Indigo Moon Read online

  Grimacing at the knowledge that her father was in the same direction as she was traveling, Aubree settled in for the ride. Even if she could throw herself from the coach, it would be a simple task for the driver or footman to catch up with her. She might as well resign herself to waiting to discover which fate lurked around the corner. She supposed she could consider herself kidnapped, though her father would scarcely sell her off as a servant as kidnappers did their small victims. The cant simply seemed apropos.

  The countryside they rattled through as the day wore on became uneasily familiar. She had only visited her father’s ancestral home upon occasion, preferring the cozier Hampshire estate of her mother, but the road signs and the density of forest warned of the coach’s direction. It would not be a welcome homecoming that awaited her, she felt certain.

  As Aubree contemplated her father’s terrible anger, a young man sat comfortably ensconced at his usual table in White’s, sipping at a glass of wine. His companion twitched at his rich surroundings while surveying the young lord with annoyance.

  “It’s a harebrained scheme, Geoff,” the surly, older man spat out. “She would have run to Scotland with you and you’d be wed within the next days. The duke wouldn’t let his only daughter starve once it was done.”

  The slender gentleman set his goblet on the table and adjusted his cuffs, removing a piece of lint from the otherwise immaculate blue of the cloth. He regarded his country cousin with immense patience.

  “The duke informed me in no uncertain terms that we both could starve if we were bacon-witted enough to elope. The old bastard is tough enough to mean it. No, this is a much better way, cuz. I thank you for your aid. You will be well rewarded, I promise.”

  The older man’s impatience grew as he watched the fop’s precise adjustment of cravat and collar. Harry had never benefited from the education in dress and deportment provided by his cousin’s city-bred family, and he despised the effeminacy of such niceties, but they had their benefits if they gained a wealthy dowry. He curbed his irritation. “The chance to cut in on Heathmont is its own reward. Stupid wench to fall for the likes of that one, but still, it makes me wonder if there’s any truth to the rumors.”

  His cousin’s gray eyes narrowed. “Which rumors?”

  “The ones about her ladyship possessing a fortune of her own. They say it’s a close-kept secret, except among the family, of course, but if that blackguard is a friend of the family. . .” His voice tapered off insinuatingly.

  For the first time, the young dandy appeared nervous. “Harry, you’re just afraid that cad Heathmont will make a cake of you again. The duke ain’t about to let a bounder like that into family secrets.” He shifted in his seat, picturing Aubree’s innocent expression and wondering if she would have kept such a secret from him. Remembering his own pose as a wealthy baronet, his uneasiness grew. It might never have occurred to the gudgeon that her dowry mattered a whit, spoiled brat that she was. He nervously adjusted his tight cravat. “Do you think. . . ?”

  “Don’t wait for your congratulations when you win her, I say.” Harry threw back a gulp of ale. “Go in the conquering hero and carry her off to Scotland. The duke can be just as grateful after you’re wed as before. Don’t take any more chances.”

  Geoffrey nodded and summoned another bottle of wine. “Damn good thing you knew that chap who hates Heathmont. I’d hate to come up against that fellow tonight.” Lifting his glass to his cousin, he toasted, “To the lady’s rescue.”

  Harry held up his mug and leaned back. “To the lady’s bed. May it be a rich one.”

  He tipped his cousin a wink and roared at his own wit.

  The carriage rolled to a halt in the drive of a small hunting lodge on the outskirts of Ashbrook. In the deepening twilight, Aubree puzzled over its familiarity. The rough, vine-covered walls reminded her of Castle Ashbrook, but she did not recognize the lodge. Why would they bring her to this hunting box and not to her father’s home?

  When the driver opened the door, Aubree primly sat in the center of the carriage seat, her gloved hands clasped, but her expression definitely not terrified. She regarded him with a haughty lift of her brow.

  “Ma’am, if you will come down, there’s dinner waiting.” The driver waited uneasily.

  “I am not in the habit of dining with strangers,” Aubree replied in odious accents learned from an ancient dowager aunt on her father’s side.

  “Mayhap somebody you know will be along right enough,” the driver offered.

  The growling of Aubree’s stomach warned that she hadn’t eaten since brunch and that to continue resisting was the height of foolishness, but submission was not a talent she had inherited.

  “If they are not here now, then I most certainly cannot enter. There’s an inn back in Ashbrook where I am known. I wish to be returned there.” Aubree did not look at the driver but waited for her orders to be carried out. Not that she truly expected them to be, but pride had its place, and it kept her from falling to pieces now.

  A man who appeared to be a groom watched with a smirk. The driver’s lips closed in a tight line. “If you don’t come down out of there, miss, I’ll have to carry you out, and you ain’t goin’ to be likin’ that a bit.”

  Aubree bit her lip and turned her head sufficiently to judge the likelihood of this threat. The man stood easily six foot four and appeared twice Heathmont’s breadth. He had thrown her into the coach with ease. He would have no difficulty removing her. Pride would not allow further mauling, and common sense told her the wisest choice was to comply, for the moment.

  She placed her foot on the step and held out her hand, refusing to go further without the required aid, though she frequently ignored this civility with her own footmen. Beaten at his own game, the burly driver offered his hand and assisted her from the high perch.

  Once inside the lodge, Aubree searched for familiar faces but heard only coarse laughter in the back rooms. A young woman led her toward a stairway, and relieved to find at least one other female in this masculine habitat, Aubree followed her.

  Galloping the horses in the turf beside the road to muffle the beat of their hooves, Heathmont and Beresford turned down the road into the forest.

  Beresford cursed under his breath. “Why in the name of Jupiter would any man kidnap the duke’s daughter and hold her right under his nose? It makes no sense, Heath.”

  “That depends on the purpose of the kidnapping, I suppose,” the earl replied. His mind had already traveled these roads and concentrated now on the outcome. His leg ached from the long ride and the hard leap he had made earlier, but his fury and anxiety carried him at a relentless pace. If anything happened to that child as a result of his company, he would never forgive himself. He had to arrive in time.

  “Ashbrook’s only an hour’s ride from here, maybe we should seek reinforcements first.” As winded as his horse, Beresford had difficulty keeping abreast of Heathmont’s furious pace.

  “Your father should not be far behind if he received our message. He’ll bring reinforcements enough. In the meantime, we must locate Aubree.” Heath did not have to explain his haste. They had pried the coach’s destination out of the conquered swordsman, but not the motive. Despite assurances that she would come to no harm, he placed no faith in the inherent gentlemanliness of kidnappers.

  What he couldn’t fathom is why the kidnappers had taken her to a hiding place practically under the walls of her father’s estate.

  The formidable walls of the stone hunting lodge loomed against a piece of night sky. Light flowed from a back room, but the remainder of the house slumbered still and gloomy.

  They dismounted and tethered the horses in the tree’s shadows, creeping on foot toward the pool of light. Raucous laughter and a woman’s scream brought an exchange of glances. Face set hard and grim, Heathmont reached for the hilt of his sword, his, but Beresford stilled him.

  “Look, up there,” he whispered, pointing toward an upper story as they eased around a corner of
the lodge.

  A single candle flame flickered in a darkened window, and then a blur of white crossed the open pane. Heath’s recognized those golden tresses at once.

  He eyed the ancient vines covering the stone walls and knew what he would do, but for politeness’s sake, he consulted the future heir. “There must be a half-dozen men in the kitchen, from the sounds of it. Do you wish to risk breaking in and carrying her out, or shall we wait for your father?”

  Beresford gazed uncertainly at the mullioned windows. “She does not seem in grave danger, and knowing Aubree, she could have planned this herself. I vote for caution.”

  Heath accepted his decision without comment on its wisdom. The location looked suspicious, but he wouldn’t believe Aubree had planned this. Instead, he began to make his way through the underbrush toward the house.

  “What are you doing?” Beresford demanded, following at his heels.

  “Making certain that she’s safe,” the earl replied, not breaking his stride. “How good are you at climbing ropes?”

  “Climbing. . . ?” Emery gazed up at the vine-covered walls and gulped. “Henry used to, at the castle, but I never could.”

  Heath tugged at one of the wider vine trunks. It didn’t budge, and he smiled in satisfaction. “I’ve been climbing the rigging of ships since I was a tad, and scaling cliffs worse than this one. You had better signal her I am coming up, or I’m likely to terrify her.”

  Beresford grunted. “Terrify? Aubree? Would you care to wager on why her guards are belowstairs drinking themselves under the table?”

  Heath threw him an unreadable look and began pulling up the rough stone walls.

  The rustling of leaves alerted Aubree. She glanced down, unable to immediately detect the cause. Though her vision was better than Emery’s, the heavy darkness limited the scene below to form and shadow. Before she had time to recognize the figure signaling from the shrubbery, a big hand closed over the windowsill, and Heathmont emerged from the night.

  Aubree gasped as he straddled the sill. In this proximity, deprived of the safety of daylight and polite company, he loomed above her with terrifying massiveness. But the painful manner in which he lifted his bad leg over the sill removed her foolish fears.

  “My lord, what are you doing here?” she whispered, catching his sword before it clanked against the stone while he carried his injured leg into the room.

  “Cursing my idiocy, mostly,” Heathmont replied through gritted teeth. “Are you safe? Have they harmed you in any way?” he demanded.

  “I am fine. I have barred the door from the inside so no one can enter. How did you find me?” She glanced downward, judging the possibility of escaping the same way.

  Heathmont glanced at the barred door. “Glad I didn’t take that wager,” he muttered.

  “What wager?”

  “You left your abductors nothing better to do but drink themselves under the table,” he said irrelevantly. “But I suppose even drunken men might find axes. Your uncle should not be far behind, and then we’ll get you out of here. Have you recognized any of the men?”

  “Could we not leave the same way you came?” she asked, nervous about the underlying anger in his voice. The scent of lathered horses clung to his clothing, reminding her again of his proximity.

  He kept his place, nursing his injured knee. “I’ll not risk your neck unnecessarily. If the door is barred and I am here, you should be safe enough until your uncle arrives. Unless you have some objection?” He lifted a cynical eyebrow.

  Aubree shook her head. “No, don’t leave me here alone. You do not think it is my father who has carried me here, then?”

  He appeared to relax as he rested his shoulders against the window frame. “I have not had the occasion to meet the duke, but no one has given me cause to think him mad. I thought perhaps your Geoffrey might have concocted some plan. . . ?”

  Aubree shook her head, sending another of her troublesome curls cascading down her neck. “I would have met him anywhere he requested. He knows that. There would be no need to go to such great lengths.”

  “Then there are only two other possibilities, neither of them pretty. You are either being held for ransom, or my enemies have followed me to London. In either case, I intend to put a permanent halt to the perpetrators.”

  The earl surveyed the room much as a general studies a battleground. Aubree had already learned that it contained only a bed and a washstand. They gave her no place to hide. “But if my uncle is coming, there is no reason to worry, is there?”

  Heathmont rose to work the kink from his leg. The knee resisted his weight and he stumbled. Aubree leaped to his side, giving him a support. “You had best sit on the bed and raise that leg, my lord. The stiffness will work out once it’s rested.”

  The earl grunted and attempted to shift his weight from her shoulders to the bed. His scabbard caught in the heavy cloth of her skirt. Tripping, Aubree lost her balance, and in a tangle of swords and skirts and arms and legs, they both tumbled onto the mattress.

  The earl cursed as he attempted to disentangle himself. Aubree laughed.

  Propping himself on one arm, he gazed down at her. “Are you accustomed to laughing at every man you fall into bed with?”

  Her giggles increased, and she had to slap her hand over her mouth. In between bursts, she gasped, “I meant to ask if this is what is called a tumble in bed, but I think you have answered my question.”

  Snorting, he worked to extricate himself from the tangle, finally gaining a sitting position. Aubree eased up beside him.

  “It is a wonder I did not break all your bones. A gallant knight I make,” the earl reflected ruefully.

  Pulling her legs up beneath her skirt and sitting in a decidedly unladylike cross-legged fashion, Aubree grinned at her errant knight. “I always preferred Don Quixote to Sir Lancelot.”

  “I may be aged, but I do not have the excuse of poor vision to tilt at windmills. I shall leave the quest to you and your cousin.” Heathmont stretched his long legs and regarded her with what appeared to be a mixture of curiosity and admiration. “Shouldn’t you be in tears by now? Most young ladies I have known cry buckets if their favorite bonnet is crushed. You have been carried off and locked away and then nearly crushed by your would-be rescuer and your bonnet has disappeared, but all you do is giggle. You aren’t considering hysterics, are you?”

  Aubree suppressed a smile at the masculine anxiety behind his dry humor. He could duel with kidnappers, ride until he was lame with pain, and scale stone walls, but she dared say he would fall to pieces at a woman’s tears. The monster Earl of Heathmont had a heart beneath that insouciant exterior.

  “They threw me out of school before I could learn such ladylike tactics. You will have to bear my odd sense of humor, instead.” She grew quiet and listened to the sounds from below. “You don’t suppose they have heard us, do you?” She tried to keep the anxiety from her voice, not wishing to be tarred with the brush of fear, either.

  “They would not hear the chimney if it fell upon their heads. If that door is unlocked, we could possibly walk out of here, and none be the wiser.”

  He shifted as if to rise and inspect the door in question, but Aubree gestured for him to remain seated. “They locked it with a key from the outside. I have already tried it. I still think my father must be behind this. Why else would they bring me here? And they have all made every attempt to be courteous, under the circumstances.”

  Austin shrugged. “The man who put you in the carriage would only tell us where you were being taken, and that, only after much persuasion. He seemed to be of the opinion that I was out to do you harm and that he was only rescuing you from a fate worse than death. We had some difficulty convincing him otherwise, else we’d have been here sooner.”

  Seeing his difficulty, Aubree jumped from her perch and lifted the earl’s leg so he could swing it onto the bed where she had been sitting. She reached for a pillow to prop under it, but he gestured her away.

&
nbsp; “It will be fine,” he said curtly. “Now sit down and don’t flutter about me.” Propping up his good leg to make room for Aubree beside him, he draped one arm over his raised knee and waited for her to obey his command.

  Aubree perched on the edge of the bed, but her gaze strayed to the stiff leg encased in tight buckskin breeches. “Does it swell or become feverish when you exert it like this?”

  “This is a ludicrous situation,” he grumbled. “You should not even be taking notice of my limbs much less mentioning them. But if you must know, it swells occasionally, but I am lucky to have it at all, so I’ll not complain.” He gestured toward the open window. “You had best signal your cousin that all is well, or he will begin doubting his judgment in sending me up here.”

  She grinned wickedly as she understood the implications of his words, but she peered out the window to the shrubbery below. Outlined by the candlelight, she hoped she could be seen better than she could see into the darkness. Eventually, she detected a movement at the base of the wall and caught sight of a hand waving in a signal from their childhood. She returned the gesture, then turned to her patient.

  “Emery can be exceedingly stuffy, but he has uncommon good sense. I doubt that he will attempt to scale the wall to protect my virtue. I am surprised that he even helped to subdue your swordsman. Did he run him down with his horse?”

  Aubree returned to the bed’s edge, this time studying the earl’s face and not his knee. In the dim light, she could read little of his expression, but she sensed the strength and self-confidence in his posture, and relaxed a little. She was more than grateful for his company.