Kitabı oku: «Enchanted in Regency Society», sayfa 3

He brushed his lips across her mouth, warm and dry and soft. A mere whisper of the kiss he’d given her in the dark on a moonlit road.

A lightning bolt seemed to shoot through her body, hot yet pleasurable. She stiffened in shock.

‘I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you,’ he said, his voice carrying on a warm puff of breath against her chin.

She shivered, her mind a blank to everything except trembling anticipation.

A smile dawned slowly, lazy and sensuous. She could not tear her gaze from his mouth. He slid one hand behind her neck. ‘You are very pretty, Ellie.’

His husky voice seduced her ears. He was the sun and she the moon, pulled inexorably into his orbit. She leaned closer. He dropped the cloth and enfolded her in his arms, his hand spanning the arch of her back, his breath warming her lips.

What was she doing? It felt so right, but was very, very wrong.

The door crashed back on its hinges.

Eleanor jumped back. The Marquess turned away, but not before she saw a glimmer of rueful amusement in those warm brown eyes.

‘Here you are,’ Sissy announced. Water from the bucket slopped over her shoes. She glanced around. ‘Gracious, and after you spent all day yesterday cleaning.’

Eleanor busied herself clearing the table and wiping away the soot, praying that Sissy would not notice her heated face or agitated breathing. ‘Put some water in the kettle and the rest in the sink.’ Her voice sounded different, throaty, rough.

The Marquess grabbed the bucket. ‘Let me. That is far too heavy a load for such a small person.’ He poured water in the kettle and hung it over the traitorously merry fire.

Eleanor laid the table and, while the water boiled, she covered the old wooden table with another threadbare cloth, dusted off the bread and pot of jam she’d dropped unceremoniously on the floor and brought cakes from the pantry. The Marquess helped Sissy move the chair and two stools to the table. Somehow he didn’t fit with Eleanor’s idea of a rake. He seemed no different than her brothers. Well, not quite like a brother, but nice, friendly and fun.

‘Goody,’ Sissy said, ‘cakes. We never have cakes unless Martin comes, and not always then.’

‘Martin?’ The Marquess looked enquiringly at Eleanor, but it was Sissy who replied.

‘Mr Martin Brown, he’s—’ began Sissy.

‘A relative of ours,’ Eleanor put in swiftly. Sissy knew the story they’d woven, but sometimes she forgot. ‘He works nearby on his cousin’s farm.’

‘Please sit down, my lord.’ Eleanor bobbed a curtsy and gestured to the chair. She and Sissy took the stools. Eleanor poured tea and Sissy passed him the plate of cakes.

‘Special cakes,’ Sissy said.

He popped one in his mouth. ‘They are delicious.’ He took another and Eleanor smiled. It was nice to have a compliment from someone like the Marquess.

‘How long have you lived here, Miss Brown?’ he asked in formal conversational tones.

‘Almost one month.’

‘I see.’ He glowered at the hearth. ‘That chimney should be cleaned.’ His gaze roamed the room. ‘The walls are damp.’

‘The roof leaks a little,’ Eleanor admitted.

‘And the stream outside overflows,’ Sissy said, placing her cup in its saucer with a decisive clink. ‘We had water running right through the kitchen. And frogs.’

‘Please don’t think I am complaining,’ Eleanor hurried to say. ‘We were lucky to find a place we could afford so close to the village.’

He looked at her curiously. ‘Miss Brown, you are not from around here. Your accent is not from Sussex. Indeed, you both sound almost…’

What had he been about to say. Educated? Noble? She’d made no attempt to change her or Sissy’s speech. Not in this particular role. Once more he’d surprised her, this time with his perception. She tried to keep the guilt from her voice and face while the lies she and Martin had concocted tripped glibly from her tongue. ‘We were brought up on a great estate, similar to your own. Our mistress was fond of my mother and allowed Sissy and me to be taught with her children. I plan to become a governess, but have as yet to find a suitable position.’

‘I like it here,’ Sissy said. ‘I found Miss Boots in the garden.’

‘Miss Boots?’ the Marquess asked with a raised eyebrow.

‘My cat,’ Sissy said. She ducked under the table and pulled out the kitten. ‘See, she has little white boots.’ She pointed to the cat’s tiny white feet and legs.

‘So she does,’ he said. He pulled out his watch, a plain silver thing. Nothing like the glittering piece she’d stolen. ‘You will forgive me,’ he said. ‘I have another engagement this afternoon.’

And here he was listening to a child’s artless chatter. Eleanor tried not to let the chagrin show on her face. ‘Please, do not let us keep you. Thank you for allowing me to pay my debt in some small measure.’

He shook his head. ‘The pleasure is mine, I assure you.’

And she believed him. Despite their apparently different stations, he showed not a smidgen of condescension. Why could she not have met him in her old life?

Oh, Lord, what was she thinking? This man had ruined her life. But somehow she no longer felt any hatred. After all, he’d saved them from a fiery fate. Her change of heart had absolutely nothing to do with all those other hot sensations. Or his kisses.

He shrugged himself into his jacket and picked up the hat and cane he had dropped on his way in. ‘I will certainly tell Mrs Briddle that Boxted village boasts one of the finest bakers in all of Sussex. I am sure you will hear from her very soon. Good day, Miss Brown, Miss Sissy.’ He bowed and, with a touch of the head of his cane to his forehead, departed.

Eleanor, with Sissy at her side, watched him stroll down the path from the doorway. He paused briefly on the wormy plank across the stream, looking down into the water for a moment, before mounting his horse.

‘Eleanor, that’s it,’ Sissy said. ‘You can bake cakes for Beauworth Court and we will be rich again.’

The hope in Sissy’s voice brought Eleanor down to earth with a painful jolt. If she didn’t find a way out of this morass soon, things were going to get a great deal worse. ‘He’s a dangerous man.’

‘I liked him,’ Sissy said. ‘He has nice brown eyes.’

‘You only like brown eyes because you have them, too.’

Sissy laughed. ‘Well, he likes you. He looked like he wanted to eat you instead of the cakes.’

Eleanor put a hand to her lips as she recalled the way she had melted at the brush of his mouth. The man was a practised seducer. How many other young women had he brought to ruin?

Not to mention that if he hadn’t called in the mortgage, they would not be in such desperate straits. Perhaps Martin’s ransom idea had merit after all.

Chapter Three

Arriving back at the stables, Garrick found Johnson in the barn mending tack. ‘Where’s Dan? I want him to come with me on a small errand.’

‘I sent him to the kitchen for summat to eat. Got hollow legs, that lad ’as. Needs feeding up.’

Garrick nodded. ‘Saddle the quietest thing we’ve got for him, would you? I’ll look after Bess.’

They worked in the side-by-side stalls in silence for a few minutes.

‘Bright that lad ’e is,’ Johnson said to the jingle of a bit.

Garrick knew he meant Dan. He grunted agreement as he lifted his saddle on to the mare.

‘Good with the horses,’ Johnson continued. ‘You don’t have to tell him a thing more than once. ’Ad some rough treatment somewhere, I reckon.’

No point in keeping it a secret. ‘Apprenticed to a bad master. I convinced him to let him go.’

‘With your fists, I hear, my lord. Served the bastard right.’

A sick feeling roiled through Garrick’s gut. When he’d caught the bully laying a stick across the boy’s back, he’d seen red. The blood red of terrible rage. If Harry hadn’t separated them, the man might have cocked up his toes.

When it was over, he’d paid handsomely, both for Dan and for the damage he’d wrought, yet his gut still churned when he recalled his desire to spill blood. After years without incident, he’d lost control, let the inner beast slip off its chain. He’d been a fool to think he could beat the Le Clere curse. He wasn’t fit for civilised society.

If it wasn’t for his lost signet ring, he’d have left for Lisbon today.

‘Dan should not have said anything,’ Garrick muttered.

‘I winkled it out of him, my lord. I couldn’t understand why he flinched every time I raised me arm. Won’t do him any good around your uncle.’

Garrick patted Bess’s neck. ‘Keep the boy busy and he’ll do well enough. I’m surprised you don’t have more help.’

Johnson shrugged. ‘Mr Le Clere don’t like to spend a shilling when a groat will do.’

At that moment, Dan entered the stable whistling. Garrick leaned out of the stall. ‘Give Mr Johnson a hand, lad. You are riding out with me.’

Dan’s angelic face lit up. ‘Yes, my lord.’

From his side of the stable wall, Garrick listened to Johnson giving instructions. He’d been right to bring the lad here to Beauworth. He’d learn a useful trade as well as grow strong away from the foul London air. Today, he’d explain his plan for the boy’s future.

He finished saddling Bess and led her out into the sunshine. Dan followed a moment later, the old nag Johnson had found for him chewing on its bit.

‘Ready, boy?’ he asked.

‘Aye, my lord.’

They mounted and rode out of the stable yard towards the place where they’d been held up the previous night. If luck was with him, he’d find some trace of his attacker. Attackers, he amended. Damn it. He should have expected an accomplice. Her husband, perhaps? Or was she his doxy? A repulsive thought. Just thinking about the man with his hands on the saucy wench made him go cold.

What the hell was the matter with him? To be attracted to two women in one week seemed overly debauched even for him. Two very different females, too. One sweet, innocent, barely aware of her feminine appeal. The other, coarse and brash, a lure to the brute every civilised man held at bay.

What a base cur he was, to look forward to meeting the lady highwayman again.

Leaving the lane, they entered the woods. Ancient oaks and elms rose above their heads, the cool air smelling of leaf mould. A breeze stirred the branches and gold-dappled shadows shifted on the track. Here and there the damp soil revealed the passage of two horses travelling fast, one large and one smaller.

When they emerged into open country again, Garrick lost the tracks. Forced to dismount, he cast around.

Dan slid warily from his horse a short distance off. ‘There are hoof prints in the dried mud over here, my lord, leading that way.’

Garrick inspected the prints. They were the same as those he’d seen in the woods. ‘Well done, Dan. Let’s see where they lead.’

Walking their horses, they continued on. In the distance, hedgerows seemed to stitch the patchwork of green-and-gold fields together, and the dipping sun gilded the tops of emerald trees. Once in a while, a patch of soft earth, or dried mud, revealed evidence of their quarry.

Tucked in a valley near a copse of trees they came across an ancient-looking barn hunkered beside a stream-fed pond. ‘This looks promising,’ Garrick said.

Dan shifted in his saddle. ‘Do you think they are in there?’

‘Doubtful. But in case, I want you to remain here out of sight with our horses. Ride back to Beauworth if anything goes wrong.’

Straightening his thin shoulders, Dan dismounted and grabbed the bridles with a determined expression. The lad was tougher than he looked. He had to be, or he wouldn’t have survived.

Garrick cautiously crossed the clearing to the sound of twittering birds in the nearby trees. He peered through a crack in a wooden door barred and padlocked from the outside. He made clicking noises with his tongue and listened with satisfaction to the sound of stirring feet and the huffing breath of animals tethered inside. The faint gleam of a white coat in the shadowy interior confirmed what he had hoped. He had found their hiding place. And if they were keeping their horses in the neighbourhood, they no doubt expected to strike again.

He returned to Dan, his mind busy forming a plan. If this worked, he’d be leaving in a day or so. He looked into the face of the anxious boy and remembered why he’d brought him along. ‘I have some bad news for you, lad.’

The day after the fire, Martin’s bulk overflowed the wooden chair at Eleanor’s kitchen table.

‘Beauworth has been making enquiries,’ he said, glancing out of the window to where Sissy was sitting reading to Miss Boots. He lowered his voice.

‘Really,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the sudden increase of her heartbeat in her voice.

He nodded. ‘According to my cousin, he was worried they might try to steal the gold expected from London tonight.’

Eleanor straightened.

Martin’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s a trap, my lady. Stands to reason.’

Traps sometimes closed in more than one way. ‘I think you are right.’ She crossed her fingers in the folds of her skirt. ‘And besides, I wouldn’t dream of trying a robbery while you are gone.’

A sceptical expression passed across Martin’s rugged features, but he said no more. He flung a small leather pouch into her lap. It landed with a soft clink. ‘This is all the money I got from the first robbery. Not much, considering the danger.’

She nodded and gestured to the valise on the floor. ‘We need to make sure Lady Sissy is safe before we think of doing anything else.’

‘Did I hear my name?’ Sissy wandered in with Miss Boots draped across her shoulders. She rubbed her cheek against the cat’s soft fur.

‘Martin is going to take you to Aunt Marjory,’ Ellie said.

Tears pooled in Sissy’s eyes. She dropped to her knees by Eleanor’s feet. ‘No. You said I could stay with you.’

With a wince, Eleanor looked at Martin. He shook his head. He didn’t like this any more than Sissy did, but Eleanor could not let the little one stay any longer.

She ruffled the dark curls on the bowed head at her knee. ‘You like Aunt Marjory. She has cats. Miss Boots will have company.’

Sissy clutched Eleanor’s skirts. ‘Please don’t send me away, Len. Everyone else has gone. I’ll fetch the wood every day, I promise.’

Not even the loss of her parents to influenza or Michael’s freakish carriage accident had caused Eleanor so much pain in her heart as Sissy’s tears did now. Until William returned to take up his title, she and Sissy were all that were left of their once close-knit family. ‘This is just a visit, dearest. You always visit Aunt Marjory in the summer.’

A hiccup emerged from the face buried against her lap. ‘You won’t leave me there forever, will you? Cross your heart and hope to die.’

‘I promise.’ When Sissy looked up, she made the obligatory sign over her chest.

‘All right.’

The tone was grudging, but Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. She kissed the top of her sister’s head, stroked the glossy dark brown curls into some sort of order and blinked back her own tears. ‘William will be home soon, don’t forget.’ Anguished, she looked at Martin. ‘Time to go.’

He swung Sissy up into his strong arms. Eleanor handed up Miss Boots and followed them outside to the waiting gig. Martin lifted the child, her kitten and her bag into the carriage and climbed up beside her. He touched his hat. ‘I’ll return tomorrow.’ He set the horse in motion.

‘Give my regards to Aunt Marjory.’

Sissy stared at her mournfully. ‘I will.’ The child looked over her shoulder all the way down the road and Eleanor waved cheerfully until the gig was out of sight. Eyes burning, she closed her front door. If things went wrong, she might never see her family again. But she had to try to put things right.

Moisture trickled down her cheeks, hot at first, then cold little trails. Crying? She never cried.

She wiped her eyes and lifted her chin. This would be her last chance to make amends. She must not fail.

After pushing the bolt home in the door, she drew the curtains across the windows in the parlour and the bedroom. She pulled the trunk from beneath the bed she shared with Sissy and placed the pouch of money among the articles they’d stolen. Items she’d rejected for sale as too distinctive. One such sparkled in her hand. The Marquess had tried to seduce her in order to keep it. And she was a numbskull to be swayed by the charm of a man who had ruined so many lives.

She sat back on her heels, staring at her ill-gotten gains. She would do well to keep that in mind.

Dinner over, Garrick sauntered out of the house with his father’s sword under his arm. After a full morning going over the estate’s ledgers in his uncle’s absence, he now had an inkling of why Beauworth seemed less than healthy. Over the last decade, rents had declined. Why, he wasn’t sure. Le Clere would no doubt have the answer, but would he have a solution?

Modernisation might be the key. He’d heard others talking about new farming methods. He’d mention it to Uncle Duncan when next they met. Right now, he had to deal with the robbers.

In the stables, Johnson had Bess ready to go.

‘Some lucky lady you’re keeping warm tonight, my lord?’ Johnson said with a leer. ‘Not that nice Miss Ellie in the village, I hope. I heard as how you’d been showing an interest in that quarter.’

Garrick frowned. Blasted gossipmongers. In a small place like Boxted, it didn’t take much for rumours to fly. ‘Quite a different sort of entertainment.’ He showed the old man his sword. ‘Going to pay a call on Appleby. I’ve been promising him a return match since the last time I was home.’

Johnson nodded his head. ‘No doubt ’e’ll regret it.’

Garrick grinned. He had no intention of letting his coachman guess what he was about. He buttoned up his coat and pulled his beaver hat down low. ‘You know how Appleby is, so don’t worry if I’m gone for a day or two.’ It might take some time to track down the ring. If they’d sold it, he might have to follow it as far as London. Heaven forefend that they’d melted it down.

Dan must have heard his voice, for the boy came galloping down the ladder to the loft. ‘Can I come with you, my lord?’

‘Not this time, Dan.’

The boy’s face fell. ‘But you’ll be gone soon and—’

‘Don’t argue with his lordship,’ Johnson said. The boy flinched.

It only took one sharp word and the old fear resurfaced. Garrick’s ire rose, curling his hands into fists. The boy stepped back. Afraid of him, too. And rightly so, yet it cut him to the quick. ‘Lead the horse out to the yard, lad,’ he said quietly.

Dan hurried to comply. Garrick followed him outside.

With only the lamp above the stable door to light the courtyard, Garrick took the reins from a miserable-looking Dan. The lad was all alone and clearly worried about Garrick’s departure. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

The boy nodded.

‘I’ve laid a trap for our highwaymen.’

‘At the barn?’

He’d decided against laying in wait at their hideout. Things might get ugly if he cornered them both. He wanted to separate them. Catch one of them out in the open. Divide and conquer. Not something he had time to explain to the lad, so he nodded agreement. ‘Not a word to anyone, if you please.’

The boy’s face brightened. ‘And you’re takin’ yer sword, too. I’d like to see a sword fight.’ He lunged, with one arm straight. ‘Stick her with it.’

Bloodthirsty little wretch. ‘Perhaps,’ Garrick said, holding back the urge to laugh. ‘Be a good lad and obey Mr Johnson as you would me.’

Dan stepped back and bowed with an innate dignity that seemed at odds with his rough upbringing. He’d miss the lad when he left for the army, he realised. Enough maudlin thoughts. He had work to do.

With a nod he mounted and urged Bess into a canter. Beyond Boxted he found a rise not far from where Lady Moonlight had held him up two nights before. From this vantage, he would see the villains when they set up their ambush for the non-existent Beauworth coach. They were in for a nasty surprise.

Clouds fled from the moon and Mist stood out like a patch of snow on a bare mountain. Eleanor edged deeper into the shadows. As usual, her stomach tightened like a windlass and her mouth dried to dust, but tonight her nervousness was pitched far higher than normal. She missed the stalwart Martin. She tightened her grip on Mist’s reins.

The horse pricked his ears, flicking them in the direction of the field on the other side of the hedge. She held her breath, listening. A rustle of leaves, barely noticeable above the sound of the wind in the trees. A crack of a twig. It had to be him.

A rider broke through a gap in the hedge at the same moment the pitiless moon chose to reappear. Bad luck for him. ‘Now, Mist. Fly.’ She crouched over his neck and they galloped for the woods.

After a few minutes of dodging trees and bushes, she reined in. The pursuit crashed through the undergrowth behind her. She smiled. He’d taken the bait. A heady rush of excitement filled her veins, buzzing in her ears. He’d come alone, too, so she didn’t have to worry about leading more than him astray.

She guided the horse off the well-worn path and into the tangled bushes. Low branches kept her ducking, but Mist required only the lightest touch as he followed the path she’d mapped out earlier in the day.

The clearing came up fast. She stopped and glanced back. Nothing. No sound or sight of anyone. Dash it. She’d been too clever and managed to lose him. She started to turn back.

‘Hold.’ The harsh word came from in front, not behind.

She whipped her head around. There, across the moon-drenched space, pistol drawn, he waited, his horse breathing hard. He’d circled around instead of following. Her heart thundered, her mind scrambled with the alteration to her plan. She gulped a breath. Things would go very ill if she made a mistake.

‘You may observe,’ the Marquess said coolly, ‘that I have my pistol trained on you. So I suggest it is your turn to stand and deliver.’

She walked Mist into the middle of the clearing.

‘Throw down your pistols,’ he demanded.

No fool, then. She pulled them from their holsters one at a time and tossed them at his horse’s front hoofs. The animal rolled its eyes, but remained still. Damn.

‘Dismount,’ he said, his voice cold, his hand steady.

A chill ran down her spine. He looked dangerously angry. She turned, preparing to dismount with Mist between them.

‘Oh, no, you don’t. Get off on this side or I’ll shoot the horse.’

Blast. He obviously knew that old cavalry trick. She bit her lip. She had no choice but to obey. Cautiously, she slipped out of the saddle, retaining her hold on Mist’s bridle.

Still mounted, the Marquess walked his horse to stand directly before her. The big-boned mare towered over her and Mist. Raising her gaze, Eleanor watched his eyes, ready to drop to the ground if he decided to fire. You didn’t grow up with older brothers and a soldier father without learning something useful.

Atop his horse, his face stern, he looked like some avenging god of war. Beautiful in the way of a cold marble statue.

‘Well, wench, we meet again.’ His gazed raked her from her head to her heels. ‘An interesting costume. You don’t expect me to believe you are a boy, do you?’

She’d opted for the freedom of breeches for the work she had to do tonight. She cast him the saucy half-smile she’d copied from Lizzie, the upstairs maid at Castlefield. A lass with an eye for the lads. ‘Well, well, if it ain’t the Markiss Boworthy. So we meets agin’, milord. Come for another kiss, ’ave yer?’

Casually, he gathered his reins in one hand and prepared to dismount. The nodcock. Underestimating her because she was female. She tensed. As his foot touched the ground, his body turned and his pistol moved off target. She tore her sword from the scabbard on her saddle and clutched the blade in her left hand. As he squared up, she lunged. A swift arc with the hilt knocked his pistol up. It exploded harmlessly into the air. A flick and she tossed the sword into her right hand, ready to run him through.

‘Stand back,’ she ordered.

Steel hissed as he drew a sword from the scabbard at his side. He was carrying a sword? Only the military carried them these days, or those with nefarious intent. He must have noticed hers on her saddle the other evening. Damn it. Now what?

He must have seen her surprise, because he laughed. ‘Nice move, wench, but I am an expert swordsman. You might as well give up now.’

The way he said swordsman, almost like a caress, sent a shiver down her spine. Arrogant man. She would dashed well show him a thing or two before she presented her nice little surprise. ‘Damn yer eyes, Markiss.’ She slashed at him, testing his skill.

He stumbled back, yet parried the unexpected thrust. He chuckled softly. Was he enjoying this? He had the reach, without question, but he was nothing but an idle rake, whereas she had practised for hours with William every day before he left for his regiment. She hacked at him in a flurry of blows.

At first, Beauworth gave ground to her attack. He fought lazily, his tip dropping time and time again. Always managing to recover before she broke through. He kept glancing around. ‘Where’s your accomplice?’ he asked in insultingly conversational tones as he parried a particularly tricky thrust with seeming ease.

‘Takin’ care of business in Lunnon.’

‘So you thought you’d try thieving on your own?’

‘Like taking lollipops from a baby it is.’ In spite of her bravado, her heavy breathing meant she found engaging in a conversation difficult. She’d tried every trick she knew. Sweat trickled into her eyes. She dashed it away on her sleeve, circling her opponent and taking advantage of a brief reprieve.

‘Had enough, wench?’ he jibed.

Enough? She’d almost pinked him twice. She had the upper hand, despite her tiring arm. She gulped air into her desperate lungs. ‘Not ’til I have yer ’ead on me spit.’

His husky chuckle drifted maddeningly into the night. Damn him. She was wilting and he seemed not the slightest bit discomposed.

Without warning, he changed his stance, attacked her hard and fast, lunging and stabbing. No more did his sword point waver, it flashed in a quicksilver blur. The grate of steel on steel screeched into the silence. Forced back by his superior strength, she retreated toward the great oak tree, which had stood guard over this clearing for centuries. She bit her lip. Had she been too confident?

His sword tip closed in on her throat. She defended and recovered. Again, he forced her back. She tripped on a root, staggering back, her arms wide.

He flicked his wrist and her coatsleeve was cut from elbow to shoulder. They both knew it could just as easily have been her flesh. She could see it in his eyes and the arrogant tilt of his head.

Air scraped her throat dry. Trembles shook her hand. Her wrist ached. The point of her blade wavered badly. Tip up. Tip up. Her father’s laughing voice rang in her ears. Her wrist refused to comply. This man was dangerous and she was running out of time. She glanced over her shoulder, lined herself up.

The Marquess’s grin exuded arrogance. At any moment, he would have her. He knew it. She knew it. He was far better than he’d let her believe. She should have been more wary right from the beginning, more focused on what she needed to do.

The tree trunk loomed behind her. She thrust at him one last time. He twisted his wrist. Her sword spun free. He caught it neatly and effortlessly in his left hand and crossed both blades at her throat.

Her heart beat wildly. Her stomach pitched. She swallowed dust. This was not supposed to happen.

His teeth flashed white and his eyes gleamed. While her ribs ached with the need for air, his chest barely rose and fell. ‘Now, Lady Moonlight, we need to talk. But first, let’s see your face.’ He tossed her blade aside.

Eleanor’s knees shook so hard, she feared she might stumble on to his point, yet somehow she dodged his hand. ‘Put up…I concede.’

He gave a little ground, but his sword point did not waver from the base of her neck. ‘So, you thought you would have my head on a spit, did you? I wonder how yours will look stretched on the gallows. Give me the mask.’

She lifted her hands away from her sides in an extravagant gesture of defeat, felt the dagger slide into her palm. She flicked it free of her sleeve. The blade flashed wickedly.

His jaw dropped, then he laughed. ‘You think to defeat a sword with a hat pin?’

God, she hoped so. She cast it underhand at the branch behind his head. He dodged. The net dropped, tangling his sword in the mesh. He cursed. Sawed at the ropes to no effect. She ran for the coil of rope behind the tree, hauled it through the block and tackle she’d nailed above his head. The mouth of the net tightened, trapping him and his sword inside.

She ran for her pistols and spun around. ‘Methinks…yer took o’er long, Markiss,’ she gasped. She wrapped the length of rope around his torso, while he glared at her through the mesh. ‘You should ’ave finished it when you had the chance.’

A net. The little hellion. Garrick’s face heated. She’d caught him like a cod fish. No matter how he twisted, he couldn’t break free and could get no leverage with his blade.

‘Drop yer sword,’ she said, pointing her pistol at his head. With his legs free, he could try a flying leap and no doubt one of them would get shot. Trouble was it was more likely to be he with his arms trapped against his body. He released the hilt of his sword, and she extracted it from the net, kindly not slicing him in the process.

He tried stretching the ropes with his shoulders and elbows.