Moon Love (2 page)

From the corner of his eye he spotted an elderly gentleman coming toward him. In an effort to be rid of the lady, he said, “I am near perished with the cold,” and turned away, pulling his collar up to protect his neck.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Was this not the Wolf? She hesitated a moment, then pressed on. “What do you think can account for it?” she asked in an uncertain voice.

The elderly gentleman passed Ravencroft without a second glance. “How the devil should I – “ He looked at her more closely, and saw the intelligence in her green eyes, and the frown on her face. It couldn’t be –

“We had a late spring,” he said, staring at her.

She didn’t smile, but a look of satisfaction told him he had met his contact. “Shall we go to the refreshment tent for tea, Miss – “

“No, no!” She peered around to see if they were being watched. “This is much too public. Meet me at the abandoned brick house at Three Corners at five o’clock.”

“Where is this place?”

She made as if to shake hands, while slipping him a map. “Don’t drive,” she said. “A strange carriage on that road would be noticed. You have a mount?”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You can hire one at the Greenman, Mr. Vincent.”

“Actually, I am putting up at the Rose and Thistle.”

A flash of fire gleamed in her eyes. “You are not following the Cougar’s orders,” she hissed.

“I want to meet the Cougar. I don’t deal with messengers.”

“The message comes from the Cougar. It is important that you follow his orders.”

Follow orders! From this provincial spinster! “See here, who the deuce are you, Miss? This is not some game.”

She directed an angry, gimlet stare at him. “I am very well aware of it, sir. Mr. Bransom was staying at the Greenman. The men who got him may still be there. Change inns, at once. Five o’clock at the abandoned house at Three Corners. Try not to be followed.”

She turned on her heel and strode off, strangely upset at the meeting. She sensed that Mr. Vincent was going to prove difficult to deal with. And with Ashworth
hors de combat
, it was she who would have to handle the angry, intractable Wolf.

Ravencroft stood looking at her rigid back as it was swallowed up in the throng of marketers. Why the devil didn’t the Cougar just send him a note to meet him at the abandoned house? And why on earth use a lady in this dangerous business? And if a lady must be used, why couldn’t she be pretty at least?

Chapter Two

The wind soughing through the meadow carried the autumnal scent of foliage in decay. Leaves matted the withered grass underfoot, beginning the process of returning to soil. The measured clip clop of hooves and the clink of the bridle were nearly obliterated by the wind as Amy cantered across the field to the abandoned house at Three Corners.

Ahead, the silhouette of the house formed a pattern of rectangles and triangles against the pewter sky. Shadows of twilight were already lengthening at five o’clock, in the short days of October. The setting sun cast a lurid light on the long, gray layers of cloud overhead and painted the windows of the house in leaping flames of red and orange. Stark branches of nearly leafless oak clawed at the sky as the wind blew, scattering the last leaves.

She tethered her bay mare to a tree and waited under the overhanging roof of the back porch for the Wolf’s arrival. Instinct told her he would be late, if he came at all. She was relieved to hear the quiet beat of hooves on the roadway beyond at precisely five o’clock. She waited, but when he didn’t come around to the rear of the house, she went forward and beckoned him to join her.

Amy’s determination to keep the upper hand wavered when she was confronted by the imposing form of the Wolf. She spoke in the curt voice of authority to lend her a confidence she was far from feeling.

“Bring your mount. It can be seen from the road,” she ordered.

He glared and followed her in silence. The rising wind whipped her skirt and nearly dislodged Ravencroft’s hat. “We’ll talk here, where no one will see us,” she said, leading him to the back door.

Ravencroft followed her, still glaring, still silent. He looped the reins around the tree and turned to face her. When he spoke, his words were brief and his voice was low, buzzing with authority. “I came here to meet the Cougar. Where is he?”

That voice left her in no doubt as to his intentions. “I’m afraid it is impossible for you to meet him at the moment,” she replied coolly. “I am acting with his full authority in his stead.”

His black eyebrows lowered and his nostrils flared. “You are acting demmed foolishly, in my view,” he spat back. “Bringing me here to this godforsaken spot on a fool’s errand. Even the password – ‘warm for the time of year,’ was nonsense. It feels like December.” He gave an involuntary shiver as the wind whistled past, stirring the branches.

“I suggested that greeting as most people would say it was chilly,” she explained. “It would have meant nothing if I had said it was chilly. And we are meeting here as it is private.”

“It’s on the main road! I passed half a dozen carriages. There are probably squatters in the house this minute. These abandoned houses are a magnet for tramps and smugglers.”

“No one would dare squat here. It is Lord Ashworth’s property. He has them shot off. He uses this as a sort of bolt hole, in case of trouble. He would like me to acquaint you with its features,” she said, drawing a key from her pocket.

“I would like you to tell me why I am here!”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she unlocked the door and stepped into a derelict kitchen, dimly lit by one window. “The house hasn’t been lived in for several years,” she said, “but it has been outfitted with the essentials. Fresh water is kept in that copper tank in the corner. The stove works.” She nodded to a cast iron stove in the corner, on which rested a kettle and a pot. A tinder box and a pile of wood sat beside it on the floor.

“There are blankets, food, brandy and wine, medical supplies.” Her complacent expression as she looked around suggested to Ravencroft that this bolt hole was her own idea. “I fancy one could survive a week, if necessary.”

“It hardly seems it would be necessary to remain a week, as Bratty Hall is so close.”

She handed him a key. “All the same, the Cougar would like you to have this.” She added ominously, “Just in case.”

He pocketed the key with no expression of thanks. “I must see the Cougar,” he said again. “Just a word, I shan’t disturb him.” His sharp eyes observed the nervous quickening of her breath. Why did his insistence bother her inordinately?

“Papa is not well enough,” she said firmly. “His health is failing. He had a heart attack the day he wrote that note to Sir George.”

Papa! So she was Lord Ashworth’s daughter! He thought a noble daughter would have turned out in better style. “I am sorry to hear it,” he said perfunctorily. “He asked you to post the note?”

Her chin lifted, indicating an argumentative mood. “After I read it, I decided it must be posted,” she replied.

“He shouldn’t have permitted you to read it. These matters are top secret!”

“Are you suggesting I should have ignored such an important matter?” The effect of looking down her nose was defeated as she had to look up to him. “I read all his mail,” she continued. “As he is unable to write, I act
as his secretary. He depends on me to execute his orders. And speaking of following orders – you have removed to the Greenman?”

“I have not.”

Amy drew in a long breath to steady her temper. “Please do so, at once. Why didn’t you?”

Ravencroft crossed his arms and stared down at her from the lofty height of six feet plus two inches. “You appear to misunderstand the matter, ma’am,” he said in a drawling voice. “I am in charge of this affair. As a courtesy, I agreed to consult with Ashworth.
As he is
hors de combat
, however, I shall work alone. Thank you for meeting me and informing me about the Greenman. I shall remove there as soon
as
a room is available. There was none when I applied an hour ago. It would have helped if you had hired a room for me in advance of my arrival, as that is where Bransom was staying.”

Amy regretted that she had not thought of this, but she was not about to admit it. Early as it was in their acquaintance, she sensed that capitulation would only goad this toplofty gentleman on to taking over completely. It was regrettable that they had crossed swords so early in their acquaintance, but as they had, she must stand her ground.

“Much good it would have done hiring a room in Mr. Vincent’s name, when you are calling yourself Mr. Stanford.”

His eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”

That shot had hit home. No need to tell him everyone at the market knew the name he was using at the inn. What was his real name, she wondered. “The Cougar has his ways,” she replied.

He set his curled beaver on his head and turned toward the door. “I’ll let you know when I find Bransom,” he said over his shoulder.

Smoldering resentment flared to anger. “You won’t find him without my help,” she called after him.

He didn’t stop walking, or look back. “I’ll find him.”

In her frustration, she stamped her foot, and immediately regretted that she had revealed her annoyance. “But I can help!” She immediately regretted that too. It sounded like begging.

Ravencroft didn’t see how a lady living out of town with an old invalid could be anything but a nuisance. With his hand on the door knob, he stopped and turned around. He saw the irritation on her face, and credited it to being thwarted. “If you know something about this, it is your duty to tell me.”

“I don’t know for certain, but I have my suspicions.” He waited, staring at her with those dark, impatient eyes that unnerved her. “Bransom was working with the Gentlemen,” she said. “That is what we call the smugglers here on the coast.”

“Naturally that was to be my first line of inquiry. Was there anything else? No, I thought not, but thank you, Lady – What is your name?”

“Miss Bratty. Lord Ashworth is my stepfather. I am not called Lady Amelia.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Bratty. And now I must be about my business.”

When he opened the door, needles of rain were blown in on the wind. The downfall was light, but wind buffeted the treetops, suggesting a storm was imminent. A rumble of thunder grumbled nearby.

“You should wait here until the storm is over,” she said. “That nag you hired at the Rose and Thistle shies at lightening. Caesar has thrown many an unsuspecting rider.”

His curt bow was more an insult than a compliment. “Thank you for the warning, but he’ll not throw me. Good day.”

He darted down the two steps, hopped astride the mount, tipped his fingers to his curled beaver and galloped off into the rain. Amy watched him leave with a sinking heart. It had gone even worse than she feared, and since first meeting the Wolf, she had not imagined it would go well. He had no intention of working with her. Her instinct was to let him flounder and come to grief on his own, but this matter was too important for taking a petty revenge on a toplofty London buck.

Who could he be? It seemed to put her at a disadvantage, not knowing his real name when he knew hers. His arrogance suggested he was someone important. Very likely a lord. Lord or not, he would return to the inn covered in mud, as he had not heeded her warning about Caesar. A mischievous smile quirked her lips. She felt an unworthy wish that she could see him in his humiliation.

* * * *

Riding an unfamiliar mount in the dark along an unknown road was uncomfortable at any time. The sullen ocean growled in the distance. On either side, tall trees groaned as the wind swept them. With the rain pelting in his face, Ravencroft was extremely irritated. He was unhappy that Sir George had saddled him with an untrained female who dabbled in intrigue, no doubt to lighten the tedium of living in this provincial backwater. That the trip had been in vain was an added irritant.

Despite Miss Bratty’s good intentions, she could prove a nuisance, and she had nothing to tell him. He already knew Bransom had been working with the smugglers. Who else was in close touch with France? He would not encourage her. He smiled at her childish notion of setting up a bolt hole so close to Bratty Hall. If he required some place to hide, why not hide in comfort at the Hall? A flash of jagged lightening rent the sky, revealing the charcoal branches of nude trees and momentarily turning the ocean to glistening silver.

Caesar reared up on his hind legs and bolted. Ravencroft held on for dear life as the horse careened down the road. It wasn’t the rearing that unseated him, however. That came when Caesar dashed under an overhanging branch that caught him a stout blow on the forehead, sending his curled beaver into the mud, and himself beside it.

Caesar didn’t stop, but galloped home to the stable of the Rose and Thistle. Ravencroft walked the mile with a howling headache, cursing the horse, the lightening, himself, and Miss Bratty for having invented this perfectly useless journey. What had he learned? Nothing, except that he must avoid Miss Bratty.

Chapter Three

At Bratty Hall, Amy was distracted from nursing her grudge by tending to her stepfather. His physical health was indeed precarious, but this was not the only impediment to his helping the Wolf. His mind had been going for some years now. One year ago, he had reverted completely to childhood.

It was Amy who had made the initial contact with Sir George and informed him of questionable doings on the coast. The Wolf’s behaviour confirmed how little attention Sir George would have paid to a young lady. She was glad she had signed her missives with her stepfather’s old seal. Bransom, initially known as the Bat, had accepted her help without question. But the Wolf was a different matter.

She took the dinner tray up to her father’s bedchamber and stopped at the door, in case he was in one of his moods. It was not unusual to be met by a flying pillow or slipper. Lord Ashworth was in his self-pitying mood that evening. A wrinkled wraith of a man looked up from his pillows with age-dimmed eyes. Long locks of white hair hung over his ears. “Read me a story, Nanny,” he whined.