Rapture Becomes Her (45 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Rapture Becomes Her
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Cursing himself for blundering, he took a quick step away from the table. His eyes met Lamb’s and he hissed, “Douse your lantern! Someone is here.”
But it was too late. Even as he reached to kill his torch, a half-dozen figures appeared from behind the stacks of contraband and surrounded them.
“We’ll take the torches,” said Tom Joslyn, as he stepped forward, the pistol in his hand pointed at Barnaby’s heart.
Within minutes Barnaby and Lamb were stripped of their torches and securely tied up. Arms fastened behind their backs, their ankles roped together, they sat on the ground, shoulder-to-shoulder, their backs against a stack of barrels of brandy. Full of rage at his own stupidity, Barnaby stared at Tom’s smug features, his agile brain considering and discarding a dozen different means of escape.
Barnaby knew that Lamb would be doing the same thing. And if he had to fight for his life, then he couldn’t ask for a better companion at his side than Lamb. He glanced around, recognizing Peckham standing beside the table and realizing after a closer look that the other men were some of the brutes he’d seen at The Ram’s Head.
The situation wasn’t as desperate as it appeared. He had Lamb at his side . . . and though their pockets and the inside of their coats had been searched for weapons, the knife inside his boot had not been discovered, nor the equally dangerous blade Barnaby knew Lamb carried. The smugglers should have known better, but they’d been looking for pistols, not concealed knives. . . .
The lantern on the table was relit and Tom Joslyn seated himself on a corner of the table, a satisfied smile on his lips. Looking at Barnaby and Lamb trussed up like a pair of Christmas peacocks before him, Tom said, “To think that after all my scheming you simply wander into my hands like, ah”—he grinned—“lambs to slaughter.”
“That remains to be seen,” Barnaby said in a bored tone. “You’ve not managed to kill me yet.”
Tom’s face darkened. “That may be, but I’m afraid this time your luck has run out.” He leaned forward. “Matt should have been Viscount Joslyn,” he snapped. “All his life he was groomed for the title—it was his and you stole it from him!” Hatred glittered in the azure eyes. “Bah! Every time I look at you I am reminded of a pig dressed up in silk.” His voice shook with emotion and he spat, “Every time I’ve had to bow and call you ‘my lord’ the words burned like acid in my mouth and I dreamed of the day you’d die and Matt would take his rightful place.”
His gaze watchful, Barnaby said, “Ah, so your desire for my death has nothing to do with keeping your connection with Nolles and his gang a secret?”
“I’ll admit your death will be killing two birds with one stone,” Tom answered. “Matt inherits the title and Windmere and I no longer have to worry that you’ll poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Your death will be my noble deed for my brother—giving him all that was meant to be his from birth.”
“Don’t delude yourself,” Barnaby growled. “You’re not killing me for Mathew, you’re killing me to hide your lucrative arrangement with Nolles.”
Tom smirked. “Well, there is that. Even if Matt were to discover the source of my fortune, he’d not betray me.” For a moment, something vicious flashed in Tom’s eyes, “Now Simon . . . Simon would turn me over to the revenue service in the blink of an eye.” Looking thoughtful, he rubbed his chin. “I fear that my younger brother may suffer a fatal accident a few months from now.” He smiled at Barnaby. “Of course, should that cow of yours be with child, I’ll have to take care of her first. Such a tragedy it will be. First you and then your wife and her unborn child. . . .”
Barnaby surged forward, murder blazing in his eyes. Tom laughed and, standing up, kicked him in the head. Barnaby saw stars and sliding sideways, fought against the blackness that threatened to overtake him.
From beside him, he heard Lamb ask calmly, “Tell me, did you enjoy torturing kittens as a child? Or was it puppies? Certainly it had to be something defenseless, because you’re too much of a coward to offer a fair fight. I wonder if his hands were untied if you’d dare touch him.”
“Shut your filthy mouth!” Tom snarled, striking Lamb in the face with his fist. Turning to Barnaby, he prodded him with his foot. “Who knows you’re down here?”
Fighting off the dizziness, Barnaby struggled into a sitting position. “You expect me to tell you? And if I don’t, what will you do?” He grinned. “Kill me?”
Annoyed, Tom said, “It doesn’t matter. By the time your disappearance is discovered, it’ll be too late for you.” A cold smile curving his lips, he said, “This time when you end up in the Channel there’ll be no escape.”
 
It was late afternoon when Emily and Cornelia returned home. Greeted by a smiling Tilden in the black-and-white tiled foyer as she handed him her gloves, Emily asked, “My lord? Is he about?”
Tilden hesitated. “I saw him earlier this afternoon with Lamb, but I’ve not seen him since.”
Emily smiled at him. “He’s probably in his study—or at the Dower House visiting his brother. Will you find him and tell him that we are home and that once my aunt and I have freshened up that we will be in the blue-and-silver salon and would like him to join us?”
Several minutes later, when Emily and Cornelia entered the salon, Emily was surprised to find the room empty. “I suppose he is at the Dower House and hasn’t returned yet,” Emily said, wandering around the room. She and Cornelia were very pleased with their afternoon’s work at the vicarage and she’d been looking forward to relaying to Barnaby the difference his very generous donation had made to the poor in the area.
She and Cornelia spent a pleasant half hour discussing their accomplishments and future plans, but as time passed and there was no sign of Barnaby, Emily began to fidget. Where was he? She wasn’t worried yet, but unease fluttered in her chest. Telling herself he was probably delayed by business, she chatted away with Cornelia, but her ears were pricked for the sound of his arrival.
Aware that Emily was only half listening to her, Cornelia said bluntly, “Ring for Tilden and ask him to find out what is delaying your husband. And stop fretting—nothing’s happened to him.”
Looking somewhat harassed, Tilden appeared in answer to her pull of the velvet bell rope in the corner. When Emily asked after Barnaby, Tilden muttered, “Uh, we cannot find him.”
The unease in her chest bloomed into near panic. “What do mean, you cannot find him?” she asked in a surprisingly calm tone. He’s fine, she told herself. I am fearful for no reason. He’s here in the house . . . somewhere.
Tugging at his cravat, Tilden said, “When I did not find him in his study or the library or any of the rooms where he would usually be, I sent one of the footmen to inquire if he was at the Dower House.” He shook his head. “He was not there.” Almost ringing his hands, Tilden cried, “We have searched everywhere, but there is no sign of him . . . or Lamb.”
Lamb! If Lamb was with him . . . Her fear eased back and her eyes narrowed. “You said you saw him and Lamb earlier—where?”
Tilden’s face cleared. “Of course. They must still be in the wine cellar.” He laughed nervously. “Milord must have decided to sample a few bottles and hasn’t realized the time.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Emily said under her breath as she rushed from the room. Tilden was at her heels when she entered the wine cellar and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when she walked right over to the corner wine rack and a moment later the secret door opened. There was no sign of their passage, but she was as certain as she was standing here that Barnaby and Lamb hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to explore the tunnel on their own. Ignoring the panic nipping at her ankles, telling herself that at any moment she’d see the flicker of light that would herald their return, she stared into the darkness, willing Barnaby and Lamb to appear. But they did not.
Whirling around to look at Tilden, she demanded, “When did you see them? How long ago?”
“Um, it was hours ago—early afternoon.” Pointing at the secret doorway, he asked, awed, “How long has that been there?”
Shutting the door and returning the wine rack to its customary place, she said, “Probably since Windmere was first built.” She didn’t have time to know if she’d been wise or incredibly stupid by showing Tilden the secret door, but the damage was done. Fixing him with a look, she said, “I trust you’ll keep this to yourself?”
“Oh, indeed, milady,” Tilden promised earnestly.
Her thoughts churning, she hastened to the main part of the house. Stopping to look back at Tilden, she said, “Send someone to the stables and have a horse saddled for me. Tell my aunt I’ll be joining her in a few minutes.”
Emily had no clear plan as she mounted the stairs to her rooms. If Tilden was correct, Barnaby and Lamb had been missing for hours. There had been time aplenty for them to have done their exploring and returned. . . . Charging into her rooms, she ran across through the sitting room, across her bedroom and into her dressing room.
Throwing wide the doors of one of the wardrobes, wild conjecture tumbling through her brain, she poked around looking for the bundle of clothes she’d brought from The Birches. If they hadn’t returned, something, or
someone
had delayed them
Frightened as she had never been in her life, she concentrated on the task at hand. Finding what she was looking for, she scrambled out of her gown and into the male attire she’d worn that first night she’d met Barnaby. Attire, she admitted grimly, she’d never thought to wear again. She snorted. That was a lie, else why had she brought it with her? Had she sensed she might have need of it?
After slipping a pistol into one pocket of her coat, she slid her knife into the other. Armed, she dragged out a black cloak from another wardrobe and whipping it around her shoulders, headed downstairs for the salon where Cornelia awaited her. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she paused, struggling to compose herself and to make sense out of the chaos spinning in her brain. Just because Barnaby and Lamb couldn’t be found didn’t mean they were in danger. There could be a reasonable explanation for their absence, she reminded herself, and that reason would have nothing to do with secret tunnels, smugglers or the fact that someone had made three different attempts on her husband’s life. Except she didn’t believe it. She was certain that Barnaby and Lamb had gone exploring and that, somehow, they’d ended up in the hands of the Nolles gang. She swallowed painfully. Barnaby could be in the hands of whoever was trying to kill him. Had, perhaps, already killed him. . . .
Eyes silver with panic, the cloak flying out behind her, Emily burst into the salon and skidded to a stop when she saw Mathew, still wearing his greatcoat, smiling and talking with her aunt. They both looked up astonished at her impetuous entrance.
Cornelia’s breath caught at the sight of Emily’s garb, recognizing the significance of it. Her hand at her throat, she cried, “My dear! What is it?”
Emily hesitated. Just because Mathew was here now didn’t mean he didn’t know where Barnaby and Lamb were. Or their fate.
Her hand slid in the pocket of her jacket and closed around the pistol. Eyes hard on Mathew, she demanded, “Why are you here?”
Thoroughly taken aback, not only by her dress, but her manner, Mathew stared at her as if she had gone mad. “I, ah, I was, er, in the area,” Mathew stammered, clearly thrown off stride.
“You’re lying,” Emily said. “Simon wrote you.” Mathew’s lips thinned. “What if he did? He’s worried about your husband. Someone’s tried to kill him, remember?”
“You?” She hurled the accusation at him like a spear. His fists clenched and he took a threatening step toward her, the azure eyes blazing. “By God! If you were a man, I’d knock you down for that. For the last time. I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Husband. Dead.”
Quietly, Cornelia said, “I believe him. I told you that you’re wrong about Simon and I’m telling you now you’d be wrong not to trust Mathew. I’ve watched both boys grow up into fine men and I trust them as much as I do Barnaby.”
“Barnaby’s life may hang in the balance,” Emily warned with a desperate glance at her great-aunt’s face.
“Which is why you have to trust Mathew. Whatever has happened—and something obviously has—you cannot save him by yourself,” Cornelia said softly.
Emily bit out a curse. Feeling time spinning away every moment she hesitated, she made a decision. And God help her if it was the wrong one.
Concisely, she told him what she and Lamb had discovered yesterday at the old barn, ending with Barnaby and Lamb’s disappearance. She didn’t have to explain herself twice. Mathew grasped the situation immediately.
His eyes as hard and grim as hers, he said, “You think they stumbled onto something they shouldn’t have and that they’ve been captured by the smugglers—and the man who has tried to kill your husband.”
She nodded curtly. “There’s no point in following the tunnel from this end—if they have them, they’d have to move them out from the barn entrance.” She smiled, as lethal a smile as Mathew had ever seen. “And I’ll be waiting for them.”
Mathew’s smile matched hers. “No, my dear.
We’ll
be waiting for them.”
Chapter 24
U
nwilling to waste the time alerting Luc at the Dower House, Emily sped from the house, not caring if Mathew followed or not. He did.
Twilight had fallen and despite the questions he obviously had, Emily and Mathew rode in silence through the purpling darkness. Leaving their horses tethered some distance from the barn, they approached the building warily, moving silently together as if they’d always been a team. Sidling up to the barn, they stopped, listening intently. Reaching the same door she and Lamb had used the previous day, Emily stopped, transfixed by the faintest glimmer of light peeking from beneath the bottom of the door. Someone was in the barn!
Emily didn’t know whether to be elated or terrified at having her suspicions confirmed. The certainty that Barnaby, alive or dead, was on the other side of the door solidified deep within her. Hope and fear tangling in her heart, she sank to her knees and hardly aware of Mathew leaning over her shoulder, eased open the door a crack.
A lightning glance burned the scene in her mind. Two lanterns hung at the far end of the barn spilled a soft glow over the front area where four or five men moved about, the wide aisle between the hay and the stalls filled with several carts and horses. Smuggled goods lay heaped on the floor ready to be piled into the carts. She watched breathless as a cart loaded with contraband was driven out of the barn through the doors at the front of the building and, on its way to London, vanished into the night. Two burly men burdened with barrels of brandy on their shoulders caught her attention as they swaggered out of the stall that contained the hidden entrance. The barrels loaded into a cart, they disappeared back into the stall again.
It was Mathew who spied the two human forms flopped on the ground near the pile of hay. His hand fastened like an eagle’s talon on her shoulder and when her head jerked up, he murmured, “Over there, lying against the hay. Look in the shadows across from the last stall.”
She peered in that direction and her heart nearly leaped out of her throat when she saw Barnaby and Lamb . . . alive! Both men were securely bound, but from their occasional movements, it was apparent they were alive. Her mouth tightened. Until I get my hands on the pair of them, she thought.
Carefully shutting the door, she and Mathew retreated to the woods.
“We are too few,” Mathew whispered. “We need more men.”
Emily shook her head. “No. By the time you leave and return with help, Barnaby could be dead.” Through the darkness, she glared at Mathew. “I’m not leaving him.”
Mathew sighed. “Then what,” he asked reasonably, “do you propose we do? We can hardly storm the barn. They outnumber us three or four to one.” Fortunately for Mathew’s continued existence, left unsaid was, “And you’re a woman.”
Emily frowned, listening as the jingle of harnesses and the creak of wooden wheels drifted through the air. Another cart meant another driver had left and that meant one less smuggler inside the barn. . . .
“If every time a cart leaves, another man leaves with it, we have only to wait and watch until the odds in our favor are better before we attack,” she said slowly.
It wasn’t much of a plan and Mathew didn’t like it, but he had to agree she was right. They crept back to the barn and dared another look inside. This end of the barn was deep in shadows and she risked a longer look, counting five remaining carts and noticing for the first time, a pair of saddle horses tied to a center post.
Shutting the door again, and leaning against the side of the barn she whispered, “There’s at least seven men inside right now—not counting Barnaby and Lamb. Five carts. Two saddle horses.”
Mathew nodded. “And if the carts continue to leave one at a time . . .”
Emily grinned in the darkness. “Odds increase in our favor.”
But Emily was worried and as the minutes passed and two more carts rumbled into the night, waiting outside didn’t seem such a wise option. Barnaby and Lamb were inside, helpless and vulnerable, and while she and Mathew waited outside for the odds to change, anything could happen. Her stomach dropped away. Barnaby could be shot and killed before she knew it. She had to be inside that barn where she could react immediately if needed and not just risk a glance inside now and then. Too much could happen between one glance and the next.
Leaping to her feet, she said, “I’m going inside.” Not giving herself a chance to consider the wisdom of her actions, before Mathew could react, she opened the door and slid inside the barn.
Cursing under his breath, Mathew grasped his pistol and braced himself to charge into the barn. Cracking open the door a narrow sliver, he glanced inside, expecting a cry of alarm when Emily was discovered. To his profound relief all appeared normal. A swift look around and he spied Emily concealed from the smugglers behind the bundles of hay and straw.
The remaining smugglers, Mathew noted, were busy at the far end of the building as another cart prepared to roll through the barn door and out into the dark. Taking a deep breath, his heart pounding like a battle drum, Mathew stepped quickly through the door and dashed to Emily’s side behind the piles of hay.
“You’re mad,” he hissed when he knelt down beside her.
“You followed me,” she pointed out with a grin. “What does that make you?”
“Mad as a hatter,” Mathew muttered, shocked and a little embarrassed to discover he was
almost
enjoying himself. If Barnaby’s and Lamb’s lives weren’t at risk, he admitted ruefully, he’d think this a great lark—and by far the most exciting time he’d ever had in his staid, respectable life.
Emily had been right, he conceded, for them to be inside the barn. Outside they’d been blind except for the occasional glance, but now they were positioned to strike in an instant should it prove necessary. Unfortunately, Emily wasn’t content to simply watch and, to Mathew’s horror, just as his heart began to beat normally, she whispered, “I’m going to work my way around to Barnaby and Lamb and cut them free.”
Instinctively, he tried to stop her, grabbing for her booted foot as she slithered away, but she was moving too fast and he missed. Mathew swore and scrambled after her. Christ! She was going to get them all killed.
Emily had no intention of getting anyone killed, but she wanted her husband safe. By her estimation, there were four or five smugglers still in the barn, and during the next few minutes, one of them would be driving away, leaving only three or four men behind—good enough odds for her. Barnaby and Lamb were on the other side of the mound of hay and straw where she lay hidden, and if she was going to make a move to free them, now was as good as ever. The loose bundles and piles of hay and straw gave her perfect cover and, focused on reaching her husband, she winnowed her way through it toward him.
 
Barnaby’s head throbbed and his shoulders ached from the hours his arms had been brutally tied behind his back. He didn’t allow himself to consider that he might die . . . and Lamb with him. His thoughts were all about escape and returning to Emily’s sweet, warm embrace.
Since their capture, he and Lamb had been under the eye of one or another of their captors and there had been no opportunity for either one of them to help the other one reach the knives they both carried. During the last few minutes as the barn emptied out and no one seemed to be paying attention to them, he and Lamb had wiggled deeper into the shadows. They knew that time was running out for them and that if they were to make an escape, it had to be soon. Barnaby eyed the small door set in the back wall. Their best chance would be out that door.
Of one thing, Barnaby was certain. Tom would wait until the last cart had been driven away before disposing of him and Lamb. When their bodies were found, that Tom had murdered them would become legend in the smuggling community, but the man wasn’t stupid enough to kill them in front of witnesses. But kill them he would—the only questions were when and where.
Tom and Peckham were still below in the tunnel keeping track of the goods selected for this particular run to London, but Barnaby knew they wouldn’t remain there much longer. He considered the two smugglers at the other end of the barn. They’d finished with the one cart and were busy loading the last of the contraband in the final cart.
Assuming the two carts would depart together, leaving he and Lamb with Tom and Peckham, Barnaby murmured to Lamb, “Can you get your hands in front? They tied my arms as well as my hands and I can’t move them.”
The smugglers had only tied Lamb’s hands behind his back, not roping his arms to his body as they had with Barnaby. “I’ve been trying for the last five minutes,” Lamb growled, “and in just a minute . . .”
Beside him, Barnaby felt a violent movement and heard Lamb grunt.
“Ah, that’s much better,” said Lamb, his bound hands finally in front of him. “Now where’s that knife of yours?”
“We’ll use mine,” Emily said softly from behind Barnaby, jolting both men.
A dozen questions floated in the air between them, but there was no time. Once they were safe would be soon enough for explanations. And tongue lashings, Emily thought grimly. Tongue lashings that would strip hide off of both men, but only when she had them safe.
Her knife sliced through the ropes around Barnaby’s arms and a moment later his hands were free. Reaching for the knife in his boot, he said, “How did you guess?”
Busy cutting Lamb’s hands free, Emily said calmly, “Once I knew you’d gone down the tunnel and hadn’t returned, looking for you here seemed logical.”
“Logical and utterly mad,” muttered Mathew, crawling up beside Emily.
Barnaby stared incredulously at him, barely able to make out his features in the shadows. “How in the hell . . . !”
“Cornelia vouched for him,” Emily said simply. “I told him everything.” She reached into her pocket and handed Barnaby the pistol. “If we have to fight our way clear,” she whispered, “you should have this.” A grin flashed across her face. “I’m sure you’re a better shot than I am.”
Barnaby’s fingers tightened on the pistol, his heart suddenly so full of love for her, he dare not speak. Lamb was right. She
was
an Amazon. And she was his.
The second cart loaded, one of the smugglers reached up and blew out the lantern near the middle of the barn, deepening the shadows where Barnaby and the others crouched.
“It looks like they’re getting ready to leave,” Mathew said. “I suggest that we get the hell out of here and alert the authorities to what is going on.”
Barnaby and Lamb’s eyes met. “Ah, I don’t think that would be wise,” Barnaby said, fumbling for words. He wanted Tom Joslyn stopped, but he saw no good reason why Mathew and Simon should suffer the public humiliation and scandal that would accompany their brother’s exposure as an active participant and the moneyman behind a vicious gang of smugglers. Tom had already revealed that Mathew had nothing to do with the attempts on his life or any part of the smuggling, but how would Mathew feel if forced to takes sides? Would his affection for his brother pit against them?
A commotion near the carts caught their attention. A newcomer had arrived and in the faint light of the remaining lantern, Barnaby recognized the dainty figure that strolled into the barn, leading his horse behind him. Barnaby swore. “Nolles.”
“The odds just went up,” Emily murmured, “but we can still take them.”
Barnaby shook his head decisively. He’d relish a fight, eager to mete out some justice of his own, but not when it placed his wife in danger. He already felt like a fool blundering into a nest of smugglers like a green boy and he wasn’t going to add to the feeling by increasing the risks Emily had already taken.
Tonight’s events weren’t a total loss, he reminded himself. He now knew the identity of his would-be killer and Nolles’s London backer; a report to Lieutenant Deering would end the use of the Windmere tunnels as a hiding place for contraband. Though it gnawed at his vitals, he had to face the fact that Nolles and Tom Joslyn would escape retribution tonight. This wasn’t the outcome Barnaby wanted, but it would have to be enough . . . for now. He and Lamb were safe and Emily was by his side. Yes. It was enough.
Lamb glanced at him, reading the decision in Barnaby’s face. “There’ll be another time,” Lamb promised softly.
Taking one last quick look around, Barnaby stiffened as two figures exited the stall and walked over to meet Nolles. Tom and Peckham. Unless he missed his guess, sometime in the next few minutes, Tom would be showing off his captives to Nolles.
Lamb spotted Tom and Peckham at the same time Barnaby did and as one they dived under the bundles of hay and straw, joining Emily and Mathew. “Go! Go! Out the back door,” Barnaby said urgently, hustling Emily deeper into the hay.
Puzzled, but hearing the sharp command in his tone, she didn’t argue and like an eel she tunneled through the hay, stopping only when she reached the back wall. With Barnaby and the others at her heels, she scrambled toward the back door.
A shout froze them in their tracks. “The prisoners,” yelled Tom. “They’ve escaped! Find them, you bloody fools. Find them now!”
Fueled by fear, Emily sprang forward, her fingers scrabbling at the door before finding purchase and flinging it open. Barnaby shoved her out the door and into the darkness as another shout, “Over there! The door!” rang out and a shot shattered the night.

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