What a Hero Dares (22 page)

They ran quickly, quietly, until there was no longer any chance of them not being seen, and then rushed forward together.

“Papa!” Zoé called out. “Get down, get down!”

She should have known better. When had her father ever obeyed an order from his daughter?

In a heartbeat, she was reduced to the role of observer, as her father flung the contents of the chamber pot squarely in Tom’s startled-looking face, a move followed close behind by swinging the empty but still heavy pot against the man’s head.

At nearly one and the same time, Max disposed of any threat from the other guard by the simple move of ramming him, like a charging bull, and then neatly putting him to sleep with the butt of one of his pistols.

Her throwing knife replaced by the razor-sharp stiletto, Zoé motioned for her father to put out his hands, made quick work of slicing the rope wrapped around his wrists, and then crouched down to repeat the action with those stretched between his ankles. “Ah, perfect, one of my own knives frees me. You’re looking better tonight. Somewhat.”

She ignored him. “Max? What do we do with them? If we leave them behind, they’ll be able to tell Anton about us.”

He looked at the man lying prone on the ground. A large man, with a more than ample stomach, and then shifted his gaze to the other one, Tom, likewise unconscious on the ground, only half the size of the other one, but definitely not so pretty. Or sweet smelling.

“
That
travels nowhere with me,” he said, pointing at Tom. “We’re not going to end the day the same way we began it. Besides, I rather like the idea of Anton knowing it was us.” He turned to Monsieur Charbonneau, bowing smartly. “Sir, allow me. I’m Maximillien Redgrave, younger yet deep in the pocket brother of the Earl of Saltwood, and the man who, with or without your kind permission, is to marry your daughter.”

“I never expected her to wed the local dustman, so you’ll do, if she’ll have you, and I imagine she will. Require it or not, you have my permission.”

Zoé bit her lip, to keep from laughing out loud. It was going to be interesting, watching these two over the years.

There was noise coming to them from the kitchens now, as the door was pushed open and a fat man in a greasy leather apron and carrying a large, obviously heavy pot, stepped out into the dark. “Slop the pigs, slop the bloody pigs.
He’s
a bloody pig,” the man was grumbling under his breath.

Max turned quickly to the Frenchman. “Do you ride, sir?”

“I do,” her father answered in the midst of kissing his daughter on both cheeks.

“Good, because there’s an obvious flaw in our plan. Zoé, take your father, head back the way we came, and I’ll meet you there. I’m off to steal a horse.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

E
VERYONE
HAD
GATHERED
in the main saloon by noon, all of them speaking at once, Zoé’s father—once again looking his proper best if in borrowed finery—having discovered the irresistible charms of the dowager countess and deep in conversation with her and Richard.

The only ones missing were Rose and Tariq, who were taking their exercise in the Long Gallery, inspecting portraits and works of art on this gray, rainy day, Harold Charfield, who was once more unhappily ensconced in his attic prison, and the earl himself, Gideon Redgrave, and his wife, Jessica.

That last was soon to be remedied when Dearborn, smiling widely, announced his lordship and ladyship’s arrival.

“Needed to be in on the kill, did you?” Max asked him as they shook hands and he kissed Jessica’s cheek.

“You’re not yet finished?” his brother responded in mock surprise. “Trixie assured me you were good at this. But as I can recall a time when you couldn’t button your own drawers, I admit to being skeptical.” Gideon bowed to Zoé. “
Mademoiselle,
it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance in daylight. Allow me to introduce you to my wife—”

“Jessica,” the countess interrupted, extending her hand in greeting, and her husband raised his hands in surrender, allowing his wife handle this first meeting in her own way, which was what she’d do in any case.

“Please excuse me as I join Trixie, who has been wildly waving me over to her while I pretend to ignore her, knowing she wants word of how things went for us in London.”

“And how did things go in London?” Max asked after his brother walked away. “Did Gideon stare down all the gossips?”

“Not all of them, no. Having the dowager countess of Saltwood attacked midday in the midst of crowded Bond Street, her attacker shot dead? And all with Trixie hanging half out of the coach, blood all over her gown, screaming about cowards, and demanding they look at what they’d done, or words to that effect—and naturally drawing all eyes to her? We never expected all of that to simply fade away quietly. But Gideon has brilliantly turned the thing into an issue of society demanding more watchmen, safer streets in Mayfair, where defenseless women need not to be afraid to step out shopping for a new bonnet without being accosted by dangerous footpads on Bond Street itself.”

“Including Trixie in that
defenseless
business? That may have been stretching credulity too far.”

“Why?” Zoé asked him. “I would have thought it quite plausible for society to react exactly as you and his lordship hoped they would.”

“If Trixie had been any other woman,” Max explained, “they probably would have. Their husbands and fathers would be lining up to speak in Parliament even now, demanding some sort of action. But we’re Redgraves. The idea of someone attacking any of us isn’t enough to make a single jaw drop, unless it’s to gossip about us. But it will go away. Someone else always conveniently comes along to siphon off the crowd’s attention. More than once, it has been another Redgrave. Jessica, did Gideon receive my message? I ordered Twitchill not to spare the horseflesh, and use every mount Gideon keeps stored at inns along the way, but it would have been a close-run thing.”

“True enough. He actually met up with our coach mere moments before we were going to pull off the road to spend the night in Marsham. Gideon penned a note to one of his friends whose estate is near Bilisington, and sent Twitchill off again, confident the women and children will be safely away by this afternoon. My new husband has some of the strangest friends, but they’re all quite loyal. Gideon,” she said as he wandered back in their direction. “I was just assuring your brother that you have things firmly in hand concerning the women and children.”

“While also informing us that you seem to have the strangest friends,” Max added, grinning at his sister-in-law.

“I also manage to have the strangest family. According to Trixie, you’ve made good use of our prisoner upstairs, deduced the location of the Society on Redgrave grounds—curse them—and angered this Boucher fellow of yours by not obeying his demand to destroy their Exalted Leader in order to rescue that charming Frenchman over there. Jessica, darling, I believe we’ve arrived just in time for the final act, although you and the other ladies—Kate included, if I have to order Simon to tie her to her bedpost—will sit in the box to watch, while the rest of us put an end to this damn drama for the last time.”

Max shook his head. “Home five minutes, and already giving orders. While I’d knock down any man who didn’t believe she’s a lady, Zoé will be going with us tonight. Not to the tunnel, where she was supposed to assassinate the Exalted Leader last night, but to the heart of this nest of spiders itself.”

Gideon looked at Zoé, whose expression was self-explanatory. “Very well. I always made it a point not to take on arguments I know I can’t win. The ruins on the West Run, correct? That’s difficult to believe.”

“Not when you consider the thing, brother. We don’t go there as a general rule, although Kate did take Simon one day. We may be lucky no one was there at the time, to see them, or they felt that they’d adequately hidden the entrance. At any rate, Trixie long ago ordered the graves there be attended to, and it was the Coopers who did that. If this Scarlet, or the woman, came to them asking for a safe place for their ceremonies—a cave, whatever—it’s logical that someone would mention the cellars of the burned estate house. God only knows how long they’ve been meeting there, planning and plotting there, right under our noses.”

“I’m not happy, no,” Gideon said mildly, and anyone in London, hearing those same words, said in that same way, directed toward them, would immediately begin planning an extended excursion in the Lake District.

* * *

Z
OÉ
LAY
WITH
her head against Max’s shoulder, drawing slow circles on his chest with the tip of one finger. “You didn’t tell them.”

“The family? No, I didn’t. Your father and I decided to wait until this mess is over, and Trixie agreed.”

“I didn’t agree,” Zoé pointed out, sliding one long bare leg across Max’s thighs.

“You didn’t have to. Val already sidled up to me while we were still downstairs, offering his congratulations. He says he’s developed an eye for picking out men who’ve been beaten over the head by Cupid’s shovel...thanks to seeing one in his dressing room mirror every morning. So if Val knows, then Daisy knows, but as a proper governess and chock full of integrity, to hear Val tell it, everything might have stopped there. Except that I saw her whispering into Kate’s ear. Trixie may have hoped Daisy would somehow whip Val into shape, but I’d say it will end up entirely opposite to her hopes. Redgraves don’t change...they change others. Or corrupt them, depending to whom you apply to for your answer.”

“I see. So Kate knows, and Simon knows, and—”

“And if Dearborn finds out we’re betrothed it will be all over the estate and halfway to London before we gather downstairs for dinner.”

“And the Society? Anton? Will they have heard?”

She waited while Max considered her question.

“Probably. Most likely. It’s Dearborn’s afternoon off, and he likes to visit the Goose. For lunch. They do prepare a fine goose.”

Zoé looked up at him, to see the expression on his face, but for an entirely different reason than Val. She wanted to see if the unflappable Max was lying to her.

“Did he ever take you there? For the fine goose?”

“We didn’t have a father, you know,” he told her rather defensively. “Somebody had to do it, and Trixie chose Dearborn. Later, when I first went to town, Piffkin took over until he was certain I wouldn’t make a cake of myself. Does this mean you’re going to demand a full recitation of everything that’s happened in my entire life?”

“No. Unless you have something else to confess that’s even half so funny. Besides, we have to get up now. We do want to be the first ones in position, don’t we?”

“Before Gideon believes he can take charge? I think you know the answer to that.” He pulled her up and over him, so that she was lying on his chest. “But I believe we can steal a few more minutes.”

“I’m so sorry, but not really, no.”

The statement had come from the door to his dressing room.

Zoé drew in a sharp breath even as she felt Max’s body stiffen beneath hers, and in the next moment they were rolling across the mattress, away from the dressing room. Tangled in the sheets, they landed hard on the floor, Max on top, and the breath Zoé had taken in was completely knocked out of her.

He hadn’t waited any time at all, hadn’t wondered how Boucher had made it past the guards and into the mansion, found his way to Max’s own bedchamber. You didn’t get answers to questions like that unless you lived long enough to ask them.

Max fought to free them of the sheets, and then pushed her, still gasping for air, under the bed.

“Stay here.”

Zoé shook her head frantically, unable to speak.
Wait. Don’t try to take him on alone!

But Max was already gone, crawling on his belly toward the trail of clothing they’d left behind an hour earlier as they’d kissed their way toward the bed.

From her position under the high tester bed, she could also see below the trailing bed skirt that didn’t quite reach the floor, espy Anton’s boots as he, walking slowly and carefully, made his way farther into the large chamber.

The room was bright with sunlight, the window drapes on the far side of the room pulled back, the panes clean and clear as crystal. The slowly setting sun was shining straight into Anton’s face. She knew what that was like, had faced the same unfortunate situation herself. It would be impossible for him to make out faces if the person had his back to the sun, but only outlines of their bodies. Blinking, looking away and then back again, didn’t help. If anything, such an attempt made the situation worse, and only brought tears to your eyes.

But everyone tried it.

“Sun in his eyes,” she whispered frantically as she pushed with her feet until she was against the rear frame, little more than a shadow amid other shadows.

She’d rather liked the bed when she’d first seen it. Max had told her it was a remnant from Tudor times: massive, heavy dark wood polished over and over across the centuries by a thousand hands, turning the wood nearly black. Posts as thick as tree trunks, Tudor red-velvet draperies hanging from beneath the heavy wood frame, supported by the beautifully turned posts.

The draperies had been tied back at each of the four posts for the summer, but not yet replaced with thin muslin because there had been no Coopers in the house to perform the chore, no Mrs. Justis to order them to work.

Still, Anton had to know where she was hiding, might even believe Max to be beneath the bed with her.

It was only a matter of time now, unless Max had another miracle up his sleeve.

Up his sleeve? God, they were both naked as newborns! She’d be damned if she’d die, to have her body found this way! If that was vanity, then so be it.
We’re not going to die today.

She chanced a peek from beneath the bed ruffle. She couldn’t find Max. Was there another door somewhere in the room? Some hidden panel? Where was he, where had he gone?

“Max.”

Anton’s voice.

“Max, you don’t really want to prolong this, do you, knowing you can’t win? And you, Zoé, hiding under a bed? Is that what I reduced you to in Paris? Look, both of you. Do you really think I’m here to kill you? And how do you suppose I’d do that? I certainly can’t shoot you. Think of the noise. I’d never escape alive, and being a martyr to any cause has never been one of my ambitions.”

Still Max said nothing, and Zoé believed he wouldn’t because he didn’t want to give away his position.

“Then why are you here, Anton?” she asked. “Have you come to surrender?”

“My congratulations,
mademoiselle
. As a matter of fact, he has. Not entirely happily, but taking the best option presented to him. He’s actually rather accomplished in the art of surrender. Isn’t that correct, Sous-Lieutenant Boutilier?”

Before she could even begin to absorb what she’d just heard, above her, Zoé could feel some slight shaking of the huge bed. And then Max’s voice, also coming from above her. He’d made it onto the wooden canopy? How had he done that?

“Why, good afternoon, Captain,” she heard him say. “At least now we know how our friend Boucher made it so far. Did Jacko send along any of his excellent ham, as I may be feeling a bit peckish.”

Zoé rolled her eyes and began uncurling herself from her defensive position so that she could reach for the sheet that had so recently entrapped her. As she did so, she chanced another look from beneath the bed skirt, to see Anton’s boots had been joined by another pair.

The captain. The pirate.

She’d better figure out a way to adequately cover herself with a sheet while stuck beneath a bed before anyone else showed up. Lord knew there could be more than a half-dozen yet to come, with her own father bringing up the rear. She wasn’t the sort to embarrass easily, but then nothing about her current situation was easy. “Ow!” She’d banged her head on the bottom frame of the bed. “Just to prove my point...” she grumbled.

“Zoé? Sweetheart? You’re all right?” Max called down to her. “You can come out now. Use the sheet to cover you, and then if you wouldn’t mind tossing me up something to wear?”

“Certainly,
sweetheart,
” she shot back as she struggled to tuck one end of the sheet into the bosom of her makeshift gown. “Where do you keep your hats?”

The captain chuckled. “
Mademoiselle,
you put me in mind of one of my daughters, and make me fear for the day she’s completely shed of the nursery. Come along, Boutilier. We’ll return to the dressing room for a space.”

The moment she heard the sound of the door closing, Zoé was out from beneath the bed, looking up to watch as Max’s bare legs appeared over the side of the wooden canopy. “What’s going on? Why is the captain here? Why did he bring Anton with him?
How
did he manage to bring Anton with him? Surrender? What a bag of moonshine. How in bloody blazes did you get up there?”