move away. Michael cringed as he heard Cartland and Huddleston approach, he didn’t want to alert Sinclair to their presence. Drawing his pistol from his breast pocket, he pulled the hammer back to the half-cocked position and exposed the pan. He primed it with powder then pulled the hammer back the rest of the way, ready to pull the trigger if necessary.

Cartland dismounted and silently prepped his pistol, then went to the other side of the coach. Huddleston did the same with his, squatted and crept up to the coach while Michael got into place so that when he opened the door, he could surprise those inside. All three were prepared to shoot to protect Elise.

Sinclair was not getting away without paying for what he’s done to Elise. He would see to that if he did nothing else this night.

Standing at the door, he listened for any sound coming from inside but heard nothing. Elise must still be unconscious or everyone in the county would be able to hear her making as much trouble for the cur as possible. He knew this little hellcat well. And he loved her.

At his nod, Christopher simultaneously turned the lever and flung the door open. In the darkened interior it was very difficult to tell where Elise was, but he was able to make out Sinclair’s blond hair and white shirt, and the surprised expression on his face as he realized he’d been caught.

Sinclair raised the pistol from his lap but before he could take aim and fire Michael pulled his trigger and placed the ball straight into his chest. The splotch of red quickly spread, saturating his shirt. The stunned expression on Sinclair’s face turned to very real concern as he realized what had happened and his approaching demise.

“You never should have touched her,” Michael growled, slipping his gun into his coat again. The other man’s gun slid from his hand to the coach floor. Unable to speak, Sinclair fell onto the cushioned back of the seat, his expression unchanging as the life drained from him.

The sound of the shot, the acrid smell of burnt powder and now the scent of blood was beginning to rouse Elise. He thanked God he was in time. No matter what had happened, she was alive and he was with her now.

She’d been wrapped in a dark wool cloak, and against the dark velvet of the seat covers, she was virtually indistinguishable until she moved. He needed to see her, make sure she was unharmed, he felt to his left and found the candle holder empty. He climbed into the vehicle and scooped her up, removing her from the dark confines and brought her out into the fresh air. He carried her over to the field where the driver stood with his carriage horses.

The ground was wet, so he knelt down holding her and waited until the coachman set his coat on the ground before setting Elise upon it. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, and in fact was still deeply asleep. With only the glowing fog as light, he pushed her hood back and saw the bruises and dried blood on her face. When Huddleston came from behind him with the coach’s blanket, the other man’s sharp intake of breath told Michael that his friend saw the mark on her neck as well. Cartland came over and stood nearby, not wanting to intrude.

“He’s dead,” Cartland said. “Is the lady alive?”

Michael nodded.

“My associate and I will ride into the village and search for Marlowe. If we find him close by we shall imprison him there and return him to Town in the morning. We’ll send someone for the body and to help the coachman as well.”

Michael nodded as the investigators began questioning the coachman with regard to Marlowe’s plans. Elise shivered, drawing his attention back to her.

“Can you hear me, sweetheart?” Michael didn’t know what to say to her. He wanted to reassure her, but he didn’t know how much she could hear of his plea for her to remain with him. He asked Huddleston, “Can you bring me my horse?” Glancing down at the sleeping bundle in his arms, he added, “Please?” His vision was blurring as his eyes filled with hot tears. He recalled the hurtful words he’d said and the naïve look in her eyes as he had to explain his accusation. He should have known she wasn’t devious enough to do what he’d accused her of.

“Go back to London and reassure the ladies that all is well,” Michael said. He looked down at his still-sleeping bundle. “I will take Elise into High Wycombe and rest there a day or two before going on to Haldenwood.”

“You know what you’re saying?” Huddleston asked.

Michael looked up at him, “I’ll get a special license as soon as I return her to Haldenwood.”

Huddleston smiled and clapped him on the back. “Well, it’s not the way she would like to have seen it happen, but Beverly and I are happy for you both.”

“Thank you,” Michael said as he brushed her hair back with his fingers. The bruising and cut on her face and cheek stabbed at his heart. If the bastard weren’t already dead, he’d kill him. Every so often a tear would silently fall, tracing a new path down her cheek. He stroked her forehead, hoping it comforted her.

When his horse arrived Michael stood, then lifted Elise dropping the coarse woolen cloak she wore. He handed her over to Huddleston. “Once I’m up, raise her enough for me to lift her the rest of the way.”

Michael mounted the horse and opened his greatcoat. Huddleston handed Elise’s unconscious form to up to him and Michael wrapped her in the coat with him, leaving her face and his rein hand out.

“I shall have to do some apologizing, perhaps even groveling. But I realized on the ride here that I can’t live without her.”

“Then tell her that.”

“I plan to.” He took the reins from the coachman who held the horse’s head. “I will tell her as many times as necessary for her to believe it.”

M
ichael was fortunate enough to get the last room at the inn, but only because Marlowe had it reserved for his party. When Michael informed the innkeeper that Marlowe was headed back to London, and prison, he relented and let Michael have the tiny room.