She recalled the words he’d spoken at the barn. No abductor ever lets his victim live. Had his charm been nothing but a ruse? Was he paying her back for what she had done as Lady Moonlight? Or did William really have something he wanted and she had let herself be fooled? Which meant somehow, he’d known who she was all along. Something squeezed in her chest. The horrid sensation of a heart in denial. But her heart was probably wrong.
‘We need more wood for the fire.’ Millie’s announcement in the room beyond broke through her agitated thoughts.
‘That’s your job, woman. I’m guarding the prisoner,’ Caleb said.
Millie cursed.
Through the open door, Eleanor watched Millie pick up a basket and head outside. Caleb remained sitting at the table, his half-closed eyes fixed on her. Her heart picked up speed. Now she knew how a mouse felt when faced by a cat. Finally, unable to stand the tension, she got up and closed the door. It swung back before she could step away.
‘Leave it, wench,’ Caleb said.
‘Hoping I’ll try to escape?’
He stepped threateningly over the threshold.
Damn. Why could she not keep her mouth shut?
Hand on the doorjamb, he raked her body with a hot greedy expression. She wanted to back away, to get as far from him as possible. Giving ground would be a fatal admission of weakness. She watched him warily.
Caleb smiled. His mottled skin flushed dark as he reached out to touch her. Calloused skin brushed her cheek. Sour breath filled her nostrils.
‘Hands off, you oaf.’
He rocked back on his heels, clearly taken aback. He grabbed at the doorpost, unsteady on his feet. Drunk. ‘Come on, pretty lady. Old Caleb only wants a little bit of what the Marquess ’ad.’ He frowned. ‘’Twould be better if you gave it to me nice like, than if I ’as to take it.’
Every nerve in her body warned of danger. Flee or fight. Cunning was better. Eleanor smiled. ‘Well…’ She took a half-step forward.
His lips rolled back over his rotting teeth. She grasped the edge of the door and swung it with every ounce of strength. The corner hit the middle of his forehead with the crack of a hammer. His nose burst and blood spurted. He stood there staring, unblinking, unmoving, blood dripping off the ends of his moustache. She’d not hit him hard enough. She backed away. Now he’d come after her and she had nowhere to run.
His eyes glazed. He fell slowly backwards and crashed to the floor like a felled tree.
Oh, God, she was going to be sick. She had never in her life caused such damage to another human being. No time for regret. This would seal her fate if she didn’t leave. She needed a weapon. A gun, or a knife. She dropped to her knees beside the unconscious man and feverishly searched his pockets. She found a pistol in one pocket and a dagger in the other. She ran for the door. Lifted the latch. Footsteps clattered on the flagstones outside.
Blast. She dodged back, hugging the wall behind the door. Her heart in her mouth, she cocked the pistol.
Something hammered against Garrick’s skull.
‘My lord!’
It wasn’t in his head. There was someone at his door. ‘Go ’way.’ He could barely get the words through the fur lining of his mouth.
‘Please, my lord. It’s Dan.’
Garrick groaned and sat up. He was still wearing his shirt. The curtained room was dark and enough of the haze cleared from his head to wonder what time it was.
‘My lord.’ Nidd entered through the door to his dressing room. ‘That lad says he needs to talk to you right bad.’
‘Damn it all,’ Garrick muttered. Couldn’t a fellow get drunk in peace? If Uncle Duncan hadn’t gone off to Portsmouth on business, he would have broached the old man yesterday, instead of a bottle of brandy. Now he had to face today with a bloody headache. ‘All right, send him in. Nidd, can you find some of those miracle powders of yours?’
‘Aye, master, right gladly.’
A few seconds after Nidd had left, Dan stood in front of Garrick, his hat clutched in his hand, his face troubled. Bloody hell. Clearly the lad had been up to mischief. Garrick glared at him. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s M-Miss Brown,’ the boy stuttered.
Garrick narrowed his eyes. ‘What about her?’
‘I was having a drop of blue ruin on the quiet, like, late last night and I…’ Dan gazed at his shuffling feet. Garrick had forbidden him to indulge the taste for gin he’d developed in childhood. ‘I fell asleep in the loft. I woke up this morn when Mr Matthews rode in. His lordship came out to meet him.’
Good. Uncle Duncan was back. He must have returned after Garrick went to bed. He realised Dan was staring at him. ‘Catch you, did they?’
‘No, my lord. They were right under me. I couldn’t help but hear what they said. I think Miss Brown is in some sort of trouble.’
Garrick straightened, the mists in his brain receding. ‘You must be mistaken. Miss Brown left Boxted two days ago.’
The boy winced, but continued doggedly. ‘Mr Matthews said something about a letter, but she was still sleeping. I didn’t know what they meant. Then his lordship said it was kind of you, my lord, to hand them a weapon. It didn’t make no sense.’
‘Any sense.’
‘Yes, my lord. Then Mr Matthews says for a lady she was a hellion and he looked forward to taming her. Then his lordship said no, that Mr Matthews was to leave the Marquess’s ladybird alone. That’s when I knew they meant Miss Brown, my lord, for I knows she’s—’
Garrick scowled. Dan flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘I didn’t mean no disrespect, my lord.’
The boy had a screw loose. Unless Le Clere had some misguided notion of saving Garrick from himself. Hardly likely. Perhaps the boy had misheard. ‘Did they say where Miss Brown was?’ His voice creaked like an old door.
Dan curled into his shoulders, a picture of defiance underpinned with fear. ‘I followed.’
‘Followed who?’
‘Mr Matthews, my lord. I couldn’t hear no more, they walked away, but I got down from the loft and when I saw him ride away I followed. He went over by Standerstead, to a cottage.’
Utter nonsense. ‘Did you see Miss Brown?’
‘No, my lord, there was this big ugly cove standing outside. Looked to me like he was carrying a brace of pops as if he was guarding somethin’. Like them soldiers at Horse Guards.’
Garrick narrowed his eyes, cursing the fog in his brain. Dan had no reason to lie. It didn’t make sense, but he had to be sure. ‘What time was this?’
‘Not long ago, an hour mebbe.’
‘Can you find the place again?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Good lad.’ Garrick squeezed into his coat. ‘Ask Nidd to hurry up with that powder, then meet me at the stables. Have Johnson saddle Bess.’
The boy touched his forelock and dashed off, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.
Garrick retrieved his duelling pistols from the case in his dressing room and shoved them into his waistband. He was struggling into his boots when Nidd arrived with the promised potion.
‘Oh, my lord, look at you putting fingerprints