Damsel in Disguise (13 page)

So who the devil had the girl gone off with?

“And I think he was a few years older, too,” the man went on.

Rastmoor had a few more questions, but they really learned little more than they already knew. Sometime in the night, a carriage had arrived, bearing Sophie and this mystery gentleman. Sophie followed him in of her own free will, and the man procured a room. Just one room. Julia couldn’t help but be troubled at that notion, but if Sophie was not opposed to such an arrangement . . . well, perhaps things were not as dire as they’d feared.

However, the proprietor’s story continued. Shortly after Sophie and her companion arrived, another man had shown up. He confronted the slight man, and the two skirmished. The smaller man was injured, and Sophie disappeared while the proprietor and his wife were tending to their injured patron. They assumed Sophie had gone away with the second man, but no one happened to notice which direction.

“Was there anything distinctive about this second man?” Rastmoor asked.

The innkeeper shrugged. “He was tall, like yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Well-dressed, too. If it wasn’t for all the scuffle, I’d have thought he was a right proper gentleman. A real somebody, you know?”

“Yes, I believe I do.”

A heavy coach clattered into the yard outside, and the proprietor’s attention was distracted. He claimed to have no further information and excused himself. Servants appeared, scurrying about in preparation for passengers in need of refreshment. Obviously there was nothing more to be learned here.

Rastmoor grumbled through clenched teeth. “It appears Lindley does have her now, after all.”

Julia had come to exactly the same conclusion. “I told you he was in on this. He’s probably dragging her back to Fitzgelder right now.”

Rastmoor mumbled something more and turned away. He left the large common room where they’d been and headed back out into the yard. Julia trotted along behind him, skirting around the bustling servants and horses being changed out on the dusty coach. Rastmoor simply expected people to move out of his way as he strode along, deep in thought. Bother, why did the man have to walk so blooming fast? She must look ridiculous, scampering along after him this way. Not manly at all.

He rounded the building and headed to the stable tucked in the back. At first Julia wondered if she ought to remind him they’d left their mounts tied out front but very soon realized he was not here to reclaim their horses. Despite what they’d already discovered from their chat with the proprietor, Rastmoor was not finished asking questions around here. He headed for a pair of ostlers, busily rubbing down a stocky bay mare. They appeared eager enough to cease their labor in favor of the conversation—and coin—he offered.

“A scuffle last night?” one of the men said after Rastmoor recounted the story. “Ay, I heard about that, but I wasn’t here for it.”

“No, me neither,” his coworker said. “Jeb was, though. He maybe would know what direction your folks run off in.”

“Oh?” Rastmoor asked. “Where might I find Jeb?”

“Ain’t here now. He’s sent down to Geydon for to fetch something. Ought to be back for supper, though. You planning to be here then?”

“No, we’re not.”

The ostler shrugged his sloping shoulders. “Too bad. Jeb’s the one that told us all about the excitement. He says he watched it real good, got to see everything. That first man was injured, he said. Bleeding in the leg.”

His friend nodded. “Might have been shot, I suppose, though Jeb didn’t mention it.”

“Injured? Are you sure about that?” Rastmoor asked.

“Yes, sir,” the first man replied. “Jeb was real sure of that. Hey, if you’re looking for that man, you might think of looking in at the surgeon. Maybe the fellow found his way there.”

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea,” Rastmoor agreed. “I think we’ll do just that.”

Julia was, once again, left to trot along behind Rastmoor like an obedient whelp. They got the surgeon’s direction and left their horses in care of the helpful ostlers. The busy, narrow streets were crowded, and Rastmoor declared two men on foot would blend in and move more quickly than two on horseback. Well, at least Rastmoor was able to move quickly. His long strides carried him over ruts and mud holes with ease. Julia was not quite so fortunate.

“Slow down,” she complained.

“I thought you were eager to find your friend.”

“I am, but I’d prefer to do it without a broken ankle.”

“Just watch where you’re stepping, is all.”

“That would be easier to do if we weren’t sprinting. Can’t you hold up just a bit?”

He not only held up; he stopped. She ran into the back of him. Slowly he turned to face her with a mocking grin. “What, are you having trouble keeping up with me? Poor Julia. Perhaps you should get more sleep at night.”

She glared back. “I assure you, sir, it is my policy from now on.”

His left eyebrow shifted slightly, but other than that, he gave no reaction. “Good. It’s nice to know we are in agreement.”

“For once.”

Now the brow shifted again, but this time his lip twisted at one corner, too. “No, my dear, we’ve been in agreement many times, as I recall.”

“Well, not anymore. Are we off to the surgeon or not?”

“We’re definitely off,” he replied and turned on his heel to resume his rapid pace.

She was left to amble along behind. Drat this man! He was infuriating. He was insulting. He was insufferable! And he was damn fine in those tight trousers, his long, muscular legs striding evenly, two steps ahead of her. Bother. If she didn’t keep herself less distracted, she truly would trip and break an ankle.

Or worse, she’d succumb to him again and break something much dearer.

 

 

THE SURGEON—A ROUND-FACED MR. WARREN—WAS no help. He’d heard nothing of a late-night injury and had seen no one or no thing of interest this morning. Rastmoor was forced to admit they’d come up empty. He cursed under his breath all the way back to the Steward’s Brake
.
Hell, they’d wasted nearly an hour here in Warwick and had absolutely nothing to show for it. And now it appeared Julia had given up on making any effort whatsoever to keep pace with him.

She dragged along as if her feet were made of lead. Twice he caught her hiding a yawn. Honestly, she looked exhausted, and he figured he ought to take some of the blame for that. He ought to be ashamed of himself, he supposed, but he wouldn’t be. It was nothing short of ridiculous to trouble over a woman like Julia St. Clement. Late nights and lack of sleep were things she surely knew well.

He made a pretense of checking traffic on the street to give a worried glance over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were sunken, and her cheeks were pale. Blast. Very well, he’d make sure she got a break when they reached the inn. He’d order up a luncheon for them and insist she take a rest before they climbed back onto their mounts and continued after Lindley.

Or whomever they were after. Hell, he still wasn’t ready to believe it. Lindley, in league with Fitzgelder? It made no sense. But the innkeeper’s description of the man who arrived to cause such a disturbance in the middle of the night certainly sounded like Lindley. Damn. Just one more person Rastmoor had been wrong about.

“Come along,” he said, opening the door for Julia when they finally made it back to the Steward’s Brake. He pointedly ignored the hateful glance she sent up at him. “Have a seat, and we’ll get some food.”

She didn’t protest. The proprietor was glad to see them back and ushered them into a private room, promising to bring only his best meal. It arrived quickly and, Rastmoor was pleased to discover, smelled almost enticing. He was happy to forgo conversation and focus on food.

“We should leave soon,” Julia said, surprising him after the lengthy silence.

His mouth was full when he answered. “And where, exactly, should we go?”

“South,” she said. “Of course Lindley’s taking the locket back to Fitzgelder. Sophie, too, if she’s still alive.”

“Of course she’s alive,” he said, though of course he couldn’t swear it was true.

“I hope so,” Julia said and poked listlessly at her food.

Blast it, now she was ruining his appetite. So far, he hadn’t really given much thought to Sophie’s plight, but he supposed Julia was right. There was no reason for them to believe whoever abducted Sophie would feel the need to keep her alive once the locket was retrieved. Indeed, they’d seen more than enough violence these past few hours to assure them Sophie was, most likely, in very real peril. Damn. He’d been truly enjoying his stew.

“I suppose your disgusting friend Lindley might prefer to keep Sophie alive for a while yet,” Julia said, startling him again. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how he was staring at her last night—how you were both staring at her last night.”

“Of course we were staring at her. We were on our way to London to look for her.”

“How lucky for Lindley you found her so easily,” she grumbled and shoved her plate away. “I don’t even want to think about what could be happening to her. We should go after them. Now.”

“What, now? You haven’t even touched your food.”

“How can you think about food right now? Don’t you care at all that your friend Lindley might have already killed a woman?”

“Lindley’s no murderer.”

“What about that fight here last night?”

“Fighting is not the same as murdering. Besides, we don’t know for certain that second man who arrived was Lindley.”

“You don’t believe it was?”

Damn it, he couldn’t lie to her. “Yes, I believe it was. Too many coincidences for it not to be Lindley.”

“And I know for a fact he’s in league with Fitzgelder, who plans to kill you and anyone else who doesn’t strike his fancy, apparently. Any man who keeps friends like Fitzgelder would hardly have qualms about doing all manner of evil things to poor Sophie.”

Rastmoor could well imagine what some of those evil things might be. “Perhaps he’d prefer her alive, then.”

“That’s not entirely comforting.”

“We’ll find her.”

“Not sitting here, we won’t.”

“Eat your stew, Julia,” he instructed. “You need your strength. If Lindley’s goal was simply to kill her, he could have done that and been on his way. Instead, everything would indicate he’s taken her with him—alive. We have no reason to believe he won’t keep her that way.”

“Do you truly believe that?”

“I do.” Oddly enough, he sounded as if he meant it.

She was quiet. He watched her eyes as she pondered this. She seemed to take hope from his words, and he prayed to God they would turn out to be the truth. Lindley, despite his elegant appearance and dispassionate attitude, was a capable man. If he had any malicious intent where this Sophie was concerned, she’d be unlikely to put up any effective resistance. If Lindley wanted to murder an unimportant little tart to steal back the locket for Fitzgelder, he’d find a way to do it, and it wouldn’t be right here where there were witnesses.

The fact that the innkeeper at the Steward’s Brake believed Sophie was alive and well when she left in the night really meant nothing to them. Lindley could easily have taken care of an unwanted companion anywhere else. There were a hundred places in and around Warwick where a sturdy gentleman could hide a body in the middle of the night. Free from the hassle of a struggling victim, Lindley would already be well on his way back to London, and Fitzgelder would soon be holding the trump card. That would be bad for everyone.

Except that Rastmoor and Julia had not passed Lindley on the London road. True, there were other roads, but this would have been the fastest and most direct. Somehow Lindley’s detour seemed significant and ought to be investigated.

He wasn’t prepared to discuss this with Julia just now, though. She’d find this yet one more reason to worry and one more reason to tear off willy-nilly, despite her own exhaustion. On that count he was determined to give his guilty conscience some relief.

“We’ll take a room here,” he announced.

Her eyes darkened, and she pinned him with a defiant glare. Good thing he hadn’t intended to make full use of that room. Any attempt to repeat last night’s exercises would likely result in Rastmoor’s body ending up dumped in a deserted place.

“A room for you to rest and refresh yourself. Alone,” he clarified. “Sleep, Julia. I’ll do some more asking around. If Lindley is on his way back to London already, he’s taking a roundabout way. I’ll try to discover it. Surely someone in this ruddy town saw something of them last night.”

Of course she was hesitant to trust him, but he could tell she was rather enticed by the idea of refreshing herself. Good. She needed it, and he didn’t appreciate being reminded of his beastly weakness every time he glanced at her. He’d had no right to force himself on her last night. By God, it would not happen again.

“I promise to find out all I can about Sophie and return to tell you the moment I have anything solid,” he assured her when it was obvious her doubt might prevent her from agreeing to his proposal.

“Very well,” she said at last. “I could do with a little rest. As long as I can trust you.”

“You can trust me,” he said.

She didn’t look him in the eye. Instead, she merely nodded then stood. The proprietor had been hovering at the doorway and now rushed in to them. Rastmoor tossed him some coins and made the arrangements for the room. Julia didn’t complain.

The proprietor left to prepare the room, and Julia seemed eager to get up to it. She would have followed the man out if Rastmoor’s hand on her elbow hadn’t stopped her.

“I’ll return in a couple hours,” he said quietly. “Be prepared to leave if I’ve learned anything.”

“Of course,” she replied, then raised her eyes to meet his. “Just one thing, though.”

“What is it?”