Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 03] Read online

  “How … efficient you are.” He grimaced slightly but she could tell she had convinced him. “So what do we do, mount a search? Isn’t that a bit extreme? He’s a grown man, after all.”

  Julia chewed her lip. “He was assisting you at the well, was he not? That is where Meg and Igby last saw him.”

  Marcus nodded. “That is where I last saw him also.”

  She spread her hands. “Then let us begin at the well.”

  12

  I long for a strong hand to lift me from the darkness of my melancholy.

  The yard was deserted and everything seemed perfectly normal … but there was one thing out of place.

  Marcus bent swiftly to retrieve something from the ground. “This is the mallet Meg used to pound together the sieve box.”

  Julia leaned over to peer at it. “Don’t be silly. My staff never leaves valuable tools lying about.” Then she gasped. “Is that—”

  Marcus touched the head of the mallet. His hand came away with a smear of blood on one fingertip. “It is. It seems our prankster has just graduated to attempted murderer.”

  She caught her breath. “Murder?”

  “There’s no sign of struggle. He must have been knocked unconscious immediately.” He straightened and looked all about them. “Look for marks where someone might have dragged a bod—Elliot.”

  They circled urgently but carefully, desperate for some sign of where Elliot had been taken. They met on the other side of the cistern.

  “There is no sign of anything of the sort,” Julia said, her voice tight. “There is a great deal of ash on the cobbles. You would think we’d be able to detect something.”

  Marcus worked his jaw, frustrated. “Elliot is not a small man. I’m not sure I could carry him off that neatly.”

  “But if he wasn’t carried off, then he would still be here—”

  As one, their gazes shot to the neatly covered cistern.

  “Oh, no.”

  Horror shuddered through Julia. Marcus didn’t bother with a reaction. He simply acted, flinging himself at the cistern cover and dragging at it with all his might.

  “Beppo! Meg! Igby!” Julia ran to pull at the other iron ring.

  The Barrowby staff piled out through the kitchen door and came at a run. “My lady?”

  “Get a strong rope, quickly!” Julia gasped. Meg took over at her ring and the cistern cover was lifted and dragged aside.

  Julia flung herself down on the edge. “Elliot? Elliot?” She looked up. “We need lanterns. I cannot s—”

  “Well, I … can’t either,” a rasping voice echoed from the darkness. “You just … bloody blinded me.”

  Igby came running with a lantern. They lowered it quickly down. Finally they saw him, clinging to the slippery side of the well, only his gray exhausted face above water.

  “Oh, thank God!” Julia brushed away the blurring in her eyes. “Elliot, dear, are you injured?”

  “My … head hurts … and I’m cold … and I’d sell Marcus’s soul for a hot toddy … but I’m well enough.”

  Beppo came running with a length of sturdy rope. Marcus threw one end down the shaft. “Elliot, tie it about your chest!”

  Julia watched as Elliot made a grab for the rope—and slipped completely under the water. She held her breath for him, but he did not reappear for a long moment.

  Then his head broke water, but he seemed disoriented. He fumbled weakly with the rope for a long moment.

  “Do you have it?” Marcus called.

  Elliot seemed to be fading before their eyes. “Hands … can’t seem to …” He slipped beneath the surface once more.

  Julia looked up at Marcus in a panic. “We’re losing him!”

  “No we’re not.” Marcus pulled the rope back up in a few swift motions. He tossed the dry end to Meg and tied the other about his own chest. “Beppo, bring another rope. Meg, lower me in. I don’t want to land on him.”

  “Heaven … forbid.”

  Elliot had resurfaced. Julia laughed damply. “Hang on, dear. Marcus is coming for you.”

  “I … knew it. Always … the damned hero.”

  Marcus was lowered in by Meg and Beppo. The Igbys took the other rope and made a loop for Elliot in the end. They passed it down to Marcus, who quickly had Elliot ready to raise.

  “He’s losing consciousness,” Marcus called. “He cannot climb.”

  “You stay put then, sir,” Meg called back and let Marcus’s rope go to help the others with Elliot. Julia stayed where she was, pressed to the opening of the well.

  “Are you all right, Marcus?”

  “It’s b-bloody cold down h-here,” Marcus said calmly.

  Julia raised her head. “Pickles, have hot baths ready for the gentlemen!”

  “Already got the water heatin’, milady.”

  Elliot’s soaked head crested the lip of the well. Julia reached to wipe wet hair from his eyes. “Oh, God. He’s as cold as death.”

  Meg hefted him out. “I’ll plunk ’im in that tub then.”

  Igby, Igby, and Igby began to pull Marcus up. Julia heard muffled cursing and one sharp “Ow!” but after a moment, Marcus had climbed the well using his feet and was hefting himself over the wall.

  He was dripping icy water and one hand was bleeding, but he was grinning. “You’re going to have to pump that again, lads,” he told the Igbys. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy drinking Elliot pot liquor.”

  Julia slapped him on the bicep. “Don’t laugh! I’m worried about him.”

  Marcus laughed. “I wouldn’t be too worried. Before he passed out, he told me that he could see directly into your gown when you were leaning over.”

  Julia gasped and clapped her hands over her bodice, but then she ruined her “offended lady” bit by snickering. “I was simply trying to give him something to live for,” she said loftily.

  Marcus shook his head. “That would revive a dead man,” he said with a short bow. He turned to stride after Pickles to his bath, leaving Julia to ponder the flash of dark intensity that had crossed his face.

  She had the feeling he wasn’t jesting anymore.

  Her fiancé was warm and dry and had been inspected by both the Middlebarrow physician and Quentin.

  “He’s had a bad chill and needs a great deal of hot tea, but he’ll fare well enough,” the doctor said.

  “If ’n ’e was an ’orse, I’d feed ’im ‘ot gruel and cover ’im with good wool blankets,” Quentin had stated.

  To be on the safe side, Julia took both judgments to heart until Elliot pleaded with her to stop. Perhaps it was guilt over the way she’d come to prefer another man while she was promised to him, or guilt over the way he’d come to danger through his association with her, or guilt over the way she’d planned to use him for her own convenience, but Julia could not overcome the compulsion to fix Elliot.

  Now he sat in the parlor with her, wearing a suit of Aldus’s antiquated clothing and grudgingly downing yet another cup of hot tea.

  “Elliot, you must leave Barrowby,” she said abruptly. “I cannot have you risking your life for nothing.”

  Elliot blinked, then put the tea down before he scalded himself. “It is not for nothing.”

  “Yes,” she insisted, her voice filled with gentle regret. “It is.”

  He frowned. “No, it is for you. You and I—” He stopped, awareness dawning in his eyes. “Ah. I see now. This is the bit where you ask if we might remain friends, isn’t it?”

  She bit her lip. “I’m caught out. I’m so sorry, Elliot. I’m doing this badly.”

  “As if anyone could do it otherwise.” He swore beneath his breath. “You’ve taken a fancy to Blythe-Goodman, haven’t you?”

  Julia closed her eyes. “I—”

  He snorted. “I knew it the day I brought him to call on you. Big, good-looking bloke like that—what chance did the rest of us have?”

  She opened her eyes to give him a tenderly repressing glare. “I’m not a game of chance, El
liot.”

  He crossed his arms. “My lady, winning you is the very definition of the term lucky bastard.’ “

  She laughed shortly, shaking her head. “Ah, Elliot, you truly know how to sweep a girl’s feet from beneath her.”

  He looked down for a moment, then raised his gaze, all superficial hardness gone from his expression. “My lady, exactly how well do you know Marcus?”

  She drew her brows together. “Odd. That is precisely how he asked me about you.”

  Elliot did not relieve the intensity of his gaze. “There is more to him than meets the eye.”

  She blinked. “I vow I’ve had this very conversation before.” Then she sat and folded her hands on her lap. “Elliot, do you know of any reason why I should not continue my association with Marcus?”

  Elliot’s gaze slipped from hers. “I don’t know anything … precisely. I have some suspicions that he is not simply the man he seems.”

  “As do I.” She smiled at his evident surprise. “Elliot, do you think I would risk myself and Barrowby in the hands of someone I know nothing about?”

  He frowned slightly. “And what do you know?”

  “I know that he is brave enough to break open a lion’s den to save its life.” She began to list on her fingers. “I know that he is honorable enough to help save you even though he took exception to our engagement. I know that he is not afraid of hard work, or of wading knee deep in privy muck, or of admitting that he is in the wrong, or—”

  Elliot held up a hand. “Pray stop, before I fling myself back into the well. Sir Flawless might have to leap in and save me. Again.”

  She took that hand in her own. His gaze fell to where they touched. “Elliot, you are my friend. I don’t know everything about you, but I trust you. Do you have that same trust in me?”

  He raised his gaze. “I do. I shouldn’t, but I do.”

  She smiled. “Then trust that I know Marcus. I see the man inside the cheap superfine, behind the handsome face. I don’t know everything about him, but I know he is a good man, in the same way that I know you are a good man.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sure I haven’t done a thing to give you that impression.”

  She released his hand and stood. “Elliot, don’t be a dolt. Now go find some wealthy lady who will appreciate you properly!”

  He stood as well and grinned at her. “I did, and she threw me over for an oversized lout with a penchant for hairy beasts and privy muck.” He bowed over her hand. “My best, forever, my lady.”

  Watching Elliot ride away in her carriage was a relief, but only a temporary one. His suspicions of Marcus had sunk beneath the spell of attraction Julia had been under for days and triggered a few questions of her own.

  The man concealed on the hillside watched as one of the gentlemen was carried away from the house, followed dejectedly by his pathetic old mount tied behind. So, she’d rid herself of the dandy. The fellow had been a mistake, one that she would thank him for correcting when she found who awaited her instead.

  As he watched, the other one, the larger man with the irritating swagger, brought his finer horse out onto the drive and mounted easily. Ah, leaving with his friend after all.

  It seemed as if his work here were nearly done. She would not wish to stay much longer, he’d wager, alone on her troublesome estate.

  He would give her a day and a night to stew in her solitude, then he would arrive with proper fanfare, introduce himself, and offer her the world.

  As soon as she emptied her accounts into his keeping, of course.

  Very neatly done. Pity it was over so soon. He’d enjoyed seeing the pain on her pretty face.

  Then again, he had one more bit of bad news to look forward to. He wished he could see her face when she discovered that her precious pet had been captured and killed by angry farmers in the next dell.

  In the village taproom, Marcus joined Elliot where he sat morosely drinking his ale.

  Elliot didn’t look up. “She jilted me.”

  Marcus sat opposite him. “I know.”

  Elliot shrugged. “That isn’t the worst of it—she told me to leave Middlebarrow entirely. She said it wasn’t a good situation for me at the moment.” Elliot dropped his head and laughed bitterly. “She’s protecting me!”

  Marcus raised his head to gaze across the table at the dandy, his eyes narrowed. “Now, why would you say that with such irony?”

  Elliot blinked, then quickly brought his ale up for a deep draught. “Don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.

  Marcus leaned back in the splintery settle. “I say, Elliot,” he said with false nonchalance. “Might you be acquainted with a bloke by the name of Montmorency?”

  Elliot choked on his ale.

  Marcus shook his head. “I ought to have known. Only one of you lot would have such boneheaded staying power in the face of mortal danger.”

  Elliot wiped his chin with the back of his wrist, eyeing Marcus warily. “I haven’t a clue what you’re speaking of.”

  Marcus twitched his lips sourly. “Of course you don’t.” He leaned forward. “When you get back to your club, do be sure to describe me very well. Better yet, do one of those sketches you lot take such pride in.”

  Elliot leaned back in his seat as well. “I have been known to sketch from time to time. Most gentlemen do. I never keep them, however.”

  “Meaning you’ve already sent one in.” Marcus nodded. “You’ll get a new set of instructions any moment, I expect.”

  Elliot tilted his head and slitted his eyes. “I do believe I’ve had enough to drink. Every single thing you’re saying sounds like nonsense to my ears.”

  Marcus waved him away genially. “Go on, then. Tell that bloke I mentioned earlier that I would appreciate hearing from him soon.”

  Elliot stuck a pinkie in one ear and wiggled it. “Utter gibberish. It’s like you’re speaking a different language altogether.”

  Marcus stood and dropped a coin on the table. “That ale is on me. Do take care not to dawdle back to London.” He turned away but Elliot called him back.

  “I wonder if you might let me borrow your fine horse,” he said blandly. “Since you’re in such a hurry for me to leave and all. I can leave it with that bloke you mentioned.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “Liars.” He tossed several more coins to the table. “Talk to the hosteler. He’ll make sure you don’t get a nag. I don’t let anyone ride my horse. Ever.”

  “That’s too bad,” Elliot said with a grin. He idly slid one finger across the tabletop in a quick motion. “Her ladyship expressed an interest in tacking your stallion.”

  Marcus gave a short laugh. “I don’t think so. My mount would be far too much horse for her.”

  Elliot’s grin became more pointed. “Not for me to say. But watching her ladyship on horseback is like watching a bird soar. As if it were what she was born for.” He tossed back the last of the ale. “That’s a curious thing, don’t you think?”

  “Most ladies ride.”

  Elliot stood. “Not as if they’d marry the beast if they could.” He swept the coins from the table and deposited them in his weskit pocket. “Thank you for the contribution to the happiness of my buttocks.” He tipped his hat. “Good hunting, my lord.”

  Marcus let the dig pass and only nodded. “Safe journey, Elliot. Mind the well in the yard.”

  Elliot shuddered delicately. “Spare me the well. I’ll never swim again.” He bowed again and sauntered away, whistling.

  Marcus leaned down to pick up his hat. There was a design drawn in the small puddle that had dripped from the ale mug. He leaned closer. In the liquid, Elliot had drawn a single symbol—a perfect numeral 4.

  Marcus swiped it away with the side of his palm. “Not yet, old man,” he breathed. “Not quite yet.”

  13

  I lie in bed. The night is fair, so the windows are wide to the sky. I cannot rest, for the aroma of climbing roses sweeps my thoughts and makes my body restless. I rise from th
e linens and go to the balcony to soak the scent of the night into my skin.

  I lean on the stone balustrade and look down onto the garden where I last saw my lover. The garden is empty and dark, yet I can still smell his sandalwood through the roses.

  “Can you not find your rest, my lady?”

  I close my eyes at the deep voice behind me. He always knows when I need him.

  “Exhaust me,” I whisper toward the night. “Tire me to collapse.”

  Large warm hands cover my shoulders and pull me back onto his broad chest. “I would not want to be forceful with you, my lady.”

  I shake my head urgently. “Be forceful with me. I will not break.”

  His hands tighten on me in response. I revel in his strength. “As you wish, my lady.”

  In one motion, he turns me toward him and presses my lower body to the balustrade with his. His hot mouth comes down on my neck and I feel his teeth scrape my skin. It is not pain I feel, but need.

  I need to feel him, to be taken, to be owned. He pulls my nightdress from my shoulders, trapping my arms to my sides. I cannot resist now, I do not want to resist and my imprisonment frees me to be his prey. I close my eyes and surrender to his hot mouth and hard hands. He pulls my braid free and wraps it about his fist, controlling me with the reins of my own hair.

  “Take me,” I demand. “Possess me.”

  With a single hard tug, my nightdress falls to the garden below, ruined beyond repair. I am bare to the night now, naked before him. He remains fully dressed tonight, my master, my possessor … my lover who always recognizes what I need.

  Marcus rode back from the village slowly. He’d done it.

  Julia could say that she ended her engagement for Elliot’s safety, but Marcus knew why she had done it. He’d won.

  Having accomplished the goal he’d set out to accomplish from the beginning, now he had to decide upon his next step.

  Of course, if he were to complete his mission, he must learn everything about her. He must dig deep into her thoughts and bring out all her secrets. Only then could he, and the Three, be sure of her motives and her capabilities.