The Reluctant Escort
Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

Chapter One

1816

When Duncan first saw Molly, it was an early summer day, with the sun shining and the skylarks hovering above the heath. She was walking on the grass alongside the track with her shoes and stockings in her hand and the hem of her striped dimity skirt wet and muddy. Her cottager hat had fallen down her back on its ribbons and her soft blonde hair lay tangled on her shoulders. He took her for a child, a very pretty child.

She looked up when she heard the slow clop of the horse’s hooves behind her and brushed her wayward hair from her eyes to watch him approach. Strangers were a rarity at Stacey Manor, it being on a promontory of land which was not en route to anywhere, and she concluded he was probably lost. His black stallion, seen with the eyes of someone who adored horses, was a beauty, strong and muscular and somehow out of keeping with the look of the man.

He was a rough sort of fellow, with a half-grown beard and clothes which were crumpled and dusty as if he had slept in them. But he held himself upright and his hands, holding the reins with a light touch, were brown and strong. There were lines about his dark eyes which could have been caused by frequent laughter or continually squinting in strong sunlight. A soldier home from the Peninsular War, she deduced, and immediately imbued him with the character of a hero.

In her mind’s eye she imagined the heat and smoke of battle, heard the gunfire, saw the enemy hordes and the man, slashing this way and that with his sword and emerging triumphant. The only thing wrong with that vision was that the man’s coat was not scarlet but a drab brown and he was not carrying a sword but a rifle in a holster on his saddle.

She waited, expecting him to stop to ask the way, but though his lips twitched into a smile as he passed he did not speak nor even acknowledge her, which piqued her. She hardly ever spoke to anyone but Lady Connaught or the servants and the chance of a little conversation with someone new, however brief, was something to be savoured.

She watched as he continued unhurriedly on his way and then sat on the side of the road to put on her stockings and shoes. Her feet were still wet from paddling in the brook and the footwear was tight and uncomfortable.

She had seen the green and blue flash of a kingfisher swooping along the bank and had waded into the shallow water to see it better. She ought to have known she would startle it and it would abandon its prey to sit in a tree overhanging the water until she had left its domain. And then she had spotted a trout under the bank and tried to catch it as she had seen Jeremy Bland, the poacher, do, but it, like the kingfisher, was gone in the blinking of an eye.

She had turned for home, knowing she would be in for another scolding from her godmother if she saw the state she was in. ‘Molly Madcap’, Lady Connaught called her. And though she grumbled and threatened, Molly knew her bark was far worse than her bite and she would escape punishment. Besides, what could her ladyship do, except lock her in her room? And that was easy to escape from. There was enough ivy clinging to the walls of the old house to make a secure ladder from her window to the ground.

There was no other punishment available, no social occasions she could ban her from attending, no friends she could be forbidden to see, no shops she could be barred from visiting, unless you went to Norwich or King’s Lynn, which the old lady did twice a year. Molly hadn’t been staying with her long enough to have enjoyed that experience yet, but she didn’t hold out much hope that it would be the adventure she craved. She was bored. Even the stranger had ignored her. She might as well be invisible.

Once in sight of the big house, standing on its promontory, four-square to the North Sea, she hurried her pace, darting between the scattered shrubs which were euphemistically called a garden, and in at the kitchen door.

‘Lord a’mercy, Miss Molly!’ Cook exclaimed. ‘What have you been up to now?’

‘Trying to poach a trout for dinner.’ Molly’s smile lit her face; it was the kind of smile that made everyone around her feel more cheerful, however ill their humour had been beforehand. It started in rosy lips and even white teeth and ended in blue eyes, bright as cornflowers. Cook could not resist it, and even the Dowager Lady Connaught found it difficult to maintain her severity. ‘But I’m not sad it escaped. It was too beautiful to be cooked and eaten.’

‘Seventeen years old, you are,’ Cook reminded her. ‘Seventeen. Some young ladies are married at your age. Will you never grow up?’ It was a rhetorical question. Cook knew perfectly well why Molly was still so childlike. It was her mother’s fault. Harriet could never stand competition and Molly showed promise of being even more beautiful than her parent. So the poor girl had been kept a child for as long as possible, but when that would no longer serve she had been brought here to stay with the old lady while Harriet herself had set off for London to find husband number four.

‘Has Aunt Margaret asked for me?’ Lady Connaught was not really her aunt, but a cousin twice removed, but that was how Molly’s mother addressed her and Molly, who had been named after her, had been told to do the same.

‘No, but she will do so soon. We have a visitor…’

‘A visitor?’ Molly brightened, thinking of the stranger who had passed her on the road, and then wondered why her ladyship should entertain such a one. He had come to bring her some stupendous news: a long-lost love found. No, her godmother was too old for such fancies. Then news of some distant battle in which a relative had distinguished himself? But as far as Molly knew, her ladyship had no relatives except the Earl of Connaught who was her grandson, and he lived at Foxtrees on the borders of Hertfordshire and Essex.

Perhaps the stranger had been wounded and had come to be nursed back to health. Oh, that would be best, then he would stay a little, instead of disappearing as all visitors to Stacey Manor were wont to do. ‘Who is it?’

‘You’ll see. I suggest you go and change and do your hair and be quick about it.’

Molly crept up the servants’ stairs to her own room and stripped off her soiled clothes. She washed and dressed again in a pale blue sarcenet gown with a shawl collar of white lace, white stockings and blue kid shoes, then set about brushing out the tangles in her hair. When it was once again lying smooth and shining on her shoulders, she sat down and surveyed herself in the looking-glass, wishing she didn’t look so young; Lady Connaught’s guest would hardly converse with her unless she could make herself look interesting and intelligent. Perhaps it would help if she put her hair up.

She scooped it up in her hand and looked this way and that, then scrabbled in her drawer for combs and pins. Oh, if only she had a lady’s maid to help her! But Mama had said it was not at all necessary at Stacey Manor where the simplest of clothes would be perfectly adequate. She had been right, of course. There was nothing to do, except walk and ride and read, and make occasional visits of a charitable nature to the local villagers.

Pinning up her thick hair was not easy but she achieved it in the end, though one strand refused to be confined and curled lovingly into her neck. She left it there and went down to the withdrawing room.

Lady Connaught, dressed as always in unrelieved black on account of being widowed thirty years before, sat in a high-backed chair by the hearth. Her visitor stood facing her, with his hand on the mantel. He turned when he heard Molly come into the room. She wasn’t sure whether his smile was one of amusement or pleasure, but was gratified that he smiled at all.

He had changed out of the grubby clothes he had been wearing and was now in biscuit-coloured pantaloons and a blue superfine coat, beneath which was a canary-yellow waistcoat with brass buttons and a cravat of white muslin, cleverly tied. He had shaved and his hair had been washed and brushed until it shone. He was now Molly’s idea of a man about town and the war-like fantasies she had been weaving about him faded to be replaced by others.

He was part of the Prince Regent’s court and had been sent to rescue her, to take her to London to be courted by all the eligibles and marry the most handsome and attentive of them all. She might be presented to the Queen at one of her drawing rooms and everyone would say how well she looked.

She knew she should not indulge in these daydreams; it was foolish and childish, as her mother had told her often enough, but they lightened a dull afternoon when there was nothing else to do. Dreams were no substitute for reality and it was the reality she craved.

‘Molly, come and meet…’ Her ladyship paused and looked at him for a moment as if unsure of his identity, then went on, ‘Captain Duncan Stacey. Duncan, this is Mrs Benbright’s daughter, Margaret. You remember Harriet Benbright, do you not?’

Molly did not see the look which passed between them, nor did she hear his murmured comment as she dropped a very deep curtsey before moving forward, wondering if he recognised her as the girl he had seen on the road. She hoped he would not mention it, because it would spark off a jobation from Aunt Margaret and that would be too mortifying. Besides, she didn’t want him to think of her as Miss Molly Madcap, but as a woman with whom he could enjoy social intercourse.

She looked up into his eyes and realised that he was trying to convey a message in them. It was a kind of reassurance and she gave him a conspiratorial smile which startled and then charmed him.

‘Your servant, Miss…’ In the middle of taking her hand and bowing over it, he paused. ‘Forgive me, I do not know which one you belong to.’

He was referring to her mother’s three husbands, she realised. ‘I should have thought it was obvious,’ she said. ‘The first one, Monsieur Martineau, of course. Mama was only seventeen when she married him and I was born less than a year later. It is why we are more like sisters than mother and daughter, so Mama says. If I had been the child of Mr Winters or Colonel Benbright, I would still be a child, would I not?’

‘Of course,’ he said, stifling an inclination to laugh. ‘How stupid of me not to have worked that out for myself. Miss Martineau, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘Sit down, both of you,’ her ladyship said. ‘Dinner will be served at three. We don’t keep London hours here.’

‘No, I did not think you would,’ he said. He turned to Molly. ‘Miss Martineau, are you enjoying your stay in Norfolk?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said.

‘But it is somewhat dull, I think.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘How do you amuse yourself?’

She looked up at him sharply, wondering if his query was leading up to some comment about wandering about the countryside in bare feet. ‘I walk and ride and read, and visit the cottages. The people are very poor, you know, and we must do what we can for them.’

‘Indeed, I do know. It is commendable that you are concerned about them; isn’t that so, my lady?’

‘Yes,’ her ladyship said. ‘Though there is little we can do about the weather and it is the heavy rain that ruined last year’s harvest.’

‘And the end of the war,’ Molly put in. ‘All those soldiers coming home and needing work. No wonder they riot.’

‘Do they?’ he queried. ‘Hereabouts?’

‘Everywhere. You must have been out of the country not to have known about it. But perhaps you are one of those soldiers yourself. I collect you are a captain.’

‘I am, yes.’

‘Were you in any big battles?’

‘Indeed I was.’

‘Which ones? Tell me all about them. Have you ever seen Napoleon Bonaparte? Or spoken to the Duke of Wellington? How much do you think the different styles of leadership of Napoleon and the Duke contributed to the final outcome?’

‘Styles of leadership?’ he echoed, taken aback. It was not a subject he would have expected someone of her years to show an interest in.

‘Why, yes. Napoleon likes to march to battle with a great deal of noise and show and banners flying, while the Duke hides his men away and does not reveal himself until the last minute. He also dresses in a very nondescript way and Napoleon struts like a turkey-cock. Is that not so? Do you think Wellington learned his tactics from Agincourt? Henry V hid his bowmen behind palisades until the enemy was almost upon them, didn’t he?’

‘Goodness, so many questions all at once,’ he said. ‘I hardly know where to begin.’

‘I shouldn’t answer any of them,’ Lady Connaught put in drily. ‘It will only lead to more. Molly’s curiosity is insatiable.’

‘But that is how we learn, is it not?’ Molly said. Ever since she had been taught to read by her father, she had devoured everything she could lay her hands on, whether suitable or not. Simple moralising tales given to her by her nursemaid were soon replaced by novels, both good and bad, and the contents of her succeeding stepfathers’ libraries.

Geography and horticulture and ancient history were digested along with the rudiments of wine-making. And from Colonel Benbright’s vast collection of military books she had read about war and military campaigns and those who directed them. ‘I have read about such things,’ she told the Captain. ‘But it is not the same as talking to someone who was there.’

‘Some things it is better not to know,’ the Captain said. ‘I shall certainly not enlighten you or I shall be blamed for giving you nightmares.’

‘You think I am so lily-livered I have to be protected from anything disagreeable? I assure you, Captain, I am not so lacking in imagination that I do not realise that some things in life are very unpleasant. One must learn about the bad as well as the good.’

‘But better not dwelt upon,’ Lady Connaught said. ‘Duncan, you may escort us in to dinner and I do not want to hear another word about the war. You may tell us what is going on in London instead.’

They moved into the dining room and over a frugal meal of turbot, game pie, vegetables and a fruit flummery Duncan regaled them with the latest gossip from the capital, including the Prince Regent’s long dispute with his wife Caroline, and Princess Charlotte’s love match with Prince Leopold, a story that delighted Molly, who had a very romantic streak in spite of her hoydenish ways. But he had been to no social gatherings and could tell them nothing of the latest fashions.

Duncan stayed behind to smoke a cigar and drink a glass of port after the meal but soon joined them in the withdrawing room where they played three-handed whist until it was time for Molly to retire.

‘You will be staying?’ she enquired, when she bade him goodnight. ‘I shall see you tomorrow? You can tell me all about your experiences then.’

‘Alas, no, I must be gone by daybreak,’ he said. ‘But I shall look forward to meeting you again in the future.’

‘Oh, must you go? We so seldom see anyone interesting at Stacey Manor. It is the most boring of places. Nothing ever happens here. Begging you pardon, Aunt Margaret, but there is so little to do and no one to converse with at all.’

Duncan’s smile was a little crooked. ‘I am afraid if it is social discourse you are looking for I am a poor one to provide it.’ He stood up and bowed to her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Martineau. May your dreams be pleasant ones.’

When she had gone, Duncan settled down again with his grandmother. ‘The poor child must find it very boring here. Why in heaven’s name did Harriet not take her with her to London?’

Lady Connaught smiled. ‘And have everyone wondering how she can be old enough to have a daughter of seventeen? It would certainly be a stumbling block to her own prospects. Harriet has promised Molly a Season when she has landed a wealthy husband for herself. She is still a beautiful woman, not in the first flush of youth but not too old to want a husband.’

‘She has had three already! I should think anyone contemplating marriage with her might well consider how long he might live after the ceremony.’

‘Oh, that is unfair, Duncan. Her first husband, the French diplomat and Molly’s father, was a widower and an old man when she married him. Unfortunately her expectations on his death were not realised; he left his fortune to his first family in France and only a small portion came Harriet’s way.’

‘And her second?’

‘George Winters. He was a wine importer and plump in the pocket when they married, but the blockade of French ports ruined his business and he went to America to look for new sources of supply. He died out there of a fever in 1812 or 1813—I am not sure which it was. That marriage lasted eleven years, but it left Harriet no better off than before. Her third husband was Colonel Benbright…’

‘He was killed at Waterloo. I met him once. An old stick-in-the-mud, who believed it was dishonourable to retreat whatever the circumstances. He had been ordered by Wellington to withdraw from his position, but he chose to ignore the order and took a great many good and brave men with him to their deaths.’ He stopped, hearing again the sound of the unremitting guns and the cries and groans of the wounded men in that terrible conflict.

He had thought himself battle-hardened, but even he had been appalled and sickened by the carnage. And some of it was so unnecessary. Colonel Benbright’s men, not knowing his orders, had obeyed his commands and died at his side. Duncan had been glad not to be one of them, even though, at the time, he had been feeling sick at heart and would have welcomed a good clean death.

‘So now Harriet must find another husband.’ His grandmother broke in on his reverie and brought him sharply back to more mundane matters. ‘Her daughter is an encumbrance, if not a serious rival, so she sent her here to stay with me.’

‘Fustian! She is no more than an attractive child; how can she possibly be in competition with her own mother?’

‘She is not a child, Duncan. She is seventeen, nearly eighteen.’

‘She looks more like fifteen. A mere schoolgirl.’

‘That is Harriet’s fault for trying to keep her young. Poor Molly has not been allowed to grow up, but underneath that childish exterior there is the heart and mind of a young woman who could blossom into a real beauty.’

‘I do not doubt it. It makes me feel like horse-whipping that selfish mother of hers.’

‘That would not serve either. What Molly wants is someone to help her grow up. I can’t do that; I am too old and set in my ways. And Stacey Manor is too isolated.’

‘So?’ he asked, wondering where this conversation was leading.

‘You need to settle down, Duncan. It is about time you abandoned your scapegrace ways and made something of your life.’

‘With Molly Martineau?’ he asked in astonishment.

‘Why not?’

‘Grandmama, have you any idea what sort of life I lead?’

‘Yes, and it is not to your credit. You did not have to abandon your inheritance and take to the road. It was done in a fit of pique…’

‘No, Grandmama, it was not. When I came home and discovered I had been reported killed in action at Vittoria…’

‘The report of that action was detailed enough for no one to doubt it,’ his grandmother put in. ‘You were seen to fall and a French officer dismounted and finished you off with his sword…’

‘He meant to, but charitably changed his mind when he saw I was wounded and took me prisoner instead.’

‘It is a pity you could not have managed to let anyone know you were alive…’

‘I tried, but because I would not give my parole not to attempt to escape I was denied all privileges and no one would take a letter. When I did escape, I brought important intelligence and the Chief sent me back to discover more. I was not free to come home until after Boney surrendered. Too late. My father had died, my title had been usurped, the lady I was to have married had wed my brother and produced an heir.’ He paused, remembering the consternation his return had caused.

If it had not been for that spell as a French prisoner of war and Old Hooknose sending him back behind the lines as an agent, he would have come home long before and claimed his birthright. He would have arrived before his father’s death and there would have been no question of who was the heir. He would be head of the family, running his estates, married to Beth…Married to Beth.

He mused on that for several seconds. It was a prospect which had kept him going all the time he had been in the Peninsula. He had dreamed of it, sure that she was waiting for him. He had spent hours wondering what she might be doing, how she looked, whether she missed him and longed for his return as much as he missed her and looked forward to being reunited with her.

The reality had been very different. Coming home and finding her married to his brother had shaken him to the core. He had been angry and miserable and then anxious only to get away, to leave them to their happiness with each other. He had told them he did not care for the settled life, had not really wanted to be the Earl, that he was a soldier and would remain one. He would not bother them again; they might continue to believe him dead.

He had given a harsh laugh. ‘You may even continue to mourn me,’ he had said.

Hugh, though clearly discomfited, had not tried to dissuade him, but had offered him an income from the estate, saying it was the least he could do. He had refused it, being more concerned with salvaging his pride. He had wished them happy and reported to the War Office for further service. Napoleon’s escape from Elba and the second phase of the war was fortuitous in that respect.

‘What else was Hugh to do?’ she demanded. ‘He truly believed he had become the new heir and was entitled to inherit. We all did. And Beth had expected to marry the Stacey heir ever since she was a child; it was what both families wanted. You can hardly blame her for turning to your brother.’

Logic told him that Hugh and Beth were not at fault, but his heart was still sore. Beth had been so quick to change her allegiance that he began to wonder if, after all, it was Hugh she had wanted all the time and his reported demise had been a blessing. ‘Oh, I can quite see how it happened. My return was an acute embarrassment to everyone. It were better I had stayed dead. I returned to my regiment to give Napoleon another chance to finish me off at Waterloo. ‘Tis a pity he did not.’

‘Don’t be bitter about it, my boy,’ she said softly. ‘You chose to renounce your inheritance for the sake of Beth and their son, so now you must put it behind you and make a fresh start. Careering about the countryside getting into scrapes will not do. It just will not do.’

‘How do you know I have been getting into scrapes?’

‘Why else would you come here? And in the state you were in. I am not a fool, Duncan, even if you take me for one.’

‘Oh, Grandmama, I know you are no fool, but it is better you do not know…’

‘Running from the law, I shouldn’t wonder, or your creditors. Using Stacey Manor as a bolt-hole…’

‘Grandmama…’

‘Enough. You are right—I do not want to know. But what about settling down? What about Molly?’ She laughed lightly. ‘Scapegrace and madcap, it might be the making of you both.’

‘You are surely not in earnest?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s out of the question. You said yourself, I am a rakeshame, always on the move, getting into one scrape after another…’

‘Precisely.’

‘I cannot change into a fan-carrier overnight. We should both be miserable. And what do you suppose Miss Martineau would think of the matter?’

‘She will be guided by her elders.’

‘Her mother! I hardly think she would provide wise guidance with three husbands already dead and buried.’

‘No, but as Harriet has left Molly in my care and Molly is an obedient girl she will listen to me…’

‘Then she would be lacking in spirit and that would not commend her to me. Besides, it would mean taking Harriet Benbright as a mother-in-law and I do not think I could stomach that. Such pretensions I never did see in a woman of no consequence.’

‘Harriet’s father was a baronet and I hardly think you are in a position to talk of consequence now, my boy.’

‘No, which is why Harriet would not entertain an offer from me for her daughter. I have nothing to commend me. And any children we had would have no prospects of inheriting the title. I could not go back on my word to Hugh. That alone would exclude me in Harriet’s eyes.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘Grandmama, I thank you for your concern, but I must continue to live my life in the way that suits me. I have a small pension from a grateful country and Hugh has been kind enough to make me an allowance from the income of the estate.’ He did not want her to think ill of his brother, nor intervene on his behalf, and so he told the lie.

‘So he should! It is yours, after all. Where are you off to tomorrow?’

He smiled, concluding she had not been serious or she would not have capitulated so easily. ‘Wherever the fancy takes me.’

‘But I collect it must be done under cover of darkness.’

‘I am afraid so. I shall be gone long before you wake, so I will say my farewell now and retire.’

She sighed. ‘Very well. But you know you are always welcome here, no matter what.’

‘Yes, I know, but I would be grateful if no one knew of my presence here tonight. In fact, I should deem it a favour if you were to say, if asked, that you were unaware that I had survived the second war and returned to England.’

‘That I will do, but I shall also pray that you come to your senses before you find yourself preaching at Tyburn Cross.’

‘Oh, I do not think it will come to that,’ he said lightly. ‘Hanging is certainly not part of my plan for the future.’

‘Then what is?’

‘I do not know. Not yet. But undoubtedly something will occur to me. Now, if you will excuse me.’ He bowed over her hand, putting it to his lips. ‘Goodnight and God bless you, Grandmother. Tell Molly…No, tell her nothing, for there is nothing good you could say of me.’

He strode from the room and made his way upstairs to bed, though he did not intend to sleep for more than an hour or two. Long before dawn, he was up and creeping down to the back door, from where he crossed the cobbled yard to saddle his horse.

Molly’s room overlooked the stables, and as she had stayed up reading Don Quixote by the light of a candle she heard him leave the house. Going to the window, she watched him enter the stables. He was escaping, getting away on that beautiful black horse of his, and she was sure he would have many fine adventures and his life would not be at all boring, as hers was.

There was something a little mysterious about him; he had talked all through dinner without giving away a single thing about himself, not even why he had chosen to come to Stacey Manor in the first place, nor how he knew her mother. Until a few months ago, she had not heard of her mother’s Stacey connections. And she was curious as to why it was necessary to creep away in the dead of night.

Without stopping to think of the consequences, she scrambled into her riding habit and hurried downstairs. She was in the kitchen, pulling on her boots, when she heard the quiet clop of a horse walking across the cobbles of the yard. By the time she had let herself out of the house, the sound of the horse was fading in the distance. She ran out to the stables to saddle her mare, Jenny. Lady Connaught had long since given up riding and there were only a couple of men’s saddles belonging to the groom, who rode pillion when her ladyship went out in the carriage. Molly had used the smaller of these on many occasions and had become proficient at riding astride.

Two minutes later she was galloping after the enigmatic captain, without any idea of what she would say to him when she caught up with him. It was simply that she was wide awake and longing for something to give her life a little piquancy. She would follow him and solve the mystery of who he was and what he was about.

It was a quiet night and she could hear the hooves of his horse ahead of her, cantering easily along the dry road. She would stay a little behind him until he stopped to rest his mount; she could catch up with him. Then he must either escort her back himself or share his adventure with her. Either way she would learn more about him.

She suddenly became aware that the hoofbeats had stopped and she pulled up to listen and look about her. She had left the familiar heath behind and was on a road with open fields on one side and a copse of trees on the other. There was a village not too far way, for she heard a dog bark. Close by an owl hooted, startling her for a moment, but there was no sound of man or horse.

Surely he could not have outrun her so completely? She began to walk her mare forward more slowly, straining to hear the slightest sound. Had he turned off? But she could see no other road or bridleway. Had he gone into one of the houses in the village? Could he have an assignation there? She ought to go back, but it would be so disappointing not to have her curiosity satisfied.

A mile or two further on, she became aware of the sound of a horse behind her. She stopped and pulled her mount into the edge of the wood, concealing herself behind a bush, refusing to admit she was more than a little afraid. The other rider approached at a walk, singing quietly under his breath. He stopped when he came level with her hiding place.

‘Are we going to play hide-and-seek all night?’ he asked mildly.

Recognising his voice, she gave a sigh of relief and emerged from her hiding place, ducking under the low branches of a tree. ‘How did you get behind me?’

‘I heard someone riding after me a long time ago, but when no one caught up with me I deduced I was being followed and that is something I do not like, so I hid in the trees to see who it might be. You are very lucky I didn’t take a pot shot at you.’

He was annoyed; she could tell by the set of his jaw and the steely gleam of his eye in the darkness, and she supposed he had every right to be, but she was not one to back down from a confrontation. ‘And when you realised it was me, why did you not show yourself?’

He chuckled, in spite of his annoyance. ‘The follower became the followed. I wanted to see how determined you were. If you thought you had lost me, you might have turned back.’

‘And now you know the answer to that, what are you going to do about it?’

‘Send you home, of course. I cannot for the life of me think why you set out after me.’ He paused as a new thought crossed his mind. ‘Lady Connaught did not send you, did she?’

‘Lady Connaught?’ she queried in surprise. ‘Why should she do that?’

He ignored her question. ‘Then why?’

‘I wanted to see where you were going. You are undoubtedly going to have an adventure and…’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Madcap, but I am simply going to join a friend…’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘It will be dawn before I reach the rendezvous.’

‘Is it a lady friend? You have a tryst?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Why so adamant? Have you an aversion to ladies?’

‘Not at all. I have known some very accommodating ones. Now, if you have finished interrogating me, it is time you turned back to Stacey Manor.’

‘You are surely not sending me back alone? I might lose my way or be set upon and robbed. Or raped.’

He felt sure she did not know the real meaning of the word but, looking at her youthful figure and bright eyes, he conceded she might very well be right. But they had met no one on the road and in a quiet country district like this, so far from the evils of civilisation, she was safe enough. Besides, he had his reputation of being a hard man to consider and Frank waiting at the Red Lion in Aylsham for him. He did not have the time to go back. ‘You came alone.’

‘Ah, but I knew you were not far away and would have come if I had called for help.’

‘You scheming little madam! Well, it will not serve. Back you go.’

He was angry again. His moods changed with lightning speed; one minute he was scowling, the next laughing, and it was difficult to know which it was likely to be, but that was half the fun of the adventure. She opened her mouth to answer him, but before she could do so he had reached down to take her reins. Turning her horse the way they had come, he slapped its rump. It set off at a canter.

She could easily have brought it under control, but decided to let it have its head and pretend it was bolting with her. She turned it off the road and they crashed through the trees, startling an owl which swooped down and skimmed so close to her head, she let out a genuine scream of terror. The horse panicked and reared and the next minute she hit the ground with a bump.

‘Molly, where are you?’ In a daze, she heard Duncan coming after her. She lay still, her eyes closed. She heard him pull up and dismount, felt his warm breath on her face as he bent over to see if she were breathing and then let out a shuddering sigh.

‘Thank God! Molly, open your eyes, there’s a good girl. Let me see you are not injured.’

She allowed her eyelids to flutter. ‘Where am I?’

‘Safe now. Are you hurt?’

‘I don’t know. My head aches.’

‘Can you sit up?’ He was surprisingly gentle as he helped her to sit. ‘That’s better.’ He felt round the back of her head with gentle fingers. ‘Nothing broken that I can see. Now stay there while I catch your mount.’

He disappeared through the trees, but he was only gone a minute because Jenny was cropping the undergrowth close by, calm as you please.

He walked both horses out to the road and tethered them, then came back to pick her up in his arms and carry her through the trees to sit her on the mare’s back. She was still a little dizzy and not at all sure she could ride. Afraid he would set her off alone again, she moaned softly and fell forward on the horse’s neck.

‘Oh, damnation!’ she heard him mutter. She was glad Jenny was being good because she had allowed her hands to fall from the reins.

He lifted her down again and put her on his own horse, then, leading Jenny by her reins, got up behind her in order to support her as they rode. She leaned back on his rough coat, wondering what he would do next.

‘Can you hear me?’ he asked. ‘Molly, stay awake for God’s sake.’

‘Am awake,’ she murmured. ‘Bad head.’

‘Very well, Aylsham is nearer than Stacey Manor and there’ll be a doctor in the town, so we will go there, but as soon as you have sufficiently recovered I shall put you on the stagecoach to take you back.’

She did not argue. His arms were strong around her and the clop of the horse’s hooves soporific; she was almost asleep.

‘How did you come to be such a madcap?’ he murmured, more to himself than to her. ‘It was that silly woman, your mother, I have no doubt. You have to grow up some time, kitten, and I have a notion it will be very soon and very sudden. I wish I could protect you, but I cannot. I need protecting from myself, as Grandmama was quick to point out…’

‘Grandmama?’ she murmured.

‘Oh, you are not as sleepy as you pretend, are you? Grandmama is Lady Connaught.’

She lifted her head from his shoulder and turned towards him. In the moonlight, his face seemed sombre beneath a large black hat. ‘You are surely not the Earl of Connaught?’

He laughed under his breath, a harsh, rather bitter sound which troubled her a little. ‘No, I am not the Earl of Connaught. I belong to a different branch of the family.’

‘The poor side. Every great family has a poor side, does it not?’

‘And its black sheep.’ This time his laugh was one of genuine amusement.

‘Oh, I see. But I should guess you are her ladyship’s favourite, all the same.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Oh, how romantic! I expect you have had hundreds of adventures.’

‘So, your headache has magically vanished.’

‘No, it is still there.’ She hurried to assure him. ‘It will be better tomorrow, perhaps.’

‘It is already tomorrow. See, the sun is on the horizon and soon it will be daylight.’

‘So it is.’ She could see the road winding downhill to a group of buildings and a church. ‘Is that Aylsham ahead of us?’

‘Yes. The Red Lion is a respectable hostelry. We will stay there for a few hours until you are feeling better. Then I will see you safely on the coach to Cromer. If your horse is tied on behind, you will be able to ride from there to Stacey Manor.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Wherever the fancy takes me.’

‘That’s sounds very indecisive to me and you do not seem to me to be an indecisive man. A secretive one, perhaps. Do you not want me to know where you are going?’

‘There is no need for you to know. Your little adventure is at an end.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘When you have seen your friend are you going on to London?’

‘I might. On the other hand I might not. It depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On what transpires,’ he said enigmatically.

‘I should very much like to go there…’

‘Perhaps one day you will. I collect my grandmother saying you had been promised a Season.’

‘Oh, that will only happen if Mama finds herself a rich husband.’ She sighed. ‘I am afraid she is not very good at judging how wealthy a man is and may very well mistake the matter again. I hold out no great hope.’

‘So young and so cynical!’

‘Realistic, Captain. So, will you take me to London?’

He chuckled, unable to take her seriously. ‘Minx! You have been play-acting the whole time. It will not serve, you know. What would my grandmother say if I were to carry you off?’

‘We could ride back and tell her. She will be quite content to let me go with you.’

She squirmed to turn and look at him again when he roared with laughter. He laughed so long and so loud, the tears ran down his face.

‘I amuse you?’ she asked stiffly.

‘Oh, I was not laughing at you but at myself. How anyone could be such a gowk, I do not know.’

‘Gowk?’

‘Fool, Molly. I am a fool. I have fallen for a ploy as old as time.’

‘Then will you take me to London? To Mama?’

‘I doubt your sudden arrival would please your mama.’

‘Oh, she might ring a peal over me to start with but I shall turn her up sweet, then she will take me out and about with her.’

The idea amused him even more than knowing Molly had inadvertently played into Lady Connaught’s hands. Harriet would be furious. It was almost worth considering just to discomfit her. But that would not be fair on Molly. And between the Red Lion and London were a great many miles and every one of them fraught with danger. Miss Molly Martineau must be returned to Stacey Manor.

He turned into the inn yard and dismounted before lifting her down and setting her on her feet. He ordered the ostler to look after the horses and escorted her inside. Not until he had bespoken a room and tipped a chambermaid to help her to bed did he feel free to go in search of Frank.

Frank Upjohn, once a sergeant in the Norfolk Regiment and now his servant, had taken two rooms along the corridor. Duncan tiptoed along and quietly let himself in, but Frank had been watching for him and was wide awake, sitting by the window.

‘You’re late, Captain,’ he said. ‘I had all but given you up for lost.’

‘I was delayed.’

‘Yes, I saw her. A pretty little filly, no doubt, but a distraction we could well do without.’

‘You mistake the matter,’ Duncan said. ‘She is a distant cousin. I shall put her on the Cromer stage when she has rested.’

‘No, Captain, you cannot do that, unless you want to upset all our plans. ‘Tis the stage our target will be on.’

‘How so?’

‘He travels a day early. It were meant to confound anyone with an eye to waylaying him. He will be coming through here in two hours’ time.’

Duncan swore roundly. Now what was he to do? He could not involve Molly in what he was about to do and he needed to get away quickly after the deed was done. ‘She will have to stay where she is for another day and go on tomorrow,’ he said, hoping Molly would be docile and do as she was told without further argument about sharing his adventures.

‘We had no plans to come back here,’ Frank reminded him.

‘Then we shall have to change our plans.’

‘I don’t like it,’ Frank muttered. ‘Don’t like it at all. Petticoats are the very devil…’

Duncan laughed. ‘You never said a truer word, old friend, but what would we do without them, eh? But enough of that. Tell me all you have discovered and let’s get down to business.’

Chapter Two

Molly woke with a start when a coach rattled into the yard outside her window. For a moment she lay staring at the ceiling, wondering where she was. And then it all came back to her—the ride in the night, the fall from her horse, the comfortable feeling of Captain Stacey’s strong arms around her, and his determination to send her back to Lady Connaught. She sighed heavily. It had been a kind of adventure, she supposed, but only a little one and nothing of any importance had happened. She still did not know his secret.

She rose and went to open the window. The yard outside was busy with horses being changed on a coach and the passengers were coming into the inn for refreshment. She guessed it was late in the morning, for the smell of roasting beef wafted up to her and reminded her she was hungry. Without a nightgown, she had slept in her underwear and it did not take her long to wash, using cold water from the jug on the wash-stand, and put on her riding habit again. It was crumpled and dirty, but that could not be helped. Having secured her hair as best she could, she went downstairs in search of Captain Stacey.

‘He and his friend left two hours since,’ the landlord told her. ‘He left a message that you were to wait here for him.’

She was puzzled. ‘He did not say to take the stage to Cromer?’

‘It left soon after the gentlemen, miss. If that was where you were bound, then you must needs wait until tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She did not see at all. Unless the Captain had decided to take her to London, after all. But even she could see that was impractical; she had not thought of a long journey when she’d left Stacey Manor; it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, coming to her as they rode together. She had no change of clothes, no baggage at all. No money either. In the unlikely event of him agreeing, they would have to return to Stacey Manor to make the proper arrangements for a journey.

Supposing the Captain had abandoned her? He was not at all a chivalrous man; he was the black sheep of the family; he had said so himself. He would have no conscience about leaving her to find her own way, especially if he had met up with a friend. ‘Did he say where they were going?’

‘No, miss.’

‘But he did say he would be back?’

‘Oh, yes, miss. Most particular he was as to that. And I was to see that you did not stir from the premises.’

‘In that case, please bring me something to eat. I am starving. I am sure…’ She paused. Was the Captain here under his real name? What was his real name? Would she upset some deep-laid plan by revealing the one she knew him by? ‘My friend will pay.’

The landlord’s smile did not reveal what he thought about young ladies arriving at his inn in the arms of gentlemen in the early hours; it was not his business, but if she had been a daughter of his he would have spanked her soundly. ‘Do you wish to have it sent to your room?’

‘No, I will eat in the dining room. And bring me paper and ink to write a letter, if you please.’

He conducted her to the dining room and offered her a table by the window where she could see everyone who came and went. Given the writing things she asked for, she sat down and scribbled a note to her godmother—telling her she was safe and well and under Captain Stacey’s protection—which she gave to the innkeeper to put on the next mail-coach, before beginning her meal.

She had hardly begun to eat when a rider galloped into the yard and dismounted. He was obviously in a great hurry and very agitated. Molly watched as a crowd gathered round him. From their shocked expressions, she gathered he was bringing news of some importance. He left the crowd outside and came into the dining room, where he announced to all and sundry that the Cromer stage had been waylaid by highwaymen on a quiet stretch of the road a dozen miles to the north.

‘Was anyone hurt?’ enquired the innkeeper while Molly reflected that if she had not overslept and if Captain Stacey had not decided to disappear she would have been on that coach. That really would have been an adventure and she was rather cross that she had missed it.

‘No. But they made everyone get out and they searched the coach very thorough,’ the man said. ‘They took Sir John Partridge’s gold and his watch and papers, but they let the ladies keep their jewellery.’

‘Where was the guard? Did he not try to stop them?’

‘The stage carried no guard. Sir John’s man had a pistol but he was so slow fetching it out, he was useless. The high toby took it from him as easy as you please.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘They made everyone return to their seats and told the coachman to drive on. Sir John demanded to know their names, as if they would be foolish enough to give them to him. One of them laughed and said he was called the Dark Knight.’

‘Where were you when all this was happening?’ demanded mine host.

‘I came upon the scene quite by chance, but there was nothing I could do. They had pistols and I was unarmed…’

‘How many of them?’

‘Two. Very big men, they were, and masked. I hid in the trees until it was safe to proceed.’

‘Which direction did the robbers take?’

‘To the coast, I think.’

The landlord sent a boy off to fetch a constable and there was talk of sending for the runners from London, but it was decided that by the time they arrived the highwaymen would be long gone. Doubtless Sir John would report the incident when the coach arrived in Cromer and constables sent from there to help search for the robbers.

In the middle of this discussion, Duncan strolled into the inn and sat down opposite Molly. He was dressed in soft buckskin breeches, a brown coat and a yellow and brown checked waistcoat. His boots and white neckcloth were pristine. She surmised that he could not have ridden very far, for the roads were dusty and there wasn’t a speck of it on him.

‘You have missed all the excitement,’ she told him. ‘The Cromer coach has been held up. They are even now sending for the watch.’

‘Is that so?’ He affected little interest. ‘I’m devilish hungry. Have you finished with that?’ He pointed to a tureen of vegetables and a platter containing pork chops.

‘Yes. Please help yourself. You will be paying for it, after all. I have no money.’

‘Dear me! Not even for the coach fare?’

‘No. I did not think I would need money. I was on horseback.’

‘And what would you have done if I had not returned?’ he asked, piling a plate with food. ‘I could simply have ridden off and left you. The landlord would not have been pleased when he discovered you could not pay for what you had eaten.’

‘He assured me you had said you would be back. I had no reason to doubt you.’

‘No reason not to doubt me either. You are too trusting, my dear.’

‘But you did come back, so I was right.’

‘Tell me,’ he said, tucking into the chops. ‘What did you intend when you followed me last night? Not a journey to London, I’ll wager, or you would have come better prepared.’

‘No, I saw you leave and was curious as to why you travelled by night, that was all. I wanted to see where you were going. And riding in the dark is something I never tried before and I like doing new things. I did not think of Mama, until we started to talk about her. And then it seemed the very thing to join her in London.’ She sighed. ‘And you left me asleep, so I missed my adventure.’

‘Adventure?’

‘Yes, being held up by highwaymen. Do you suppose they stole a kiss from the ladies? But I collect the man said they took nothing from the ladies, only from Sir John Partridge.’

‘What man?’ Duncan tried not to let his real interest show.

‘The man who saw it all. I think he must be a little nervous and not at all heroic, for he said he hid and only rode on when it was all over.’

‘What else did he say?’

‘There were two of them, heavily armed, and afterwards they rode towards the coast. Everyone seems to think they had a boat waiting for them and are long gone.’

‘Very likely,’ he said, allowing himself to relax. ‘Now, what are we to do about you?’

‘The landlord says the next Cromer coach is not until tomorrow. We shall have to ride back.’

‘We, Miss Martineau? I cannot spare the time escorting a chit about the countryside; I should have been on my way long ago…’

Before he could go on, they were interrupted by the arrival of the local constable, who had come to take charge of the investigation into the robbery. He began by questioning the witness whose tale lost nothing in repetition. In fact, it gained a detail or two. The chief of the highwaymen was of a dark countenance, dressed all in black, and he rode a big black horse with a white flash on its nose. His accomplice was older and smaller by six inches and had a scar near his left eye, though it could not all be seen on account of the mask he wore.

Molly had pricked up her ears when she’d heard the description of the horse. She had ridden on the back of such a one not five hours since but, she told herself severely, there must be many black horses with white noses and many men with dark looks. She glanced across at the Captain who was placidly eating and told herself she was imagining things. To have arrived back in the inn so soon after the hold-up, he would, like the man who had witnessed it, have had to ride hard, but he was completely unruffled and showed every evidence of a leisurely toilette.

She noticed Duncan lift his head as another man came in. Did she imagine he nodded towards Duncan before passing through the room and out of the door towards the stairs? What was unmistakable was the scar on his face.

‘Captain,’ she whispered, reaching across and touching his hand to attract his attention. ‘That man who just went out. He had a scar…’

‘So have a great many men, I should think,’ he said, without even bothering to look up from his meal.

‘But one of the robbers…’

‘Miss Martineau, you must learn to curb your imagination, you know, or you will land yourself in more trouble than a little.’

‘You know him, don’t you?’

‘Miss Mar…’ He stopped short when the bulk of the constable loomed over them.

‘Sir, may I ask what you know of this matter?’ he asked. ‘I am told you have recently arrived and from a northerly direction.’

‘If by recent you mean five hours or thereabouts,’ Duncan said laconically, ‘then I suppose you could say I have.’

‘Hours, you say? I was told you entered the room but fifteen minutes ago.’

‘So I did. From my bedroom. My man will vouch for me. He is even now packing for our departure.’

‘It is quite true,’ Molly said, turning her ingenuous smile upon the constable. ‘I, too, can vouch for the Captain’s whereabouts, though I own he did leave me for twenty minutes or so. He had to arrange transport for us.’

‘Twenty minutes? No more?’

‘Oh, no more, I do assure you.’

‘And who are you, miss, if I might ask?’

‘Why, I am Captain Stacey’s wife,’ she said, favouring the man with a dazzling smile and ignoring the sound of Duncan choking on his food. ‘Who else would I be?’

The constable inclined his head towards Molly. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, but I must leave no stone unturned.’

‘And while you waste time turning over stones the thieves will have gone to ground.’ Duncan, who had quickly regained his scattered wits, decided he could not embarrass her by contradicting her, but it put him in a devil of a coil. He could hardly put her on a coach to Cromer and ride off in the opposite direction if they were supposed to be husband and wife travelling together. ‘Get out to the scene of the crime,’ he said in his most commanding voice. ‘Surely that is where you should begin?’

The man bowed again and left them and Duncan called the waiter to bring a pudding; he was still hungry, he said.

‘Don’t you think we should go?’ Molly asked. ‘If the constable sees your horse—or the man with the scar…’

‘I see you have added two and two and made five,’ he said, making inroads into the plum duff which had just been set before him. ‘Have some of this; it is delicious.’

‘No, thank you. I am no longer hungry. And I don’t know how you can sit there and eat so calmly when you know…’

He smiled at her. Her blue eyes were looking troubled; surely she was not worried on his account? He felt an unaccountable frisson of pleasure at the thought. ‘What do I know?’

‘More than you are saying. If you were not on the road this morning, you know very well who was.’

‘But you gave me an alibi. Surely you do not condone highway robbery?’

‘I know nothing of it. If you were to tell me…’

‘There is nothing to tell. And I wish you would not refine upon it. What I do is none of your business.’

‘I think it is,’ she said promptly. ‘If you had not panicked my horse, I would not have been thrown and you would not have had to bring me here. That was your fault. And now, because there is no coach going to Cromer until tomorrow, we must stay here like sitting ducks. Besides, you have already said your man—and I doubt not he is the robber with the scar—is packing to leave and I have confirmed you have been out to arrange transport, so leave we must.’

‘Of course we must; you made sure of that,’ he said. ‘We shall have to find another way of returning you to Stacey Manor.’ He stood up unhurriedly and beckoned the landlord for the reckoning. ‘Wait for me in the yard. I will be out directly.’

She went outside and, while waiting for him, wandered round to the stables. There was no sign of his horse, nor Jenny either; they had been spirited away. By the man with the scar? She turned as Duncan joined her. ‘Where are the horses?’

‘I did not like the stabling here; I have had them moved elsewhere where the fodder is better and the accommodation more to their liking.’

There was definitely something have-cavey going on and she was more intrigued than ever. ‘Then how do we go on?’

‘I have hired a curricle.’ He stood looking down at her; she was completely unafraid, but that was because she had never in her life come across anything to be afraid of. He hoped she never would, but she was more astute than he had given her credit for and now he must protect her. He had commanded men in battle, been responsible for their lives, but never before had he had such an obligation as this and it was making him uncomfortable.

His experience with women was with women of the world, who asked nothing for their favours but money or costly presents. There were female relatives, of course, and Beth, whom he had expected to marry. But Beth would never put herself into the position that Molly had done; Beth was too aware of what Society expected from her and what it was and was not permissible for a lady to do. Chasing after a man in the middle of the night would not have occurred to her.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, as he escorted her back to the front of the inn, where a spanking curricle and a small brown horse were ready and waiting for them.

‘Norwich.’

‘South! Why, that is halfway to London!’

‘Not quite,’ he said laconically, helping her onto the vehicle and climbing up beside her. ‘But you have made it necessary for us to leave together and going north is not sensible, so Norwich it will have to be. Besides, the place is big enough for shopping and you need a change of clothes.’ He turned to look at her as he spoke.

Her riding habit was of some dull silk material and the matching skirt was quite plain, not distinctive, except that it was unusual for a young lady to wear such a garment for riding in a carriage and the skirt was too long and cumbersome for her to walk comfortably in town. It would be noted and if, in her innocence, she let slip whatever it was she thought she knew, suspicions would be aroused. Once she was suitably attired, he could put her on the coach to Cromer, under the chaperonage of another lady passenger.

‘We are going shopping! Oh, Captain, how very thoughtful you are! But I have no money.’

‘So you have said before. My pocket is at your disposal.’ He flicked the reins and they turned out of the yard at a smart trot.

‘And is it a very deep pocket?’

‘Not at all. We must be frugal.’

‘But I heard Sir John had a great deal of gold…’

‘You think I robbed that coach for gain?’ The annoyance was plain on his face as he turned to answer her. ‘Rakeshame I may be, but I do not stoop so low as to profit from another’s loss, unless it be at the card table.’

He had not exactly denied his involvement, she noted, only that he had not gained by it; she was more curious than ever and determined not to be sent back to Stacey Manor until she discovered the truth. ‘There are gentlemen highwaymen. I have heard of many instances where…’

‘And I collect you are a great reader. Romantic fiction, I’ll wager. The real world is not like that.’

‘No, perhaps it is not. But fiction hurts no one, does it? And if it provides a little light relief and entertainment, where’s the harm? I have my feet firmly on the ground.’

He laughed suddenly. ‘And your head in the clouds.’

She was silent for a moment, but only a moment. ‘What shall I be allowed to buy?’

‘Whatever you need for a coach ride and an overnight stay. By the time we arrive, it will be too late to go on.’ He knew perfectly well he was endangering her reputation, had in fact already compromised it, but it was her own fault; he had not asked her to provide him with an alibi. That was not to say he need not put his mind to finding ways and means of preserving her good name and he thought he might have the answer.

‘Mama said she would buy me a wardrobe when I went to London,’ she said rather wistfully. ‘You know you need a great many clothes for a Season. You should have seen what Mama bought. Trunks full. She showed them to me. Gowns for mornings, afternoons and evenings, for riding in carriages and walking and habits for riding, and hats and bonnets and ballgowns. She said it was absolutely essential to be well kitted out.’

‘Yes, ladies change their clothes a great many times a day, I believe,’ he said, watching her upturned face and sparkling eyes.

‘Mama’s ballgowns are all very beautiful. Of course, she is taller than I am, so they would not fit me. And she said they were unsuitable. I am not…’ She paused and treated him to her infectious laugh, which made the corners of his mouth twitch. ‘I am not as well rounded as Mama.’

‘No, indeed not,’ he said, thinking of the voluptuous Harriet. ‘But I think your figure is very pleasing as it is.’

‘Do you? Oh, that is very civil of you. I think you are the most handsome of men, even if you are lacking in chivalry.’

‘Am I so?’

‘I have been reading Don Quixote. You know he was always rescuing damsels in distress. You are not at all like him. He would never have slapped Jenny’s rump while I was unprepared for it.’

‘He was also more than a little touched in the attic, I collect. He thought windmills were giants.’

‘But it didn’t stop him wanting to fight them, big as they were. He was very brave.’

‘There are times, my dear, when bravery is foolhardy in the extreme. Have you never heard the saying “discretion is the better part of valour”?’

‘Yes, but that is a very dull maxim.’

‘Then I must be the dullest of men.’

‘Oh, I do not believe that. Why, you said yourself you are a rakeshame and you cannot be that if you are too cautious. And I am sure you are not cautious at all. I believe you thrive on risk. Look how you came back to the Red Lion and sat and ate your dinner as calm as you please. And the way you answered the constable.’

He smiled. ‘You didn’t do so badly yourself, though I cannot think why you did it.’

‘I was afraid they would go up to your room and find the man with the scar. Not to mention the gold.’

‘Gold?’ he repeated furiously. ‘I have already told you I have no gold.’

‘So you have,’ she mused aloud. ‘I wonder what you can have done with it?’

‘Molly, you will make me very angry if you mention that again.’

‘Very well, have your little secret, if you must, but how am I to help you, if I do not know the truth?’

He turned to her in astonishment. ‘Help me?’

‘Of course,’ she said placidly. ‘A man travelling to London with his wife is not the same as two masked men on horseback, now is it?’

‘London?’ he repeated. ‘Wife?’

‘Oh, I do not mean you to marry me, but we could pretend. Just until we reached the capital.’

‘I do not have to make an honest woman of you, then?’ he teased. ‘I thought in the best tradition of the lady novelists you would insist upon it.’ Talking to her made a refreshing change from the horrors which often invaded his thoughts; she was like a breath of spring air, light and joyful, the foretaste of the warmth of summer. And he had been too long in the cold.

‘I am not such a ninny as to want to shackle myself to a man who has no great love for me. That would spell disaster. And besides, I mean to enjoy my Season if I am so fortunate as to have one, and how can I do that if I am already married?’

‘How very sensible of you,’ he murmured, smiling a little.

‘You are laughing at me,’ she said.

‘No, I was thinking of your mama and what she might say when she found you on her doorstep.’

‘She will be very pleased to see me.’

‘Oh, I am sure she would.’ And this time he did not hide his smile as he added, ‘When she recovered from the shock. How are we to explain your arrival in my company? I am, after all, a rakeshame and you have no chaperon.’

She had no idea what she was talking about, he realised. The romantic reading which had been so large a part of her education might talk of ruined reputations, but he doubted if she had any conception of what it meant in practice. ‘Have you any idea what would happen when we arrived in London and it became known you had openly admitted to spending a whole night in my company?’ he asked.

‘Two nights,’ she corrected him.

‘You would be vilified. Everyone would cut you dead. There would be no Season. Your mother would disown you. And every ne’er-do-well in the capital would take it into his head…’ He paused. ‘No, I will not go into that.’

‘Then you must become a reformed character, concerned only for my welfare and good name. Lady Connaught charged you with bringing me safely to my mother and you discharged that duty faithfully.’

‘She would never do that unless you were travelling with a female companion, a maid, who slept in your room.’

She laughed. ‘Don’t be a goosecap, Captain; even I know maids do not sleep in the same room as a married couple.’

‘Not married,’ he said. ‘Being escorted, very properly escorted.’

‘Oh, I see. But I have no maid. Mama said it was not in the least necessary for me to have one. Her maid always helped me when I was at home, but since she sold the house…’

‘Sold the house?’ he queried in surprise.

‘Yes. The Colonel did not leave a great deal and all Mama had was a small pension. She was in debt and being dunned by everyone. She needed to realise all her assets to pay for her Season in London. It was an investment. She explained it all to me. She has rented a house in Holles Street and bought a carriage and horses. But when she has found her next husband we shall have a new home and everything we need.’

‘I can hardly credit it,’ he said, his fury with Harriet almost boiling over. He had always known Harriet was selfish and a gambler, but he had never thought she would treat her own daughter in such a ramshackle manner. ‘Do you mean to say you are homeless?’

‘I have—had—a home with Lady Connaught until Mama came about. And I suppose I could say I have a home in Holles Street. And if you are going to London…’

‘Who said I was?’

‘No one, but you are, aren’t you?’

‘No,’ Duncan said firmly. ‘The idea is out of the question.’

‘Oh, please, Captain. I will not be a trouble to you, I promise. I will be as quiet as a mouse and do as you bid…’

‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘I am ready to wager you could not keep quiet however hard you tried; I never heard such a chatterbox. And as for doing as you are told, give me leave to doubt that too.’

‘Then I shall not promise it, only that I will try my best.’ She turned a smile on him that made his heart turn over and almost took his breath away. ‘I cannot say fairer than that, can I?’

‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Then you will take me?’

‘I cannot.’ The further they went from Stacey Manor, the more difficult it would be for him to return Molly to his grandmother, but the young chit had been right when she said a husband and wife would attract less attention. They were still too near the scene of the action. But it was impossible. Out of the question. He had not yet stooped so low as to ruin a young lady’s reputation.

She was silent for a moment, but only a moment. ‘Have you been in London during the Season, Captain?’

‘Many years ago, before I became a soldier.’

‘And did you not find the lady of your dreams there?’

‘I thought so at the time, but nothing came of it.’

‘Oh, you were crossed in love. How sad for you. Is that why you have become a gentleman of the road?’

He laughed again but this time she detected a little bitterness in it. ‘I have admitted to being no such thing. Now do you think we might change the subject?’

‘Certainly, if you find it painful. Tell me, what do young ladies do during the Season? I have read some of Miss Austen’s books and others on etiquette and it seems to me there are a great many pitfalls. How do they know who is eligible and who is not? So much of it seems to rely on hearsay. Surely one needs more than that? After all, everyone must have a different idea about what makes a perfect partner. And how can mere acquaintanceship turn to love if you are never allowed to be alone with a man even for a minute? After all, he might seem very charming and unexceptional when in company, but turn out to be the very opposite when it is too late.’

‘That happens.’

‘And once she is committed she must make the best of it, I believe.’

‘That is another of your mama’s truisms, is it?’

‘Is it wrong?’

‘No. But courtship works two ways. The lady might not turn out to be all the young man had hoped for. A pretty face and a fetching figure are not the only attributes for a good wife.’

‘So, tell me what you think they are.’

He turned to smile at her. ‘What do you think?’

‘Love and compassion,’ she said promptly. ‘Gentleness, but not so much as to make her dull.’

‘Oh, you are so right,’ he said, only half teasing. ‘I should abhor dullness in a wife.’

‘I should not like a dull husband either. Not top-lofty or arrogant. I would expect him to be sensitive and kind.’ She paused to look at him, a smile playing about her lips. ‘And chivalrous.’

‘Oh, dear,’ he said mournfully. ‘I should fail on all counts.’

‘Oh, I wasn’t thinking of you, Captain. You are far too old.’

‘And that has put me firmly in my place,’ he said, smiling a little ruefully as he flicked the reins to make the horse go a little faster. ‘There is an inn ahead of us which I should like to reach as soon as maybe. And for your information I have seen but thirty summers.’

‘Old,’ she affirmed. ‘But perhaps that is no bad thing. One would expect a man of thirty summers to have sowed all his wild oats and be ready to settle down.’

‘The problem with that theory is that some men never want to settle down. Sowing wild oats is a deal more fun.’

‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap,’ she said.

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

‘You will have a poor harvest.’

‘Quite the philosopher, aren’t you?’

‘No, but I am interested in people and why they do the things they do. You, for instance…’

‘I am a dull subject for your studies.’

‘Not at all. You may be from the poor side of the Connaught family, but I believe you have been educated as a gentleman, you have served as an officer and you have a grandmother who is very fond of you, so you cannot be all bad. With a little instruction and application, you could become a real gentleman and find some more fitting occupation.’

‘Heaven preserve me from reforming women! I am as I am and that is an end of it.’

‘Very well,’ she said meekly. ‘I am, after all, in your hands to do with as you please. I have no wish to fall out with you.’

He smiled to himself as they bowled along. She was an amazing mixture of innocence and wisdom, child and woman, and one day, when she had learned the ways of the world, she would be a charmer, even a heartbreaker. And he did not want his heart broken again.

Unaware of his introspection, or perhaps deliberately ignoring it, she continued to chat happily to him until they turned into the yard of the Crosskeys at St Faith’s just short of Norwich, and drew to a stop.

‘Well,’ she said, turning towards him. ‘Are we to test my theory?’

‘Theory?’ he queried. ‘It seems to me you have a great many theories. Which one are we to test?’

‘Why, that it is Captain Stacey and his wife who will stay here overnight.’

‘Good God, child, have you any idea what that means?’

‘I believe it means we must share a bedchamber.’

‘And what happens in that bedchamber?’

‘How am I to know that?’ she asked. ‘I never did it before. But it doesn’t signify, does it, because we are not really married but only pretending?’

‘And if there is only one bed?’

‘Oh, Captain, I am quite sure you can contrive something.’

Before he could find a suitable reply an ostler came out from the stables to see to the equipage. Duncan jumped down and reached up to help her alight. ‘Come inside and we will decide what’s to be done with you,’ he said.

The inn was small and very old. Duncan had to duck his head to enter the doorway. He stood looking round the company, which consisted of a farmer and his wife who were quarrelling loudly, and four men, intent on playing cards. They were evidently playing very deep for there was a pile of coins on the table between them and their conversation consisted of grunts, unintelligible except to each other. The only other customer was the man with the scar. Duncan led Molly over to join him.

“Bout time too,’ the man said. ‘Did you stop to admire the wayside flowers?’

‘No, but I had to answer questions from a bumbling town constable and I could not appear too eager to depart.’

‘And you still have the trailing petticoats, I see.’

Duncan turned to Molly and took her hand to draw her forward. ‘Miss Martineau, may I present my good friend, Sergeant Frank Upjohn? Frank, this is Miss Molly Martineau. We have spoken of her.’

‘Miss Martineau, your obedient.’ He did not seem particularly pleased to see her, she noted as he rose to acknowledge her.

The innkeeper came forward, wiping his hands on his apron, to ask their requirements.

‘Food,’ Duncan said. ‘And plenty of it.’

The man went away to give the order to his wife and Duncan and Molly joined Frank at the table.

‘You do not approve of me, Mr Upjohn,’ she said, arranging her long skirt about her as she sat down; it was now more crumpled than ever. ‘No doubt you think I am an encumbrance, but I assure you, I intend to help you both.’

‘Whether we will it or not,’ Duncan murmured, leaning back in his chair, a faint smile playing about his mouth.

‘You said I did not do so badly,’ she protested. ‘And if you were escorting me from Stacey Manor to London you would not have had time to hold up a coach, would you?’

‘Hold up a coach?’ Frank repeated, looking sharply at Duncan. ‘Who said anything about holding up a coach?’

‘I certainly did not,’ Duncan answered. ‘Madam, here, has added two and two and made five, as I pointed out to her.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my arithmetic,’ she said. ‘Two men, one bigger than the other, one riding a fine black horse with a white nose-flash, and the other with a scar beneath his eye. I cannot think of a better description of you both. You were absent from the inn at the relevant time and the horses were removed from the stable on a pretext I find unbelievable, not to mention the fact that you did not deny it when I said you had been with me all night.’

‘I could hardly contradict a lady,’ Duncan said, smiling at the look of astonishment on Frank’s face at this statement. ‘And if you were so sure, why did you not denounce me, instead of dreaming up another cock-and-bull story?’

‘I was curious as to why you did it, if not for gain.’

‘I thought you were going to send her back where she came from,’ Frank muttered as the innkeeper’s wife brought plates and tureens to the table.

‘How?’ Duncan demanded. ‘There was no public coach, her mare had been hidden and I had no time…’

‘It was necessary to put the constable off the scent,’ Molly added. ‘Besides, I want to go to London and I thought of a great ruse…’

He turned to Frank. ‘She wanted us to pretend to be married; she even told the constable at the Red Lion that we were. I have persuaded her it will not do. We can’t look after her. Quite apart from the practical difficulties, just think what it would do to her reputation.’

‘And yours,’ Frank said with a wry smile. ‘The hard man who has no time for females, making a cake of himself over a chit. And we have work to do, or had you forgot?’

‘No, I hadn’t forgotten,’ Duncan said, watching Molly pile her plate with roast chicken and vegetables. He disliked women who picked at their food in the pretence of daintiness. The longer they were together, the deeper became the coil he was in, and the inn, though perfectly adequate for him and Frank, was certainly not suitable for a lady. He wished he had thought of that before suggesting the rendezvous. It just showed how long he had been out of genteel society and how unmannerly he had become. ‘But I must admit it would be easier to take her with us than try and return her to Stacey Manor.’

He could not tell Frank the other reason why he was even considering taking her with them because it had nothing to do with his own plight. He wanted to make her happy and if taking her to her mother made her happy, then why should he not do it? But not as his wife. Never that. ‘We must make ourselves into a proper escort and that means another female and a coach and horses.’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Molly said, brightening. ‘That would be the very thing. I could enter London in style and no one would think any the worse of me.’ She stopped and gave him a meaningful look. ‘Nor you either. Everyone would admire you for it and your reputation would be quite restored.’

‘What do you say, Frank?’ Duncan asked him. ‘Would Martha act the maid?’

‘Martha?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘Who is Martha?’ Molly demanded.

‘She is my wife,’ Frank said. ‘But she has never been a lady’s maid. She would have no idea how to go on.’

‘Oh, I could soon tell her,’ Molly said. ‘There is really nothing to it and I should so like a female companion. Do say you agree.’

‘What is the alternative?’ Duncan demanded of his friend. ‘Turn and ride back to Stacey Manor and take our chances with the local constabulary, who will by now have been reinforced by those from Cromer and Norwich, or leave the young lady here to manage by herself?’

‘No, I am not so lacking in conduct as to do that. I’ll fetch Martha.’

‘Good. Where are our horses?’

‘Fed and watered and grazing in a field nearby.’

‘Then Molly and I will ride into Norwich in the morning with your mount. You take the curricle and bring Martha to us at The Bell.’

Molly, who did not fancy an evening spent in the company of the card players and the nagging farmer’s wife, said she wanted to retire as soon as they had finished supper. Duncan cast a glance at the men, who seemed intent on their cards, but he knew they would hear any orders he gave; he could not let it be known she was a single lady and was left with no alternative but to ask for a room to be prepared for his wife.

Once this was done, she bade him goodnight with a great show of wifely affection. She was in a cheerful mood because he had fallen in with her scheme to pretend to be husband and wife, if only for one night. This was a grand adventure and so long as he remained with her she had nothing to fear.

As soon as Molly had been conducted from the room, Frank turned on him. ‘Captain, you must be mad. Do you know how much this escapade is likely to cost? And we have nothing left, unless you have been holding out on me. Every farthing of what we took has been passed on as you instructed.’

‘Good. I knew I could rely on you.’ He was beginning to realise how poor people felt when their whole lives must be lived in search of money to buy food and shelter. There was never any time for anything else. No wonder some of the soldiers returning from the war with no way of earning a living and a family to care for turned to crime.

‘But now we have pockets to let again,’ Frank went on, speaking more bluntly than would have been considered fitting between master and servant in any other circumstances. ‘It is always the same with you, Captain. It seems money is an embarrassment to you.’

‘It is when so many of my fellows have nothing. They fought as hard as I did, and under more difficult conditions; they deserve all I can do for them. Especially for their widows.’

‘So, how will you convey the lady to London?’

‘With good luck, by post chaise, with a little less by stagecoach.’

Frank sighed heavily. ‘I suppose it is useless for me to point out that petticoats are a bad omen…’

‘Not this one. I have a feeling she will bring me the best luck in the world. Nor can you say Martha has brought you anything else.’

Frank owned himself defeated. ‘Do you want me to leave now?’

‘Yes, otherwise Molly will be unchaperoned yet another night.’

Still grumbling, Frank got up and left the inn. Duncan watched him go, then put the rest of the evening to good use by joining the card players when one of their number lost everything and was forced to stop. By dawn, he was richer by several guineas. It was enough to pay for their lodging and for Molly’s shopping expedition, though he would have to warn her against extravagance.

Pretending to be too drunk to go to bed, he dozed for an hour or two on a settle. He could not join Molly and asking for a separate room would have looked decidedly odd. Besides, he risked over-sleeping and he wanted to be on hand if Molly took it into her head to do something foolish or talk to strangers; she could not know how risky that might be.

Chapter Three

As soon as Molly woke, she rose, washed in cold water from the jug on the wash-stand and, once more attired in the now bedraggled riding habit, went downstairs. In the corridor, she met the innkeeper’s wife busy sweeping the floor. Molly bade her good morning and asked if the Captain was up and about.

‘Yes, ma’am. Did you sleep so sound you didn’t know he hadn’t come to bed?’

She was momentarily disconcerted, but, remembering her role, smiled. ‘I must have.’

‘He’s pacing the floor, chafing at the bit, waiting for you.’

Molly hurried to join him, but, far from pacing the floor, he was sitting at the breakfast table, apparently at ease. There was no one else in the room. He rose as she came towards him and pulled out a chair for her.

‘Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you. But you did not, I believe. The innkeeper’s wife told me you did not go to bed. Where were you?’

‘In the next room, enjoying the company of friends.’

‘Friends? I did not know you were acquainted with anyone here.’

‘I used the term loosely.’

‘Is that the usual behaviour of a man towards his wife when travelling?’

‘It is certainly not so out of the ordinary as to excite comment and it was better than invading your privacy, my dear. Besides, I put the time to good use.’ He jingled a pocketful of coins.

‘Gaming.’

‘Yes.’

‘And did you win?’

‘Naturally, I did.’

‘Is that how you make a living?’

‘It is one of the ways. Now, please have some breakfast. We must be on our way as soon as you are ready.’ He indicated the platters of ham and eggs as he poured her a cup of coffee from the pot at his elbow.

She sat down and helped herself. ‘And another way is holding up coaches. I cannot believe that someone as educated as you are should stoop to crime. I do believe there is more to it than meets the eye.’

‘Is that so?’ he asked laconically, wondering if she could possibly have stumbled on the truth. But no; clever she might be, but not that clever. ‘And are you going to tell me your theory?’

‘I don’t have one, not yet. Of course, you could tell me and then I would not worry about you.’

‘You worry about me?’ he queried. ‘Why?’

‘Naturally I worry about you. You are family, even if it is I don’t know how many times removed. And I am very fond of Aunt Margaret…’

‘So, it is not for my own sake?’ he asked, and wondered why he asked. Did it really matter what a chit of a girl thought of him?

‘That, too, of course.’ She smiled at him and popped a forkful of food into her mouth. ‘Tell me, Captain, just what are you about?’

He smiled suddenly. ‘I believe I am escorting a young lady to London to be with her mama.’

‘Oh, so you do think I am a lady?’ she said.

‘I do not know what else you might be. Hoyden or school-miss might be to the point, but I give you the benefit of the doubt. Now, if you have finished, we must be on our way.’

‘I should write another letter to Aunt Margaret before we go,’ she said. ‘I sent her one yesterday, but as I did not know our destination I could not be very precise. I shall tell her you are going to take me to Mama and that will set her mind to rest.’

He wondered whether it would, considering the jobation his grandmother had given him about his way of life, and decided to add his postscript to the letter assuring her he would take good care of the young lady. He could imagine the old lady’s smile when she read it; he was playing right into her hands and if Molly had not assured him otherwise he would have had no trouble believing she had concocted the whole escapade to bring him to heel.

The letter was soon written and given to the landlord to put on the mail and they went outside where three horses stood patiently waiting for their riders. He helped her to mount Jenny, then picked up the reins of Frank’s horse, which she learned was called Good Boy, and sprang nimbly into his own saddle.

They turned and rode towards Norwich, sometimes cantering and, now and again, when it was safe to do so, putting the horses to a gallop. She rode well, he noticed. He noted other things too: her softly rounded breasts and trim waist, her bright eyes, always so full of life, her pink lips and the way a strand of her hair curled so lovingly into her neck. And he asked himself what in heaven’s name he was doing with her. Frank was right—he had run mad.

When they crossed the river and entered the city, she was so diverted by the size of it, the busy streets, full of carts and carriages, the pedestrians and hawkers crying their wares and the shops and taverns, she could do nothing but gape.

‘I did not know it would be such a big place,’ she said. ‘Is it as large as London?’

‘Not quite. But it is an important centre of commerce. You will find all you need here.’

He smiled indulgently as the road took them past the castle. She pulled up her horse to stare up at its looming grey wall. ‘Is it occupied?’

‘Oh, yes, by several hundred criminals.’

‘It’s a prison?’ She shuddered, imagining the Captain being confined there, and it occurred to her that the life he led was dangerous in the extreme. If he were arrested and taken from her, what would she do? Might she be arrested too for aiding him? Adventure for adventure’s sake was suddenly not so appealing. ‘Then the sooner we leave it behind the better,’ she said.

‘We must wait for Frank and Martha. In the meantime we shall go shopping.’

‘Good,’ she said, looking down at her habit, which was so dusty and crumpled it looked as though she had slept in it. ‘I tried to get the creases out but it proved impossible.’

‘We need to refresh ourselves first and the horses need stabling,’ he said, deciding that taking her as she was into a genteel establishment to buy the things a lady needed to travel to London would invite strange looks and he could not afford to arouse curiosity.

He took her to The Bell where the rooms were superior to any they had had so far: a well-furnished bedroom and a sitting room with a table and chairs and an upholstered sofa.

While she shut herself in the bedroom to strip off her clothes and wash, he changed into pantaloons and a clean shirt, tied a fresh cravat about his neck, donned waistcoat and frockcoat and left the building.

He returned just as Molly came out of the bedchamber into the sitting room. She had asked the chambermaid to press her habit and it was a little more respectable than it had been but still bore evidence of a long ride. She had cleaned her face and now it was pink and glowing and her blue eyes sparkled. She had evidently borrowed a brush and spent some time on her hair, because it gleamed with health and she had put it up into a Grecian style, which suited her piquant face.

His grandmother had been right, he decided; Molly Martineau would one day turn heads with her beauty. She was inexperienced and that was part of her charm, but he felt his loins stirring at the sight of her and realised he was not so impervious as he’d thought he was.

‘Here,’ he said, almost embarrassed, handing her the parcel he carried. ‘Put this on. It is, I think, more suitable for a shopping expedition than a riding habit.’

She opened the package eagerly to reveal a simple round gown in turquoise muslin, with little puff sleeves and a round neck filled with lace. There was a little matching cape, white stockings, blue kid shoes and a reticule. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is very pretty. I could not have chosen anything I liked more. But will it fit?’

‘There is only one way to find out,’ he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. ‘Put it on and we will go out and buy more.’

She needed no second bidding and disappeared into the bedchamber. Twenty minutes later she emerged once again, looking very fetching and smiling happily. ‘You guessed my size exactly, Captain. How very clever of you. Except the shoes are a little tight.’

‘I am sorry about that. Perhaps you could wear your riding boots…’

‘Oh, no, that will spoil the effect. I shall manage.’

‘Madam.’ He smiled at her, offering her his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

Laughing, she laid her hand upon his sleeve and together they went out into the street and strolled towards the centre of the city to the emporium where he had bought the gown and where he knew there were other establishments offering ladies’ apparel, as well as things like fans and reticules, parasols and footwear, underwear and toiletries.

‘Kit her out with everything she needs for a stay in London,’ he told one proprietress, whose name, according to the legend above the door of her establishment, was Mrs Hannah Solomon.

‘I am to have a Season,’ Molly told her. ‘Is that not exciting?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ the woman agreed. ‘So very sensible of your uncle to buy your requirements in Norwich. The prices in London are much higher.’

Molly looked at Duncan when she mentioned her uncle and stifled a little giggle. He simply smiled and said nothing to put right the mistake.

The morning flew by as he sat and watched her parade before him in day gowns, carriage gowns, riding habits, gloves, shoes, half-boots, hats, bonnets, capes, spencers and pelisses. His resolve to limit her spending was abandoned in the face of her pleasure.

‘Which shall it be?’ she asked, looking from a carriage dress and matching pelisse in soft green velvet to an afternoon gown of blue sarcenet. ‘I cannot make up my mind, so you choose.’

‘Then have them both.’

‘Oh, you are the most generous of men!’ she exclaimed as Mrs Solomon began folding the gowns to pack into boxes before he should change his mind. ‘I am beginning to revise my opinion that you are not chivalrous.’

He bowed towards her. ‘And I am gratified to hear you say so.’

‘Madam will need underthings?’ Mrs Solomon queried, determined not to let this customer go until she had wrung every last drop out of the transaction.

‘Naturally she will,’ he said.

‘And she must have at least one ballgown,’ she went on. ‘I have just the thing.’ She disappeared through a curtain at the back of the premises and came back carrying a large dress box. ‘This was made for a young lady who changed her mind about buying it. You are of a size, I think.’ She opened the box and held the gown up against Molly.

The overskirt was made of the palest blue-green crepe with an open front which floated round her like shimmering water. It had puffed sleeves and a deep round neckline filled with rouched lace and the bodice was caught under the bosom with a cluster of silk flowers in pale colours of pink, blue and lilac; more of the flowers trimmed the hem. The underskirt was of white satin. Molly ran her hands lovingly over it. ‘Oh, it is beautiful, but I do not know…’

‘Try it on,’ Duncan said.

He watched as she disappeared into an adjoining room to put it on, a procedure which had been going on all morning. He had thought he would be bored by it, but he was captivated. She was so easy to please and he guessed she had had few such pleasures in her young life. He was prepared to wager that Harriet had all the gowns she needed, while her daughter had nothing but what would suit a schoolgirl.

He looked up as Molly came back to stand before him. The gown fitted perfectly and her simple beauty took his breath away so that, for a moment, he could not speak.

‘What do you think?’ she demanded. ‘Is it not beautiful?’

He swallowed hard. ‘Indeed, yes.’

‘It could have been made for the young lady,’ Mrs Solomon said.

‘But it was not,’ Duncan put in. ‘It has been left on your hands…’

Molly held her breath; she wanted to have the gown so very much and if the Captain haggled the woman might not let him have it.

‘I am sure we can come to an arrangement,’ she said with a simpering smile. ‘For such a good customer.’

‘Wrap everything up, put it into a trunk and send it to The Bell Hotel,’ he instructed, pulling a purse out of his frockcoat. ‘And I want a discount for cash.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The sight of Duncan’s hoard of hard-won coins was too much to resist.

Molly could hardly contain her excitement. Somehow or other, she was going to make an opportunity to wear that gown when they arrived in London. Already, she could imagine the occasion—the ballroom, the lights and music and the elegant young men clamouring to dance with her. Her mama would be very proud of her and not ashamed of her as she always seemed to be.

She chose to ignore the fact that they still had a long way to go before reaching the capital and she was almost sure the Captain was a wanted man. A more crucial problem was that she did not know how to dance. ‘Captain,’ she said, as they left the shop and turned back towards their lodgings, ‘can you dance?’

‘Tolerably well,’ he said. ‘But if you think I am going to take you to a ball…’

‘No, not that; I was hoping you might teach me the steps. Mama always said there was plenty of time for that and so I never learned. And I should like to waltz.’

‘I am not sure young unmarried ladies are allowed to waltz.’

‘Why not?’

‘I believe it is considered improper.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the way the man holds his partner. It is a little…’ He paused and smiled. ‘A little too intimate for unmarried ladies.’

‘Oh. There is a very great deal I do not know, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, I am afraid there is.’

‘Then you must teach me.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said, laughing. ‘I have undertaken to take you to your mother, nothing more. It is her place to instruct you.’

‘Yes, but she is always so busy and it would be so much better if I could learn it all before we arrive in London. Then if an important invitation should come my way I would be ready.’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I have more pressing things to do.’

‘Like holding up coaches and gaming. I wish you would not do such dangerous things. I cannot bear the thought of you being shut up in that castle.’

He turned to look at her, trotting along beside him, trusting him completely, and a twinge of conscience smote him. What he was doing was highly improper and what was worse he was allowing himself to use her to allay the suspicions of the custodians of law and order. The fact that he had spent almost his last sovereign paying for her clothing in no way relieved his feelings of guilt.

‘I have no intention of allowing myself to be shut up inside it,’ he said brusquely.

‘Why are you so blue-devilled? Is it because you have laid out more money on me than you intended? Mama will reimburse you, I am sure.’

‘I have not laid out more than I intended,’ he said, knowing perfectly well he would never accept repayment from Harriet, even if it were offered, which he doubted. ‘What use are sovereigns except for spending?’

‘Especially when they are not your own,’ she retorted.

‘I did not notice you refusing to take advantage of them,’ he snapped.

‘You said your pockets were at my disposal. I think it is very unkind of you to fly into the boughs just because I said I should not like you to be shut up in the castle.’

‘Then there is no more to be said on the subject.’

‘What are we going to do now?’

‘Go back to The Bell and eat a good dinner.’

‘Do you think Mr Upjohn will have arrived?’

‘I certainly hope so.’

He shut his mouth so firmly after speaking, she knew it would be unwise to pester him. She walked on beside him, hobbling a little because the tight shoes were pinching her feet, and she wished she had asked if she might wear a pair of the new ones he had bought for her. But it was not the tight shoes which had spoiled the pleasure of the outing but his tetchiness. His mood was not improved when they returned to the hotel and found no sign of Frank and Martha.

‘Perhaps Mrs Upjohn was not agreeable,’ she suggested.

‘Like all good wives, she will do as her husband bids her.’

‘I should not like her to come against her wishes, Captain, and I should hope Mr Upjohn would not insist.’

‘Then you would have to go back to Stacey Manor. I am determined we shall not continue alone.’

‘I know what it is,’ she said, speaking in a whisper, so that others in the crowded room would not hear her. ‘You are afraid you will be forced into making an honest woman of me. That is not at all flattering.’

‘And you are not at all consistent,’ he said, also keeping his voice low. ‘Yesterday you told me I am too old and you would not consider such a match. Now you seem to be saying the opposite…’

‘No, I am not. I simply said you were afraid you might have to. Let me set your mind at rest, Captain. I have no wish to marry you, but, having come this far, it would be foolish to turn back, especially as we are like to run into more trouble going back than going forward.’

‘How so?’ he queried, wondering what she understood by the term marriage. She could have no conception of physical desire, the love and passion that, in his view, should exist between husband and wife. The novels she read and her mama’s conversation had filled her head with nonsense. The man who married her would have a pleasurable time educating her.

‘Why, Mr Upjohn may very well have been taken up; had you thought of that?’

‘Yes, I had,’ he said irritably. He was beginning to wish he had not drawn Frank into this escapade, though it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

They had shared so much during the Peninsular campaign, both the comradeship and the danger, but Frank had had enough of war by the time Napoleon surrendered in 1814, and decided to return home to his wife. He had not taken part in the Battle of Waterloo. Duncan had come back to England in late 1815, after recovering in a Brussels hospital from a wound in his side received at Waterloo, but he could not bear the thought of going home and so he had reported to the War Office, hoping to be given active service. Instead he had been sent to track down a traitor. His enquiries had taken him to Norfolk and it was in Norwich he had met Frank again.

He smiled, remembering the night of revelry they had enjoyed as they’d reminisced and talked about old battles and the people they had known. But it had been obvious Frank was in a bad way. He was thin as a rake and his clothes were in tatters. He had admitted he could not find work and had turned to crime. Duncan had been appalled and infuriated. There was something wrong when a good and valiant man like Frank should be so little thought of by the country for which he had given years of his life, while men like Sir John Partridge prospered. He had asked him to join him.

‘There won’t be regular pay,’ he had warned. ‘But there will be something at the end of it, if we are successful.’

And so they had joined forces. Becoming a highwayman and living the life of a ne’er-do-well had been one way of dealing with a personal situation he found difficult to come to terms with and he justified it with the argument that he was obeying orders. Taking risks was a way of finding release. Until he met Molly.

She had made him see life with a different perspective, had forced him to examine his motives. And in spite of her conviction that he was a criminal, which was only half true, she trusted him. Did he deserve that trust? Did he deserve anyone’s trust? Martha’s? Or Frank’s?

‘Do not look so cross.’ Molly’s voice broke into his self-analysis. ‘It is not my fault you were seen holding up that coach. Indeed I have done my best to help you.’

He was about to tell her that she was more hindrance than help and that if she had not told the constable they were married he could have sent her back to Stacey Manor and forgotten all about her, but changed his mind. Not only would it hurt her feelings, it was palpably untrue. He could no more have sent her on alone than fly. Besides, he and Frank had brought their troubles upon themselves.

She smiled suddenly. ‘Mr Upjohn might be here soon and I am hungry, so do you think we could have something to eat while we wait? I am starving.’

In the face of her imperturbability, he could do no more than take her into the dining room and order a meal, in the hope that Frank would arrive before they had finished it.

Molly hated long silences, and though she tried very hard not to speak she could not resist trying to bring him out of his ill humour. But he would have none of it and she turned her attention to the conversation going on at the next table, which was occupied by four men—tradesmen or perhaps farmers, judging by their plain trousers and gaiters, frieze coats and shallow hats.

‘He says he gives them homes and educates them which is more than they had where they came from.’

‘Don’t make no odds,’ another said. ‘It’s trading in human beings and I don’t hold with that.’

‘But they ain’t exac’ ly human, are they?’ queried a third. ‘They’re savages. Black savages.’

‘That’s on account of they don’t know no better.’

‘Well, ain’t that just what I’ve been saying?’ the first man put in. ‘He educates ’em in the scriptures and teaches ’em to work in the house.’

‘Only so’s he can get more money for ’em. Why, I heard he makes ten thousand a year.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘My brother-in-law was on one of his vessels. In the navy in the war, he was, but had to come out at the end of it. Surplus to requirements, he was, even though he was in ten years and didn’t know nothin’ else. Grunston offered him a berth and he took it, but when he comes back the tales he told fair made me shiver, I can tell you. He didn’t go only the once, said he’d rather starve than serve on a slaver again.’

By the time they had finished their meal, she had discovered that Mr Grunston owned two ships going out from Lynn to buy his human cargo, some of whom he sent on to the Indies, and the ships returned with cargoes of sugar from the plantations there—a double profit. Others he brought home and, having cleaned them up and taught them how to behave, he sold to Society ladies for whom having a black page or footman was the height of fashion. Two days hence he was off to London to purchase another decommissioned ship from the Admiralty to enlarge his fleet.

Molly leaned forward in order to whisper, ‘Captain, did you hear that?’

‘Hear what?’

‘Those men at the next table. They are talking about a slave trader earning ten thousand a year. Don’t you think that is disgraceful?’

‘It is not unlawful…yet.’

‘Well, I think it is reprehensible. I am persuaded the Dark Knight would have something to say on the matter.’

‘The Dark Knight?’ His only concession to being even slightly disconcerted was to raise one dark eyebrow quizzically. ‘Is he another of your fictional heroes?’

‘Oh, no, he is a real person, as you very well know.’

‘Do I?’

‘Oh, yes. I believe he models himself on Robin of Locksley.’

‘Who is Robin of Locksley?’

‘He is a mythical figure I read about. He lived a long time ago, in the time of Richard the Lionheart, and he was always holding travellers up and giving their gold to the poor.’

Duncan was diverted. ‘And what would this Dark Knight do, if he were here now?’

‘Hold the man up. Take his ill-gotten gains from him and set his slaves free.’

‘That would be a crime,’ he said drily.

‘But justified, don’t you think? You could distribute his wealth to deserving people and prevent another cargo of poor black men, women and children being sold into slavery.’

‘Me?’ he queried in astonishment.

‘Why not?’

‘Miss Martineau, I abhor the trade as much as anyone and I support those who advocate its abolition, but that is not the way to bring it about.’

‘Oh, I did not think you were so pudding-hearted.’

‘Molly, I wish you would put the Dark Knight from your mind. The Dark Knight is not Robin of Locksley, nor yet Don Quixote.’

‘Indeed he is not, if he will not tilt at a few windmills.’

He laughed in spite of himself. ‘Oh, you will be the death of me.’

‘Oh, no, but you must admit you would like to do it.’

‘Indeed I should,’ he said. ‘But that is not to say I will.’

‘No, perhaps it would not be wise without Mr Upjohn to help you.’ She liked to tease as much as he did and was gratified when he rose to the bait. ‘I think we should have waited at the Crosskeys and not come here without him.’

‘Do you? I recollect you wanted to go shopping.’

‘That was your idea. I did not ask to go.’

‘You could not go to London dressed in nothing but a filthy riding habit.’

‘No, but I was not in such haste that I would want you to abandon your friend.’

‘I have not abandoned him. He is well able to look after himself, which is more than can be said for you, who are young and vulnerable and whose head is filled with fantasy.’

‘My head is not filled with fantasy. You do not know me very well or you would know I am a very practical kind of person.’

‘Is that so?’ He smiled for the first time for over an hour. ‘I have seen no evidence of it so far.’

‘Then I will prove it. I shall come back with you. We may well meet them on the way.’

‘Not so long ago you were of the opinion we would run into greater trouble going back than going forward.’

‘I am sure you are clever enough to avoid anyone searching for you if you go carefully, and I am not afraid of a little adventure.’

‘No, that I had noted. And not above inciting a man to crime either.’

‘Oh, that,’ she said airily. ‘I was bamming. But you must allow that you are troubled about Mr Upjohn.’

He sighed heavily, admitting she was right. He was worried and his conscience was troubling him. Frank must be in trouble or else Martha was proving difficult. But if that were the case Frank would have come on without her.

If it were not for Molly he would not have hesitated, but if it were not for her he would not have been in this predicament in the first place. He was not at all sure he liked being so accountable for another human being, and one who was so artless. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We will go back, but only as far as the Crosskeys. He may be there.’

He rose from the table, leaving Molly to scramble under it in search of her shoes which she had kicked off.

‘Now what?’ he asked in exasperation.

‘Nothing. I am simply looking for my shoes. They were tight and…Oh, there they are.’ She bent to retrieve them and squeezed her white-stockinged feet back into them, to his unfeigned amusement. ‘It will be a relief to go back to my riding boots.’

She went up to their rooms to change while he gave orders for Molly’s new trunk to be kept for them when it arrived, and then they set off on horseback, retracing the route they had covered that morning, meeting a little traffic—a coach or two, several loaded haycarts, people on horseback and on foot—but not the curricle.

‘Where are we going now?’ she asked him when he’d returned from questioning the innkeeper at the Crosskeys and been told his friend had not returned there.

‘To his home. We’ll find out if he reached it.’

‘How far is that?’

‘An hour’s ride. Are you tired? Do you want to rest?’

‘No. I can keep up, never fear.’

They had been riding for perhaps an hour and were passing through a wooded area, when they came upon the curricle. It was tipped on its side in the ditch beside the road and there was evidence of a struggle, but of Frank or Martha there was no sign. Nor could they find the horse, though they stopped and searched the area.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.