Enchanted in Regency Society: Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress / The Gamekeeper's Lady

‘Put up, my lord,’ Martin Brown said sternly, his ruddy face grim. This time his rifle was pointed at the Earl. ‘This was all her own doing. I did my best to stop her and when I could not, I did my best to protect her.’ He nodded at Garrick. ‘He became involved when we held up his coach and he followed us. She said she would set him free and go to Scotland.’ He flushed. ‘I had a feeling there was more to it. That was why I waited for your ship in Portsmouth. But if she’s gone, she’s gone to your aunt, or to her friend in Scotland. We should look for her there.’

Oh God, Ellie. What were you doing? He stared at her enraged brother. No wonder she’d longed for him to come home. The bastard had left her to face everything alone. Well, now he’d know the truth, because he wasn’t fit to take care of her.

Garrick crossed his arms across his chest and stared down his nose at the other man. ‘You were right to worry, Martin. She became my mistress to retrieve the mortgage and pay his debts.’ He curled his lip as the other man squirmed. ‘Not once did she tell me the truth.’

Horror etched on his features, Castlefield limped to the sofa and collapsed. He covered his face with his hands. ‘Eleanor,’ he moaned. ‘Why?’

A wave of remorse washed away Garrick’s anger. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but you have only yourself to blame.’

Martin Brown assisted his young master to rise. ‘Come, my lord, we have to find her and bring her home.’

Castlefield glared at Garrick. ‘You despicable cur, taking advantage of a woman. My sister is worth two of you.’

What had he done? She’d been trying to save her brother, and Garrick had taken full advantage of the circumstances. Dear God. He’d ruined a noblewoman, taken her virtue. Were there no depths to which he would not sink? If only she’d told him who she was. Let him help her. Nom d’un nom. She’d lied rather than give him the chance to help because she didn’t trust him.

He had to make it right. Offer her his name. It was all he could do. What he wanted to do. He felt a surge of hope. ‘I will marry her, of course.’ His voice sounded thick and hoarse.

In the doorway, Castlefield swung back around, granite eyes blazing, his pale skin flushed. ‘Do you think I’d let her marry a cur like you?’

Cringing inside, Garrick somehow managed to keep his voice calm. ‘It will be up to Ellie to decide.’

‘Will it?’ Castlefield’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘When I tell her what you did to me, you know how she will answer. Eleanor will do my bidding in this. Say one thing to a soul about my sister and I swear I will kill you. Come near my family again and you will die.’

The bitterness in his voice rent Garrick’s sympathy to shreds. ‘Next time you find yourself in debt, don’t leave your sister to rescue you.’

‘Damn you to hell, Beauworth!’ Castlefield shouted, following Martin Brown out of the door and slamming it shut.

Hell looked inviting. Garrick sank on to the sofa. What a bloody mess. How could he not have seen what she was? Hell! He’d known she had secrets, but how could he have guessed she was a noblewoman? Liar. The signs had all been there—her conversation, her bearing, even her modesty and innocence. The selfish bastard in him hadn’t wanted to see. He’d wanted the rogue, the woman in the mask, the woman he could not hurt.

He scrubbed his palm over his chin. She had no choice but to take his name. Castlefield would come to his senses, once he got over his anger. His heart lifted. In a way, it wasn’t so bad.

‘She’s waking.’ Shuffling footsteps crossed the room.

Eleanor turned her head towards the coarse female voice. Light sliced pain through her temples and she tried to swallow what felt like sand in her throat. The room spun like a child’s top. Oh God, she was going to be sick. A basin appeared before her as if by magic. She vomited. Again and again.

Exhausted, she lay back, eyes shut. What was wrong with her? She’d never felt so ill in her life. Then she remembered. They’d dosed her with laudanum. After a few moments, she opened her eyes again and peered through a watery blur at four bare stone walls, a grimy window and flagstone floor. Where was she?

She struggled to rise. A dumpy old crone in black shoved her back against the pillow.

‘Here, lovey,’ the woman said. ‘Drink. It’ll ’ave you right as rain, it will.’

Feeling a glass against her lips, she gulped at the liquid. Bitter. Disgusting. Oh, no, more laudanum. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’

‘Rest, missie.’

‘How long will she sleep?’ A man’s voice, low and harsh from across the room. Eleanor tried to raise her head to see. Too heavy. Too tired.

‘A few hours.’

‘Good. Keep the door locked. Caleb will keep watch.’

Caleb. A rush of fear engulfed her as she remembered the man’s ugly face, the last person she’d seen before darkness sucked her down.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was alone. She felt better, stronger. The musty-smelling room remained steady. A chamber with crumbling plaster, and empty except for the cot on which she lay. A spyhole pierced the blackened wood door. Had they watched her sleep? She shivered. A blanket, rough to the touch, covered her nightgown and robe. Her skin crawled at the thought of those men with their hands on her in such flimsy attire.

Nausea rose in her throat. If she was sick, they would hear her. She swallowed.

‘Is she awake?’ Caleb’s voice. Outside the door. A voice of nightmares. A voice she’d heard in vague dreams of being carried and shoved into a vehicle. Shuddering, she closed her eyes and lay still. She wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet. Not until she felt stronger.

‘Nah,’ the woman replied, obviously peering through the hole in the door.

‘Sarg will be back soon.’

‘Aye. I’ll make tea and wake her. He’ll want her ready.’

Ready for what? There were noises, crockery rattling and footsteps. Eleanor imagined the woman moving around in the other room. The scraping of a chair being pushed back and heavier footfalls made her tense. Careful not to move, Eleanor opened her eyes a fraction.

‘She’s awake,’ Caleb said. ‘I know it.’

‘Get away from there, you big lummox. You leave her to me, just like Sarg said. Get yourself back on guard or he’ll have your guts for garters.’

‘I’ve got a score to settle with the bitch for my arm,’ Caleb growled. He clumped away and a door closed with a bang.

Barely clothed and a prisoner at their mercy. Her body trembled. Her heart raced. She couldn’t breathe. They were going to kill her. She was going to die here in this horrid little hovel.

Ellie, calm down. Father’s voice stilled her panic. Remember what he used to say? The reason many soldiers died was because they froze in fear and stopped thinking. Pull yourself together and you will be all right.

She hauled in a deep breath. Then another. Her heartbeat slowed. Her breathing evened out. She forced herself to listen to the sounds from the other room and was sitting up when the key turned in the lock and the woman entered with a tray.

‘Where am I?’ Eleanor said, looking down her nose at her female jailor. ‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’

The woman set the tray on end of the bed and pulled her grey woollen shawl tight around her hunched shoulders. She looked like any woman you might see on the street in a village—black gown, grey hair scraped back, wisps escaping around her lined suntanned face. ‘You’ll get your answers soon enough, my lady. Now, drink your tea and eat something. You’ll feel better.’

More drugs? Eleanor eyed the tray askance. Yet her stomach felt uncomfortably hollow. How long since she had eaten? ‘What is the time?’

‘Getting on for noon. You slept all day yesterday.’

She’d lost a whole day? Garrick would be worried. But how would he find her? ‘You can’t keep me here. The Marquess of Beauworth expects to find me at home.’

‘Does he now?’ The woman’s smile was grim, but she didn’t seem perturbed. ‘Eat. Or go hungry.’ She marched out and locked the door behind her.

Eleanor glanced at the tray. She needed strength for whatever they had in store for her, but not more laudanum. She carefully smelled the bread and the tea. Nothing obvious. Nor did she taste anything odd. She ate and drank her fill.

Feeling stronger, she strolled around her prison. The floor was cold and gritty under her bare feet, the air smelled of mould. Daylight struggled though a small window hung with dusty cobwebs high above her head. To see out, she would need to pull the cot beneath it and battle the spiders. She eyed the corners of the room. No doubt the horrid beasts lurked there, too. She shuddered and swallowed the urge to beg.