Love Inspired Historical January 2015 Box Set: Wolf Creek Father\Cowboy Seeks a Bride\Falling for the Enemy\Accidental Fiancee (73 page)

Perhaps they could marry here and board a ship to America. Yes, America might work. They weren't so picky about titles and such there, were they? And even if it was shocking for a lord to marry a peasant, no one needed to know that he was a lord, or that Danielle wasn't a lady. Yes, that would work splendidly. Perhaps he'd never see his family again, but they'd be safe from the scandal of his marriage, and he'd have Danielle. He could sell off some of his investments and whisk Danielle across the ocean within a few days of their marriage.

Assuming she wanted to be his wife, that is. She may have proclaimed to love him earlier, but that wasn't quite the same as agreeing to marry him.

Nor did it guarantee she wanted to be with him forever after the way he'd left her.

He kicked the beast beneath his thighs into a harder run. What had he been thinking to leave her standing alone on the beach? To listen to her declaration of feelings and give her nothing in return?

Foolish, foolish man. Why did it take Isabelle Belanger's piercing words for his stubborn brain to finally understand what his heart had been trying to tell him for weeks?

Because he was a dunce.

Because he was practical.

Because he'd been raised to value a person's lineage over a person's actions.

Flimsy excuses, the lot of them. Perhaps he'd been taught nobility was bound to one's blood rather than one's heart, but why had he been foolish enough to believe it?

Dear God, please let her take me back.

He reined in the horse at the top of the hill overlooking the channel and tethered it to a shrub before racing down the grassy path to the strip of sand lining the beach.

“Danielle!” He hurried into the fissure in the hill and the little alcove that had shielded them earlier. What would she say when she saw him? Would delight shine in her eyes? Anger? Confusion?

Whatever her reaction, he wasn't leaving this patch of sand without her.

Except she wasn't there.

He frowned and strode closer to the cave where Julien had planned to slide his boat, but the fishing sloop with its dark sails was nowhere to be seen. Had Julien and Danielle departed early? Gregory turned toward the sea, not that he could see the English Channel with the large hill rising in front of him. He bent to study the sand. Danielle could probably make sense of the myriad footprints clumped along the wet muck, but not he. People had been here, lovely. He already knew as much from this morning.

He made his way back along the coast, rounding the grassy slope to face the sea. So she'd gone back to France without his money. Did she truly think she could evade him? He knew where she lived, and he'd stop at nothing to return to France for her, no matter how dangerous the journey might be. By the end of this week, he'd be holding Danielle—

“Halt!”

Gregory stilled at the command.

Two men rushed down the beach, the silver glint of a pistol shining in one of the men's hands. “Stop in the name of the king and place your hands atop your head.”

He slowly brought his hands up as the men approached. “What is the meaning of this?”

But he needed not ask. The men were clearly excise officers, with their dark blue coats and quick maneuverability in the mucky ground.

“You're being arrested for smuggling and spying.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I? And by whose authority, may I ask, do you arrest Lord Gregory Halston, brother to the Marquess of Westerfield, for such dastardly activities?”

“Lord Gregory?” The man without the firearm halted, gazing into his face. “By Jove, Larry. That's Lord Gregory Halston if I ever seen 'im.”

The second man's gun wavered, and Gregory pulled his hands off the top of his head. A most ridiculous position, that.

“A-apologies, my lord.” The second man stuffed his gun back into his coat. “I didn't know it was you.”

“I imagine not,” Gregory growled.

“It's just that we found some smugglers earlier today, two of 'em. So we're watching the coast rather closely. We think there was more on the boat.”

Panic flared in his chest. Not Danielle and Julien, anyone but them. “Tell me, was one of these smugglers a woman with long black hair and blue eyes?”

The man with the gun narrowed his eyes and raised the pistol ever so slightly. “Aye, you know them, then?”

“I do, indeed, seeing how the only things they smuggled were the Marquess of Westerfield, Lord Kessler, myself and my valet back onto English soil this morning. Where are they?”

“Ah...”

Gregory grabbed the man by his collar and yanked him forward. “If so much as one hair on either of their heads is harmed, I'll see to it that you spend the next year rotting in a forgotten prison cell.”

“Yes, my lord,” he choked.

The man without a weapon swallowed loudly and stared at the sand.

“Well, what is it?” Gregory released the first excise agent and turned to the second. “I can tell you've more to say.”

“Th-they're already gone, my lord.”

“Gone?” Ice slicked through Gregory's veins. “What do you mean, gone?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

G
regory burst through the wooden office door and charged forward. “Where are they?”

The governor of the house of corrections set his cup of tea down with a rattle, sloshing brown liquid across the papers spread over his desk. “Lord Gregory? What brings you here?”

“Danielle and Julien Belanger. Where have you stashed them?”

“Belanger, you say?” The man pushed to his feet and took a piece of tea-stained foolscap from his desk, surveying the handwriting scrawled across the sheet. “I've no one here by that name.”

The door banged behind him as the excise men clambered inside the small, sparsely furnished office. The man who'd originally pulled the pistol on Gregory rushed to the governor's desk. “The smugglers we took today? Lord Gregory here verifies their story.”

The paper slipped from the governor's hand. “They brought the Marquess of Westerfield back from France?”

“That they did.” Gregory gritted his teeth together. “Now take me to them.”

“Ah...” The governor's face turned a decidedly green hue. “It might be rather late for the sailor. The navy needing men the way they do, we sent him on to Portsmouth.”

Fear cramped in Gregory's stomach. The British navy
did
need men, so badly they took both countrymen and enemies alike and forced them to serve in the bowels of their dreadful men-of-war. If Julien Belanger was already en route to Portsmouth, it might well be too late for him—or even Westerfield—to free Julien.

Gregory whirled and pointed a finger at the excise man standing behind him, the shorter one without the gun. “Get Julien Belanger back here and have him delivered to my brother's estate before the sun sets. Do you understand?”

The man, suddenly pale, gave a curt nod and fled out the door.

Gregory turned back to the governor. “Take me to Danielle.”

“You see, Lord Gregory, she...ah, proved to be a rather difficult prisoner,” the remaining excise man stuttered.

Difficult prisoner? What, precisely, did that mean?

But he could well guess. Danielle would never have allowed herself to be captured without a fight—a fight she must have lost if she was being held within these walls. And she already had a wounded side and head.

“Perhaps we ought to bring her to you, rather than have you enter the holding cells.” The governor stepped away from his desk. “Make yourself comfortable in my office, and I'll see that Miss Belanger is brought to you shortly.”

“I think not. Either take me to her, or I'll find her myself.”

Gregory spun toward the door and strode out of the office. Three women sat waiting on a hard wooden bench while a farmer argued with one of the guards and a small line of people formed behind him. All commoners with some sort of business here. All waiting in line. All at the mercy of a guard who looked none too happy to deal with them—the same guard who had smiled at him and ushered him directly into his superior's office when Gregory had first entered the building.

Being a lord, he could barge into a prison such as this and demand the release of an innocent person, while the cobbler down the street was stuck waiting in line only to have his entreaties stymied by the bureaucrats meant to help him. Was this not what Danielle meant when she spoke of men and women being valued because of their birth rather than their actions?

Here he was using his title, birth and position in society for his own advantage while countless others had to suffer. He'd happily claim the benefits of his title a thousand times over if they would help save Danielle, but what would become of those here without his advantages? Danielle was right—there was no justice to these divisions.

He strode toward the imposing wooden door that would give him access to the internees. “Open up.”

The governor rushed up behind him, rattling his keys and using his heavy girth to push aside the people waiting in the foyer. “I'll escort you, Lord Gregory. No need to rush.”

The door squealed open and Gregory stepped into darkness on the other side, a foul stench rising up to greet him.

“Who you got there? Another man to add to our ranks?” A voice rose from the row of cells lining the wall.

“Mr. Gov'nor, sir, when do I go before the magistrate?”

“How much longer you going to let us rot in here?”

“Hey, that there's a dandy. What'd he do to get hisself in here?

“Don't matter, he won't be staying. His type never do.”

“Edward! Come here.” The governor's voice bounced over those of the prisoners, and a hulking guard made his way down the long row of cells.

“Where are the women held?” Gregory turned toward a passage leading to the right.

“Your lady's down this way,” the governor answered.

Gregory took a step forward. “But these are all men. Surely you don't house the men and women together.”

“We don't have facilities for confinement in the women's section. This is only a house of corrections, not a gaol.”

“Confinement?” Gregory shouted the word so loudly the prisoners fell silent.

“We put prisoners who attack guards in confinement for a few days.” The guard took an already burning lantern from the wall and started down the corridor.

Gregory followed closely behind. “She attacked a guard?”

“With a knife,” the governor answered. “The excise men said they searched her...”

Men had searched her? Gregory's stomach churned.

Edward stopped at the end of the corridor and unlocked another heavy wooden door that led to a dank, narrow stairway.

Behind him, the governor was rambling about why it had been necessary to search and then confine Danielle, words like “blade” and “attack” and “disrespect” filling his diatribe.

“Enough! Just take me to her.”

The guard glanced over Gregory's shoulder at the governor, then cleared his throat. “This way, then.”

The air on the floor above had been foul, but the stench inside the stairway grew more rancid with each descending step as the scents of human waste and sweat fought to overpower the stale, damp air. Unlike on the floor above, no dim light trickled into this part of the building from small, barred windows. If not for the lantern in the guard's hand and another single lantern mounted to the wall halfway down the filthy corridor, they would be surrounded by impenetrable blackness.

“Hello?” Danielle's voice, weak and tentative, called out. “Is anyone there? Please, unchain me.”

“You chained her!” Gregory turned toward the guard, fire coursing through his blood.

The guard blanched, then pointed to the governor. “He ordered it.”

The governor tugged at his collar. “It's standard treatment for prisoners who attack guards.”

Gregory snatched the lantern from the guard's hand and burst ahead, following the sounds that emanated from the last door on the left.

“Dani?” He held the light up to the barred window surrounded by heavy iron. She sat on a squalid floor with her arms chained to the wall above. Dirt and tears smeared her face, while her hair fell in disarray about her shoulders and a jagged tear cut across the bodice of her dress to reveal her chemise beneath. She glanced up, fear in her eyes as they met his.

Gregory rattled the bars separating him from Danielle. “Unlock this door. Now.”

“Yes, sir, Lord Gregory.” The guard hastened forward, keys rattling as he shoved the correct one into the lock and turned it.

Gregory rushed inside, hanging the lantern on a wall hook before kneeling in the rotten straw to enfold Danielle in his arms.

“Gregory?” Her tear-glazed eyes moved to his. “You came? I thought...”

“Shh. Of course I came.” He stroked a hand over her matted hair. “I couldn't leave you here. Just a moment, and you'll be free.”

“She's a violent one, Lord Gregory,” the guard spoke. “Are you certain you want me to—”

“Release her now!”

The large man crossed the room and inserted the key into the manacles on her wrist.

“Faster.”

“But Lord Gregory,” the governor protested from somewhere in the foul cell behind him, “she's dangerous. She had three knives on her and fought while we searched her. We can't be sure whether she's got another.”

Danielle's eyes went from dazed and frightened to humiliated, and his throat tightened at the hint of what Danielle surely endured at these men's hands—of what he could have prevented had he whisked Danielle away to marry him that morn rather than left her on the beach.

“She fights like a hoyden even without a weapon,” the guard offered.

“I said, unlock the shackles.”

One simple click and the cruel irons released her. She sagged back against the cold, grimy stone and fumbled with the front of her dress, pressing the torn fabric tight against her chest.

“Let's get you out of here.” He swooped her up in his arms.

She gasped in pain at the jostling, but he started toward the doorway where the governor stood. She needed to get out of this horrid prison before her injuries were tended.

“Wh-what about my brother?” Danielle's voice was so quiet it could barely be heard above his footsteps on the straw. Her chin trembled as she raised her eyes to the governor's. “Have you freed him yet?”

Gregory paused before the governor and glared. “Yes, tell the lady what you've done with her brother.”

“He's, ah...not exactly here anymore.”

Her body tensed in his hold. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly here'?”

“Dani.” Gregory tightened his grip on her, partly because he craved the warmth of her body against his, and partly to support her when she learned what had befallen Julien. “I have a man out searching now and will put more men on it as soon as we leave, but Julien has been taken to Portsmouth.”

“Portsmouth.” Her confused eyes sought his. “Why Portsmouth?”

“He's an able enough sailor, miss. The navy can use him.”

Given her weakened state, Gregory half expected her to swoon from the news. But a sob tore from her chest, and she clawed at his hold, her gaze riveted to the governor.

“You impressed him into the navy? I should kill you. If Gregory can't find him, if he ends up on one of your wretched English war machines like the one that killed his twin, if—”

“Not here, Dani.” He hefted her higher in his arms and strode through the doorway and into the dank corridor lit only by the one meager lantern on the wall. Her diatribe turned from shouts to mutterings to soft sobs with each step he took farther away from the filthy cell.