The Prince of Ravenscar (32 page)

“Wait a minute, it ain't this fellow wot's supposed to want ye, it's this other one, this 'ere high-and-mighty prince wot's got 'is ship back wit' all 'is bloody goods jest fine an' dandy. I 'eard that demmed bloody little gnat, Ira, got the fire out, quick as a flash and none o' the goods was burnt. It weren't fair, none of it were my fault.

“Ah, I sees now, this fellow wot wants to murder me is the prince's little bullyboy. Don't want to dirty up yer 'ands, do ye, yer princeship?” Manners spat, turned his head quickly so his spittle landed on rotted hay and not back on his own face.

Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “What a moron you are, Mr. Manners. This high-and-mighty princeship here always does his own dirty work. As for his bullyboy, why, he might not be a prince, but he's a lordship, and one of these years he'll be a duke, only one step down from a prince. He really, really wants to kill you. Now, sir, if both Roxanne and I guarantee your miserable life, will you tell us who hired you?”

Manners looked mournful, saw it didn't sway any of them, then looked philosophical. “Iffen I tells ye, I'm dead anyways, probably worse than 'avin' the little girl chew off me cheek, though I can't really imagine anythun' bein' worse than that. As fer drawing out me soul, I doesn't know what that'd be like.”

Sophie was tapping her foot, her arms crossed over her chest.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Let's take Mr. Manners back to Hardcross Manor. Let's see what Richard has to say when he's faced with this fool.”

“See 'ere, I ain't no fool, I gots rotten luck, thass all. Wot's'ardcross Manor?”

R
oxanne liked Manners's horse, a big brute of a gelding they found tied next to the barn, who whipped around his great head when Julian lifted Sophie behind Roxanne, and whinnied up at her. She patted his neck. “This proud fellow holds both of us easily, Sophie. I think I shall keep him. That sod doesn't deserve him.”

“He probably stole him,” Sophie said.

“I think I shall call him Luther.”

“I can't wait to see Richard's face,” Sophie said, a good deal of satisfaction in her voice. “If you like, I will hold him while you punch him in the nose. Are you all right, Roxanne?”

Roxanne started to assure her niece she was fine, an automatic reflex of an adult to a child. But Sophie wasn't a child. She was a grown woman. She deserved the truth. Roxanne stared straight ahead as she spoke. “I no longer want to cry and shake myself to death, and that's a relief, but the terror, Sophie—it's still clogging my throat, threatening to choke me. Truth is, I've never been so frightened in my life. Then to see all of you there—” Her voice broke, and she shook her head, steadying herself. “I was naming a bloody horse. Am I mad?”

“No, it took your mind away from what that horrible man put you through.” Sophie hugged herself tightly against Roxanne's back. “You were so brave and so smart, you saved yourself. We weren't in time, and I'm so sorry, but we tried. We had to hunt down Richard—he and Leah were having a picnic, if you can believe that—and it was only ten o'clock in the morning. Who wants a picnic at ten o'clock in the morning?”

“They wanted to be occupied with each other while Manners was holding Roxanne,” Devlin said, “so he could pretend innocence.”

Sophie drew in a deep breath. “Yes, that is why. Oh, Roxanne, I am so glad you're my aunt, even though it means I have to put up with Leah. I hope she does marry Richard and the two of them can make each other miserable.”

Roxanne laughed. She was surprised there could be anything at this moment that could make her laugh, but then she realized that in her twenty-seven years there was usually something unexpected and quite absurd lurking around the next corner to rocket one's spirits to the sky. She felt Sophie's warm body pressed against her back, felt her arms tight around her waist, and was immensely grateful. For life and for Sophie. She looked over at Devlin, who was staring thoughtfully at her, as if he was considering a very knotty problem.
Were you really so scared you forgot your hat?
She grinned at him. “I shan't fall over, I promise. Nor shall I faint. I should not want to dirty up your fine coat.”

“There is straw in your hair,” he said, and watched her hand automatically go to her tangled hair, then drop. He said, “Don't worry about it. When we return to Ravenscar, I will tidy you up.”

“Do you like the name Luther?”

“Were I a horse, I would prance about with my tail flicking if I had that name.”

Roxanne laughed again, felt more of the terror ease out of her. She said, “Sophie, I cannot believe you told Manners you would chew off his cheek.”

“That exquisite threat is compliments of Vicky. Our villain here certainly didn't like it.”

Orvald Manners, tied facedown over the back of Sophie's sidesaddle, was cursing nonstop as the mare's gait made him bounce up and down, pulverizing his liver. Suddenly, Manners reared up, cried out, and flopped down, unconscious.

Devlin cursed—a ripe one featuring animal parts.

They pulled up and lifted Manners out of the saddle. “Here,” Roxanne said, “put him under this tree. Not for him but for you, Devlin, to keep you out of the sun.”

“He appears to be unconscious,” Devlin said, shifting to look up at Julian.

Julian leaned down, felt the pulse in the man's neck. “I wonder, is he trying to fool us?” and he slapped him hard.

Manners didn't move.

Roxanne said, “Do you think he's having a reaction from my blows with the plowshare? I did hit him as hard as I could.”

Devlin said, “I suppose it's possible.”

“When I kicked him, I thought he was going to scream himself to death, so maybe that's what he's reacting to now—”

“No,” Julian said. “Kicking him there wouldn't send him unconscious an hour later. He'd want to die immediately, but he wouldn't.”

“Why?” Sophie asked, coming down on her knees beside the unconscious Manners.

“It's not important,” Julian said.

Roxanne said matter-of-factly, “Papa told me I should always kick a man low in his belly before he works himself up to violence. He said it is guaranteed to focus a man's brain elsewhere instantly. I will teach you what to do, Sophie, but Julian is right, it's not important right now.”

Devlin rose, dusted off his britches. “Let's haul him back on the mare's back. By the time we arrive at Hardcross Manor, he should be awake again and cursing at the top of his lungs. I want to see Richard face-to-face with this miscreant.”

“Let's do it,” Roxanne said. “I'm dressed a bit strangely, but who cares? At last maybe we can get this resolved.”

A smile blazed on Devlin's sunburned face. “You look like a queen. My coat has never looked more stylish.”

She returned his smile, adding more power to hers. “And you, sir, look like a bullyboy, your sleeves rolled up and your shirt collar open, ready to take on any villain. I hope one of the gentlemen of the house can lend you a hat, Devlin. Also, some cream for your face.”

“Do you know,” Devlin said, after he'd finished tying Manners back across the mare's sidesaddle, “a cream might be just the thing. I am feeling very warm; mayhap I can even feel my flesh beginning to crisp.”

“That is horrible,” Sophie said.

But when they reached Hardcross Manor, none were laughing nor smiling.

Manners hadn't regained consciousness.

Devlin hefted Manners over his shoulder and walked to the front door. Julian slammed down the lion's-head knocker, once, twice.

Victoria opened the door. “Goodness, what is this? I see you found Roxanne, but who—”

“We want to see your brother,” Devlin said. “Now.”

“He isn't here. He and Lady Merrick came back rather quickly from their picnic, then decided, quite on the spur of the moment, to visit Saint Austell, and wasn't it fun to be spontaneous, said she, all twittery and laughing, a quaint place her darling Richard had told her about, and since it wasn't raining, she was perfectly prepared to enjoy herself.

“If you really want to speak to him, my lord, you could catch them, or perhaps not. Lady Merrick allowed they might take country roads, to admire the scenery, not the direct road. If you ask me, I think she wanted to admire Richard's scenery—well, that is vulgar, isn't it? Roxanne, I believe you should have the gentlemen chase after them, since you really aren't dressed for it.”

“What is going on here? Who is this man? Is he dead?”

Baron Purley strode into the entrance hall, eyeing the man slung over Devlin's shoulder.

“Well, here, put the fellow down before you break your back, boy. This is the man who kidnapped you, Miss Radcliffe? You appear to be unharmed. Does he need a physician? Victoria, tell Elmer to have Dr. Crutchfield fetched.”

“No, thank you, sir,” Julian said. “I think we should take the fellow on to Ravenscar. Did Richard say when he and Lady Merrick would return?”

“No, he did not,” the baron said. “I am hopeful, however, that they do not spend the night in Saint Austell, since they are not yet wed.”

Victoria said, “Papa, Richard is a man. He can do what he wants, and Lady Merrick is a widow. You've seen the way she looks at him, like she wants to lick him like an ice.”

The baron huffed out a breath but kept further thoughts to himself.

V
ictoria went down on her knees next to Manners, her pale yellow muslin skirts fanning out around her. She lifted one eyelid and examined Manners's pupil. She muttered something to herself, let his eyelid drop, and looked up at them. “Leah said they were planning a wedding in June. I doubt they'll come back, mayhap not until the day of the wedding. If this man kidnapped you, Roxanne, he didn't prove very competent, did he?”

The baron said, “Richard did not ask his valet to accompany him, so I know he will be back. He and his valet cannot long be parted; both suffer. Leave that creature alone, Vicky, you might catch a putrid disease from touching him.”

“If Richard returns, tell him I will see him,” Julian said. “Once and for all. My apologies for disturbing you.”

This time he hefted Manners over his shoulder and walked out the front door.

He said to Devlin as they tied Manners onto the mare's saddle again, “I don't wish to risk this fellow's health by leaving him in this house alone to fend for himself, nor do I have any desire to remain here with him.”

Sophie asked, “You think the baron might throttle him to save his son?”

“That's right,” Julian said.

B
ack at Ravenscar, Pouffer ignored the unconscious man hanging over the prince's shoulder and stared at Roxanne, whose red hair was wild and tangled, ancient straws sticking up here and there around her head, her gown filthy and ripped beneath the arm, her feet bare, his lordship's black coat around her shoulders. “Oh, my dear young Miss Roxanne, thanks to all the beneficent gods who reside somewhere above our heads, you are returned to us. I see a great deal of dirt but no blood, a great relief. I am grateful the prince saved you, or perhaps it was his lordship here.”

“She saved herself, Pouffer,” Sophie said. “She didn't need the gentlemen to do the job.”

“That is not a notion that reassures, Miss Sophie. A gentleman must be useful, else what good is he? Now, her grace has been wringing her hands, something she rarely has cause to do.” He looked back to Roxanne. “You are certain you are fit enough, Miss Roxanne?”

“I am fine, Pouffer,” Roxanne said, lightly patting his arm. “I will remove myself upstairs. Please tell her grace all is well again. As you see, we even have the miscreant who kidnapped me. Unfortunately, I hit him on the head—only two times—and he had the gall to fall unconscious.” She paused on the stairs, looked down to see Devlin staring up at her. “Thank you all again for coming after me so quickly.”

“Even though you didn't need us.”

“Didn't need you, Devlin? I fancy needing you will become something of a daily occurrence.” She searched his face. “But we will see, won't we?”

Not thirty minutes later, Sophie and Roxanne walked into the drawing room. “Is our villain awake, Julian?”

“No, he hasn't moved, not even moaned. Pouffer sent one of the footmen to fetch Dr. Crutchfield. He's old, and his hands shake a bit—the doctor, not the footman. He doesn't see too well, but he normally doesn't kill his patients. He brought me into the world, and I survived the experience.”

Corinne said, “I remember when you were three years old, dearest, you had a dreadful putrid throat. I am convinced his special tonic saved you.”