Regina Scott (20 page)

“You said he died several years ago,” Will countered. “You could have come to me then, explained all this.”

“I could have,” he admitted. “But I’d rather hoped you’d put it behind you. Only when you were so intent on questioning me yesterday did I suspect the death still rankled.” He held out his hand. “Forgive me for not speaking sooner.”

Will glanced at the long-fingered hand, a hand, if the stories were true, that had wounded more than one man. But it seemed it was not the hand that had killed his brother. He reached out and clasped it. “Thank you for telling me. Now I understand why Samantha could not explain. I only hope you won’t have to bear the consequences for breaking your vow of silence.”

Vaughn’s smile tipped up at one corner as he drew back his hand. “I can reasonably say I’m safe. For the past seven years, I’ve worked with a group of gentlemen in the Carpenter’s Club intent on doing their Christian duty. It’s brought me to the attention of the Regent and the Prime Minister, in a good way.”

“Hence your elevation to marquess.”

His smile broadened. “Precisely. And it’s something my wife had wanted for a long time. The title would have gone into abeyance otherwise. Nevertheless Lord Liverpool’s government allows me a certain latitude, so long as its cause is served.”

He sobered suddenly and took a step closer. “You’ve been the king’s man in the diplomatic corps. Tell me, William Wentworth, Earl of Kendrick, are you willing to help the Empire again?”

Will frowned at his intensity. “I remain His Majesty’s obedient servant. What did you have in mind?”

“We have reason to believe the story I just told you has not quite reached its conclusion, and I could use your help to tidy up some loose ends.”

Will felt his head come up, the blood pumping through his veins. Here was a chance to right his brother’s death, to make a difference for England again. Hadn’t he been looking for a diversion? It seemed to have found him instead.

“I’m your man,” he replied. “What would you have me do?”

Vaughn’s mouth quirked. “Nothing too onerous or dangerous, I promise you.”

Will’s disappointment must have shown on his face, for Vaughn barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Let me tell you the situation as we see it. Back in 1805, when the leader was captured, we collected many of his followers, but some remained only rumors. Those we’ve managed to track down over the years. One suspected accomplice fled to the Continent, and we lost all trace of him. However, we have reason to think he recently returned to England. We believe he is the one stalking my cousin.”

“The thief!” Will realized, pulling away even as he felt himself stiffening again, this time for a fight.

“Indeed,” Vaughn agreed. “When he struck first in London, we weren’t sure of his motives or even who was behind it. We managed to convince Samantha to head north to safety while we attempted to solve the mystery.”

“But you weren’t happy,” Will guessed. “You suspected she might be in danger. That’s why you followed her.”

Vaughn raised his brows. “I assure you this mystery held all my attentions.”

“Enough so that I saw you and that roan of yours here in Evendale before your family arrived.”

He blew out a breath. “How very clumsy of me. But you’re right. I was here to keep an eye on her, until I realized you were doing a much better job of it.”

Will could not agree. “Yet still the miscreant struck. Did you learn why? What has she to do with any of this in the first place?”

“Her father, my uncle, was second in command of the group for a time,” Vaughn explained, and Will thought his tension was rising again as well. “I believe he found faith and attempted to change the leader’s mind. He was killed for his trouble. However, any number of plans were made right here, in Dallsten Manor, under the cover of this summer party. It’s possible our last follower thinks to find some incriminating evidence of his involvement and destroy it before anyone is the wiser.”

“It sounds as if you know who you’re looking for,” Will said, watching him. “Is it one of the staff? Someone staying in the area?”

Vaughn eyed him, and Will could see the calculation behind those deep brown eyes. He didn’t want Will knowing any more than necessary. That much was clear from the way he’d carefully withheld the leader’s name. He wasn’t sure whether to trust Will now.

“I can’t help if I don’t know the truth,” Will said. “And I want to help. This man was part of a plot against England that cost me my brother. I’d like to see him brought to justice.”

Vaughn was silent a moment longer, then squared his shoulders as if making a decision. “Very well, Lord Kendrick. But I want your word you will do nothing without consulting me first.”

Though it rankled, Will nodded. “You have my word. Who do you suspect as your traitor?”

“My cousin’s most devoted suitor,” he said. “Prentice Haygood.”

Chapter Twenty

S
unlight slanted through the oaks; the leaves chattered in the breeze. The day was warm, the air resinous with the scent from the pine trees a long-lost Dallsten had planted. Normally she would have strolled along the path, watching for red squirrels scampering up the bark, for roe deer leaping away through the green.

But the farther along the path Samantha walked, the more her feet slowed. She wasn’t physically tired, but she felt as if she carried the weight of the fells on the shoulders of her cambric gown. She seemed to be hurting everyone around her, when all she wanted was to end the cycle of blame and hurt.

Tears stung her cheeks.

Oh, Lord, You carried a much bigger burden. Won’t You help me carry this one?

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

That verse again? She’d always struggled with it. Growing up in privilege should have made her burden light indeed, yet it always seemed worry lurked behind her. Why was her father so often gone? Didn’t he love her and her mother? Why was her mother so sad? Now that she understood the whole story of their courtship and marriage, she had some answers, but the burden had shifted to her. She was equal parts of her mother and father. What hope did she have for a good marriage?

Ahead, an opening in the trees filled the space with light. She stopped in the golden air and lifted her face to the warmth.

I know Your promises, Lord. But the yoke doesn’t seem light now. As Baroness Everard, I feel responsible for so many things—Dallsten Manor, the legacy, the well-being of my cousins and their families. And if I marry, I’ll have a responsibility to my husband and children as well. I can’t do it alone.

But she wasn’t alone.

Here in her forest, with the light shining from above, she could believe the Lord was right here with her. She took a deep breath, steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lips in promise.

Thank You, Lord. I will lean on You when my strength fails me.

The tears kept falling, but they felt cleansing and cool. She wiped them away with her fingers before lowering her hands. What a watering pot she’d become! She’d never had to carry a handkerchief before returning to Dallsten Manor!

With a laugh, she shook the tears from her fingers and stood taller. She could do this. She was meant to do this. She’d return to the house, carry on with her plan. She would not let her family, or Will, sway her.

Even if just the thought of Will made her sway on her feet.

Something, perhaps a twig, snapped behind her, and she knew that she had company. Time to take up her role. Putting on a bright smile, she turned, expecting to see Jamie or one of her cousins out for a walk or ride.

Instead Prentice Haygood stood on the path, hands deep in the folds of his greatcoat. He offered her a tremulous smile.

“I thought perhaps I could convince you to reconsider,” he said.

She could not be angry with him, seeing him standing there so penitently. The sunlight made a halo on his mousey hair, as if to affirm his innocence.

“How sweet,” she said. “You have been a loyal friend, Mr. Haygood. But I’m afraid my mind is quite made up. Please do not pursue the matter further.”

He approached her slowly, each step so hesitant she thought he was sure she’d bolt. “But I must pursue the matter. It’s the best course to my happiness, I am assured.”

What had she done to make him so determined? She’d never encouraged more than a friendship! “And I am equally assured that I would make you singularly miserable,” Samantha insisted. “If you continue with this course, I will have to ask you to leave.”

He stopped two feet away from her, gray eyes flickering over her face as if he searched for the truth in it. “You’re absolutely certain.”

A sigh escaped her. “Yes, Mr. Haygood, absolutely certain. This isn’t some maidenly restraint you see. I fear it’s quite fierce determination, a besetting sin you will be glad to have avoided in a wife.”

His hands had come out to worry now, turning over and over each other like two fat puppies in play. She found the gesture far less charming. “Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this course?” he begged, taking another step closer. “I assure you I will be a devoted husband.”

“And I assure you I will make a wretched wife.”

“Pity,” he said, then his hands shot out and wrapped around her throat.

Samantha gasped in pain and shock. She pushed back from him, but his grip was like a vise, squeezing, crushing. The air in her lungs fought for release. All uncertainty, all hesitancy had vanished from his chubby face, leaving him grim, hard. She had no doubt he meant to kill her. He thought because she was a woman, it would be easy.

She might be a woman, but she was also an Everard. And she did not intend to go into that dark night without a fight.

She swung up both hands, rammed her thumbs into his eyes and brought the heel of one half boot down on his instep with all the strength she had. With a roar of pain, he released her, stumbling back. Air rushed into her lungs, clear, pure.

She didn’t give herself, or him, a moment to recover. She gathered her skirts in her hands and ran, darting off the path and into the trees.

“You can’t escape!” he shouted after her. “I will find you.”

Not while she drew breath, and oh that breath tasted sweet right now. She wanted to run, she wanted to fly up the fells behind the forest. But she knew from experience that the green grass springing up at the base of the trees hid gnarled roots, moss-crusted rocks. She had to be careful if she was to reach safety.

She could hear him behind her, blundering along, cursing at the branches that must reach for his coat, his face. A thud and a string of oaths told her one of the rocks had found its prey.

But the forest was her friend. She’d grown up in these woods. Though trees had fallen and new ones grown to replace them, this was still her home. She scrambled over stumps, wove her way among the saplings. She lost her hat, her basket, but never did she lose her way or her purpose.

The occasional pine gave way to oak and birch, and she knew that Kendrick Hall was a good mile away. That meant Dallsten Manor lay a similar distance behind her. Had she felt safe cutting across the path again, she might make her way to the right and the fields beyond. Only the empty fells rose on her left; they would offer no rescue. Indeed she was far enough away from anyone who might help that no one would hear her if she called.

But their location also meant that Haygood couldn’t block all routes to escape. She just had to keep moving, reach Kendrick Hall, and she was safe.

Something whizzed past her cheek, and the bark of the tree ahead of her exploded even as she heard the roar of a pistol.

Haygood was armed.

Heart hammering, she ducked behind a massive oak and put her back against it. The bark bit into her fingers as she fought for breath once more. Pistols only had a single shot before they had to be reloaded. She had a few precious seconds to lose him before he fired again.

Lord, please, protect me. Show me how to get away.

She listened, but the only sound was the breeze moving through the branches. Prentice Haygood was stalking her, like a gamekeeper intent on a fox. She had to be more clever.

She’d played in these woods as a child, running with Jamie in a game of catch-me-who-can. Then, Adele or a Kendrick groom or footman had kept watch. There was no one watching over her now except her Heavenly Father. She’d fenced with Vaughn along the path when he’d first come to Dallsten Manor, using trees and rocks to their advantage. Now she didn’t have her blade to defend herself.

But she could still play the game, still use the forest for help. She had to. This time, she was playing for much greater stakes—her life.

* * *

On the path beside the forest Will’s heart was hammering nearly as hard, at Vaughn’s revelation.

“Haygood is your traitor?” Will cried. “It can’t be. He just proposed to your cousin. He claimed to love her.”

Vaughn frowned, rubbing his chin with one hand. “It’s possible he does love her. She tends to have that effect on a fellow.”

Will included. But now was no time to declare his undying devotion. His concern was all for Samantha.

“Then you don’t think he’ll hurt her,” he challenged.

Vaughn’s smile was confident. “Not with all of us to protect her.”

Will could not be so certain. When he’d interrupted Haygood and Samantha, he’d thought the man looked too intense, like a watch too tightly wound. It was possible he merely took her rejection hard. But given Vaughn’s tale it was just as likely more was afoot.

“He followed her a few minutes ago, into the woods,” Will reported. “I cannot like it. I’m going after them.”

Vaughn inclined his head. “A wise precaution, though I’m certain my cousin can hold her own.”

As if to belie his words, from the forest to their left, a shot rang out.

Will jerked even as Vaughn’s hand darted to his side as if reaching for a blade. Will started for the trees.

“If I’m not back in a quarter hour,” he flung over his shoulder, “send reinforcements.”

“You have ten minutes,” Vaughn called. “Then I bring an army.”

Will dashed into the woods, but as soon as the trees closed around him, he slowed. The shot could have come from the Dallsten Manor gamekeeper or even the Kendrick Hall gamekeeper considering how close they had walked to his estate. One of the other Everards or Jamie might have taken out a gun for a go. But given that Samantha’s life could hang in the balance, Will refused to take chances.

He located the main riding path through the forest easily enough. He’d ridden this way—first as a youth and then as the Earl of Kendrick. He knew its turns, its rises and falls, the places where tree roots made footing uneven. He was familiar with the bird calls that echoed at dawn and dusk, the scent of pine and damp oak. Now every sense was focused on picking out the aberrant, the unusual—the headlong flight of a terrified woman and the pursuit of her attacker.

But the forest was too quiet, as if Will was its lone denizen. He knew that couldn’t be right. Foxes made their dens here; marmots roamed the fells. They too cowered away from the predator.

Will smiled. No, Samantha would never cower. And silence could be her friend rather than her enemy. Right now it was his friend as well.

He stole along the path, his gaze ever moving, ears attuned to the rustle of bushes, the snap of a branch or twig. Through the treetops, he could see that the sun had reached its zenith, the shadows short in every direction, giving no clue as to east or west, north or south. Haygood could easily miss his direction. But Will knew these lands too well to mistake his way.

Haygood must be behind her, which meant Samantha’s best choice was to make for the hall. For a moment he had a vision of her lying on the shadowed grasses, golden tresses marred with blood. No! He would not allow it. He could not lose her.

Father, protect her!

Fear stabbed at him. He’d whispered the same prayer for Peg, and she’d been taken from him. This is what it meant to open his heart again, loss and fear and anxiety. Some part of him demanded to know whether the effort to love was worth the cost.

Where Samantha was concerned, he had no more doubts.

Ahead to his right he caught a flash of blue, and his breath caught. Too large to be one of the flowers that sprang up among the trees, too low to be a bird’s wing. He started to call out and immediately thought better of it. No reason to startle her or give away her position. No reason to alert Haygood she had help. He turned off the path, climbed over a fallen tree and followed.

That he had sighted Samantha was soon apparent. There was no mistaking sunlight gleaming on her hair or the flutter of her cambric skirt. But where was Haygood?

Will paused long enough to glance around. They had crossed onto his land; he sighted the cleft just ahead where the stream trickled down from the fells through mossy rocks and thick fern rising to Will’s waist. Behind and to either side, nothing moved, and Will could see no sign of a white cravat, a pale face.

Had the man given up? Or had Will been wrong in his assessment? But if he had been wrong, why was Samantha fleeing through the trees instead of walking along the path?

Whatever was happening, he needed to bring this chase to an end. Even a woman of Samantha’s stamina must be tiring. Glancing ahead, he realized he’d lost sight of her and puffed out a sigh. Well, she’d have to find some way to cross that stream. He merely had to wait along the banks, perhaps take a chance and call to her.

He started forward once more, ducking under a low-hanging branch. He rose just in time to find another branch swinging at him. It hit him square in the upper chest, slamming into him. He stumbled back with a gasp of breath that hurt.

Samantha came hurtling out of the wood, dead tree limb in both hands, raised as if to strike. She met his gaze and skidded to stop. Her brown eyes were huge, her hair tumbled down around her shoulders in a cape of gold, and a stripe of green marred her fair cheek.

“Oh, Will,” she cried. The branch fell from her fingers, and she launched herself into his arms.

Will caught her, held her close, thanksgiving eclipsing any pain from his stinging chest. She trembled against him, arms wrapped around his waist, face buried in his cravat. Relief merged into a tenderness that shook him, and he could only stand there, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of roses.

Thank You, Lord!

She pulled back first, leaving him chilled.

“I’m so sorry!” she said, face anguished. “I meant that for Haygood. Are you hurt?”

Will shrugged and winced as his ribs protested. “Nothing that won’t mend. If I’d been shorter, though, you would have taken my head off.”

“That was the general idea,” she said with charming disregard for her former suitor’s health. She bent and retrieved her branch. “He shot at me, Will! He has gone completely mad, all because I refused to marry him!”

“It seems it wasn’t just your refusal that sent him around the bend,” Will replied. He glanced about, but still could find no sign of her assailant. Haygood could be anywhere—hiding beside a tree, crouching behind a rock. By now he had to have reloaded. Was he taking aim?