A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing (24 page)

• • •

I just want to stay here,
Hugh thought, he dunked his head under water at the foot of the spouting nymph. It was peaceful — a cold world where he didn’t have to think about lying, conniving little chits like Ellie Albright or her alter ego, Toby Coopersmith. His lungs ached for air.
There’s no point in drowning for her, either
, he concluded. Sun blinded him as he burst through the surface. He took out his crumpled, soaking handkerchief, wrung it, and mopped his face.
What a clever vixen. To detect my comfort with the serving class and exploit it.
The kisses, the wind on High Tor, her white hair. He held the cool handkerchief to his eyes as he collected his emotions. Ellie, a nightmare so raw he could feel the bleeding.

It took all his strength to climb over the rim of the fountain pool. His legs seemed remote, nearly uncontrollable as he moved down the garden path to the door to Cowick Hill.

“Is that you, Hugh?” his mother called from the library as he made his way into the house.

He quickened his pace, making a dash toward the stairs. “I can’t just now, Mother. I’ve got to change.”

She swept into the hall before he could escape. She looked pale, her eyes pinched with fear. “Please, darling. I must speak with you. It’s of the utmost importance.”

“I’m soaking wet.”

“Just for a moment.”

Forget dodging her — he could tell she’d pursue him. Annoyance tickled the lead weight of his heart into action. The connection to his legs returned as he stomped after her into the library.

Her uncalloused, aristocratic hand rested on his sleeve. “Chase is on the brink of ruin.” Liquid rose to her eyelids.

He suppressed an urge to bat her hand away. “Captain Hart has been flirting with ruin ever since I met him at Oxford. There is nothing I could or would do for him.” He turned to go.

His mother’s grasp tightened. “No, listen to me. This involves the Albright family as well.”

“I am sorry, Mother, but I haven’t the slightest inclination to help that pack of feminine jackals or Captain Hart. How you always manage to invite the worst dregs of humanity into our home, I’ll never know.”

“What has happened?” she asked.

Reviewing the afternoon’s devastation was too much. Summoning the last of his emotional strength, he unhooked her hand from his sleeve and left the library, took the stairs with all the speed dignity could bear, walked into his chambers, and shut the door.

He had stripped off his wet jacket, vest, and shirt when his mother barged through the door.

“For modesty’s sake, leave the room at once!” He picked up the sopping jacket, started to put it on, and then hurled it to the floor.

“I nursed you. There’s no need to be self-conscious.”

Hugh yanked off his sopping boots. “Then leave for my sake. I am in no mood to help your lover or your conniving friends.”

“You’re upset about something and we’ll discuss it soon, but this is too urgent for all that now. Chase left about a half hour ago for the Albright estate. He intends to steal the last of their broodmares for Baron Wadsworth.”

Hugh stopped pealing his sopping sock off. “Why in hell would he do that?”

“Chase’s uncle indentured him until he pays off a debt. He had no choice.”

Weary of the whole thing, he said, “Miss Ellie is aware of the problem and close on Chase’s heels. She’s shrewd enough to handle him, fear not.”

“But it is your duty as a gentleman to spare those sweet, young ladies bankruptcy and destitution.”

Bile rose in his throat. “Sweet young ladies, bah!”

Wringing her hands, his mother paced the floor. “I wish I knew what the Albright girls did to make you so angry, darling, but you must ride immediately.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind. Now, excuse me, I’m going to order a hot bath.” Turning his back on his mother, Hugh yanked the bell pull and unbuttoned his pants, thinking it would drive her from the room.

“Captain Hart is my lover — that is the truth of it — and you owe me the preservation of my reputation,” she said, rage narrowing her voice to a hiss, “for if it were ever learned I took a thief to my bed, your place in society would be permanently tarnished.”

Hugh turned on her, unable to control the tide of rancor pressing his soul. “Who you sleep with and how you spend your good name is no concern of mine.”

She gasped and then balled up her handkerchief and threw it at him. “You have lost yourself in childhood pettiness. You are a grown-up, a gentleman. The Albrights need you. I need you.”

Hugh punched the wall, the blow sending a sharp, comforting pain through his knuckles. “Leave me alone!” he bellowed.

But his mother didn’t move. She stood in the center of the room with her eyes closed and her hands straight at her sides.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “You call me a child, but where is milady when she gets a little itch?”

Lady Davenport remained stock still. “It doesn’t matter what you think of me. What matters is what you’ll think of yourself if you let harm come to those girls. You must help them, and in doing so you will help me — like it or not.”

Pain wrinkled her forehead and hardened her lips. The sight tore into the fabric of his anger. She’d done her best for him, whether her choices were good or ill. Defeated, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Blast it all! What stake has Captain Hart in all this?”

“Enough of a stake to kill for it,” his mother told him. She rushed to the closet and hurled a fresh shirt at him. “Put this on and make haste. You’re a good man, my beautiful boy.”

• • •

Hugh cursed himself for caring. Whatever fate befell the Albrights and Chase Hart wasn’t his concern, yet the air seemed electric with danger. Succumbing to a force he didn’t understand, he found himself running for the stables. Valaire was spent from the wild ride Ellie put him through after escaping the bull. If he had to get to Fairland before Chase caused harm, only one horse was fast enough to do it: Manifesto.

Hugh fished in his pocket for the carrots he’d grabbed on his way through the kitchen. He slowed his pace, trying not to hurry. There was no point in alarming the stallion. He’d never catch the horse if he did.

The stallion was grazing peacefully in his paddock. “Come here greedy one,” Hugh cooed.

Manifesto pricked up his ears and sauntered over, snorting, shaking his head and taking his time. Hugh made the horse stretch over the fence for the carrot, far enough to slip a rope around its neck.

Speaking soft encouragements, Hugh got the saddle and bridle on without arousing Manifesto’s wrath. “You’re going to be a good animal, aren’t you?” Hugh said as he prepared to mount. “Your mama is in peril, and we have to help her. Are you ready?”

Manifesto swatted a fly and chewed his bit. Hugh put a foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the pommel. The horse didn’t move. With caution, Hugh lowered himself onto the animal’s back. Still, Manifesto remained motionless. A gentle press to the stallion’s sides, resulted in two steps forward, then Manifesto lowered his head and hurled his hind legs straight in the air. Hugh thought he’d prepared for the worst but the stallion’s buck was so powerful he was airborne before he knew what was happening.

Blam! Hugh hit the dirt and lay flat on his back. His view, he realized, included a patch of dusky sky.
Night is falling.
A chill foreboding swam through every vein. He rolled over and rose from the dirt.
How many minutes had been lost?
Would Chase harm Ellie if she confronted him?
He had no doubt she would try to stop the captain.

He dusted himself off and stood in front of Manifesto. “Listen, horse, I need to ride you. This is a matter of necessity, not of choice. Do you understand?” Manifesto threw his nose in the air, and irritably pawed the ground.

Hugh remembered Ellie’s trick of petting the stallion’s tongue to calm him. He stuck his thumb in Manifesto’s mouth, at the back where the bit rested on toothless gums. Surprised, the stallion backed away, head high, then he lowered his neck, relaxed his shoulders and chomped the bit.

“Good. Shall we try again?” Hugh asked.

Gingerly, he settled into the saddle, gathering the reins short before the bucking could start. Manifesto backed up, slammed his rump into the fence, snorted, leaped forward, and went down on his knees. Hugh jumped off before the stallion could roll on top of him.

Near screaming with frustration, Hugh punched his thigh and stormed back and forth at the end of Manifesto’s reins. “I could whip you until you bleed.”

Manifesto scrambled backward, eyes white rimmed with alarm.

Blowing into his fist, Hugh stopped pacing and forced himself to breathe.
I’ve got to get a hold of myself
, he thought.
Be a man, Davenport.
He swept his hair back and willed his heart to slow, banished all thoughts of urgency and imperative from his mind.

“Wild one,” he said, staring straight into Manifesto’s frightened eyes. “Even if I spend the next hour trying to ride you, you’ll still get to Fairland faster than anything else in the stable. So, if you want to keep doing this, I’m game. Do we have an understanding?”

Hugh led the stallion into an alley between two fences. He attached a tight lead to both sides of the bridle and cross-tied the horse so he couldn’t get his head down to buck, or up to rear. Hugh climbed the fence and lowered his weight into the saddle. Manifesto swung his haunches back and forth, bucking slightly and kicking out. Hugh gripped with his knees, clinging to the saddle like a barnacle to a ship bottom. Little by little Manifesto accepted the weight.

Ready to ride out a major fight, Hugh released the leads. As if on springs, the stallion cavorted about the paddock. Then, like cannon fire, he charged the gate and leaped it, popping like a cricket over the obstacle. Hugh lost a stirrup and nearly his balance as they see-sawed crazily down the drive to the road. Manifesto took the bit in his teeth, Hugh hauled on the reins, forcing the animal toward Fairland. The horse’s ears went up, his neck arched, and he burst into a gallop.

Hugh felt the wildness, the danger of his mount.
Just don’t fall off
, he thought. Faster and faster the horse raced toward his old home, tearing down the road until the ground blurred, the horizon disappeared, and the wind struck water from Hugh’s eyes.

• • •

As if swimming from the depths of a murky pond, Ellie became aware of her surroundings. She was lying on her side in one of the filthy stalls in the broodmare barn, her nostrils filled with the powerful stench of manure.

Lank yelled, “Get on, beast.” A whip cracked. There were frantic hoofbeats on the wooden floor of the barn corridor.

A second voice said, “Ladies first.” Flashes of yellow light followed. Someone wielded a torch. More horses’ hooves thudded down the corridor. The light dimmed, growing more orange the further it receded. She was in darkness.

And then pain called to keep her company. Her body ached, but the worst discomfort came from her wrists and ankles. She tried to move, but her hands and legs were bound one to the other in front of her. A thick gag covered her mouth. Overcome with terror, Ellie screamed. But her cry was a muffled squeal no louder than an oiled wheel. Panicking, she squirmed in the muck, wrestling herself into a sitting position. Fear winded her — she panted, nostrils flared, fighting the gag for air.

More torchlight. More horses trotting past her in the corridor. A frantic foal nickered for its dam. “Get on with you,” Lank bellowed. The mare whinnied. Ellie peered through a crack in the woodwork. The whip landed and the mare snorted with pain. A second later the foal fell. “Blast it to bloody hell!” Lank kicked the squealing colt to its feet.

Then he disappeared. The barn went black as pitch again. Only this time a lonely silence prevailed.
He’s stolen all the horses
, thought Ellie. A darkness thicker than night permeated her body. Her bones felt brittle and old — her gut, decrepit and rotting. The failure of every scheme she’d wrought in the last few weeks descended on her like the weight of a coffin cover. She almost wished Lank would return, the silence was so awful.

How could she have dreamed of deceiving Hugh by pretending to be Toby? What had possessed her to take her mother’s necklace? And why did she think she could ever have Manifesto again?

She threw her head back against the wall. The painful thump was a relief compared to her guilt.
Why, why am I such an impetuous fool?
She banged her head again in despair.

A creak of wheels stopped her thoughts. With the sound came a smell that settled like vapor on a marsh. Ellie went to her peephole. She saw Chase Hart driving a knacker’s cart into the barn. He jumped out and let the back down. A dead horse slid into the aisle landing outside the entrance to an empty stall.

She fought the urge to vomit, tried to calm her frenetic breathing, tried to tear her mind from the horror she witnessed. She put her cheek against the cool of the wall and waited for her stomach to settle.
Chase, my God. What is he doing here?

“Get this one in there, and get the next cart going at the other end,” Chase instructed. “Quickly, before the knackers find their commerce is gone.”

“Aye, Captain,” a man answered.

Then, as the first cart left, Ellie heard the wheels of a second cart, and a third, and a fourth. Men cursed as they pulled the weight of dead animals, reeking with rot, into empty stalls. The stench of death saturated the air. Ellie gagged, then fought the bile from drowning her.

A vehicle halted outside the stall where she was held. The bolt rasped and the door swung open. Lank stood silhouetted in the flickering light of a torch.

In a few quick strides, he grabbed her by the collar and dragged her under the hayrack attached to the near wall of her prison. Then he left.

Through the door, Ellie watched him lower the back of the knacker’s cart. The shattered corpse of a black-and-white pony slid to the floor, slamming against the doorframe. Ellie screamed. She tipped her head back and screamed again and again, but the sound died in the gag. Hysteria overtook her and she thrashed wildly, screaming her tiny muffled squeal.