‘We really should be off.’ The older man’s voice was taut with anxiety. ‘We could perhaps ride back to the nearest inn and mention that we glimpsed a stray horse in the forest. Then they would send someone out to investigate...’
‘We cannot leave him while he’s unconscious!’ The girl’s voice was authoritative. ‘This is my plan, Francis. I’m going to loosen our prisoner’s ropes and wait for him to regain his senses. As soon as he starts to do so, and we can be sure that he’s going to be all right, we’ll ride off as quickly as we can.’
‘But what if he gets on his horse and gallops after us?’ This was the younger lad speaking. ‘That bay of his could catch ours in no time!’
The girl had an answer for that as well. ‘We’ll lead his horse with us—just for a half a mile or so. Francis, can you go and see to the horses now? And, Luke, it’s really important that you remove every trace of our stay here—for example, the remains of that campfire you and Francis lit over there.’
Luke said suddenly, ‘I left some of my markers in case you had trouble finding us, Miss Deb.’
Deb frowned. ‘Markers?’
‘The sign for the Lambeth Players,’ explained Luke. ‘You know—the initials L and P, made with twigs. I made a trail, from the track to this clearing. I was only trying to help!’
‘You idiot, Luke,’ said Francis.
‘You’d better go and remove them,’ said Deb in exasperation. Luke and his games. ‘Every single one. And as soon as you’ve checked round everywhere, we’ll leave—but only when I’m sure this man is going to be all right, do you understand?’
* * *
They left, and Deb walked slowly towards their prisoner. Only now that Luke and Francis were out of sight did she feel that she could allow herself to give way to true, sick anxiety.
She dropped to her knees at the man’s side, noting that he lay as still as ever in his bonds apart from the rhythmic rise and fall of his broad chest—thank God he was still breathing steadily. She rapidly tried to summarise what she knew about him, which wasn’t a great deal, except that his name was Damian Beaumaris, and he was rich—she could tell that just at a glance, not only because of his fine attire and gold pocket watch, but because of that indefinable air of arrogance the rich had, yes, even when they were tied up on the ground and unconscious.
Luke and Francis had only been trying to help her, she reminded herself rather desperately. And they’d been right, in that if he had been Palfreyman, and had met her climbing back over his boundary wall, he would have seized her on the spot, found the books on her, and her plan would have been ruined. She could have been in dire trouble indeed...
And wasn’t she now?
Deb tried her best to control her panicking thoughts. At least Mr Beaumaris was alive, and had no idea who they were. And thank goodness there was no sign of blood. But she could see quite a lot else about him—a bit too much, unfortunately, for his expensive riding coat had fallen right back, and beneath his white shirt and buckskin breeches she couldn’t help but note that he displayed a formidably muscled body. Her eyes were reluctantly dragged again and again to that strong, square jaw already dark with stubble, and she found herself thinking that Peggy Daniels, the pretty actress who played most of the heroines for the Lambeth Players, would have been in raptures over him. ‘Now, there’s a fine figure of a man,’ she would have exclaimed.
Deb sighed, and prepared to put his gold watch back in his pocket; but just at that moment Mr Beaumaris groaned, and she almost shot into the air.
‘My God,’ he rasped. ‘My God, whoever you are, I’ll see the lot of you in Newgate for this.’
Quickly Deb shoved his watch in her own pocket and moistened her dry lips. Thank goodness he was still blindfolded. ‘My friends made a mistake, Mr Beaumaris.’ She found herself defiantly tilting her chin, as if he could see her. ‘You see, they thought you were someone else. Someone who’s done us a great deal of harm. That was why they tied you up, but it was all an accident, I do assure you, sir—’
‘Accident! Now, there’s a Banbury tale,’ he exploded. ‘Your friends tied a cord across the path.’
He heard her catch her breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘Truly sorry you were hurt. And please stay still, Mr Beaumaris, there’s really no point in trying to fight your bonds. I’ll set you free in good time, you have my word on it.’
‘Your word? You expect me to believe your promises?’
‘It would be as well for you,’ she said in her sweet clear voice, ‘if you did.’
Who the deuce was she? Beau wondered anew. She sounded well educated—and yet she was clearly in charge of the men who’d landed him in this mess. He’d heard them calling themselves the Lambeth Players, but what kind of vagabonds could they be? Two rogues and a girl... Cursing his blindfold, he wished he could cure himself of the delusion that this little witch actually sounded rather exquisite.
‘You claim I was captured by mistake,’ he said flatly. ‘Perhaps you don’t mind telling me how you know my name?’
She said in a very small voice, ‘I found your watch.’
‘You rifled my pockets.’
‘Only to find out who you were!’ She’d rallied now.
‘And now you know,’ Beau said. ‘But I’ll give you a warning. If you’re planning on demanding a ransom, don’t waste your time. Because if anything happens to me, you’ll not be able to find a safe hiding place in the entire realm.’
There was a brief silence, then he heard her say quietly, ‘I suppose that’s what happens, when you’re rich and important. You matter. You go through life issuing threats and never listening to what other people are wanting to tell you. Not even trying to understand.’
Beau found himself frowning at the intensity of her words. Then he froze again—because he felt small cool fingers fluttering around his shirt and his greatcoat, and he swore under his breath because his body was disconcertingly aware that this young, sweet-scented female was far too close for comfort. Deborah, they’d called her. Or Miss Deb. She’ll be a pock-marked Jezebel, he reminded himself. She couldn’t be anything else, living the life she must lead.
‘There,’ she announced crisply. ‘Your watch is back in your coat pocket, Mr Beaumaris. Let me repeat that we are not thieves. And no one regrets this incident more than I do, believe me.’
He could almost have been amused. ‘So that’s it, is it? You offer your sincerest apologies on behalf of your two henchmen, and you expect me to forget this whole business?’
‘That’s more or less it. But I have to ask you a question first, Mr Beaumaris. Are you a man who can be trusted to keep his word?’
What sheer, incredible insolence! He clenched his teeth. ‘Most would say so, yes. But let me give you a warning. I assume you’re going to ask me to promise some kind of clemency—but I don’t take kindly to highway robbery. And I’m not going to enter into any kind of negotiation until you unfasten these damned ropes.’
‘Then I’m afraid we’re at stalemate, Mr Beaumaris,’ she answered calmly. ‘You may as well know that I have a knife—a very sharp knife—in my hand, and I can free you in moments. But before I do so, I want you to swear not to set the law on my friends.’
Beau really didn’t know if she was pretending