A Most Delicate Pursuit (18 page)

Michael spurred his mount onward, ignoring the sleeting rain that had been pelting him since early morning. Now that the sun had set, the temperature had plummeted even further. It didn't help that the roads had become almost impossible with the rain.

Though he was close to exhaustion, he pressed on, knowing that Beatrice's abductors would have to stop to care for the horses at some point. His bet was on the small town of Bennington. A bit out of the way, there'd been rumors of thieves and smugglers hiding out in the backwoods village. Because of the remote area and the rough terrain, few legitimate transports sought lodging there. In fact, it was common knowledge that Bennington was the place to go if you want to be robbed, raped, or killed.

He loathed the thought of being a single man on horseback riding into the devil's den, but he'd little choice in the matter. There was a small inn on the outskirts of the village that would be a perfect place to hide a coach for the night, if he remembered right. With any luck, Bainbridge's men would stop there until the bad weather passed.

Thankfully, with his eye patch, thick wool coat, scuffed boots, and a day's growth of beard, he himself looked much like a highwayman. Scowling at any who passed him would help maintain the visage as well. He wanted to look the part of a dangerous man.

He rode hard another hour before reaching Bennington. And not a moment too soon. He'd pushed his mount to its limit, and a bit beyond, but he was sure the warhorse would regain its strength once he'd had a chance to rest. Luckily, his staff had packed his saddlebags with enough grain for the animal, two full water bottles, one for each of them, and some dried fruit and meats. It wasn't a grand feast, but it would keep both their bellies from complaining for a while longer.

Finding a spot behind a copse of trees, he reined in his animal and set it to its much-deserved meal. Happily munching, the horse only neighed twice and settled into a restful doze beside him.

Michael made quick work of his own rations as well. The simple fare didn't bother him, being a much more generous meal than what he'd eaten while on the marches across Spain.

Once he'd finished and settled himself in for the night, he took out his spyglass and watched the inn. Just as he'd surmised, a rough carriage pulled into the drive. Drawn by four horses, it was an older model coach. Faded blue paint and gold trim, its wood splintered and rough patched canvas covering belied the many miles it must have traveled over the years.

Michael sat back on his haunches. Another might have tried to confront the villains, but he'd never been one to tip his hand too early, either in cards or on the dueling field.

No. It well fit into his plans to lie in wait for the most opportune time to strike. Besides, he didn't know how many armed men were in the carriage, not to mention the shooting skills of the driver. These sorts always tended to have an extra gun or two.

Just then he heard a rambling in the bushes about twenty feet from him. Grabbing his pistol and priming it with well-practiced efficiency, he crouched down even lower and readied himself to take out any potential threat at the first opportunity.

Sweating, he felt a prickling anxiety of a man about to face death once again, though he knew it was foolish to entertain such a thought, having been on the dueling field so many times before. Of course, a man that didn't acknowledge the possibility of losing one's life in such a circumstance was either stupid or a fool. Michael knew for sure he was certainly not stupid.

“Easy does it, man,” a coarse voice whispered to him. Out of the darkness came a familiar and welcome figure.

“Damn it, Ash, I nearly shot you,” Michael cursed.

His friend sidled up beside him. “I wasn't worried. You're not that good a shot.”

“True enough, but I would have winged you at the least. What in blazes do you think you're doing?”

His friend settled in beside him, helping himself to a healthy swallow from his water bottle. “Helping you is what. And rescuing my sister-in-law.” He took another swallow from the flask. “What's your plan?”

“I'd hoped to ride in, surprising Beatrice's captors, grab her, and head back to Slyddon.”

Ash sat back. “A bit foolhardy, but adequate.”

“I suppose it needs more thought.”

Michael pulled the scope from his pocket and concentrated on the carriage. “Thus far I see two men and a woman, besides Beatrice. So two, possibly three, will be armed.”

“There's two of us, so I see no problem with that.”

Michael reached in his jacket and pulled out the map. “There's a rise about two miles north of here. If this map is true, the road turns sharply east. I'm thinking it's a good place for an ambush.”

“Is that a good idea? We can't risk them hurting Beatrice.”

“I don't think they'll hurt her. After all of this trouble, it doesn't make sense that Bainbridge would be pleased if something happened to her. Judging by the fate of his past wives, it looks as if he prefers killing them himself.”

“Right.”

“I'm sorry. That was wrong of me. Of course, we're going to get her back. And when we do, Bainbridge will be dealt with.”

“He will if I've anything to say about it.”

Michael sat back and watched the drive below. “Poor girl, humiliated by one man and disappointed by another.”

“What do you mean?” Ash asked him.

“I should have protected her, Ash. I should have known that Bainbridge would take her by force.”

Ash shrugged. “No one could predict to what length the man would go. I expected to face him in court. That he would argue against my guardianship of her. But to break into my home and take her by force, damn near kill you in the process.”

Michael took a drink from his flask and returned it to his friend. “The truth is, I'm not sure she's getting much of a prize marrying me. She might yet change her mind, you know. I wouldn't hold her to blame if she did.”

“You're wrong. She's been fond of you since the day you met. Like you, I imagine she'd thought she was damaged goods.”

Michael sent him a curious expression. “You know about that?”

“It's some addle-headed idea that she'd failed in her first engagement. The blackguard who'd proposed to her used her disgracefully and then tossed her aside. The truth was, shortly after his proposal to Beatrice, he was approached by the Dunbull heiress and her family. They offered him a fat purse, not the least of which included a barony, an estate, and a share in their silk business.”

Michael nodded. “Of course. She told me of it. She'd been humiliated.” Sighing, Michael laid down his pistol and picked up the rifle. It had been a good service weapon. Always on the ready, for a time it had seemed like the only true friend he'd had. That was, until Ash convinced him otherwise.

Ash shrugged. “A fellow like Hudgins could fool any young woman. He courted her in true fashion. And she wasn't the first he'd led down his flowery path.”

“Perhaps, when she's safe, we can deal with the young rounder ourselves,” he said, and in his current frame of mind, he would have no issue doing just that. “It's quite easy to intimidate a woman, but not so much when it's a man holding the barrel of a long pistol pointing at you.”

“Ha. Then I shall let you have first shot, old man. In fact, I'll even hold your coat.”

Beside them, the brush started to move. His senses already on high alert, Michael grabbed his pistol, primed it, and was ready to fire when a familiar head poked through the shrubbery.

“Stand down, man. I know it's been a few days, but surely you recognize me.”

“Jeremy! What in all blazes are you doing?” Ash coughed and sat back on his heels.

The older man grinned. “I came as soon as I heard there'd been an abduction.”

He nodded. “As it happens, I was headed back to Hampshire. Braden and I had planned to meet at a cottage not far from here. There's this wonderful fishing spot nearby…”

“There really was no need for either of you to come. I certainly can take down this blighter myself.”

His friends shared a glance between them. “Have you done any shooting since you lost your eye?” Jeremy asked. His sharp expression penetrated Michael's calm.

“I've had no reason to.” He turned to Ash. “Are you worried about me? Do you doubt that I have the skill to engage an enemy?”

On the battlefield, despite his friend's taunting, Michael had been the best shot of them all. Ash's strength had been strategy. Braden had been quick with the knife and the best at tracking the enemy. As a field surgeon, Jeremy's skill had been keeping them all alive.

But none shot better than Michael. True, he'd been an excellent marksman, could hollow out a gourd at two hundred yards. He'd made the march safe for their men, having taken out enemies long before they came in range of the company's rifles.

“I know I'll never be able to fire long range with any success again, let alone any precision shooting. But I don't need that now, do I? Bainbridge and his men are easy enough targets if they're not expecting it. Even a half-blind foot soldier could best them.”

“Of course you can,” another voice said. While Michael had been distracted, Braden had snuck up beside him.

“What the devil?” He grabbed his chest. “Are you trying to wound me?”

Braden laughed. “You always let down your guard when you are with these buffoons, don't you?”

“Nonsense.” He laughed. “I was well aware of your approach. I was simply feigning surprise.”

“Of course you were.”

“What have you heard?” Ash asked.

“The good news is,” Braden said, pulling a compass from his pocket, “we'll be able to separate and conquer these blackguards. I'm thinking Bainbridge is headed to the coast. I heard some interesting news when I stopped to change horses last night. Rumor has it that there are several small coves perfect for smuggling and the like. It's said that the devil has one he's rather fond of using about a day's ride from here, weather permitting.”

Michael clenched his fists. “The bastard owns a small island off the northern coast of Scotland. Plans to take Beatrice there, no doubt. A bloody wilderness…”

The thought of her taken by that beast turned his blood to ice.

“I agree,” Ash said, “though he does have holdings all the way from America to the Continent. Either way, I think it's imperative that we rescue Beatrice before he makes it to his transport. Otherwise, it'll be impossible to know for certain where he's taken her.”

“I suppose since you all are set on coming with me…”

“Did you think we wouldn't?” Ash asked.

Shaking his head, he said, “I had hoped you would let me handle things. But, as it is, I'm glad you're here. We always were better together than apart, eh?”

It was just before dusk of the second day since her abduction and the full day and night's travel had left her sore and sinking deeper in despair. Having stopped at an inn, Bea had been dragged from the carriage and taken around back and thrust into a small room. Inside there was only one small window—not big enough for a cat to squeeze through. Also, inside the room was a single cot, a low table with a pot of water and a loaf of bread, one cup, and one plate.

Doing her best not to give up hope, Bea ate the meager meal and then curled up on the cot. Though she hadn't thought it possible, her exhaustion took over her fear and she fell into a fitful doze.

What did this Bainbridge want with her? She'd no money, save that which Ash had given her, a kindness on her sixteenth birthday when he'd been newly married to her sister. Beyond that, her father had only been a minor baron, and until Ash and Lady Amelia had taken the Hawkins family in, they'd nothing but an empty title.

Seeing her reflection in the window glass did give her some hint. Most likely, Bainbridge wanted what most men wanted: a pretty bauble to hang on his arm at parties and warm his bed at night. After all, a man of means, he could get any woman he wanted.

She practically rejoiced when the door opened and the young woman entered the room, took her by the arm, and dragged her outside.

Bea nearly stumbled but managed to quickly find her feet. Standing up at last, she brushed the dirt from her gown. “So, tell me, what is your name?”

The other woman cackled. “Oh, you're a clever one, eh? Think you can get all friendly like and be my best mate? It's no good. The name's Millie Fence. I've been in Mr. Bainbridge's employ more than ten years.”

“How fortunate for him,” Bea remarked as Hargraves came up behind her and, planting his hand at her back, pushed her forward, nearly knocking her to the ground again in the process.

Bea wasn't surprised. Her abductors had made no attempt at gentle treatment, dragging her in and out of the carriage on the few times they'd stopped to water the horses or relieve themselves on the road.

“Here,” Millie said, shoving a dirty cup half filled with tepid water toward her. “Drink this and be fast about it. We've still got a few miles to cover before we make the cove.”

Bea took the cup from her and lifted it to her lips. Instead of water, it was a sharp draft of something far stronger. Barrel whiskey, no doubt, and it burned her throat and mouth. Her stomach instantly rejected the brew and, nearly choking, she coughed and spit it out.

“I need water,” she said, and threw the cup to the ground, no longer caring if she lived or died. In fact, a quick and easy death would be much more desirable than being subjected to this cruel treatment.

Without hesitating, the woman drew back her arm and gave Bea a rounding slap.

At first, she didn't feel the blow, only the shock and anger at being struck. The last bit of her resolve broke and she lunged at the woman, who clearly didn't expect her attack as she easily fell back on the ground with Bea landing squarely on top of her.