Escape with A Rogue (39 page)

Hateful Catherine would have exactly what she wanted—her victim following her out into the dark night. Madeline could be walking right into a trap. But her mother relied on her, needed her, and she loved her mother. She had no choice. “Show me where she is. But you are to stay in front of me. If you try to run, I swear I will shoot you in the back.”

* * *

Gusts of wind swept lines of water across the lawns. Madeline’s sodden skirts whipped around her, and her boots skidded on the loose gravel.

“Keep going,” she shouted at Catherine, who had slowed on the slippery path. “Where is she?”

With a muttered curse, Catherine glared at her—a glare that promised what she would do if she could get hold of the pistol. Then the horrid woman gave an evil chuckle as she saw Madeline’s fearful glance at the pond. “Your mother is not in the water, Madeline. I told you, I wanted to keep her alive. She is drugged and bound, but she should still be alive.”

Then Catherine looked toward the maze.

Madeline swallowed hard. Of course, it would be the maze. It would be a safe place to stow a bound, drugged woman.

Fighting against the wind, they trudged across the lawn—Catherine in the lead, Madeline following with the weapon. The heavy rain made it even harder to see through the dark, and the winding maze was eerily shadowed. Catherine looked back, smirked, and stepped into the darkness. Panic gripped Madeline—the sort of stupid, irrational fear that made her almost freeze on the spot. She forced her shaky legs to step inside the maze, her hand tight on the pistol.

A shape swung at her head, flying at her like a huge bat. She ducked, but something hard thudded into her skull, lifted her off her feet, knocked her to the ground. Her finger closed on the trigger and the pistol fired. The ball shot uselessly into the air.

Thundering footsteps raced up behind her. Madeline rolled onto her side, holding her useless pistol. Boots came into view, then she was suddenly scooped off the wet ground into strong arms. Vivid green eyes gazed down at her.

“Jack!” It
was
Jack’s familiar face, stricken with raw terror. Seeing him, she felt a burst of courage and strength. She struggled out of his arms and got to her feet. “Catherine! It was Catherine.” She looked around the shadowy paths, but Catherine was gone. A pair of shears lay on the ground. That had been what had struck her.

Jack’s fingers explored her head. “You aren’t badly wounded, thank God. I was afraid I would be too late—”

Like her, he had figured it out. He had reasoned that Catherine was the killer and had come to rescue her. She wanted to grab him, hug him, kiss him, hold onto him forever, but there was no time. “Catherine planned to use my mother as bait to lure me out. She wants to make it appear that Mama killed the girls.” She turned to Jack and saw dark stains all over his white shirt. Blood. Somehow, he’d been
wounded
.

“She’s gone,” she gasped. “She hit me and ran away.”

“You’ve been hurt,” he growled. “I’ll take you back to the house, and I’ll get others to help me search—”

“No!” she screamed, as panic roared up. “She could kill Mama then.”

“You’re soaked, cold, and you’ve had a terrible shock. You need to get warm and dry, Maddy. Lady Lindale will have run through the maze and escaped. She will have abandoned your mother.”

“But I cannot be sure of that! I can’t put my mother at risk. You understand this, Jack. You know what this feels like. I can’t go back to the house and abandon her. I can walk.”

Shaking his head, he clamped his arm around her waist to hold her close. “I can’t see Lady Lindale anywhere.”

The rain had lessened at least, but there was no light. Catherine’s dark cloak would make her invisible. “She must be in the maze somewhere. She has probably gone to Mama. She said my mother was drugged and bound.”

She bumped his side and her fingers became wet and slimy—stained with blood. “You are wounded. What happened?”

“Blenchley, the former Dartmoor prison guard, caught me while I was racing back here. I managed to escape, but not before he got me again with a dagger. It’s not deep, but it made a bit of a mess.”

“A bit of a mess?” How could he treat it so lightly? But, then again, this man had taken whippings without breaking. “Was he going to hand you over to the Crown?”

“No, not the Crown. He’s working for someone else.”

“Who?” she gasped, but Jack had stiffened, cocked his head.

“I heard something. Come with me, Maddy. I can’t leave you here alone. You must come with me.” He kissed her—desperately, quickly, fiercely—and she tasted rain on his lips for one wild second. His hand closed around hers, and he began to run, pulling her with him.

The path through the maze was as black as the bowels of a mine. Untrimmed hedges loomed high above her on each side. Rain splattered on her through the tangled canopy of vines.

Her heart hammered so hard it made it almost impossible to think or move. What if she turned the next corner and found—?

Jack whispered over and over, “We will find her safe.”

More than anything, she
had
to believe him. She gripped his hand, following him. He moved stealthily and silently into the dark, and she tried desperately not to break twigs. A muffled voice floated to her through the stillness—from further within the maze. Mama? Catherine? “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Stay close.”

They had no weapons, and she did not doubt Catherine was armed. She prayed Jack was right—Catherine had run through the maze, escaped, and left Mama in here alone. The magistrate would send Bow Street runners after Catherine, and her mother would be safe.

Two rights. She was trying to memorize the steps they took, the turns they made.

The urge to run blindly consumed her. But if she did, she would only become hopelessly lost.

Behind her, twigs snapped, and Catherine pushed through the bushes. She held a pistol and sneered at them both. Her hood had fallen back, and her hair hung in rain-soaked, stringy curls.

Madeline gasped as Jack grasped her arm. He hauled her behind him, shielding her from Catherine’s weapon. But she was
no
t going to let him take a pistol ball for her. Madeline stepped back to his side and demanded, “Where is my mother?”

Catherine’s voice echoed mercilessly into the dark. “Dead now, probably. Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be meeting her again soon.” She gave an evil laugh. “So Jack Travers came back to you. Stupid fool.”

Madeline stared at the steady, silver muzzle. There was only one shot. Catherine had to know that. She could kill one of them, but not the other. Jack would be the obvious choice—he could break Catherine’s neck with one twist of his arm. She had to keep Catherine as distracted as she could. “Was marrying Lindale worth all this?” she cried. “That’s why you strangled Sarah, isn’t it? Because she found out you were already wed. And Grace—did you kill her because she caught you?”

Catherine crooked her fingers, raw fury in her face. “Come here, Madeline, or I’ll shoot your precious Jack Travers in his gut, and you’ll see him bleed to death before I slit your throat.”

Jack grabbed her wrist, but she pulled her hand away. “No, I won’t risk your life.” Obediently, she moved to Catherine. She knew this was torture for him, but she was playing for time. She stalled, walking slowly, desperately trying to think of a way out.

Madeline felt the cold muzzle press against her temple as Catherine forced her to turn. She stood facing Jack. His wet shirt clung to him and the dark patch on his side looked larger—frighteningly so. His hand grazed past the waistband of his trousers, then he inched forward.

Catherine retreated. “Stay there or I’ll kill her.”

Jack stopped. Madeline saw the stark pain in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her that way. As though heaven and earth were wrapped up in her.

She’d known this was Catherine’s intention—to use her as a hostage. She also knew Jack was more than just physically capable of breaking the woman’s neck. He had the ruthlessness to do it. He would do it in the blink of an eye. But she didn’t want him to have another death on his conscience. If they could outwit the assassins on the moors, surely they could defeat Catherine together.

“He won’t move a muscle, Mrs. Rhodes,” Madeline said.

Catherine was proud. If Madeline pricked that arrogance, Catherine could make a mistake. Or Madeline could get herself killed.

“I was
not
married to him,” Catherine spat. “He was completely wrong. The wedding was in Spain. Our ceremony was not legitimate. I was not his wife.”

Catholic marriages were not recognized in England, but a union that was valid in the country where it was made might be considered equally valid here. Madeline did not know the legalities. But she cried, “Then you were safe. There was no need to kill Sarah.” She must keep Catherine talking. She saw Jack’s gaze rivet on the woman, and she knew he was waiting for a chance—

“Not with Rhodes insisting I was his bride,” Catherine spat. “Lindale was so reluctant to remarry, and not just because he wanted to wallow in grief. He is an insecure man who needs to believe he has a woman’s complete devotion. I had to pretend that only with Lindale had I found my true love. If he’d known I might—just
might
—be married to Rhodes, I would have lost everything.”

“But did you not love Peregrine Rhodes?” Madeline asked softly. “When you married him?”

Bitterness twisted Catherine’s features. “Love and lust are for stupid women. Oh yes, I desired Peregrine. Then the wretch bankrupted me. I was a widow then, though young, and I had wealth. Peregrine used
my
money to buy fine clothes so he could woo other wealthy women. He spent
my
blunt to buy
them
gifts. He was nothing but a liability—a thickheaded man who thought his handsome face could excuse him any indiscretion, any betrayal. Good heavens, he even impregnated your governess while calling me his wife, before he set his sights on seducing Sarah.”

So Rhodes had fathered poor Grace’s child. “How could you have taken Lindale’s daughter from him? How could you have caused him such pain?”

“Shut up!”

Madeline didn’t get shot. But she did get slapped. Catherine’s left hand slammed against her cheek. “You, with your immense income, have the gall to speak that way to me? I threw Peregrine out and he left me with a mountain of debts. I had to survive—something you’ve never had to do. You would not leave things alone, Madeline. Your precious Jack Travers is a criminal. Laurentide told me he
belongs
in prison. But you pushed and pushed and would not stop. Now, you are finally going to be useful. You are going to help me escape.” Catherine stepped backward and pulled Madeline with her.

“Good heavens, Catherine, how do you hope to get away?” she asked coolly, while her heart thumped. “Do you plan to retreat from Jack all the way to the King’s Highway? I’ve seen him kill men. I saw him break a man’s neck with one twist of his arm.”

Catherine stiffened, but said, “He won’t risk hurting you.”

“I won’t,” Jack said softly. “Just don’t hurt her. Please, let Madeline go, Lady Lindale. Take me as your hostage.”

The offer touched Madeline to her soul. And terrified her. Jack would trade his life for hers.

Catherine’s laughter rippled through the dark. “What good would
you
be? Who would care if I shot you?”

“I would,” Madeline protested.

Twigs snapped. Someone was moving through the maze toward them.

“Who is that?” Catherine snarled. She backed to the hedges, dragging Madeline with her. The pistol bumped her head as Catherine twisted back and forth, trying desperately to watch both Jack and the dark path at the same time.

“I’ve got you, Travers,” a masculine voice announced triumphantly. A man emerged from the gloom, a pistol clasped in his hand. Captain Livingston. He stopped dead and stared in shock.

“Keep back!” Catherine cried. “Do not move or I’ll shoot her.”

The muzzle banged her head as Catherine trembled. Madeline’s legs almost jellied. Catherine was now so frightened, she could shoot by accident.

“Easy,” Jack said gently. “You’ve nothing to fear, Lady Lindale. This man wants to capture me. Let Madeline go and you can get away.”

“What in blazes is going on?” Livingston demanded.

“Th—this is Lady Lindale,” Madeline threw out, her voice quivering, “She is the one who murdered Lady Sarah Sutton and Grace Highchurch. Jack is innocent.”

Livingston lifted his pistol, but Jack barked at him, “Put your damned weapon down.”

The Crown’s man hesitated, and Catherine cried, “I will shoot her. I killed those two women. What have I to lose now?”

A woman’s scream came from nearby. One long, shrill wail, followed by wild shrieks.

“Mother,” Madeline gasped, and in that instant, the cold metal of the pistol moved from her head. Catherine had swung her arm away and the weapon now pointed past Jack, in the direction of the scream. Jack’s arm jerked up quickly—she saw a silver blade in his hand—and Madeline knew what she must do. Sucking in a deep breath for courage, she threw herself backward, where Catherine would have to turn to shoot her.

“What—?” Catherine barked, but then she screamed. Catherine’s pistol went off with a deafening roar and burst of smoke.

“Jack!” Dear heaven, had she made a mistake? Had she gambled and—and lost?

The report of a second shot filled Madeline’s ringing ears. The pistol dropped from Catherine’s hands and she swayed. Madeline stumbled to the side, tripping over her skirts, as Catherine tumbled to the ground.

Catherine’s body fell like a dead weight. Her head lolled to the side. Then Madeline saw her chest. The handle of a knife protruded from Catherine’s shoulder. But below . . . it was a mess. There was only a dark glistening hole where her heart should be.

Dizziness hit her and Madeline tore her eyes away from the wound on Catherine’s lifeless body to find Jack. Had he been shot?

Suddenly, she was lifted into the air. Jack’s strong arms were around her and he cradled her to his chest, where she could see nothing but his soaked white shirt clinging to his muscles. “God, God . . . are you all right, Madeline? You aren’t hurt?”