Enchanted in Regency Society - Ann Lethbridge Mills & Boon M&B

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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

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