The Care and Taming of a Rogue (28 page)

“Why Cumbria?” John asked, sounding as though he was winded and too stubborn to admit it. It had been full dark for an hour, and neither they nor their horses were nearly as fresh as when they’d begun.

“Don’t care,” Wolfe grunted from in front of them. He hadn’t even looked back since they’d left Town.

“I’ve been considering that,” Nicholas commented. “No chaperone, driving north in a coach, and toting luggage. If I didn’t know that Thrushell Manor lay in this direction, my guess would be—”

“Gretna Green,” Clancy supplied.

Up ahead, Wolfe’s head lowered briefly. A string of multilingual muttered curses drifted back on the wind. “A marriage is better than murder,” the duke agreed. “And it will preserve her reputation.”

The big bay skidded to a halt. His face a mask of anger and worry, Bennett rounded on both of them. “She is not marrying David Langley,” he snapped. “I won’t allow it, and she won’t do it. We will therefore bloody well catch them before they reach Scotland.” He kneed Ares, and they sprinted off again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that where he can hear them, Your Grace,” Clancy noted, urging his mount back into a gallop. “Bennett already has a ring. He meant to propose to her this afternoon.”

It wasn’t only pride at stake, then, but Nicholas hadn’t thought so. That did make this rescue considerably more dangerous. Nothing in his life had been overly dangerous for far too long, however. A deep excitement, the thrill of the hunt, edged into him, and he sternly pushed it back down. This was a rescue; nothing more. And Wolfe was far past the line of civility at the moment. They couldn’t afford for two of them to be so. “The inn where they would most likely change horses is about a mile ahead,” he said aloud. “We should rent fresh mounts, as well.”

“Yes,” Bennett grunted over his shoulder. “If they aren’t stopping, neither are we.”

“We’re changing horses again,” Langley said, sitting up straight and stretching out his arms in a way that made her distinctly jealous. He flashed her a grin. “You’re glaring again, my dear. Is there something you wish to say?”

Oh, there were several things she wished to say, but she had more immediate concerns than venting her spleen. Phillipa nodded. Leaning forward, Langley pulled down her gag. “I would like some water and something to eat,” she stated. “And my legs and my arms are very cramped.”

He stood, looming over her. “I imagine so.” Then he pushed open the door and hopped to the ground. Beyond him she caught a glimpse of a small, muddy courtyard and some chickens. “I’ll send Arnold to purchase a jug and some bread. Don’t think of trying to attract anyone’s attention, because I’ll be directly outside here, stretching my legs.”

“Bastard,” she muttered.

“What was that?”

“Yes, David,” she amended.

“Mm hm.” He shut the door.

It was the first time she’d been left alone in a day. Sometime late last night he’d untied her and allowed her outside to relieve herself in the shrubbery, but she’d been surrounded by all three men and, as far as she could tell in the dark, in the middle of nowhere.

This was not the time, however, to lament her fate. Scooting to the edge of the seat, if she stretched out her hands and her feet she could just reach the satchel holding Bennett’s journals. It wasn’t the same as having him present, but it was the closest she could get. And there they were, the items that had brought him back to England from the Congo—carelessly dumped into a pile of David Langley’s luggage. The blackguard had even brought copies of his own book with him.

She knew Bennett was looking for her. If poor Mary had managed to return home to Eddison House, the maid would be able to provide her family with some information. Hopefully it would be enough. After weeks spent attempting to help Bennett civilize himself, she almost wished that now he would forget all the rules and simply get there.

When she heard Langley speaking with Arnold the tiger directly outside, she sat back again. Kero had had the right idea where David Langley was concerned. And while Phillipa didn’t want to bite off anyone’s ear, she wasn’t about to surrender.

With nearly every one of their odd little conversations, Langley had managed to mention her fate if they should fail to marry. She would be ruined; she would be ostracized; she would never be invited to soirees, and if she ever was, no one would ever ask her to dance.

What he clearly didn’t realize, and what she had no intention of enlightening him to, was that she didn’t care. For heaven’s sake, she’d never been popular, she’d rarely danced until Bennett’s arrival, and her indignation and anger over the theft of the journals far outweighed her worry over how Society might view her. She didn’t view Society terribly favorably.

The coach door swung open again. Langley climbed in, toting a jug and a sackcloth. “Water and bread,” he announced, as Arnold closed the door from the outside and he seated himself again. “And some cheese.”

“Thank you.” With her hands strung to her feet she couldn’t reach her mouth without curling into a very undignified ball, so she had to be polite and wait to be fed—which Langley seemed to find amusing, and she didn’t.

Pulling a knife from his boot, he sliced into the wedge of cheese and held the piece out to her. As she took it in her teeth, the coach rocked into motion again. Her tired muscles protested, but she tried to keep her weariness from showing on her face.

“Are we in the Lake District yet?” she asked.

“We are. It’s rugged country; perhaps we can take more time to view the sights on our return from Scotland.” He handed her more cheese, and then granted her a drink of water.

She deliberately dribbled. “Blast it,” she grumbled. “Might I have one hand free so I can feed myself? If the country’s as rugged as you say, I’m not going anywhere.”

“There’s nowhere to go. And if you tried running without knowing the countryside, you would be likely to fall off a cliff before you could get twenty feet from the coach.”

Phillipa swallowed nervously. “I’ve read about Cumbria’s geography. It sounds very treacherous.”

“Oh, it is.” Giving her an assessing look, he reached across and untied her left hand.

Immediately she stretched out her arm, flexing her fingers. “Thank you again.”

“We
are
going to be married. Mutually beneficial or not, it is an alliance. And it would be better for both of us if we could deal cordially.”

A marriage to him was ostensibly beneficial to her only because he’d kidnaped her, but she refrained from mentioning that. “May I have more cheese?”

He sliced off another bit and handed it to her. She put it into her mouth, waited for the coach to go over an especially rough patch of road, and began choking. Her heart pounding so loud she thought he might be able to hear it, Phillipa grabbed her throat, then made to reach into her mouth.

“You don’t expect me to believe this, I hope,” Langley commented, leaning back in his seat.

She coughed, spitting out a portion of her bite, and then held her breath so her face would turn red. Making some wheezing sounds, she clawed at her throat again and rolled her eyes back in her head. Good God, she’d never seen an actress put this much effort into a part; if he didn’t believe her now, she would never get another chance.

Langley cursed. “Lean forward,” he ordered. “I’ll try patting you on the back.”

She leaned forward. As he lifted up over her, she rammed her head into his chin. He fell back with a grunt. Immediately she yanked the knife out of his hand and sliced off her ropes. Then as he growled and came at her, she stabbed him as hard as she could in the thigh.

“You bitch!” he yowled.

Phillipa grabbed the heavy satchel at the top of the stack, flung open the coach door, and jumped. She hit the road hard, rolling and ending up with her skirt around her waist. Shaking herself, she climbed to her feet, slung the strap of the satchel around her neck and across one shoulder, and began running.

The country was rough indeed, and before the coach had even stopped behind her she’d managed to make it over a hill and out of sight of the vehicle. Rocks and boulders, cliffs, and old, tall trees—a great deal of cover, but she wanted some distance between her and Langley before she attempted to hide. Bennett had best arrive soon, or she’d just made things much worse for no good reason at all.

His two companions had stopped attempting to talk to him sometime in the middle of the night—apparently they’d realized he was no longer capable of human conversation. They were on the trail, because three innkeepers now had described Langley’s coat of arms and a northbound coach in a hurry. No one had seen a woman, though one groom had noted that at least one of the three men had remained close by the coach during the entire time the horses were changed.

“Bennett!” Jack called, returning from the inn with half a loaf of bread and more energy than he’d shown a moment earlier. “Twenty minutes ago.”

His heart ground to a halt, then began beating again. By changing horses approximately every ten miles they’d been able to keep up a grueling pace, and finally they were seeing results. For that reason he was glad Sommerset had joined the hunt; his name alone had gained them more cooperation than he would have received on his own.

The duke returned as well, leading one gray gelding and with two stable boys and two additional horses in tow. “The coach horses back there are still wet,” he said.

Jack nodded. “The innkeeper said he rented them horses and sold them some food and water not twenty minutes ago.” He scowled. “He also said there’s not another station for fifteen miles. These horses are going to have to last us a bit longer this time.”

“Not if we’re twenty minutes behind,” Bennett grunted, saddling one of the new mounts while the servants worked on the other two animals.

“Wolfe, if he’s bothered to take her all this way, he’s not going to hurt her,” Sommerset commented. “Not until she refuses to cooperate in Scotland, anyway.”

“She doesn’t travel,” he snapped, buckling on the bridle. “She’s never been farther from home than Devon.” He couldn’t explain it. Not at the moment, when all he could think of was having her safely in his arms again. But for the devil’s sake, she’d been nervous over the idea of traveling anywhere with
him
. In Langley’s company…With a growl he swung back into the saddle. He needed her back.

With an ill-stifled groan, Jack mounted beside him. “So are we going to simply run them down, or do we have a plan?”

Bennett kicked the gray in the ribs. “Run them down.”

He heard the other two fall in behind him, but otherwise paid no attention. Twenty minutes. Three miles? Four? And they would still be traveling. An hour, then, until he was able to catch up. Langley therefore had an hour to live.

“Wolfe, as far as London knows, this is a mutually agreed upon elopement,” Sommerset said, interrupting his thoughts as he scanned the road for recent wheel and horse tracks.

“I don’t care what London thinks or knows,” he sent back over his shoulder.

“You’ll care if you murder Langley. He’s an earl’s son. An earl’s heir.”

“He stole Phillipa.”

Langley hadn’t grown any better at disguising his trail in the time since he’d been tracked by that leopard in the jungle. And from the widely spaced hoof prints, the coach was going at top speed. Did he know he was being chased? Part of Bennett hoped so, even if would make the catch more difficult. It would make the ending more satisfying if Langley was afraid.

Deep down, he was afraid, as well. Afraid that David would hurt Phillipa. And afraid that his practical, logical Phillipa would decide that marriage to Langley made sense if it kept him from harm, if it left him free to travel, if it kept her family from scandal. She’d been alone with Langley for more than twenty-four hours now. If the bastard had so much as touched her…

They rounded a wide curve in the road, and he allowed the end of that thought to drift away, unfinished. Half a mile in front of them a coach stood. And he recognized the yellow coat of arms on the door. Langley’s coach.

“Bennett, slow down,” the duke ordered, charging forward to grab for his bridle.

“Get the bloody hell away from me.” He kicked out, but Sommerset avoided the blow.

“It could be an ambush.”

Jack drew even on his other side. “A damned good place for one. There’s cover everywhere.”

“Angry and self-righteous or not, you can’t stop a bullet or a lead ball from killing you.”

With a scowl, Bennett pulled up. “Fine,” he said, jumping down from the horse and pulling his Baker rifle from its scabbard. Not his favorite Baker rifle; Langley had never returned that one. He had two pistols in his coat pockets in addition to the rifle and the knife in his boot, but at the moment he could likely kill Langley with his bare hands.

Jack had a musket, as did Sommerset. They would be able to reload more quickly than he could, but he intended to end the fight before they had the chance to do so. Using one hand to tie the gelding off to an oak tree, he cut left, heading up the hill to the far side. A second later he heard Sommerset and Jack going right to help him flank the coach.

The ground was rough and stony, and as they’d left the inn, he’d spotted a lake to the northwest and tucked low into the surrounding mountains and cliffs. He kept low, using the brush and the rough terrain for cover as he swiftly moved forward. Ahead he could hear the horses blowing, and all around the sound of birds and the wind brushing through the trees. No voices, and that worried him.

He came in along the left rear wheel, crouched, and yanked open the coach’s door as he spun to aim inside. Empty. “It’s empty,” he said aloud, cursing. Stepping up inside the vehicle, he looked for signs of Phillipa.

It took only a second to find them. A torn bit of lace, a few strands of hair—and rope. “He had her tied up,” he growled as Sommerset appeared in the doorway, Jack behind him. He flung the bindings back down onto the seat. And then he saw the blood. “Christ.” His fingers abruptly shaking, he brushed them along the stain that edged one seat. Still wet.

“You don’t know that it’s hers,” Jack said in a low voice.

“It had better not be.” He jumped to the ground again, gazing at the surrounding terrain. “They had to have stepped off here. The wheel ruts and hoof prints are deep, so they halted the horses, rather than letting them stop on their own.”

Sommerset put a hand across Jack’s chest, backing them both down the road a step or two and away from the chaos of prints. “This is your hunt, Bennett. What do you see?”

Bennett left the road, shifting his gaze to the soft ground immediately around it. Boot prints. One set, then two more. Moving quickly. And more drops of blood, irregular and widely spaced. “It’s not her blood,” he muttered. He noted every track as he followed beside the pathway, but they weren’t what he was looking for.

Then he spotted it. A smaller, softer-edged print. A lady’s walking shoe. “This way,” he growled, and began running.