Surrender Becomes Her (33 page)

“Well, I don’t have no trouble at all putting her glimms out,” snarled the companion.

Isabel sensed a movement behind her the second before something hard connected to the back of her head. Pain ex
ploded through her brain and all went dark as she slumped senseless to the floor.

Cursing under his breath, the stranger leaped across her fallen body to grab both lapels of Collard’s jacket. Shaking him savagely, he said, “By God, if you’ve harmed her…”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Collard taunted. He tried to push the other man away, but was unable to break the iron grip. His face red, Collard demanded, “Who found this place for you? Who told you about Whitley in the first place? If I hadn’t looked you up, you’d have no notion of what was in the wind.”

“You’re wrong,” the stranger snapped. “I already knew about the memorandum, you fool, and the reason you found me in Cherbourg was because it was the logical place for it to surface.”

“But I told you where to find him, didn’t I?” Collard whined. “I’ve been useful to you, you can’t deny that.”

The stranger’s hands fell to his sides and he said grimly, “I would remind you that even the best tool sometimes outlives its usefulness. Disregard my wishes one more time and we’ll have an unpleasant parting of the ways.”

Collard grimaced. “You’re still angry about Whitley, ain’t you?” When the stranger said nothing, just stared at him coldly, Collard muttered, “All right, maybe I made a mistake. But I didn’t think it was smart to leave him around to wag his tongue.”

“He wouldn’t have. Besides, what could he have said that wouldn’t have been self-incriminating? Whitley was a coward, but not a fool, and he’d have put as much distance between us as he could.”

“Maybe that’s so, but I still think…”

Ignoring him, the other man turned away and knelt beside Isabel’s still form. Gently he removed the blanket from around her and carefully explored the back of her head. His mouth thinned when his fingers came away sticky with
blood, but the steady rise and fall of her bosom told him that she was alive.

She was small enough for him to handle easily and he picked her up and set her on the one piece of furniture in the old wooden hut, a rickety chair probably as old as the ramshackle building. He glanced over his shoulder at Collard. “The rope. And the blindfold and gag, if you please.”

Collard quickly retrieved the items, and a few minutes later, Isabel was tied to the chair. A black blindfold had been placed around her eyes and a gag had been put in her mouth. Sitting back on his heels, the stranger surveyed his handiwork.

Rising to his feet, he said, “That should keep her still and quiet long enough for us to accomplish what needs to be done.”

“We’re just going to leave her here?” Collard asked, frowning.

“Yes. As you said when you suggested this place, it’s unlikely anyone would stumble across it, and with her tied, gagged, and blindfolded…”

Collard hesitated and, moving like lightning, the next instant the stranger had him pushed up against the wall of the hut, his hands around his throat. “Touch her,” the stranger threatened softly, “harm her in any way, and it will be the last thing you ever do. I will not have an innocent’s death on my conscience. Understand me?”

Eyes bulging from the pressure of those hands, his fingers clawing at the steel grip around his throat, Collard nodded.

The stranger let him go and said coolly, “Since we now understand each other, let us now conclude our business with Mr. Sherbrook.”

Marcus returned home hours later than he had planned. Even though he had rushed his steward and he was quite certain that several of his tenants thought him somewhat brusque in his manner during his visit to their farms, it had still taken
much longer than he had assumed it would. At every place they stopped, there seemed to be some matter of utmost importance to the farmer that ate away the hours, but finally it was over and he was riding home.

His thoughts were on Isabel and he was smiling as he turned his horse down the long driveway that led to Sherbrook Hall. Approaching the stables, his smile faded as he noted the crowd of servants milling around the small chestnut mare he knew Isabel favored. An ugly knot clamped in his belly and his face was set in hard lines as he approached the group.

At the sound of his horse’s approach, the crowd turned as one and rushed toward him. The knot in his belly clamped even tighter when he saw that Thompson and the housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, were amongst them.

Dismounting, he looked at Thompson and demanded, “What is it?”

Thompson took a deep breath and said, “It is madame, sir. Her horse returned without her a while ago. Immediately, the alarm was raised and searchers were sent out to look for her, but so far no one has found any sign of her anywhere.”

“Do you know where she was going when she left on her ride?” Marcus asked, astonished at how calm his voice sounded when inside he was a gibbering idiot.

Thompson nodded. “Yes, sir. As she left the house this morning she mentioned that she intended to ride over to visit Lord and Lady Manning.” He cleared his throat. “I took the liberty, sir, of sending George to Manning Court with a note to Deering. I know that you would not want to alarm the old lord and his lady, and Deering knows how to keep his mouth shut. George brought back a reply from Deering: Mrs. Sherbrook rode away from Manning Court sometime around two o’clock this afternoon.”

Marcus glanced at his pocket watch. It was coming on six o’clock. “When was her horse discovered?”

“Just a little over an hour ago, sir. Everyone has been search
ing for her since then. Several of the stable boys have combed every trail between here and Manning Court. The lake was even checked, but there is no sign of her. Only her horse.”

Which told him bloody little, Marcus thought savagely. Whatever happened to Isabel could have happened as little as an hour ago or within minutes of her leaving sight of Manning Court this afternoon. Tamping down the sheer terror that raked up through his chest, he said, “Where are they? I wish to speak to them.”

Within minutes Marcus was surrounded by about a dozen men, half of them barely into their teens. Whatever the age, however, every face wore the same anxious look. Keeping his own expression calm wasn’t easy but Marcus managed it. The last thing his people needed was for him to panic.

His questioning of the stable staff gained him little and, hiding his own fears, he eventually sent them on their way. One young man lingered and Marcus glanced at him. “Ellard, isn’t it?” he asked. When the boy nodded shyly, he questioned, “You have something you want to add?”

The boy, for he was little more than that, bobbed his head and mumbled, “Begging your pardon, sir, but there’s a spot on the main trail where it looked to me like the missus was waylaid. The tracks are fresh, not more than a few hours old.”

“Show me.”

A moment later, Marcus and Ellard, the stable boy, were astride their horses and galloping away from the stables. Several minutes later, Ellard pulled his horse to a stop and, motioning for Marcus to follow him, urged his mount off to the side of the trail. They traveled in silence except for the soft thud of their horses’ hooves on the dirt for another few minutes before Ellard said excitedly, “There, sir. See! The one track leads off toward home, which is most likely that of madame’s mare, but the other two cut through the forest.”

Marcus didn’t claim to be a great tracker, but he’d hunted his share of game and it only took him a second to find the
tracks, amongst the others on the trail that Ellard was pointing to. He dismounted and carefully studied the ground. Widening the area, further search revealed signs where two horses had waited, each one hidden on either side of the trail. The tracks weren’t more than a few hours old and it did look as if Ellard was right. A pair of riders had waited for Isabel’s return and had captured her.

That blasted Whitley, Marcus thought as he stared at the hoofprints in front of him. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was convinced that it was somehow connected to Whitley.

His face implacable, wordlessly, Marcus remounted and he and Ellard began to track the path taken by the other two horses. It was agonizingly slow work, the forest floor hiding the passage of the two animals, but here and there, a hoofprint was spied and they traveled deeper into the woods. After the second stream crossing they lost all sign of their quarry. They wasted another hour trying to pick it up again, but they found nothing.

By the time they returned to Sherbrook Hall, dusk was falling and, weary and more frightened than he had ever been in his life, Marcus dismounted and gave the reins of his equally weary horse to his stable master, Worley.

Worry in his eyes, Worley asked, “Anything?”

Marcus shook his head. “Nothing. But young Ellard proved to have a good eye. Reward him.” Marcus hesitated, then added, “Calm your staff as best you can. Keep the speculation down. Tell them that, oh, that Mrs. Sherbrook forgot to tell me that she was visiting friends and that her horse accidentally wandered away.”

Worley looked like he wanted to object, but something in Marcus’s eyes made him shut his mouth with a snap.

The sound of an approaching vehicle jerked Marcus’s head around, but the wild hope that had flared in his chest died when he saw that it was only one of his tenant farmers, Bartlett. The heavy farm wagon creaked and groaned as it
rolled up. Bartlett pulled his horse to a stop and said, “Good evening to you, Master Sherbrook! I have something for you.” He reached into the front of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. Handing it to Marcus, he said, “Fellow gave me a queer start when he stopped me on the road. Gave me a whole guinea, though, to deliver it. Said I was to put it in no one’s hands but yours.”

Hoping no one had seen the way his fingers had shaken when he had taken the envelope from Bartlett’s hand, Marcus nodded and murmured, “Thank you.” He glanced down at the envelope, already having a fair idea what was in it, and asked, “Could you describe the man who gave this to you?”

Puzzled, Bartlett replied, “Fellow acted as if he was a friend of yours. Wasn’t he?”

Marcus shook his head. “No. Not a friend. What can you tell me about him?”

Bartlett pulled on his ear. “I’ll be truthful, sir, I didn’t pay him no mind, but as I recall he had the look of a gentleman, spoke like one, too. He was a well set-up fellow, rode a blood horse, but now that I think of it, he kept his hat pulled down over his face, so I’m not likely to recognize him again.” Worried, Bartlett added, “I didn’t do wrong, did I, sir?”

“No. You didn’t do wrong. Thank you for your troubles,” Marcus said, forcing a smile.

Bartlett grinned at him. “Wasn’t no trouble, sir. Not for a whole guinea!”

Marcus waved him off and headed for the house. Entering the wide foyer, he was greeted by an anxious Thompson. “Any word, sir?”

“I suspect that what is in this envelope will tell me what I want to know,” Marcus answered, waving it in front of Thompson. He sent Thompson an unflinching look and said, “As far as anyone is concerned, my wife neglected to tell me that she decided unexpectedly to visit with friends and will be gone for a few days. See that you inform the staff.”

Thompson swallowed. “And her horse, sir? Is there a reason why it came home without her?”

“Probably because it became untied from the carriage in which she was riding.” Giving Thompson another look, he held the envelope up and said, “It’s all in here. Even her apology for upsetting everyone. Make sure that you spread the word around that it was all a mistake and that everything is fine.” His voice hard, he repeated, “Everything is fine. Just fine.”

Thompson bowed. “Very well, sir. I shall see to it.”

Alone in his office, Marcus shrugged out of his jacket and tore off his cravat, his eyes on the envelope lying in the middle of his big desk. He didn’t have to read the contents to know what was inside. From the moment he’d learned of the return of Isabel’s riderless mare he’d been half braced for some sort of ransom note. Accidents did happen, but his wife was an exemplary rider, the mare not known for being particularly fractious. From the beginning he’d been aware that it was unlikely that Isabel had been thrown from her horse and, when a search turned up no trace of her, he’d fought to contain the panic that threatened to consume him. Finding the tracks with young Ellard had only confirmed his suspicions that there had been
nothing
accidental about Isabel’s disappearance and the arrival of the note.

He splashed some brandy in a snifter and, with the snifter in his hand, sat down behind his desk. He studied the envelope in front of him like it was a deadly viper. All I have to do, he told himself, is open it and have my worst fears confirmed.

For a second longer, he sipped his brandy, staring at the slim envelope on the desk before him, trying to get his thoughts in order, considering all the angles. The temptation, however, to put an end to all his wild speculations was too overpowering, and with a curse he set down his snifter and snatched up the envelope. In one violent motion he tore it open.

There was only one sheet of paper inside and as he read the scant words written there, a chill blew through him. Dear God, no!

His face set and rigid, he crumpled the note in his hand and, starting to his feet, charged from the room. Heedless of anything in his path, he raced to the stables, nearly knocking down Worley as he sped by.

Reaching the door to his office in the stable, he flung open the door and gazed around wildly. There, on a hook against one wall, hanging neatly where one of the stable boys had put it, was the object of his search. In four swift strides, he was across the room and yanked down Whitley’s greatcoat from the hook.

I should have known,
he raged, as he laid the garment on his desk.
We knew the bastard had to have brought the memorandum with him. I
knew
he had to have it nearby but I never gave his bloody greatcoat a second’s thought. I was a fool,
he thought furiously,
not to have paid more attention when I learned of the break-in and the other events.