Escape with A Rogue (32 page)

Her sister rested her head against Madeline’s chest. Here, now, it didn’t matter.

But Peregrine Rhodes had not killed Sarah and Grace. Even if Amelia had not given him an alibi, he could not have shot at Madeline in the woods—he had died only a few months after the murders.

She hated to speak again of the murders. “Did any of the other gentlemen show interest in Sarah? Deverell, perhaps? Or Braxton or Mayberry?”

Amelia shook her head. “It was just Mr. Rhodes. But Sarah said she could make all those gentlemen her slaves if she wanted to. She told me she had found out things about them, things they would want to keep secret. Sarah said she was using that knowledge to get gifts from the gentlemen. I told her she was being terrible to do such a thing and that she should stop.”

Madeline gave a soft sigh. “Your advice was good. I only wish she had heeded it.”

Amelia paled. “Do you think one of those other men killed Sarah? Over what she knew? But we have known them all for years! They are Philip’s friends. Surely one of them could not have—”

“I do not know, Amelia. The fact is that someone did it, someone who was at the house. Did Sarah tell you the gentlemen’s secrets?”

“No.”

“Did she keep a diary?”

Amelia gave a vigorous nod. “Oh, she definitely did. It was a locked one, and she kept the key around her neck. I know she truly loved Mr. Rhodes. It seems so terribly sad now.”

Madeline held her sister’s hands. “I think you should go away. You do not need to be here, reminded of the tragedy. I will send you today to see Jane and Anne Ferrars.” Their friends’ estate was an hour’s ride away—easy to travel to, yet far enough away that Madeline would be sure her sister would be safe. Once this was over, she would make certain Amelia found happiness. Love. A husband. The chance to have a family. She wanted her sister to have all the things she would not.

She could not—for she had fallen in love with Jack, and he would have to run away from England. She could not go with him, even if he wanted her—she had promised her grandfather she would look after her family.

* * *

After she left Amelia, Madeline went to her mother’s room, but her mother’s escape appeared to have exhausted her, and she was sleeping. She hurried outside to the stables to find Jack, but he was rubbing down Penelope. She joined him, but other grooms were there, mucking out the stables, so she had no chance for a private conversation. She tried to give him a coded message—rubbing Penelope and thanking him for his work, assuring him all was well and they were happy with him. He nodded and she hoped he understood it meant that Amelia was not going to reveal who he was. When she left the stables, two of Oberon’s men were in their usual positions, patrolling the grounds.

Inside the house, she wrote a note to Catherine—one that asked whether Sarah’s diaries had been kept. Then she took a deep breath. There was one more person to whom she must speak. Her father.

If Grace had not been the intended victim, she would not need to do this. But if that assumption was wrong . . .

She needed the truth. Her heart and soul would never be at rest unless she knew what had really happened.

Before confronting her father, she oversaw Amelia’s packing. Then she sent her sister on her way in the carriage and awaited its return, along with assurances from the coachman that Amelia arrived safely.

It was late in the afternoon before she found the courage to go to Father’s study. Before that, Madeline had arranged for a cold luncheon to be laid out in the dining room. Father had not come for food. After lunch, Philip and the other gentlemen had gone to visit the Earl of Pemberton.

Madeline tapped on the door to Father’s study, but there was no answer. Knocking harder, she waited, hearing only silence. Carefully opening the door, she found him behind his desk, slouching in his chair, a tumbler of brandy by his hand.

She took a resolute step into the room and her slipper creaked on the wood floor. Father gave a startled cry, put his hand to his heart, and jumped up from his chair.

“My God, child, you startled me.”

She’d never seen him so nervous. “I’m sorry, Father. I did knock.”

That he hadn’t answered didn’t surprise her—normally, by now, he would be napping from the effects of his brandy.

Today, despite the glass close to him, he’d never looked more sober. His large gray eyes, which Philip and Amelia had inherited, were clear and bright. He sank back into his seat. “What is it, Madeline?”

 She did not want to do this. Father was already angry with her, and suddenly she felt like the six-year-old girl she’d once been, when she had first learned from her mother she was a bastard. She felt like the child who had watched tears drop to her mother’s cheeks, as Mama had begged her to be careful—to be good and dutiful and perfect—lest she be sent away.

“Is it about your mother? Who found her? One of the grooms?”

“Yes.” She said nothing more, not wanting to draw any more attention to Jack. She tried to see Father as Grace might have done: a still-handsome man in his mid-fifties with white hair, high cheekbones, and piercing grey eyes. Finding a subtle way to ease into this defeated her. “Father, did you have a love affair with Grace Highchurch?”

“Good God.”

She pushed aside the memories of the six-year-old girl who, with one horrifying revelation from her mother, had suddenly had no idea how to address the father who was not actually hers. He had told her to continue to address him as Father, to keep up appearances, but there had been no warmth in his tones as he did.

“Madeline, how can you accuse me of having a love affair with . . . with a woman who was the daughter of a family friend?”

She blushed, hating having to do this. “Grace was a grown woman, and a very beautiful one. Mama spoke of a love affair. She was very upset by the memory of it.” She remembered how furious Father had been when she’d wanted to destroy the maze.

 “It was
not
a memory,” he snapped. “Your mother imagines things.”

“She seemed to truly believe it had happened.” She looked to him imploringly. “Father, I know I have no right to ask. But Grace was
murdered
. She’d said she had another lover as well as Philip. I thought it was one of the men visiting our house two years ago—Deverell, Braxton, Mayberry, or Rhodes. That was why I brought them back. I believed one had a motive to kill her. But if she was in love with you . . .”

Her father’s face had gone white. “Nothing happened between us. She . . . I . . . she
did
pursue me. She claimed to have fallen in love with me. Your mother had already been ill for a long time, and I was a lonely man. We read poetry, I—I grew to care about her, but I did not even kiss her.”

Madeline’s heart lurched in her chest. She wished she did not have to know his secrets, but she had no choice.

“Philip pursued her, and Grace was swept away . . . so I retreated.” Spots of color rose to her father’s cheeks. He drained his glass of brandy. “Are you going to accuse
me
of strangling Miss Highchurch because of a lover’s quarrel?” Standing up and wheeling away from the chair, he stalked to the brandy decanter. “How dare you think me capable of such a heinous act? Go away, Madeline. I do not wish to see you.” Abruptly, he moved to the window and stood before it with his back to her. “I have treated you with kindness and this is how you repay my generosity.” She squirmed guiltily. “I did not think such a thing of you, Father. I do not believe it of Philip, despite the gossip, and I don’t believe it of you.”

She turned to leave, but her father’s voice reached her, filled with pain. “Your mother’s affair
humiliated
me. Laurentide sneered at me for losing his daughter—my
wife
—to a mere land steward.”

Madeline swallowed hard. She had guessed her father was ashamed, but she’d had no idea there had been such animosity between the two men. “I’m sorry it wounded you so.”

“You’ve always been a perfect lady—accomplished, clever—and this house operates like clockwork under your command. I’m sure Laurentide must have believed you were so perfect because you
weren’t
mine. Giving all his money to you was his last insult to me.”

So that was it. The money had intensified his anger and pain.

His mouth twisted with bitterness. “You have grown into a remarkable woman. But every time I look at you, I remember the humiliation of your mother’s betrayal. Go please, Madeline,” he said gruffly.

She fled from the study. She had spent her life trying to make up for her birth. Trying to be a perfect lady. But she could
never
erase the past.

Chapter Nineteen

She’d disobeyed him.

Now Lady M. was running from the house toward the stables, wiping at her cheeks—wiping at tears, Jack feared. He had seen her speaking to Lord Evershire through the study window. While she’d emerged safely, she was obviously heartbroken.

Jack ran after her, but she was several yards ahead of him. Her obvious distress alerted one of Oberon’s guards, who stepped forward, blocking the path across the lawn.

The guard spoke. She threw up her hands and pushed past the young soldier, who then glowered at Jack, hand to his rifle. Jack’s heart thumped. He grinned at the lad and came to a stop.

“What’s wrong with ’er ladyship?” Jack spoke like a rough groom. “Saw ’er running from the house, crying, and I wanted to find out what’s wrong.”

The soldier shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I wanted to assist her, but she told me to . . . well, to bugger off.”

Something had upset her deeply. Had she learned her father had killed Grace, despite her mother’s story that Grace had been killed after Sarah?

Had her father threatened her?

“She’s going to the stables,” Jack pointed out. “I’ll go and ’elp ’er. In ’er state, she shouldn’t ride.”

Without waiting, Jack ran off. Expecting a shot to the back when the soldier finally recognized him, he found his heart thundering and his back muscles tensed so hard they almost cramped. Running after one of the daughters of the house had to look suspicious.

But when he arrived at the stables without injury, he assumed the soldier had believed his story.

One of the other grooms had saddled Penelope and led the animal out of her stall. With the servant’s help, Madeline quickly mounted. At once, she flicked the reins. Jack wanted to shout after her, command her to stop, but he had to bite his tongue.

 She galloped away, damn it. Riding too fast. Too wildly. Perched on her sidesaddle, she urged Penelope to clear a small hedge, and horse and rider tore across a meadow.

Jack quickly saddled Jupiter. “Her ladyship should not be riding alone,” he snapped at the other groom. He led the gelding out and was hot in pursuit of Lady M. in seconds.

She had ridden like a madwoman through the woods to the house and had survived. But raw fear gripped him now—Penelope would be tired, and Lady M. was upset again, likely to make mistakes.

She thundered across the lawns toward the pond. Kicking Jupiter’s flanks, he followed, praising his mount for the way the gelding was closing the distance between them.

Crack!

A shot—a damned shot, exploding in the air somewhere in front of Lady M. She jerked in the saddle, then Penelope reared.

“No! Damn it, no!” Jack shouted, as Jupiter shied beneath him. He kept his seat, driving his boot heels into Jupiter, who took off at a streaking run.

Madeline clung to the reins, then she fell forward, clutching at Penelope’s mane. Her mare kicked wildly, then bolted, flying in a panic across the ground. Lady M. clung to Penelope, her head jostling against the sleek line of the mare’s neck. Penelope was going to fall, taking Lady M. with her.

He shouted firm commands to the mare, demanding that she stop, but she was too spooked to listen. Breathing hard, his thighs burning, Jack leaned along Jupiter’s neck. His heartbeat roared like shots in his ears.

Penelope’s hooves flew up in the air, throwing dirt at Jupiter’s head and into Jack’s eyes. He was closing the distance and he could hear Penelope’s labored breathing, and Madeline’s cries to the mare to slow down.

The path plunged downhill, toward a valley, and rocks stuck up through the grass.

“Madeline, stay calm,” he shouted. “Hold on. Let me catch up you.”

Driving Jupiter onward, he tried to come up alongside Madeline, but tall grass and rocks forced him to drop back. Madeline’s face was stark white and she was sobbing as she clutched the mane, her body lying heavily against the pounding horse. The reins were loose now and flapping.

Jack launched off Jupiter and grasped one of the reins as he hit the rock-strewn ground. He fell with a bone-jarring thud, but he gripped the rein tight. As the horse dragged him, he dug his boots into the earth. His weight was pulling against Penelope’s wild flight, slowing her. His back slammed into rocks. Sharp edges ripped through his shirt and tore at his skin. He bounced over the uneven ground and he could barely breathe, but he had to hang onto the reins.

They were slowing down.

Vaguely, he heard Lady M. calling his name. His back was slippery with blood. His flesh felt as if it had been flayed to ribbons. But he wasn’t banging hard into the rocks now—his weight acted like an anchor.

Lady M. cried, “Jack! Jack! Oh heavens.” Suddenly, they were no longer moving. Penelope must have stopped. He tried to get up, but his head was swimming from the pain. He tried to fight it as he saw Lady M. slide off the horse. Stumbling, she came to his side.

Her pale face hovered over his, her blue eyes huge with fear. “Jack.” Her hands moved to his shoulders, then slid down. When she moved them away, he saw blood staining her gloves.

“You saved my life.”

Then he remembered the shot, and he lifted his arm, though his muscles howled in protest. He grasped her arm. “Stay down, Madeline.” Christ, how could he protect her like this? She was wavering in his vision. Damn, he could not lose consciousness.

Shouting came from behind them. His hand tightened on Madeline’s forearm. Despite sheer agony, he pushed up with his other arm.