Jo Goodman (25 page)

On a second visit, one day following the birth, Colin was accepted with almost as much warmth as Mercedes. The initial misgivings, as brief as they had been, were gone now. If there was any doubt, Mr. Thayer proudly announced they had named their new daughter Colleen. Mercedes hid her smile behind her hand as the curtain was lifted on Colin's normally unreadable expression, and he demonstrated without words that he was capable of great feeling.

Caught up in this memory, wondering at warmth that came to her face as she thought of it, Mercedes didn't notice that her shadow had been joined by another until it was too late to react. A gloved hand closed over her mouth from behind, and she was dragged into the abandoned tenant's cottage she had just passed. What had been dusk outside became as dark as pitch once she was thrust inside and the door was pulled closed. She expected release but it wasn't given. The leather glove smelled of horses and sweat. It pressed against her mouth with such force that her teeth were ground into her lips. She tasted blood and could do naught but swallow.

"You would do well not to scream," the voice at her ear said. "It can't go but badly for you after that."

The sibilantly whispered threat could have been expected to strike a chord of terror in any other victim. It was too familiar to Mercedes to have that effect. She was not so much a fool that she wasn't afraid. This was her uncle, after all, and she knew fear would keep her sharp, while terror would have paralyzed her. Forcing herself to remain quiet, giving him no reason to tighten his brutal grip, Mercedes managed a small nod.

His lordship felt the movement that signaled cooperation. He had expected nothing less from her. He eased the punishing pressure of his hand but did not lift it away entirely. "Hear me out," he said lowly.

She nodded again and this time the hand was removed. Mercedes spun away from him and stumbled on the uneven floor. In some distant part of her mind she found it odd that her uncle could so naturally step forward to assist her, as if he had no part in causing her distress in the first place. This ability of his to act in ways that were so incongruent was the part of his character that alarmed her the most. Mercedes was careful not to spurn the hand he held out to her. More pain had always followed that incautious gesture. Using his hand to steady her, Mercedes drew herself up.

Her eyes were gradually becoming accustomed to the darkness. It was not as impenetrable as it first appeared. There were shades of blue and black that defined her uncle's shape against the background of the door. The narrow breadth of his shoulders was evident, but the rest of his body was made indistinct by the cloak he was wearing. The gold splinters in his brown eyes glittered even more brightly in a face that was so deeply shadowed. She realized that her uncle hadn't shaved in all the days since his disappearance. In a man as fastidious as the earl, this omission could only have been deliberate.

"You're so pathetically predictable," he said. He pointed to the basket she still clutched under one arm. "A basket of goodwill for Weybourne Park's newest addition. Food?"

Mercedes thought he said this last rather hopefully. She wondered if he was hungry. She had never given a moment's thought as to how he might have fended for himself. If she had, she would have supposed that some friend could have been pressed into offering assistance while remaining silent about it. It occurred to her now that perhaps the earl had no acquaintances who could provide help
and
confidence.

Weybourne took the basket from Mercedes when she was too slow to answer. Rooting through it carelessly and spilling the clean linens on the floor, he came across the flask of brandy. He tossed Mercedes the basket and while she stooped to gather the discarded items, he opened his prize and drank deeply. "Better than food," he said after a moment. "Tell me. Was the brat a boy or a girl this time?"

"The Thayers have a baby girl," Mercedes said carefully. She didn't mention the child's name. Her uncle might make the connection and it would only sour him.

The earl's grunt could have meant anything. "As soon as I heard the brat squealing I knew you'd be coming around. I just didn't know if you'd come alone this time." He heard the small gasp she was too slow to stifle. "Yes, I've been watching you. I don't know why that would surprise you. No one is observing mourning so I surmise that all of you believe I'm alive."

"Severn did his best to convince us otherwise."

He ignored that. "You must have known I wouldn't go far from Weybourne Park, not at least until I have all I need."

"You've been here all this time?" It didn't seem possible. The entire estate had been searched. Then she realized that following Severn's lead, the search parties had been looking for a body, not tracking a man on the move. An experienced, exceptional hunter himself, the earl had probably found it almost laughably simple to elude them. "Why haven't you shown yourself?"

Lord Leyden took another swallow of brandy. He was of no mind to answer her questions. "There are several things I require of you," he said. "All well within your power to accomplish, so you needn't think I've set forth the labors of Hercules. I will need several changes of clothes. You will go to my room and neatly pack two valises. Do not stuff them so full that they become a burden to carry."

He was speaking of the burden to himself, she thought, not of the trouble she might experience in bringing them to him. Mercedes held the basket up in front of her, as if it might shield her from subsequent requests.

"You will also pack each valise with foodstuffs. Bread and fruit will be adequate." Almost as an afterthought he added, "Another flask of this brandy would not come amiss."

There would be more, Mercedes knew. It could not be so easy.

"Pack my pistols," he said. "The ones in the mahogany case." There was a slight pause, then, "I will need money, of course."

Mercedes was visited with a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. His request for his dueling pistols was of little concern next to his demand for money. "Money? But there's nothing. My jewelry—"

"Bother that," he said dismissively. "I'm not going to call attention to myself by pawning jewelry, especially that which is of so little value."

The cruelty of this last remark almost made her cry out. Her most precious pieces, her inheritance from her mother, had been sold off long ago, years before she had had any understanding of their worth in terms of wealth. For Mercedes it was the sentiment attached to the ear clips and necklaces. They had glittered around her mother's neck and adorned her ears. There had been diamond-studded hair combs and delicate gold lockets, bracelets that sparkled with rubies and a choker of emeralds that was like a circle of green ice around her slender throat.

Some items had been especially valued by Mercedes: ivory combs, a string of pearls, a sapphire ring in a platinum setting. These were the pieces her mother had been wearing the night she was murdered. They were the same pieces recovered from the highwaymen. Four years later they were irretrievably lost to her, on this occasion because the earl made an unconscionable wager involving his pair of matched grays and the speed in which they could make Land's End from London. Her Aunt Georgia had waited until bedtime to tell her of the earl's folly and its consequences. At eight years of age, Mercedes had been inconsolable.

Some of her profoundly felt anger returned and threatened to overwhelm her ability to reason or think. She swayed on her feet and was glad for the cover of darkness that hid this weakness from the earl. "If you don't want jewelry," she said, "then I don't understand. There's nothing left." There was the money she had set aside for the boys' education, and the earl, if he knew about the fund, also knew she couldn't touch it. She had made that arrangement deliberately, knowing there could come a time when pressure might be applied. "I don't know what you think I can do for you."

She felt his eyes boring steadily into her and then she knew. "Oh, no." Mercedes actually kicked away. There was a chair behind her and it caught the back of her knees. Still clutching the basket, she dropped into it. " You can't expect me to—"

The earl cut her off. "What I expect is that you'll get it from Captain Thorne."

"Steal it, you mean."

"Acquire
it," he corrected. "In whatever manner suits you. Don't forget, I've seen you with the captain... walking through the gardens... picnicking in the fields... you may only have to ask him for it. He seems to be in your thrall."

"Then you mistake your eyes. Captain Thorne is in no one's thrall, least of all mine."

"And you underestimate your allure. You always have."

A shiver snaked along Mercedes's spine. It was no compliment the earl paid her, not when it was said in those insidiously intimate accents. "I can't ask him for money," she said. "Every expenditure is made with some purpose. He would know if I didn't use the money as planned."

"So? By then I'd be gone." It was not his concern.

"He manages the finances with drafts," she told him. "They are drawn on his bank in London. There's no coin to be had."

Far from being dissuaded, the earl found this news to his liking. "Better yet," he said. "You'll make a draft to me in the name of... Ashbrook and Deakins."

"Your tailors?"

His mouth tightened at her needling. "Merchants. You may decide the specifics. From the activity surrounding Thorne's ill-advised acquisition, it seems that you must be conducting business with any number of tradesmen. You'll think of something that will allay his suspicions."

Mercedes doubted it. "He has to sign the draft himself."

"Not if you practice his signature."

"I can't do that!"

"That's not a choice, Mercedes." He paused, letting her take that in. "You're probably wondering what I can do if you deny me. You'd be better to think on what I
can't
accomplish. It would occupy less of your time. I see the boys come and go from the manor as they please. Separately or together, they make easy targets. For capture or killing. How long do you think they would willingly stay inside?"

What he was suggesting took her breath away. Mercedes could only stare at him.

"Do you imagine you'll go to the good captain with this story?" he asked. "What will protect any of you then? Not Thorne. He has obligations to his ship and his men. Even your estimable captain cannot be everywhere at once. You will always have to look over your shoulder, Mercedes. Can you imagine living what's left of your life like that?" He let the silence that followed speak for itself. "You
do
understand," he said at last.

"How much?" she asked hollowly.

"Two thousand pounds."

Mercedes did not have the presence of mind to be shocked by the sum. She was numb. "And what does this purchase?" she asked.

"Your freedom," he said, shrugging. "My freedom. I suppose it depends on your point of view." He chuckled lowly, pleased by his ability to wax philosophical at such a time. "I intend to leave England. You can be assured my fortune awaits on another shore."

Hope soared in her. "You mean it?"

"Your eagerness is less than complimentary," he said dryly, "but I suppose you have your reasons. Yes, I mean it. My destination, however, is to be my own secret. Once I'm gone you may be inclined to tell the captain where I'm going. I have no desire to look over
my
shoulder."

Being free of the Earl of Weybourne would be worth keeping the secret, she thought, but she didn't tell him that. Two thousand pounds suddenly seemed a paltry sum. She would have been willing to forge Colin Thorne's name to a draft for twice that amount and take any punishment he delivered for her crime. "Have you spoken to Severn?" she asked. "Does he know of your plan?"

The earl waved her questions aside. "By morning," he said. "I'll require everything before first light. And don't think to trap me here. I'll know if you have an escort."

Trapping him was the last thing on her mind. Gone. She wanted him gone. And one more thing. Mercedes believed she was finally in a position to press it. "Accept Britton and Brendan," she said.

Leyden blinked. The flask rested lightly against his lip and he didn't drink. He lowered it slowly. "What?"

"Acknowledge the twins as your rightful heirs," she said. "What difference can it make to you? You're leaving. The estate will be in Captain Thorne's hands. Why should you care if Britton has the title? More to the point, why should Severn get it? You've always known the twins are yours. It's been spite that makes you hard-hearted against them. Aunt Georgia was never unfaithful to you. You only despised her for not being my mother."

Mercedes had pressed her point too hard. The cover of darkness had given her foolish courage. The silver-plated flask came whirling in her direction and glanced off her temple. She froze with pain, teetered on the edge of her chair, then slumped over and onto the floor.

When she woke it was dark even beyond the cottage walls and she was alone.

* * *

Mrs. Hennepin took Mercedes's bonnet and shawl. "How did you manage to flatten this ribbon?" she asked, giving the bonnet a critical eye. "And your shawl looks to have been dragged on the road. Did you take a tumble?"

Mercedes brushed dust from the back of her gown. "Head over bucket," she said. It was an effort to keep her voice light and pleasant when agitation was running high. "I was a sight."