A Perfect Secret (27 page)

Perhaps it was Cole and Jared’s presence, but despite the tension, Christian snorted in suppressed laughter. “Really, Grant, worried about your apparel? I’m surprised at your vanity.”

Grant glowered. “I have a reputation for not looking like a peacock, unlike you dandies.”

Cole and Jared guffawed like a couple of village brats. But since Grant was the object of their laughter, Christian allowed himself a smug smile. Despite the grimness of their mission, even Genevieve chuckled. With their nerves so tightly strung, emotions ran high—even humor.

Christian slung Grant’s bag over his shoulder. “After I stow your bag inside, I’ll bring the coach around front.”

Grant headed for the foyer, quiet as a whisper. Hopefully Grant would have the sense to stop moving like an infernal assassin and start walking with the heavier steps of a footman. Otherwise, Wickburgh’s henchmen watching the house would see through their ruse.

Genevieve stood by quietly, as serene as a painting, but her cheeks were flushed, the only indication to her nervousness. No doubt she feared for her parents. It was so like her to worry for them more than for herself. Christian gave Genevieve’s hand a quick squeeze, tugged his hat low over his face, and headed for the servant’s entrance, fingering his hidden weapons.

Outside, Christian’s nerves tingled on high alert. While trying to appear casual, he scanned the streets, searching for sign of threat to Genevieve. Every call of the pieman or flower girl, every cart that rattled by, and every horse that snorted took on sinister intentions but he found no imminent threat. The weight of his pistols helped, but seemed too far away. He headed for the mews, helped the stable boy hitch the horses to the coach, and snapped the reins. Moments later, coach wheels clattered on the cobbled street as he drove to the front door.

Cole and Jared waited in the street in front of the house, already mounted, their faces sober but their eyes alight at the prospect of adventure. With just the right amount of subservient confidence of a footman, Grant trailed Genevieve as she descended the steps. Christian hunched over on the driver’s seat and relaxed his gloved hands on the reins. He tried not to look too interested. Or too frantic. Grant handed Genevieve into the coach, stowed the carriage step, and swung onto the back for the ride.

On horseback, Cole and Jared led the way as they left London behind and followed the road through Hamstead Heath. The rambling grassy ridge offered a lovely view of London, but Christian kept his eyes trained ahead, barely glancing at the ponds and ancient woodlands nestled in the popular public area. No signs of danger. Yet. Christian remained alert, his senses straining for signs of danger. Cole’s Arabian cantered ahead while Jared’s blue roan flanked the coach. Both experienced military men, they would keep a sharp eye out.

Jared glanced up at Christian and grinned. Daft fool was enjoying himself far too much. But Christian allowed himself a smile in return. His brothers were here. In spite of the differences, they’d come to help him. Together, they would not fail. A comfortable familiarity settled into Christian and the knots in his shoulders relaxed.

Two hours later, they reached the hamlet where Genevieve had grown up. The closer they drew to her childhood manor where Wickburgh would lay the first piece in his trap for Genevieve, the more Christian’s gut tightened until the knots folded in on themselves. He straightened and fortified his courage. He would not fail her.

He turned the coach and began a slight climb through a country road lined with shrubbery turning golden at the beginning of autumn. Wind gusted through the hedgerows, making them whisper as if passing along news of their arrival, and sending a chill down Christian’s spine.

After turning down a narrow lane, the coach arrived in front of the Marshall’s manor, an ivy-covered brick house from the Tudor age. Though he’d almost married her, he’d only visited the house the Marshalls had let for the summer in Bath, and had never seen her family country home. The comfortable manor suited the Marshalls. He couldn’t reconcile the proper gentleman he’d seen in Captain Marshall with a man who’d commit mutiny. There had to be more to his story.

Christian slowed the carriage in front of the house, his nerve endings sparking. As the wheels came to a rolling stop, Grant leaped from the back of the coach, placed the step, and opened the door, bearing the appropriately servitude manner of a footman. Christian kept his gaze forward as the carriage subtly shifted underneath him while Genevieve climbed out. Careful not to look at her, he waited as she mounted the stairs to the front door of the manor. Before she reached it, the door opened.

“Welcome, my lady. You are expected,” a man said calmly in the cultured tones of a gentleman.

It was Connor Jackson. Christian went utterly still and hoped his expression hadn’t registered any recognition in likely event that other eyes watched him. Christian glanced at the Runner casually.

Jackson’s face was as impassive as a statue as he opened the door and ushered her in. Turning, he made a shooing motion at Christian and Grant. “You’ve delivered your charge, now return to your master. No need to wait. My lord will see her home.”

Christian ground his teeth. Though he was clearly following orders to continue the ruse, Jackson’s words still rankled. The idea of letting another man protect Genevieve while he turned away made him want to burst into the house, weapons drawn, and confront Wickburgh immediately. But that would endanger Genevieve’s parents, wherever they were being held. Besides, Wickburgh would be at a different location. Christian would have to see this game through and let Wickburgh’s lapdogs lead the rescuers to their master. Grant inclined his head to Jackson, turned on his heel, and leaped onto the coach as if he hadn’t any concern.

Cole and Jared turned their horses around, Cole taking the lead as an outrider with Jared following the carriage. The moment they rounded a bend in the road and were no longer in view of the house, Christian slowed the team to a stop. Cole continued on ahead.

“Jared!” Christian leaped down from the driver’s seat as his brother cantered to him. “Give me your horse. I’m going to follow them. You, Cole, and Grant take the coach to the posting inn and get the other horses we sent ahead.”

Jared shook his head. “Not a chance. I’ll go with you. When we find out where they’ve gone, you can stay and keep an eye on things while I come back and guide the others to where they’ve taken the Marshalls.”

Cole galloped back to them, too far ahead to have heard their discussion. “We’re going back, yes?”

“I should go instead of Chris.” Grant swung down from the carriage.

Christian’s stomach tightened and heat flushed his face. “I am not leaving her there!”

Grant sneered. “Yes, you and your cool head will help her really well right now, not to mention your utter lack of experience tracking dangerous criminals.”

Christian marched up to Grant and stood nose to nose with him. “I am not the little brother you left behind when you went away to war. Get out of my way.” He whirled around and grabbed the reins from Jared, who stared at him as if he’d just turned bright purple.

“You’ll get yourself killed, idiot,” Grant hissed through his teeth.

Cole raised a brow and his mouth twitched on one corner. “The three of you go together. I’ll take the coach back and pick up the horses. Leave me a trail so I can find you, or send one of your men.” He tossed his horse’s reins to Grant and swung up on the driver’s box.

It was Christian’s turn to stare. Cole, the self-appointed leader of the brothers, was letting someone else take the lead? He shot his brother a look of gratitude. “Good. Let’s go.” He swung up onto the saddle of Jared’s roan.

Grant went still and peered ahead, sending Christian’s nerves on high alert. Two men on horseback materialized out of the bushes. Grant relaxed and dashed to them. After speaking to them quietly, one rode to Cole, while another followed Grant.

Grant gestured to Jared. “They’re moving Genevieve. A cart left the Marshall’s house with her in it.”

Christian mounted. “Which way?”

Grant gestured up the road but Christian couldn’t see anything. Grant motioned to Jared. “Ride double with me.”

Jared glared at Christian. “I’m riding behind Grant while you take my horse—how is that fair?”

“Quit mewling like a babe. Nothing’s fair.” Grant tore off the frockcoat and cravat and tossed them into the interior of the coach. “If I had more time, I’d change out of these infernal togs.” He gestured to his satin knee breeches and brocade waistcoat.

“We don’t,” Christian snapped.

Grant shot him a look normally reserved for the completely stupid, and mounted. Christian urged Jared’s horse forward. Christian, his brothers, and one of Grant’s men all galloped toward the Marshall’s house. He craned his neck, searching the road up in front of them as it wound among the hills. Far ahead, a governess cart bumped along the road. He urged the horse to a gallop. Grant and Jared, riding double, remained beside him. Grant’s man followed behind.

“Steady,” Jared said. “Don’t get too close or they’ll know they’re being followed.”

Christian reined a little, slowing the horse to a comfortable trot, all the while his instincts screaming at him to run. When they came to a crossroads, they paused. With the winding road and hilly countryside, the cart had vanished. Christian cursed. Grant peered up ahead with narrowed eyes.

A glimmer caught Christian’s eye. “What’s that?” He pointed to a small metal object winking in the sunlight next to the road branching off to the left.

Jared slid off the horse and picked it up. He held it out. “It’s a signet ring.”

“It’s Jackson’s. He left us a breadcrumb trail.”

Grant grunted and gave a brief nod. As Jared put on the ring, Christian surged forward. As they crossed over a small bridge and began climbing a hill, the hackles in Christian’s neck rose. An instant later, Grant held up his hand to halt them. They slowed, scanning for signs of danger.

“Stay here.” Grant slid off his horse, and crept soundlessly forward.

“Not on your life,” Christian muttered as he followed behind, careful to keep his footfalls quiet.

How Grant managed to move like a phantom was beyond Christian. Usually it was sinister enough to raise the hackles on the back of Christian’s neck. Today, he was grateful for his brother’s uncanny ability. He tried to match Grant’s stride, mimicking his posture, the way he moved, the placing of his feet so soundlessly so as not to be discovered by Wickburgh’s lapdogs.

Grant crouched as they approached the low hill and then flattened himself on the ground. Christian lowered himself to his stomach next to him. On their bellies, they inched forward and peered over the rim into a shallow dell. A small crofter’s cottage crouched next to a dry stream. The roof had collapsed and the shutters hung drunkenly over windows. The unoccupied governess cart waited behind an overgrown shrub.

Grant watched silently, making a careful perusal of the cottage and area. Christian’s nerves strained until he thought they’d snap, and every muscle in his body urged him to leap up and race down the hill, burst into the cottage, and save Genevieve. He focused on slowing his breathing. They waited. Jackson’s tall, lean form moved in front of the window, stepped forward and looked out to survey the area, then he stepped away.

A guard walked around from behind the cottage, gun held loosely in hand. A second guard appeared from the other side, exchanged glances with the first, turned, and strode back like a sentry. Two guards. Possibly more hidden in the trees. They couldn’t simply storm the structure. Besides, they didn’t dare risk Wickburgh killing his hostages. And Genevieve. No sound came from the cottage. Christian closed his eyes and battled back images that Wickburgh had already killed Genevieve. Jackson wouldn’t let her get hurt.

Christian eyed his brother. Grant was a crack shot from his time serving as a sharpshooter in the war. Christian could probably match him, but now was not the time to test his skill; the stakes were too high.

Christian whispered to Grant, “Can you get off a clean shot at that range?”

“Only if my target happens to walk in front of the window. Jackson knows that; he’ll do what he can.”

Grant inched backward. Christian kept up with him. Jared and the guard who’d come with them stood next to the horses, their posture poised for a fight. When they’d moved back out of sight, Grant took his rifle off the saddle, and sent the man who’d come with them back to guide Cole to them.

Grant glanced at Christian. “Circle around and try to get in close while the guard is on the other side of the cottage.”

At last! Christian hefted a second gun. Jared stood with a pair of pistols primed and ready. Moving low and swift, careful to tread lightly so as not to give away his presence, Christian darted from bush to boulder. Pausing, he peered around his cover, then ducked back as the guard circled around again. Wait. Breathe. Wait. Christian peeked out. The guard turned and headed back the other way. Christian dashed to a hedgerow and crouched behind it.

“Who’s there?” a voice called.

Heavy footsteps neared. Christian gripped his gun and prepared for a fight.

CHAPTER 29

Genevieve stood in the main room of the rundown cottage with her hands folded together and hoped Wickburgh didn’t see them shake. “I have come as you asked,
husband
,” she let derision drip off her words. “Now set my parents free.”

“Of course, of course. They are safe, as you can see.” Wickburgh jerked his chin toward one of his men.

Grant’s man, Connor Jackson, fully immersed in the role as one of Wickburgh’s cronies, strode to the door leading to a smaller room and opened it.

Genevieve drew in a steadying breath. Surely Christian and the Amesbury brothers were on their way. She trusted them.

“Bring them out,” Jackson said to someone inside.

“On your feet, then,” said another voice.

All other thoughts fled as first her mother, then her father walked out. Both looked calm and unruffled, as if being captured and held prisoner were a daily occurrence. Genevieve had feared the strain would have caused her mother’s heart to give out, but she seemed well enough. Serene, even. Perhaps Jackson had managed to assure them of his true allegiance and that rescue was on the way.