Emily Baker (19 page)

The tunnel went down and down and down. Then it twisted to the left, running level for some time. Another twist to the left brought them to a steady, slow incline.

To the best of his reckoning, Garrett felt that this passage was leading out and away from the lodge. If he was right, they were heading toward the wild grasses that edged the woods. If their course held true, Jameson, his guard, and Miss Fuller were even then headed parallel to the rutted lane leading to the lodge.

A chill shivered over his spine. If the tunnel emerged in the woods, Maura would be almost directly in their path, ready to provide easy escape in the form of their borrowed coach. Garrett prayed his direction was wrong, that Jameson had left nothing to chance in his escape plans and had provided transportation for himself at the end.

He should have left more men with her. In trying to provide as much manpower as he could for the rescue, Garrett had left her vulnerable to the unthinkable. Even with Seamus there to guard her, she was practically alone in the woods with no idea she might be in trouble.

“
Diabhal.
” He remembered the reluctant look on her face when Sean handed her the loaded pistol. A quick prayer broke from his lips that she would use it if the need arose.

 

 

Maura sat in the coach, trying to calm her nerves by gazing out at the serene moonlight filtering the landscape around her. She had long ago placed Garrett’s pistol on the floor of the coach by her feet. Pray God she would not need to touch the thing again.

They had been gone for so long already, and she had no idea how much longer they might be.

“Enough.” The inaction was getting to her. Her fears were getting to her. There had been a deadly seriousness clinging to every action of Garrett and his men this evening, something far more than what she thought she had hired when she had asked for his help.

She fumbled with the lock on the coach door and paused for a moment as Garrett’s parting words came back to her.
Lock this. I’ll be back soon.
The deadly seriousness of his tone had shivered over her then, and did so again at the memory. He’d suspected she might be in danger out here so far from the lodge. She sat back against the cushions again, only to have her thoughts cycle back into the same rut they had run in for the past hour. Where were they? How much longer?

She couldn’t stand this confinement any longer. How had those girls in the lodge survived being locked in with their fears?

“Just for a moment, Garrett. I will stay alert to my surroundings.”

She fumbled again with the lock and breathed a sigh of relief when it clicked open. Seamus was right there.

“I need to stretch my legs,” she explained. True, but not in the way he assumed from the look he gave her before stepping out of the way.

“Don’t go more than ten paces from this coach. I’ll . . . I’ll be keeping the horses quiet as I have been. The ones by the dogcart are a flighty pair. Call out if ye have need of me.”

“Very well.” They had gathered a ragtag caravan of coaches, three gigs, and the dogcart to help carry away any victims. Seamus had his hands full with the horses for riders and carriages without her adding to his burdens.

Pushing the door fully open, she scrambled to the edge of the coach and then out into the high grass. Standing again after sitting still for so long was a pleasure.

With Seamus busy and no one else to witness any unladylike display she gave into the urge and stretched her arms as high as she could. Soft breezes blew over her, calming and soothing. This was much better than being closeted in the dark coach to wait and worry.

Garrett’s warning repeated in her mind. He’d sounded so certain, so determined.

“Very well. Just a quick circuit around the coach.”

With a nod to the spectral Garrett frowning in her head, she set out. Once around. Twice around. She felt better with the blood pumping through her veins and the kinks worked out of her system. She had faith in Garrett and in the men so obviously loyal and respectful to him.

With a reluctant sigh she opened the door and hiked up her skirts. Getting into and out of a coach demanded a little bit more concentration when one did not have a steady arm to help, but she was up to the task, if somewhat awkwardly. She felt reluctant to summon Seamus away from his other charges, especially as a nervous whicker split the air just after the thump of a limb falling from a tree right outside the circle of vehicles.

She pushed up and into the interior and pulled the door shut behind her. Her fingers had just twisted the lock back into place when an arm shot out of the darkness through the coach window and cinched her wrist in a tight grip.

“Unlatch the door, my dear.” Low and angry, despite its conversational tone, Harold Jameson’s voice threatened her.

“No.” She twisted trying to free her wrist from his grasp. The pistol Sean had given her, now a necessity, lay discarded and out of her reach on the far side of the coach floor.

“Seamus!” she called. “Seamus!”

Jameson’s grip tightened further and wrenched her flesh. She gasped at the pain he inflicted. “We have no time for pleasantries, Mrs. Fitzgerald, not even introductions. Your erstwhile guard has met the end of my compatriot’s pistol butt. Open the latch or I will break your lovely wrist and open it myself.”

Was Seamus alive or dead? She hesitated a moment longer and won another wrench of pain for her efforts.

“Now, dear lady. My patience is in an even more limited supply than the time we have.”

She lifted her fingers to the latch and turned it, hoping he would release her wrist to open the door. Instead he transferred his grip from one hand to the other as the door swung outwardly, forcing her to lean forward as though greeting him eagerly.

“Ah, Mrs. Fitzgerald, a vision as usual.” He smiled up at her through the open doorway, then bent to retrieve a lantern at his feet, pulling her even farther forward. “So eager to greet a man no matter where he may find her. It could lead to an interesting discussion about why you are where you are so conveniently, but first we must away.”

She wished she had kept hold of the pistol as Garrett had requested.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Bart, hurry along. The sooner we quit these environs, the better.”

“I’m comin’, sir.” A voice called out of the darkness beyond her vision. “But she’s astrugglin’ somethin’ fierce. She’s a might slippery in this gown.”

“Then cuff her man. Enough to take the struggle out of her for the moment. We don’t have time to waste.”

“Aye, sir.” There followed a quick squeal of protest, the sickening smack of flesh against flesh, and a sudden silence.

“Well done, man.” Jameson beamed his approval. He released Maura’s arm and shoved her into the coach. “Now get her into the coach with this other one I found.”

The shuffle of feet through the grass preceded the arrival of a very large man. He more than filled the coach doorway. Maura sucked in a breath of fear. Over his shoulder, an unconscious young woman draped in sheerest muslin hung limp and defenseless.

“One fer each of us, sir?”

“We will have to see about that later.”

Where was Garrett? And the rest of his men? Fear tightened Maura’s throat and brought tears to her eyes. Jameson’s gaze roamed her features, she could almost taste his enjoyment of her distress against her tongue. She refused to shed the tears hovering on the edge of her eyelashes.

The large man elbowed his way against the coach and unloaded his helpless burden against the bench opposite Maura. Long blond hair and a domino mask obscured her face, although her gown did nothing to hide her nakedness beneath. She was masked, gagged, and limp. Maura was sick over the woman’s obvious maltreatment.

“Now get up into the coachman’s seat, Bart, and take us away from here.”

“What about Enid?” A note of worry had entered the large man’s tone.

“Don’t fret yourself about Enid, she knows how to take care of herself.” Jameson hooked the lantern into a holder and levered himself into the coach. “Get about it, man, no dawdling. We cannot wait here for those rascals that attacked us earlier.”

“Aye, sir.” Bart closed the coach door behind Jameson, smiled blandly at Maura as though nothing untoward had taken place in the last few minutes, and disappeared into the darkness. The coach tilted beneath his weight as he made his way up onto the coachman’s perch and called to the horses.

Jameson sighed and sat back against the cushions. He turned his strangely light and dark gaze toward Maura. Fear moved over her.

Dear God, where was Garrett?

“Am I correct in surmising that you are with those scoundrels who interrupted my . . . party . . . this evening?”

She didn’t answer.

He grabbed her wrist again and twisted it hard. Pain shot up her arm, wrenching a moan from her despite her resolve not to give him the satisfaction.

“My dear, there is no point in saving your tongue. I will find out all I need to know either directly from you of your own free will or through persuasions you have never considered.”

He smiled at her. There was nothing but cold satisfaction and anticipation shimmering in his eyes.

“Witness our winsome companion.” He jerked his head to indicate the prone form of the young woman he had brought with them. “She has not always agreed with me either. It makes little difference, for she has done, all along, exactly as I wanted her to do.”

He leaned toward Maura and jerked her toward him as though he would share some secret with her. “Even tonight’s interrupted entertainments would have seen her a willing participant at the end. They have all been so. Willing or not at the beginning, your gender always learns the error of their ways by the end. You too will be meek and pliant, willing to serve whatever needs I require.”

His breath was hot on her face and stinking of whiskey. With a quick dip of his head he pressed his mouth on hers. She jerked away and scrubbed at her lips.

“Ah, so fiery. I appreciate that in a woman. Up to a point, of course. I am quite certain young Stanhope never fully appreciated you. If he even knew you for the true woman you are. I, on the other hand, shall appreciate ever nuance of pleasure you will give me, every inch of your delights.”

“Never,” she gagged. His conceit was more nauseating than the waves of fear rippling over her. The carriage jolts kept throwing her leg up against his.

“I have no interest in pleasing you,” she told him, grateful her voice did not carry the quaver she felt deep inside her.

He chuckled, undeterred. “You will, my dear. You will. Take off your jacket.”

“No.”

He released her wrist. “Very well. I will amuse myself with our young companion.”

He trapped Maura in her seat by placing his booted foot on her skirt as it spread across the floor. Then leaned over and began to paw the unconscious girl, pushing and kneading her breast through the thin fabric of her gown. A moan escaped her gag as her body flinched instinctively from his assault.

“All right, stop.” Maura’s fingers were already unhooking her jacket.

Jameson sat back with a very pleased grin on his face. “You see how easy it was to persuade you. This night holds more than small promise.”

“Up ahead,” Sean called out as he ditched his makeshift torch. It clattered against the wall, the sound echoing back down the length of the stone shaft.

“Aye.” Garrett dropped his as well.

Stanhope said nothing but followed suit.

In moments they broke into the open air. Mist hovered over the open grass. Dismay tightened Garrett’s gut. They were almost right on top of the area where he left Maura in the coach.

Please God, don’t let them have spotted her.

“This way.” He ran through the high whispering grasses, his heartbeat straining against the certainty riding higher and higher in his throat. They ran and slid down a slight incline that spilled them out of the woods and into the open clearing.

Garrett came to a halt. This was it. He spun in a quick circle, taking in the other carts and gigs they’d assembled. The horses were hitched and tethered nearby.

“Where’s the coach?” Sean’s question echoed Garrett’s. “Where are Seamus and Maura?”

“Exactly.” His heart twisted in fear. Now Jameson had Maura as well to bargain for his escape.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Stanhope padded up to them, out of breath and sweating.

“We left a coach here.” Sean’s reply was terse. “He has taken it.”

“Along with the woman inside.”

“What woman?”

“A friend of yours.” Garrett turned to Stanhope. “Maura Fitzgerald.”

“Maura?” Stanhope’s brows knit with concern. “What was Maura doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“The same could be said of you.” He had no time to pander to the pup. “Let’s get the horses.”

“Aye.” Sean had already turned to the tether line.

They left Stanhope to follow or not, as was his wish. The young baron followed in their wake. The longer he held his peace, the better Garrett would like it.

Fear and anger burned inside Garrett. He’d underestimated Jameson’s planning skills when he’d considered the man for possible threats. He’d taken Jameson for a lecher with a desire to play puppet master with the young men he pulled in with his lures of dangerous hijinks and base behavior.

The escape passage, the array of guards, added to what he knew already about the man, changed the landscape of the enemy they faced. This man was no mere lecher intent on luring innocents into games of debauchery for the pleasure of his untried young friends. This man had a plan. Jane Fuller suddenly seemed less innocent pawn, more political chess piece.

They mounted and circled back to the clearing to see if they could pick up the coach tracks. The possibility that Seamus and Maura had moved the coach ended as they passed a moaning lump on the ground.

Garrett jumped down. “Seamus.”

Sean hesitated then rode ahead to the tall grass. Stanhope lingered.

“Seamus.” Garrett touched his friend on the shoulder. “Wake up.”

Seamus sat up holding his head. “Where’s the horse that kicked me?”

“It was two men with a girl. They took the coach. And Maura. Did you see which way they went?”

Seamus shook his head. “I saw stars and then ye was standing over me. Sorry, boss.”

“Can you stand? Will you be all right?”

“My head aches, but I can ride.”

“Stay here. Wait for the others. They should be here in minutes.” Garrett was already back in the saddle.

Stanhope and he followed after Sean. As they reached the meadow, Sean was climbing back onto his own mount. There was a feral gleam in his friend’s gaze as he pointed to the path he’d found. Now it was a hunt.

So much the better.

They knew who, and where. The coach, although sturdy, was not exactly the speediest conveyance around. If they could just catch up to the coach before Jameson had a chance to change vehicles they would be able to rescue Maura and Jane without further harm.

 

 

“What? Have you no sad tale to tell of the powerful employer who stole your maidenhead?” Jameson’s voice held rich satisfaction. “Or was it some ham-fisted farmboy who first climbed atop you to break through your shield of virginity?”

He’d been baiting Maura almost constantly for the past ten minutes. Threatening, then cajoling. Menacing and then attempting to seduce her.

She’d tired of Jameson’s games long since. Her concern for Garrett grew exponentially with each mile they placed between themselves and the lodge. Her fears remained fixed on the men who’d disappeared into the night and her unspoken prayer that the man who led them would discover her gone and come for her.

In the meantime she had nothing to aid her beyond her bravado and the pistol still lying on the floor of the coach, hidden in the sweeping folds of the muslin nightgown worn by the girl on the opposite bench.

Jameson chuckled again, thoroughly enjoying the power he seemed to possess over her, keeping her so frightened she couldn’t speak.

“Pray say something, my dear. Keep me amused. Keep my attention fixed on you. Surely a woman such as you is quite used to changes in fortune and the need to get along with those in charge, eh?”

She turned her gaze back to him.

“Who is she?” She waived her hand toward the prone young woman.

“Ah, a spark of curiosity returns. That is a good sign. While I like my conquests to be humble, I rather enjoy the process of guiding them to that state.”

He chuckled again and she clenched her teeth together to keep from raging at him. He derived too much pleasure from any of her actions, ineffectual as they proved.

“Wondering who it is that you have been struggling so valiantly to protect? Perhaps she should tell you herself.”

“She doesn’t appear to be conscious at the moment thanks to your coachman.”

“Ah, a coachman. I believe Bart will relish that description. I shall have to remember to tell him. But must I remind you appearances can be deceiving.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our young companion has been awake for the last few minutes. She has been listening and wondering who
you
are in fact. Is that not right, Jane?”

The prone form across from them blew out a deep breath and pushed upright to Maura’s surprise. He noticed everything. Afraid to glance down for fear she would give its presence away, she prayed the pistol remained out of sight as the girl sat and her skirts swished.

With shaking fingers the young woman pushed away the black mask and gag that covered her features. The beginning of a dark bruise covered her cheek just below her left eye. A gift from the coachman. Long blond curls swirled over her shoulders. For all she must have been through, she seemed surprisingly lucid as she fixed an angry blue stare in Harold Jameson’s direction.

“Yes, I am awake.”

The girl’s fingers carefully brushed her cheek before she turned her angry stare toward Maura. “My name is Jane Fuller.”

“Maura Fitzgerald,” Maura offered.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Jameson purred as they jostled along in the coach. “The two of you offering introductions as if meeting over tea. Truly delightful. I do hope we can all be friends.”

Jane lunged for him quite suddenly in a flurry of blond hair and whisper-thin muslin. Maura’s jacket slipped to her lap. Jameson caught her before she could land so much as the first blow.

“Ah, sweet, fiery Jane. I wondered how long it would take.” He dragged her hard against him and then twisted his body, forcing her hands behind her back and managing to pin Maura in place with the pressure of Jane’s back against her.

Jane’s breathing was harsh and frightened as he held her firmly in place. His hot breath fanned over her slender shoulders to blast Maura as well. Maura gagged from the stench, then struggled just for air with both of their weights pressing into her.

“You will not get away with this,” Jane panted.

“So you keep saying. I believe you must be seeking lessons to the contrary.” He leaned closer, his gaze going back and forth between Jane and Maura. “Quite a lovely handful this.”

He dipped his head to plunder Jane’s mouth with his. Maura squirmed but couldn’t get her hands loose as Jane moaned a protest beneath his ravaging assault.

He lifted his head. Desire glazed his eyes bright in the lamplight. The coach lurched, pressing them even tighter together against the padded bench. “And an even more delectable mouthful.”

“No.”

Jane’s and Maura’s protests mingled and made his gaze burn brighter. He lowered his head again, going farther down to nuzzle his nearest prisoner’s breasts through the thin of her gown.

“No!” Jane struggled to escape. “Stop!”

“Let her go!” Maura shouted, too. She and Jane struggled in unison.

With a laugh Jameson released them both so suddenly that Jane fell to the coach floor. Maura nearly lost her seat as well.

“Jane.” Maura reached for the other girl and helped her regain her seat on the opposite bench. High color rode Jane’s cheeks as she thanked Maura with a tight-lipped nod. Angry tears hovered on her eyelashes.

“Touching.” Jameson observed.

“You have no heart.” Maura tossed over her shoulder as she quickly retrieved her jacket. She slid the garment around the other girl’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Maura.” Jane offered her a tentative smile.

“You are more than welcome, Jane.” Their hands linked across the width of the coach.

“Enough.”

Jameson sounded angry. Satisfaction surged for a moment. She made no effort to hide the feeling as she returned the girl’s smile with one of her own. The coach lurched over another deep rut.

Jameson reached forward and yanked the jacket from Jane’s shoulders. Before either of them could react he tossed the garment out the window.

“I have no objection whatsoever to you disrobing, Mrs. Fitzgerald. In fact, I look forward to it. However, I see no reason for you to cover the pleasure of Miss Fuller’s charms as you reveal your own.”

“You are vile.” Jane enunciated each word in tones overflowing with dislike.

“Your opinion matters so little, dear Jane. I am far more experienced in the world than you. What you see as vile, others view as experience and sophistication. What makes your dainty little toes curl with distaste, others view as the fine edge of true gratification. Everything is just a matter of viewpoint I assure you. I look forward to expanding your horizons.”

“I agree with her.” Maura spoke up as his lesson caused the light of fear to kindle anew in Jane’s wide blue eyes. “She is so right. You are vile.”

“While I might have hoped for better from you, Mrs. Fitzgerald, lack of proper training in your art has you espousing such opinions.”

He put his arm around her waist and pulled Maura back on the seat, holding her fast beside him. “Trust me, both of you, when I am done with you, your educations will be complete and you will both thank me for showing you the error of your current opinion.”

He paused, letting his threats sink in. “Thank me in any way I desire from you.”

Silence held for the space of several heartbeats within the coach. Maura edged a glance toward the coach floor where she had left the pistol. In the ensuing struggle the pistol had been kicked out of sight except for the tiniest portion of its dark, smooth barrel. She drew courage from the sight of it. If she could just manage to distract Harold Jameson and get her fingers on the pistol once more she would shoot him without a second thought. Not to kill him certainly, but to put him out of commission long enough so she and Jane could make good their escape.

 

 

It took patience and keen eyes to go over a mist-laden meadow in search of evidence that coach wheels had passed a certain way. Normally that would have been just fine with Garrett, but this had been their third clearing and they could ill-afford to spend even a little bit of extra time to assure himself which direction they needed to go to rescue Maura, and Jane Fuller, from Harold Jameson’s clutches.

In the distance he could hear Stanhope muttering to himself. The young man was out of his depth.

“Wheel tracks in the grass? What on earth was Maura doing out here?”

Poor devil was probably blaming himself. Convenient. But Garrett knew who to blame. He should never have left her with the horses. He should never have let her leave the inn. He should have gone inside the hunting lodge himself this afternoon.

“Here!” Sean’s shout rang over the meadow.

Garrett raced to join him. Stanhope wasn’t far behind.

“Do you see them? Running north?”

“Back to Dublin?”

“Bold as brass,” Sean agreed. “Could he really be taking them back to town as though he’d done nothing?”

“It won’t matter; we’ll catch them before he so much as reaches the outskirts of Bray.”

“Aye.”

He and Sean swung back into the saddle in short order. Stanhope swung up as well.

Garrett took pity on the younger man despite his presence in the evening’s events. “Stanhope, you don’t have to come with us. Go home and rethink your future from there.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’d just as soon come with you. I have a debt to pay to that young woman and if Maura is out there, suffering at the hands of Jameson . . . well, she deserves whatever protection I can offer.”

Jealousy burned quick and hot in Garrett’s stomach. This man still saw himself as Maura’s protector even though he’d ended their relationship. He ought to see the baron’s position in a positive light. He could not, but he also could not allow his personal feelings to interfere with his mission.

“Very well. You may come.”

“But do not dare get in the way,” Sean added.

“I won’t.”

 

 

“What good can we possibly be to you?” Maura asked the only question she could think of to offer this monster the opportunity to pontificate on his maneuverings. She hoped he would be so busy puffing himself up he would not pay any attention her goal of retrieving the pistol.