Tempting a Proper Lady (27 page)

Black Bill never so much as glanced behind him. “Fiancée, is it? And here I thought she was another one of your victims.”

“I am not betrothed to him,” Annabelle called.

“Annabelle, do not lie simply because you are put out with me,” Richard said, his voice taking on a persuasive tone. “Do you not realize this brigand is going to kill me with the slightest provocation?”

“Annabelle, is it?” Black Bill said. Again, he never looked away from Raventhorpe. “Annabelle Bailey? I had heard you were engaged to this poor excuse for a human being.”

Annabelle lifted her chin and glared at Raventhorpe. “I broke the engagement only today, and that is when he kidnapped me.”

Black Bill laughed. “Ah, now that sounds like the Raventhorpe I know. Jilted you, did she? A smart woman.”

“What now?” Raventhorpe demanded. “Will you kill us both here in the middle of the road?”

“My dear Raventhorpe,” Black Bill said with humor heavy in his voice. “With all the times I have intercepted your victims, have I ever killed anyone?”

“Actually no.” A sly expression crossed Raventhorpe's face. His hands lowered an inch or so.

Black Bill tensed. “Do not try it. Just because I have not killed you yet does not mean I do not dream of doing so every day of my existence.”

Raventhorpe froze. “What have I done to you that you would hate me so?”

“Someday I will tell you the tale. But not today. Miss Bailey?”

“Yes?”

“There should be some rope under the coachman's seat. Do you think you can fetch it and bring it here?”

Richard jerked his gaze to Annabelle, and she smiled. “Yes.”

Raventhorpe's mouth fell open. Black Bill laughed as Annabelle hurried to do as he requested. “Do you think this girl is a fool, Raventhorpe? If so, then you are even more so.”

“You speak like a gentleman,” Raventhorpe said, his eyes narrowing.

“So do you, but we all know what you are, don't we?” Annabelle arrived with the rope. “Do you feel comfortable tying up His Lordship, Miss Bailey?”

“Absolutely.” Annabelle marched forward. “Put your hands behind you, Richard.”

Raventhorpe glared at her, and ice splintered through her as she caught a true glimpse of the evil that lurked behind his lordly demeanor.

“Do as she says,” Black Bill said. He aimed at Raventhorpe's leg. “I am told a shattered kneecap is most painful.”

Raventhorpe stiffened, then slowly complied.

“Have a care, Miss Bailey,” Black Bill said. “He
would not be above trying to grab you and use you as a hostage.”

“Thank you for the warning, sir,” Annabelle said. She quickly wrapped the rope around the earl's wrists, then tied a knot and pulled the ends hard. The earl flinched. “Oh, did I hurt you, Richard? Good.”

Black Bill chuckled as Annabelle moved away from the earl. “She's a feisty one, Raventhorpe. Too bad you did not realize the treasure you had in her while you had it. Now turn around.”

Raventhorpe shuffled around so he faced away from the highwayman. “Will you shoot me in the back, coward that you are?”

“Only if you do something foolish.” Black Bill examined Annabelle's handiwork, then cast her a smile. “An excellent knot, Miss Bailey. Where did you learn to tie so well?”

“I lived on a farm my whole life, and I was engaged to a sea captain.”

“Excellent. Raventhorpe, down on your knees.”

The earl obeyed with some awkwardness. “I will have the magistrate on you, you bastard. You have made a grave mistake treating me like this. Or perhaps you do not realize this is my land?”

“Of course I realize it is your land, my lord fool. I only work on your properties. That is the purpose of a vendetta.”

“Vendetta? Damn you, what have I ever done to you? I do not even know who you are!”

“As I said, someday I will tell you the tale. Perhaps at your hanging.” The highwayman approached Raventhorpe and put the barrel of his weapon against
the earl's temple with one hand while he searched Raventhorpe's pockets with the other. “Let me see, where is it? Oh, I see. You're still wearing it.” He slipped a ring from the earl's finger.

“Bloody thief!”

Black Bill laughed. “I
am
a highwayman, you know.” Without turning away from his captive, he held up a ring. “Do you see this, Miss Bailey?”

“Yes.”

“Taking a page from the Borgias, are you, Raventhorpe?” Black Bill pressed the ring against Raventhorpe's neck. A moment later the earl fell forward, unconscious.

“What have you done to him?” Annabelle cried.

Black Bill walked over to her and handed her the ring. “Have you seen this before?”

“Yes, it is Richard's family insignia. A dragon.”

“He coats the claws of the dragon with a drug that induces sleep. It is how he takes his victims.”

Annabelle jerked with shock and dropped the ring. “He did that to me. Something pricked my arm and then I awoke in the coach.”

“The effects do not last long, apparently. Just long enough for him to transfer his captives.” Mouth pressed in a grim line, Black Bill picked up the ring and wrapped it in his handkerchief. Tying it safely with a knot, he slipped the bundle into his pocket.

Annabelle folded her arms around herself, realizing suddenly that she stood in the middle of the road with a thief who a few moments ago had seemed a better alternative than Richard, but now…well, he
was
a highwayman. “What do you intend for me?”

Black Bill grinned. “I mean you no harm, Miss Bailey. Truth be told, I knew who you were when I came after you. Your father sent a note around to Captain Breedlove's inn to summon him, and word got back to me.”

Relief shuddered through her. “Samuel is coming?”

“He was delayed, which is why I decided to intervene. Plus, I try never to miss an opportunity to serve a blow to Raventhorpe.”

“You pretended not to know who I was. All that talk about slavery—”

“Is the truth.” His jaw clenched. “My actions were intended to protect you and keep Raventhorpe guessing.”

“But you shot our coachman.”

The highwayman shook his head. “The fool fought me when I tried to shove him out of the driver's seat. He took a bullet in the arm. No doubt the captain will find him on his way here.”

As if his words had summoned reality, the rumble of horses' hooves and coach wheels reached their ears.

“That is probably him now. Wait here. I will watch from nearby to assure you are safe in their care.”

“You are a very strange highwayman.”

“And you are a very brave woman. I will be watching, so have no fear.”

Even though he dressed like a highwayman and had admitted to committing such crimes—if only for his own reasons—there was something in his eyes that reassured her. Something resembling honesty,
strangely enough, that comforted her despite the circumstances. “Thank you.”

He grinned and gave her a quick bow, then disappeared into the trees, leaving her standing at the side of the road beside Raventhorpe's unconscious body.

“A
re you certain you are going to be all right?” Cilla asked, casting a glance at the wounded man sitting on the seat next to Samuel.

“It's just a scratch, though you're a kind soul for asking,” Tom Nethry said.

“So you're not the earl's normal driver?” Samuel said.

“No. He hires me once in a while when his other fellow is sick. Usually to take him down to Cornwall. This is the first time we went north.”

“Didn't you realize that there might be something afoot when the earl carried Miss Bailey into the coach?” Samuel asked. “I would think you would be suspicious.”

Nethry shrugged. “He said the lady fainted when he told her they were eloping, she was so excited. It's not my place to ask questions.”

Cilla met Samuel's eyes, and he shrugged. Clearly the driver was a bit of a simpleton, hired by Raventhorpe only on occasion, and there was not much they could learn from him except their destination had indeed been Gretna Green.

The coach suddenly slowed. “Samuel!” John called.

Samuel glanced out the window, then shoved the door open and leaped out as the vehicle rocked to a halt. “Annabelle! Are you all right?”

Cilla scrambled to get out on the other side. She stumbled a bit as her feet hit the ground, and she looked up just in time to see Annabelle fling herself into Samuel's arms. Her chest tightened.

Mr. Nethry appeared in the doorway of the carriage. “That highwayman killed Lord Raventhorpe!”

“I do not believe so,” Cilla said. “He is moving.”
Raventhorpe was moving.
She took a step forward, then another. Raventhorpe's shoulders were definitely flexing, as if he fought against his bonds. Yet his eyes remained closed.

John took a moment to tie the reins, then jumped down from the coachman's box.

“Guess the lady tied up the earl real tight,” Tom Nethry said. “He's squirming like a worm on a hook.”

The earl gave a final jerk. His arms were free. His eyes opened, and he leaped to his feet. The light of the setting sun glinted off something in his hand. He braced his legs, drew back his arm, and fixed his gaze on Samuel's back.

“Samuel!” Cilla cried. She rushed forward.

The blade slammed into her shoulder. She staggered and fell to her knees.

“Cilla!” Samuel sprinted toward her.

In one smooth motion, John grabbed his rifle from the coachman's box and fired at the fleeing
Raventhorpe. The earl flinched and stumbled. Blood bloomed on the seat of his trousers. He took two more steps, then fell, gripping the wound.

Samuel reached Cilla's side, landing on his knees in the road. “Let me see. Damned clothes!” He cradled her in a sitting position with one arm and grabbed the hilt of the dagger with the other. He locked eyes with her, willing himself to be calm, willing his hands not to shake. “I have to take it out.”

“All right.” She bit her lip, her face pale with pain. “I am ready.”

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “I'm sorry.”

“Do it.”

He tugged the knife out of the wound. She screamed and lolled in his arms.

“Is she all right?” Annabelle sank to her knees on Cilla's other side. “Oh, God, so much blood. What do you need?”

“Something to use as a bandage.”

“Give me the knife. Might as well use all these petticoats for some good.” She took the blade from his hand, then pulled up the edge of her dress and began to trim long strips from the edges of her underskirts.

Samuel cupped Cilla's face. “Stay with me, sweetheart.” He realized what he'd said and glanced at Annabelle.

“Here.” Solemn-faced, Annabelle handed over two long strips of snowy white cotton. “Fold these up and make a pad. I'll cut some more.”

Samuel nodded and gently laid Cilla flat, then
ripped the edges of her dress around the tear left by the knife, exposing the injury. The wound oozed blood, a nasty insult to the creamy flesh. Annabelle handed him a folded strip of cloth, and he pressed it hard to try and stop the bleeding.

Cilla cried out, her eyes opening. She laid her hand over Samuel's.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured. “We have to do it.”

She nodded, then glanced at Annabelle.

“You're going to be fine,” Annabelle said. She handed several more strips to Samuel, who began fashioning a bandage.

Each hiss of pain that escaped Cilla's lips made him wish the dagger had hit him instead. “Who tied up Raventhorpe?” he asked, trying to stay focused.

“I did,” Annabelle said. “With the knot you showed me. I didn't figure he had a knife.”

“You didn't search him first?”

“No, he didn't tell me to.”

“Why would Raventhorpe tell you to search him?”

“Not him. Black Bill. He stopped the coach and saved me.”

Samuel paused. “Black Bill?”

“He had me tie up Richard, then we heard you coming and he left.”

“Samuel.” Cilla's whisper grabbed their attention.

“What is it?” He leaned in as she gripped his hand.

“Raventhorpe?”

“We've got him,” Samuel said.

“Yeah, don't worry about him,” Annabelle said. “Samuel's coachman shot him in the backside.”

Cilla smiled, then slipped back into oblivion.

 

The next hours passed in a blur. John summoned the magistrate and had that gentleman escort Raventhorpe to his private physician, while Samuel brought Cilla and Annabelle home to the Bailey house. A surgeon was summoned to see to Cilla's shoulder.

Samuel went outside to the garden, hoping the open space and foliage would soothe him. Unfortunately nothing was soothing him right now. Raventhorpe had tried to kill him—again. And Cilla had stepped in the way of the blade.

If he had not already realized how he felt about her, today would have brought it home like a cannon blast. He had been lying to himself for years, convincing himself and everyone else that he wasn't capable of love. Really, he was capable of too much, had been hurt too much in his early years, to chance it again. Saying it wasn't in him had kept him safe.

But had it? He'd fallen in love with Cilla. He'd gone along with her plan to learn about men knowing full well she was the romantic type who would naturally fall in love with her lover. But he had done it anyway; he wanted her any way he could get her. He had resigned himself to losing her, regretted the pain that would come for both of them.

But when he'd seen her step in the path of Raventhorpe's knife…when he'd held her in his arms while she bled…he knew he was fooling himself. He loved her, God help him.

“Samuel?” Annabelle came into the garden.

He turned to face her. “Did the surgeon leave?”

“Not yet.” She walked over to him and laid a hand on his arm. “What are you doing out here?”

“I hate waiting, and I want to make sure Ci—Mrs. Burke is doing well before I return to the inn.”

“That's kind of you. Would you sit with me?” She pointed to a nearby bench.

He nodded and accompanied her to the stone bench.

“Pa said that he told you what I decided.”

“That you want to start courting again? Yes, he told me when we brought you home.”

Annabelle twisted her fingers in her lap. “I had just told Richard the engagement was off, which was why he acted the way he did.”

“Took it badly, did he?”

“Sure did.” She grinned, then grew sober again. “Thank you for coming after me.”

“Of course I came after you.”

“I know Pa asked you to, and that's why you did it. That was really kind of you.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“And you always do the right thing, don't you, Samuel?”

He almost looked away from the candor in those blue eyes. “I couldn't call myself a man if I didn't.”

She nodded, then asked, “Do you love me?”

He hesitated. The moment of silence stretched into a whole minute while he sought the words.

“It's all right to tell me the truth.”

He let out a breath. “All right then. I'll always look
after you, but no, I'm not in love with you, Annabelle. I don't want to start courting again. You and I can only ever be friends.”

“That's what I thought. It's Mrs. Burke, isn't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm not blind, Samuel.” She laughed. “All right, maybe I was a little too preoccupied with my own concerns to see what was right under my nose. But when she stepped in front of that knife for you, I saw everything much more clearly. Especially when you were more concerned with her welfare than the fact that Richard was getting away.”

“John had it under control.”

“Oh, come on now. You've told me some of what Richard did to you, and I've heard rumors about other evil deeds to be laid at his door. The fact that you were more concerned with Mrs. Burke than catching the man who ruined your life speaks volumes to me. She was more important to you than your enemy.”

“She'd just risked her life for me. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Yes, she had, and I find that very interesting. Clearly she returns your feelings.”

He winced. “Neither one of us wanted to hurt you.”

“Oh, I'm not hurt. I'm fond of you both. And goodness, you couldn't make it more clear to me that you were trying to protect me. And Mrs. Burke? She always told me that I should follow my heart. So that's what I'm going to do.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Which means…?”

“It means I don't want you to court me, Samuel.
I'd rather wait and marry a man for the right reasons than marry a fellow just to be married.” She gave him a little shove. “Now go on upstairs and see how she's doing. I'll be all right.”

Samuel jumped to his feet and nearly took off at a run, but he paused to take Annabelle's hand and press a hearty kiss to it. “You are wise beyond your years. Thank you.”

“Go on. I just hope she'll let me be in the wedding.”

“I'll make sure of it.” He squeezed her hand, then hurried toward the house.

Left alone in the garden, Annabelle sighed. “I wonder how many girls have ever lost two suitors in one day?”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?”

She jumped, clapping a hand over her racing heart as Samuel's coachman appeared from around the hedges. “Heavens, what are you doing lurking around the shrubbery? John, isn't it?”

“They call me John Ready.” He gave her a graceful bow that struck her as more courtier than coachman.

“Ready? Ready for what?”

He grinned, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Anything.”

She resisted the urge to flirt back. She was done with men, at least for the moment. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for Samuel to tell him the surgeon had left.”

“And you decided to eavesdrop?”

“I decided not to interrupt. That was a nice thing you did just now.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“It was a selfless thing, and you made two people very happy.”

She shrugged, a bit embarrassed by his praise. “I'm sure anyone else would do the same thing.”

“No,” he said, turning away. “They would not.”

 

Cilla's shoulder ached as if it were on fire, but the surgeon had bandaged the wound and proclaimed that she would be about her duties in a week or so.

Although now that there was no wedding, she didn't know what those duties would be.

Her future hung in uncertainty. Now that Annabelle had truly and permanently jilted Raventhorpe, what would happen with Annabelle and Samuel? Would he revisit an old love in hopes of recapturing what he had lost? Would they go back to America together?

Tears stung her eyes, and she turned her head away so the maid who was collecting her damaged clothing would not see. She had survived social ruin and near starvation; she would survive this.

A knock came at the door. Annabelle, no doubt. The girl had been haunting the hallway since the surgeon arrived. She heard the maid open the door and then the whisper of conversation. One of the voices was much lower than Annabelle's—a male rumble. She turned her head just as the maid darted out the door with her arms full of the torn dress, and Samuel entered, leaving the door ajar. Her stomach
did that little flip of excitement that it always did when she saw him.

“How is the patient?” His cheerful tone raised her hopes and dashed them all at once. Certainly he must be pleased that Raventhorpe had been defeated. But did that mean that he intended to return to Annabelle?

What if she had taken the chance on trusting her judgment, only to have it prove to be the wrong decision once again?

“The surgeon has declared I shall be fit in a week.” She sat up a bit more against the pillows, tugging her long braid over one shoulder and wishing she wore something more alluring than a nightdress. “It was kind of you to ask.”

He frowned. “Kind? Cilla, you took a blade meant for me. It is more than kindness.”

“Gratitude then. You are welcome.” To her horror, the tears stung her eyes again. She glanced away, trying to blink them back. “How is Dolly?”

“Broken leg and a bump on her head. She'll be fine, though she won't be going anywhere for several weeks.” He took her hand. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

She tugged, but he would not release her until she met his gaze. Damn him for forcing her to show him her doubt. “And Raventhorpe?”

“John summoned the magistrate to take him to his private physician, but though what he did was reprehensible, the bastard may yet escape any legal action.”

“But not the scandal. I imagine he will have to flee
the country, at least for a little while.” She turned away again. She could barely keep up this polite conversation when her emotions were fighting to burst free in a torrent of tears.