Patrica Rice (6 page)

Her scathing glance brought a shrug from the thief but he dismissed the footman before she could launch a diatribe.

“Fetch the lady a lemonade, Michael.”

The servant sent Daphne a nervous glance but hurriedly did as instructed. As the door shut quietly, Daphne firmed her lips in a straight line.

“How dare you treat your brother this way?” she demanded. “What can he have done to you to deserve this treatment? Would you have him hanged for your misdeeds?”

That wiped the admiration from the highwayman’s face quickly enough. He straightened his long, lean figure to glare at her. “I thought you called yourself coward, Miss Templeton. How does a coward dare repeat such slanders?” he asked defensively.

“Coward I may be, but stupid I am not. The similarity in the voices is telling enough, but you cannot believe there are two men of the same height and breadth with the same cultured accents in this remote area, can you? Take off your hat and tell me I am wrong. Do you mean to embarrass your brother, sir, or is your scheme more nefarious than that?”

He swept off his hat and made a courtly bow. The resemblance was startling to a high degree. Golden-brown hair fell over a high, intelligent brow, accenting the lively snap of thick-lashed brown eyes and the aristocratic lines of a long nose and angular cheekbones.

When he spoke, his voice was suddenly softer and more refined. “You have caught me out. Miss Templeton. Please do not speak of this to anyone. I am attempting to find my brother Evan’s murderer, and I cannot do it in the role of viscount. No one must know of my charade. You will help me to keep my secret, will you not?”

She faltered uncertainly. She had been so certain that they were two different men. Could Lord Griffin truly be playing the part of coarse ruffian? It seemed highly improbable, yet the accents had changed from military to refined, and she was not yet familiar enough with his features to discern any physical differences. The golden hair glittering in the sun seemed the same as the man’s who had walked her through the garden in moonlight.

A breeze from the open window brought a faint whiff of bay rum, and Daphne’s back straightened angrily. “Do not give me that flummery, Evan Griffin. Perhaps others are fooled by your physical resemblances, but I know how to rely on my other senses, and they tell me you lie. You are a rogue and a thief, and I would have one reason why I should not turn you over to the law.”

“Because it is none of your damned business?’’ He stalked toward her, his expression threatening. “Why don’t you go back to London where you belong, Miss Templeton? This isn’t a game and you can’t play in it.”

She refused to retreat before his fury. “I don’t intend to play, Mr. Griffin. I wish only to see justice done. You may hang for all I care, but consider the effect on your brother, unless you are beyond all conscience.”

Staring into her lovely, outraged face, Evan Griffin growled something irascible and stifled his temper. In that white gown with the frilly parasol, she appeared some avenging angel, and he certainly looked the part of devil. Thoroughly ashamed of his disreputable appearance, he rubbed a hand over his unshaven cheek and glared at her for her interference.

“You are almighty considerate in his defense, Miss Templeton,” he said mockingly. “Have you decided you would make the ideal viscountess for poor, harmless Gordon? Why don’t you go turn your sharp tongue on him?”

Red rage overwhelmed her. She had spent years perfecting an image of grateful courtesy as suited her dependent position, but that shield evaporated under his harsh attack. Never had anyone spoken to her like this. She would not have it.

Without even thinking, Daphne reached for the pewter mug of ale on the table. It only took a little extra effort to reach high enough to dump the contents over his swelled head. She had been expelled from London for just such behavior, but it seemed satisfyingly justified this time.

Evan Griffin spluttered, opened his mouth to bellow with rage, and closed it swiftly with the sound of a light tap and a voice at the door.

“Miss Templeton?” The maid’s voice hid a nervous quaver. “Are you in there? I have your lemonade.”

Streams of strong ale slid from the thief’s golden hair to drip on his shirt sleeves and smudge the dirt on his face. Daphne sent his frozen stance a quick glance and shivered. He was not only furious, but trapped. She sensed the danger as swiftly as he.

Wordlessly, she pointed at an ancient wooden cabinet teetering against the wall. She didn’t care if he had to fold himself like a piece of linen to fit on the shelves. She didn’t intend to be caught in his presence.

As Evan pried open the warped cabinet doors and disappeared from view. Daphne settled onto what appeared to be a comfortable chair and answered vaguely, “Yes, Marie, do come in.”

The door swung open and not only did the maid stand there, but a soldier in a red coat with gold trim about the shoulders and sleeves. Daphne shuddered, then lifted her head and held out her hand to her maid.

“You have found some lemonade? How thoughtful you are.’’ Then frowning as if only just discovering the stranger, she inquired, “What is this? Marie, you cannot keep company—”

Her words were cut off by the soldier’s polite bow. “My apologies, Miss Templeton. Your maid was concerned by your disappearance from the hallway, and when she thought she heard your voice,” he glanced carefully around the room to reassure himself she was alone, “and that of a stranger, she was worried. I was nearby, and knowing me to be an acquaintance of your aunt’s, she naturally summoned my services.”

She had not expected such perspicacity from the silly maid. Daphne smiled in genuine fatigue as she tried to imagine how to rid herself of this very proper servant of His Majesty while concealing a thief in a closet. It was all very distracting, to be sure. She took the lemonade offered and sipped gratefully.

“An acquaintance of my aunt’s? I am sorry we have not been introduced ...” Her voice trailed off. How did one address a soldier? Officer? Sir?

“Captain Rollings, ma’am. Are you quite all right? The countryside has been beset with brigands of late. I would not see you harmed.” His gaze roved to the large cabinet.

Daphne didn’t need to open her eyes to know where his attention had wandered. Smiling cheerfully, she rose, and twitching her short skirt hem to draw his attention back to her, she patted her hat in place and twirled her parasol.

“How very kind of you, Captain. I have foolishly caused myself some fatigue in this heat, but I can assure you that no harm comes from a little overexertion. Do you by any chance know the way to the Dalrymples’? I was on my way to visit Jane, and I would be glad of an escort.”

It would be exceedingly ungentlemanly to shove a lady out of the way to inspect what was in all probability a linen cabinet, and the soldier bowed his acceptance. “I know the house, but I have not had the pleasure of being introduced. I have only been in the area a short time.”

Daphne lay her gloved hand against his sleeve and determinedly started for me door. “I am certain Jane would be delighted with the introduction. I shall presume on your acquaintance with my aunt, if I might, and insist that you accompany me.”

She thought she heard a muffled noise from the cabinet, but ignoring the dratted thief’s discomfort, Daphne proceeded out. Let Evan Griffin stew in his own ale for a while. With any luck at all, the cabinet did not open from the inside. See if he could find his way out of that one.

After the soldier was well out of sight, the viscount’s terrified footman crept back into the parlor and darted a nervous glance all about. A muffled curse drew his attention to the cupboard, and he jumped back, startled, as a knife protruded through the crack between the doors and began to saw at the latch. Hastily, he closed the parlor door and twisted the latch to open the cabinet.

Evan tumbled unceremoniously to the floor. He reeked of ale, and the disgruntled expression on his handsome features clearly revealed his state of mind. The footman hurriedly reached to assist him to his feet. Being new to his exalted position and uniform, the servant did not dare crack a smile as the gentleman began a series of curses on the perversity of the female sex as he straightened his decidedly rumpled and odoriferous clothing.

Finally recovering some of his self-possession, Evan cast a glance to the closed door and then back to the nervous footman. He muttered a pithy curse and ran strong brown hands through already rumpled locks. “Deuce take it, Michael, have the ladies changed so much while I was away? They never used to be so damned clever.”

“No, sir.” Michael shifted from foot to foot, uncertain of the proper reply.

“Well, you’d better inform his lordship that we have been caught out. He’ll not be happy. Mayhap if he wore cologne like any civilized man, we’d not be in this now. Persuade his valet to douse him in bay rum the next time Miss Templeton calls. That ought to muddy the waters a while longer.”

Not having the least idea of what the gentleman was talking about, Michael merely nodded and tried desperately to memorize the message.

Evan wrung out his hat, sniffed it disagreeably, then shoved it back on his bead. Producing a large coin, he handed it to the servant. “Give this to Beckworth for the use of his room. I’d best slip out the side way. Give me a warning if there are any strangers about.”

Evan grimaced wearily as the footman left. Subterfuge wasn’t his strong point. Miss Templeton had made that savagely clear. Remembering furious green eyes in a delicate face, he stalked for the exit and the safety of the woods. Lud, but Gordon had all the luck. It didn’t seem quite fair that his brother got to sleep between clean sheets and enjoy the company of lovely damsels while he had only the hard forest floor to comfort him.

But it had been his own suggestion that had put him there. He had no one to blame but himself. At the time, it had seemed the smartest thing to do. His brother had no knowledge of how to survive in the wild. But he certainly did have an ability to tame the ladies. Cursing, Evan searched the inn yard and slipped out the back door to the riverbank beyond.

He would like the pleasure of spending an evening or two in the company of one Miss Daphne Templeton. He owed the lady either a sharp setdown or a thank you, and he wasn’t at all certain which he would administer.

Why had she hidden him from the soldier?

Chapter Five

Evan Griffin spread his legs across the entrance to the cave overlooking the riverbank and watched as the man outside whittled away at a thick branch of pine.

The whittler sat sprawled against a slender sapling, his good leg tucked under the bad one, whistling a tuneless song, and tapping the wooden stump where his foot should be in time to his own music. His thick dark locks fell across a craggy face dark with exposure and the heritage of his Welsh parents.

Evan grimaced as he noted his comrade’s disreputable rags of clothing and glanced down to his own. He had tried to rinse the stench of ale from hat and shirt, but he greatly suspected the lady would be able to identify him henceforth from that odor instead of bay rum. He grimaced at the mass of wrinkles his shirt had become. It was no worse than the grass- and mud-stained wreck of his trousers.

It was time he sent for a change of clothing, but Rhys down there had no such source to call upon, nor did the others. They all knew bits and pieces of Evan’s story, knew he was a pretender, but he had difficulty accepting the fact as easily as they did. To offer to send for new clothes for all of them when the servants brought his would humiliate them, but donning a new wardrobe when they wore rags was worse. He should have considered a few more of these prosaic factors when he made this choice.

Chewing a piece of the unpalatable leather that passed for their evening meal, Evan stared up at the darkening sky. He had lived like this in Spain for years. It wasn’t anything new. Odd, though, he had thought when he came home it would be to the life of luxury in which he had grown up. He had envisioned crowded ballrooms filled with lovely dancing beauties, their diaphanous gowns tempting him, their soft perfumes and moist lips and laughing eyes giving him a choice of ecstasies. He had dreamed of soft beds, soft bodies, weeks of sleep, and hours of wine and food, not necessarily in that order.

But first there had been the army of occupation, and at the request of his superiors, he had agreed to stay a while longer. That life hadn’t been unpleasant, but it hadn’t been home. He had begun dreaming of green trees and fog and rocky shores.

Then Napoleon had escaped and it had been back to the camps again, training new recruits who would undoubtedly be mown down the first day of battle. By the time Waterloo had ended, he was heartily sick of the glorious career he had envisioned. Still, it had only been word of his father’s death that had brought him home, and that, months after the fact.

Evan swallowed the unpleasant bite of meat and grimaced. There really had been no excuse for the message to be delayed that long, just a string of bad luck as it kept arriving at places he had just left. By the time it reached him, he had recovered from his injuries but there were dozens of his men who had not. He’d managed to get as many as possible onto the hospital boat, but there were some who were well enough to travel with nowhere to go. He had left them his direction and fled in response to the message, never dreaming what he would be leading them into.

As he threw away the bone he had been gnawing on, Rhys looked up and gave him a grin. “Did the pheasant not please you, milord?”

“Oh, shut up.” Growling, Evan didn’t disdain to give his loyal friend a glare. Rhys had been with him long enough to be called brother. There were no secrets between them.

“You don’t stop thinking about that woman, you won’t be worth a ha’penny tonight. What’s she got that the others ain’t, I ask you?”

Before Rhys could begin a graphic catalog of womanly assets, Evan halted him. “The damned female has nothing to do with it. We’ve run out of time, and you know it. I’d have thought he would have acted by now.”