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Pratt worked his jaw, no doubt hating the idea of being sent farther from his house. But he nodded. “Very well. See you in a few hours, then.”

As he turned his horse and rode off, Worthing stepped close. “You didn’t scratch his face.”

“No.”

“His wife?”

Though the idea made him want to grin, he shook his head. “I think not.”

Worthing nodded. Not in general but toward his hand. “And why do you keep doing that with your thumb? Not that this is a bad time to develop a nervous tic, but . . .”

Must the man notice everything? Justin loosed his arms, stretched his fingers. “I can’t find my signet. Perhaps I left it in my room in town.”

But he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had it, but he’d have noticed its absence sooner if he’d left it at the hotel.

Worthing’s eyes went wide. “You lost your
signet
? Are you mad? You’ll have centuries of dukes haunting you—”

“It doesn’t matter. Not today.” He set his gaze to the north, toward where Brook had to be. “I can always have a new ring made. Just now, all that matters is finding her.”

A high-pitched whinny from inside the stables underscored his point. The grooms were bringing out the horses, but they were all skittish. No doubt because Oscuro reared and bucked and pulled at his lead, his eyes flashing whites.

Whitby backed up to stand beside him and Worthing.

The groom tried to get the stallion calm with a few words that did nothing. “Sorry, milord! He let us saddle him, but then he started acting like this the moment he got free of his stall. Not fit for riding today, it seems. We’ll get him put away.”

“No.” Whitby’s voice was calm, deliberate. His eyes flashed certainty. “Don’t put him away. Let him go.”

The groom looked at him like he was mad. “Pardon, milord?”

“Secure the reins and let him go. Maybe he can find her where we can’t.”

Justin’s lips tugged up. “You’re using a horse as a bloodhound?”

“Have you a better suggestion? The bloodhounds couldn’t find the right trail.”

Too much rain, their masters had wagered, and too many trails she’d set on her many rides through the country. The dogs had chased to and fro and to again.

Justin strode to Oscuro, took the reins from the groom, and whispered to the beast in French. He calmed. Not enough that any sane man would try to ride him, but enough that he could slip the lead back over his head and pat his neck. “Go find her, boy.
Va.
”

The horse didn’t even need a slap to the rump to send him on his way. The moment Justin let go the reins, he took off like a sleek black bullet.

Worthing shook his head. “I do hope the idea isn’t for us to keep up with him.”

Brook’s father motioned for the other horses. “We’d never stand a chance.”

“And if he doesn’t come back?”

Then Yorkshire would have a wild stallion jumping its fences and scaring its sheep. But Justin chose to believe. “He’ll come back. With Brook.”

He accepted the reins for Tempesta, mounted, and pointed her in the direction Oscuro had gone.

Thirty-Three

T
he sound of hammer on brick brought Deirdre out of sleep with a start. She flew off the cot, heart pounding as pieces of mortar crumbled and spewed out from the once-windows, hitting the floor.

The baroness was at her side in a beat, linking their arms. “Your groundsman?”

“I assumed he meant he’d return to the hall.” But surely someone out to harm them, someone on Pratt’s side, would use the door. She edged a bit closer, though off to the side, where the shower of brick-pieces was at a minimum. “Hello? Is that you?”

She didn’t know who
you
even was, but the hammering stopped for a moment, and the same voice she’d heard earlier said, “Aye. It’s me, Antony—the constable’s cousin. Stand clear, it’ll take only a minute.”

They clutched each other the tighter, both going more and more tense as sunlight found the cracks and shone down through. Blessed, beautiful summer sunlight. First just a few spots shafting in, then a whole beam. And finally, a rough-worn but friendly face peered down at them.

He grinned. “Both awake, I see. Ready?”

The baroness’s smile looked exhausted with relief. “So very.”

“I’ve a ladder. You’ll have to climb up.” A moment later the face disappeared, and an old wooden ladder appeared through the space he’d made.

Deirdre rushed forward to grab it and steady it. Then she waved the baroness over. “You first, my lady. I’ll hold it steady for you.”

Her ladyship wobbled a few times on the way up, muttering in French as she did. No doubt frustrated at her own unsteadiness. Once her shoes disappeared through the gap, Deirdre followed. The ladder slipped when she reached the third rung, but she bit back a scream.

And hands steadied it at the top. “Quickly now. I hammer often enough out here, but not usually upon the brick. I can’t be sure no one heard, but it was that or an axe to the door, and there are fewer servants out here.”

Deirdre breathed a prayer and rushed up the last few rungs, exhaling in relief when strong hands grabbed her arms and pulled her out.

Their window, it seemed, had its top at ground level—the bottom being within a paved moat that seemed to line this whole side of the house. For what purpose, she couldn’t discern, but the stones and bricks looked old as the hills. Part of the original structure, perhaps, from an age long-since past.

“Hurry, milady. Here.” Antony grabbed up a patched jacket that had seen better days and handed it to the baroness, along with an equally battered skirt. “My wife’s—she helps me in the gardens sometimes, is about your height, praise be to heaven. Put it on. And her hat, here. One for you too, miss.”

“Deirdre.” She took the hat and prayed its broad rim would hide her.

Her ladyship wasted no time. She slid the disguise directly over her muddied, bloodied dress—though even with the layers
underneath and her sack concealed beneath it too, still she swam in it. Jamming the hat over the hair the sun was determined to catch and alight, she nodded. “Let’s be off.”

“Aye.” Antony guided them both with a hand to each of their elbows, shooting a look over his shoulder. “There are stairs at the end there. Keep your heads down, but act like you’re talking. Hopefully, if anyone sees, they’ll think you’re my daughter, miss, coming from town to visit.”

They no sooner gained level ground than the first shout went up from the distance. It took all Deirdre’s willpower not to spin to see who it belonged to, not to run for the trees.

Antony gripped her elbow the tighter. “Easy. It’s Roger—he’s a friend. ’Tis the chauffeur we need to be wary of, methinks, and perhaps the footmen.” He half turned in the direction of the shout and let go Deirdre’s arm long enough to wave. “Morning, Rog! I’ll come by later, aye?”

The figure in the distance had a shovel in hand and didn’t make for them. He merely raised a hand in salute and kept to his path.

Deirdre couldn’t bring her breath to even out though.

Antony’s fingers took her elbow again, and he guided them southward, toward a copse of trees. Five feet strode across, ten, twenty. Halfway.

“Ho, Antony!” This voice sounded harsh. “Where are you going? His lordship said no one is to leave the immediate grounds today.”

Antony swallowed hard, his larynx bobbing under his kerchief. He let go their elbows again. “Stay here. Act disinterested. Don’t turn around.” He strode a few paces back toward the house and called out, “Just hunting truffles is all, Mr. Michaels.”

Deirdre clutched at the baroness’s hands, bending close. As if they were talking, laughing. Or at least, she hoped it would look like she shook from laughter and not from fear.

“His lordship ordered no truffles.” Now suspicion edged the voice.

“Lord, help us,” Deirdre muttered. “What do we do?”

The baroness gripped her fingers. “Hold still. A minute more.”

Antony loosed a guffaw of a laugh. “He might not have, but the new lady did, and I for one don’t aim to get on her bad side so soon!”

That earned him a snort from the man behind them. “Where are the hounds, then?”

“Already in the trees—though they must not have found any yet, given how quiet they are. If they don’t in half an hour, we’ll turn right back, sir. Better the lady’s disappointment than the lord’s ire, aye?”

Now a grunt. “Half an hour. Not a minute more.”

Deirdre’s breath whooshed out. Could they reach Lord Whitby’s land in the allotted time?

Antony returned, on her ladyship’s other side this time. He motioned them forward at an even, unhurried pace. “Easy now, until we reach the cover of the trees. Natural-like. And pray he don’t go and see that the truffle hounds are still in their bays.”

Pray she did, for that and more. All was quiet as they tromped into the tree line, at which point their guide darted a glance over his shoulder.

He nodded. “He’s gone. We’d best run for it now.”

They did, though within a minute her ladyship called them to a halt. “Sorry. My corset.” Her breath came in short, hard gasps. She tossed the hat down and shrugged from the jacket and skirt. “You’ll have to loosen it for me, Deirdre, or I’ll pass out before we get more than a quarter mile.”

Deirdre didn’t need to be told twice. She went at the row of buttons while Antony made a show of turning his back to them.

The baroness dragged in another half breath. “What if he finds you were lying, sir? You could get in trouble for helping us.”

A gnarled hand waved that away. “I’ve already sent my wife to our daughter in Eden Dale, first thing when my cousin spoke to me. I mean to join them there after I see you home, milady. I’ll go to my cousin and tell him all I know. When Lord Pratt is behind bars, we’ll decide our next step.”

Deirdre tugged at the stays, loosening them until her ladyship could breathe normally and then tying a cursory bow to keep the corset up. Her fingers knew the buttons well enough to make quick work of them.

“My father’s offered a reward to any who help me.”

Antony nodded. “Aye, I know. It’s how I talked the ladder from George.”

Someone else knew of them? Deirdre’s hands shook, making the last three buttons impossible. “There. Good enough.”

Antony turned back toward them. “I tried to manage it on my own, but . . .”

“No matter. We’ll be happy to compensate this George. And you, of course—”

“Nay, milady.” Antony’s shoulders straightened even as he motioned them onward again. “I’ll not have it said I did right just for a bit of quid. Though if you’ve a position open on Whitby grounds . . .”

Her ladyship smiled as she broke into a run. “I’m certain we have, Antony. Absolutely certain of it.”

They hadn’t the breath for any more conversation. Sticking to the trees as much as they were able, they concentrated on covering ground.

Soon they’d be home. She’d be back in Hiram’s arms, and her ladyship would be in her duke’s, and her father’s.

Assuming Pratt didn’t find them first.

She whispered another prayer, one the baroness echoed in French.

Thundering hooves interrupted before she could say her amen. Antony halted, cursed, motioned them deeper into the line of trees.

The baroness stepped out instead, into the open. “It’s Oscuro! How did he—he must have jumped the fence when they put him out or . . . No.” A laugh broke free of her lips. “He’s saddled! Oscuro!”

The beast bore down on them, and though her ladyship hadn’t the sense of get out of his way, sure and Deirdre did.

The baroness laughed again as he shifted his course, looking as though he’d barrel right into her. Instead he circled her, nickered, and shoved his head into her side with enough force to send her back a few steps. Still laughing, she wrapped her arms about his neck and murmured something in French. Then she looked to Deirdre. “Our chariot, milady. I recognize this last stretch—on Oscuro, we’ll be back on Whitby property within a minute.”

“Then it’ll take no more than five on foot.” Deirdre stepped closer to Antony’s side, though she smiled weakly. “Horses and I don’t get along. But you go ahead. He’ll see you safe to your da’s arms. I’ll take the sensible path.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Aye, but I do. Broken limbs and a heart that gives way from fear.”

Her ladyship laughed again and left the beast for a moment, long enough to come and wrap her arms about Deirdre.

And who’d have thought they’d become friends, the grand baroness with her Parisian gowns, and her, little DeeDee from belowstairs? She held her back, tight as she would little Molly. “Be careful, my lady. He’s out here somewhere.”

“And he’ll be answering for his sins.” Her ladyship pulled
away and looked to Antony. “You’ll see her safely to Whitby Park?”

“Upon my honor, milady.” He swept his cap from his head and held it over his heart.

The baroness nodded, a breeze toying with her loose curls. “See you soon, then.”

Deirdre held her ground while the baroness swung up into the saddle. When they thundered off, Deirdre accepted the arm Antony held out.

“We’d best hurry,” he said as he pulled her along toward Whitby Park with a glance over his shoulder. “Our half hour was up some time ago.”