Love and Larceny (15 page)

“Only one way to know for sure,” Daphne told
him. “Go and ask her.”

He touched two fingers to his forehead under
his thatch of russet hair. “At your command, Miss Courdebas.” He
glanced around again. “And thank you all. You’ve given me reason to
hope.”

Daphne gathered up the reins as he strode for
the house, Lady Minerva at his heels. “Well done, ladies. Crisis
averted.”

“Barely,” Priscilla said, drawing in a
breath. “I hope Emily knows what she’s doing. He’s rather
stubborn.”

“And loyal and willing to give all to see her
happy,” Ariadne said dreamily. “My sort of hero.”

Priscilla sighed. “Mine too.”

They both looked pointedly at Daphne.

“Don’t ask me to agree,” Daphne said, turning
to lead the horse back toward the stable. “I just hope when I
confess my love to Wynn, he’ll have the good sense to ask me to
marry him straight away.”

When the ladies stormed off the battlefield
to follow Sir James, Lord Brentfield motioned to Wynn to join him.
Sheridan, Sinclair, and Kent were already at their host’s side.

“Quickly,” his lordship said. “Follow me.
I’ve a task for you, and I don’t want to concern the ladies.”

By the looks on their faces, Wynn thought he
wasn’t the only one intrigued, or at least a little relieved not to
have to deal with the trouble in the garden. They followed his
lordship into the house and around toward the kitchen.

“There’s one other passage in the manor,” he
explained. “It goes underground. When I originally followed it, I
thought it led to a single room. Since then, I’ve learned it
underpins both wings. I haven’t been along it in months, but Lady
Emily’s investigation has made me wonder. We found nothing in the
passages above us. Could someone be coming in from beneath the
place?”

He nodded to the footman who was standing
along a section of wall near the servant’s stair. The fellow turned
and pushed open a panel, then set about lighting the lanterns that
had been stored inside. A moment later, Wynn and the others were
all filing into the space.

Unlike the passages above the house, this one
was made for easy travel. For one thing, it was wide enough to walk
two abreast. It was also well braced and supported. The lantern
light glinted off sturdy stone. Wynn ran a hand along one wall,
peering closer. Was that limestone? Could the rock he’d found have
come from this very tunnel?

“Keep a sharp look out,” Lord Brentfield
warned. “Search for tracks, gaps in the stone that might signify an
opening, a bend in the floor that might indicate a hidden tunnel
below.”

They spread out, examining the walls, the
floor, even the ceiling. Wynn found Sheridan beside him.

“I wanted to apologize if anything I’ve done
or said has offended you,” he murmured, running a gloved hand over
the silvery rocks. “You are one of Daphne’s closest friends, and I
would not have us enemies.”

Wynn tried not to bristle at the use of the
familiar first name. For all he knew, Daphne had given Sheridan
permission to use it. If only she had been able to tell Wynn the
truth before she’d had to help her friend.

“No offense taken,” he said, raising his
brass lantern higher to scan the ceiling. Dark streaks told of
smoke that had once brushed the stone, perhaps from a torch.

“Good,” Sheridan said, glancing his way with
a smile. “I want nothing to mar our marriage.”

Wynn felt as if his leg had given. He must
have listed to one side, for Sheridan reached out as if to steady
him.

Wynn could only stare at him. “Daphne has
agreed to marry you?”

Sheridan released him, and Wynn found his
balance with difficulty.

“I am the most fortunate of mortals,” the
Corinthian said with a smile. “There are plans in motion, mind you,
and I may have to leave soon to see them accomplished. I just need
to beg pardon from our host.”

Wynn’s hand cramped on the lantern. This must
be what Daphne had been trying to tell him. His hesitation truly
had cost him his chance to wed the best, the finest girl in
England.

“I wish you every happiness,” he managed,
though he felt as if the dust of the tunnel had risen to clog his
mouth.

Sheridan clapped him on the shoulder, nearly
oversetting him again. “Thank you. But don’t tell Daphne I
confessed. It was to be our secret until a formal announcement can
be made.”

Wynn nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” He glanced around. “Well, nothing in
this section. Think I’ll try a little farther along. Best of luck
to you.”

Wynn nodded again, misery wrapping around him
like the darkness. Why stay another moment? There was nothing for
him here. He could return to London, take up his old life.

Which had never looked more bleak.

For the last six weeks, he’d done nothing but
strive to be a man Daphne Courdebas could admire. Lacking that
goal, he was no longer sure who he was. Perhaps it was time to find
out.

A shout up ahead woke him from his revelry,
and he hobbled forward to find Lord Brentfield, Sinclair, Sheridan,
and Kent gathered at what appeared to be the end of the passage.
All four lanterns flickered in the darkness, and Wynn could feel
the air rushing past his face.

Sinclair ran his fingers up and down the
rock. “There’s a crack all along here. It’s an opening—I’m certain
of it.”

“Lend a hand,” Lord Brentfield ordered, and
they all pulled at the rock.

Nothing moved.

“Perhaps there’s a lever or spring of some
kind,” Sinclair suggested, stepping back.

Wynn helped them in further examining the
area. But even with all the lantern light and the exploration of
many hands, they could find no evidence of a mechanism.

“Could it open only from the other side?”
Kent mused, eying the panel.

“That could leave the person inside trapped,”
Sinclair argued. “No, it must be stuck. Come on, Sheridan. Let’s
put our backs into it.”

Wynn stepped aside, but Sheridan did not come
forward. Turning, he saw no one in the passageway leading back.

Kent must have looked as well, for he
frowned. “He’s gone.”

“He mentioned something about leaving
shortly,” Wynn offered. “I believe he was going to inform you, Lord
Brentfield.”

His lordship shook his head. “He never spoke
to me. Perhaps he told Hannah. In any event, we’re at an impasse at
the moment. The ladies will surely be looking for us. I’ll have the
staff locate pry bars, and we can try again later. In the meantime,
I’ll have someone keep watch on the passage. Now, let’s return to
our ladies. With any luck, they’ll have settled this business with
Sir James, and we can enjoy a good supper.”

He started forward, and the others fell into
step. Wynn moved more slowly. At the moment, neither Lord
Brentfield’s charming picnic nor the house party held any interest,
not when he had lost Daphne. She had admitted to him she’d invited
him for all the wrong reasons. Time to be the bigger man and step
aside.

He hurried to catch up with his host.
Sheridan wasn’t the only one who needed to beg leave, it
seemed.

*

Once again, Daphne returned to the lawn,
wanting only to locate Wynn. If Emily could find the courage to
face her love, surely Daphne could do the same. She was the
adventurer, the Amazon. All her life she’d struggled to find the
balance between acting on her impulses and living up to Society’s
expectations. At times she’d felt she’d compromised her nature to
fit in. Seeing her friends move forward with their lives had
rattled her enough to make her try once again to be something she
wasn’t.

But she could not regret asking Wynn to join
her at the house party, for it was here that she’d realized where
she truly longed to be.

With him.

Unfortunately, she’d promised Brooks she’d
meet him at the hermit’s hut, which she could see peeking out of
the trees at the bottom of the garden. She didn’t like breaking a
promise, even to a gentleman for whom she now had little liking.
She wasn’t keen on taking her mother along, either. Her mother
liked Brooks, probably hoped for a match between him and Daphne.
Daphne wasn’t about to confess what had happened behind the house
that afternoon. For all she knew, her mother would insist on a
marriage to save Daphne’s reputation.

She shuddered just thinking about it.

But she was very glad to see Sir James taking
Emily aside, leading her down the garden until they were not far
from the thatched hut. Even Mr. Harrop was sulking about the area
as if determined the gardens should bow to his command like
everything else. Perfect! If Daphne needed help, all she had to do
was call.

She glanced back at the manor in time to see
the gentlemen begin spilling out of the house, and each lady moved
to claim her partner. Priscilla smiled so sweetly at Mr. Kent that
he nearly missed his step gazing into her eyes. Sinclair brought
Ariadne’s hand to his lips for a kiss that set her to blushing.
Lord Brentfield met Hannah halfway and lifted her up to spin her
around, making her laugh.

Oh, but she needed to talk to Wynn!

Setting her face resolutely for the hermit’s
hut, she determined to finish this conversation with Brooks as
quickly as possible, so she too could join her love.

Her love. She could imagine Wynn taking her
in his arms, smiling at her, touching his lips to hers, and setting
off the fireworks. She could only hope to set off a few in him.
Eagerness fueling each step, she positively pelted down the grass
and up to the open doorway of the hut, barely taking note of the
ivy crawling up the sides, the well-worn path to the door.

She stepped over the threshold, eyes
adjusting to the shadows inside. Apparently Lord Brentfield did not
have a hermit at present, for the rope bed against one wall lacked
a pallet, and the hutch on the opposite side was empty.

So was the room.

Daphne frowned. Well, this was silly. What
was Brooks about, begging her to come down here when he had no
intention of meeting her? She spun on her heel, ready to stride
back up the lawn. Oh, but she’d give the fellow a piece of her mind
when she next saw him. She took one step and heard something creak
behind her. Before she could wonder at the noise, someone seized
her from behind.

“Silence now, missy,” said a voice as rough
as the hand pressed against her lips. “I understand you’re a bit of
a fighter, but a bullet will stop you as quickly as another. Now,
just do as you’re told, and you may live to tell the tale.”

A few miles from Brentfield, Wynn called to
his horses to pick up their paces. He knew he was taking the
country lane too fast. His mother and sisters would have exclaimed
in dismay, covered their eyes with their hands, and begged him to
slow. Daphne would have gloried in the rushing wind, the pounding
hooves, the sway of the conveyance.

He slowed the horses. There would be no more
rides with Daphne, no more races on Rotten Row, no more secret
fencing matches behind the coaching house. A gentleman did not do
such things with another man’s wife.

Wynn frowned into the twilight, the trees
closing in around him. Now that he considered the matter, he
couldn’t think of a married woman who drove her carriage faster
than advisable or raced her horses. Oh, there might be a willful
widow or two, but by and large the wives of the
ton
helped
the poor and unfortunate, kept their households, raised their
children, and organized gatherings like balls and routs. Certainly
that was what his mother, Lady Rollings, and Mrs. Tate did. While
he thought Daphne would make a marvelous mother, he could not see
her happy being confined to traditional roles alone.

And he could not see Sheridan allowing his
wife any other roles.

The road widened ahead, the hedgerow falling
back on either side to offer a vista of rolling green hills. He
drew the horses to a stop. So long as Daphne was happy, he might
have been willing to step aside, return to London, lick his wounds,
and regret what he had lost. But could Sheridan truly make her
happy?

Anyone comparing Wynn and the Corinthian
would likely have named Sheridan the superior catch. In the eyes of
the
ton
, he was better looking, more powerfully built. He
was also more charming with less effort. And he had no physical
impairment. His family was not as well situated or well connected
as Wynn’s, but, if Sheridan came into some property as he had said,
that should remove any concerns about his ability to provide for
Daphne. And Daphne’s family was certainly well connected on its
own.

He knew what Daphne’s parents must expect in
a husband. He’d heard his mother expound on the topic often enough
with his sisters.

“Good breeding will tell, my dears. A
gentleman is known by his deeds.”

What were Sheridan’s deeds? He might have
been polite to a fault, but he had done nothing to encourage
Daphne. Indeed, at times he had gone out of his way to discourage
her. That wasn’t the sort of husband who could make her happy.

Perhaps Wynn had something more to offer
after all.

All his life, he’d kept quiet, stepping aside
so as not to raise a fuss. He’d believe those the deeds of a
gentleman. Daphne deserved more. She deserved a man who would
encourage her, support her, stand beside her come what may.

He could be that man.

Determination burning inside, he turned the
horses and headed back toward Brentfield Manor. Daphne may not
realize it, but she needed to be rescued, and he was just the man
to do it.

*

He urged all speed from his team going back,
but night had fallen by the time he reached the gate house. Odd
that the wrought iron gates were wide open this late. Had someone
left for the village?