Elaine
“Come and sit by the fire.” Squire Stroud pushed a velvet-covered chair closer to the hearth. “I’ll call for tea.”
Tea? Had he not heard a word she’d spoken? “Squire, I thank you, but there is no time for tea. Mr. Kemp’s life is in grave danger. We must get help immediately.”
In a matter of hours, the smuggled goods would be distributed and the mine emptied of all trace they’d ever been there, including Gareth.
“Calm yourself, child.” He tried again to get her to sit. “Help will be here soon. You’ve nothing to fear.”
Had he already sent word to the Landguard? When? She’d been with him since he opened the door. And come to think of it, where was his staff? Certainly the squire at least kept a few servants. She’d not laid eyes on a housekeep or a footman. The house sounded unnaturally empty. He’d said he’d call for tea, so there must be someone here to call.
Perhaps the old man had less income than she’d thought. Or perhaps they were all in their beds.
Or perhaps she’d made another monumental mistake.
She glanced at the door. “Maybe it would be better if I borrowed a horse and rode myself. If help is already on the way, I could ride home and not trouble you. I’m sure my father is already searching for me.”
In a few steps, he was standing right in front of her, his hand wrapping tightly around her upper arm. “Miss Cardinham, I do wish you’d sit.” He steered her toward the chair and pushed her down. “Sit before you collapse.” He smiled. “Help is on the way. Take a moment to compose yourself, and I will get you something to calm your nerves.”
He turned and left the room through the door opposite the fireplace. She jumped out of the chair.
He was with them. The squire was one of them.
She turned the knob on the door. Locked. There was no other way out of the room. A bank of small windows lined one wall. Only one opened, and it was far too small for her to fit through. Not even her head would go through. She spun around and stared at the door as if it could give her all the answers.
She’d heard gentlemen joke in more than one drawing room in London that the entire population of Cornwall was involved in smuggling in one way or another. That was proving to be far too close to the truth.
The squire was in a perfect position to work the operation. To organize the land runners and distribute the goods. He could have planned it all while Lord Chiverton funded the schemes from the comforts of London. Until he came to Cornwall and got his hands dirty.
She didn’t know everything about the smuggling rings, but she did know the one cardinal rule. The gentleman paying for the smuggling never got mixed up with those doing the smuggling. Only one man, the operator—in this case Squire Stroud—could know the identity of the investor, Lord Chiverton.
Lord Chiverton had made a mistake. He’d been caught red-handed with that letter, the one addressed to T. S.—Thomas Stroud.
No matter how this night ended, that mistake would eventually catch up with him. Squire Stroud would not be able to cover up the disappearance of two more people. Miss Tippet’s father would track them down, though probably not soon enough.
She searched the room for any kind of weapon. The squire had been gone a long time. He could be back at any moment. The room was empty of all but the barest of furnishings. A few candles burned in sconces along the wall. She could set fire to the drapes, but that seemed counterproductive to survival. The squire might open the door and let her out, or he might not.
Elaine tried the window again. It was no use, but the cool air felt good, so she left it open. She dug through the drawers of a small chest in the corner.
“Mum?”
She spun around. The door was still closed.
“Mum?” Someone whispered through the open window. It sounded like a child.
She peered out and then down on the tops of two heads. One with hair the color of autumn leaves and the other white as first cream.
“Williams?”
“’E’s coming, miss,” Willy White-Top said, keeping his voice barely audible.
“The squire?”
“Nay. The other one. From London.”
Lord Chiverton. Her suspicions had been correct. These boys were part of a smuggling gang—the squire’s gang. They were starting them young these days. The lads probably had no other choice but to submit.
“Can you get me out of here?”
Sandy Will shook his head.
“Sorry, mum,” Willy White-Top said. “We don’t ’ave a key. But ’ere’s this.” He jabbed his elbow into Sandy Will.
Sandy Will reached up as high as he could. In his hand was a knife. A fishing knife. The kind used by the fishermen to quickly gut the fish, with a long and slender blade curving to a point.
She stretched her arm out the window as far as she could, but the knife was just out of reach. She pressed harder against the pane.
The thunder of a horse at top speed grew louder and louder.
“’E’s coming!” Sandy Will dropped the knife in his panic.
Willy White-Top searched the darkness below the window. Elaine could not see exactly what they were doing, but the horse was getting closer by the moment.
“You can do it,” she said, trying to sound as calm as if she was inviting them to come back and play a round of cricket.
Willy White-Top found the knife and held it out again. Trying to reach her groping fingers. At last, she made contact, and the knife was in her hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered out the window.
Willy White-Top was already gone, but Sandy Will whispered back, “Sorry we taked yer brother’s bone.”
His red hair disappeared into the night the same moment a great beast of a horse skidded into the courtyard.
The knife was a small one, dull, and speckled with rust but far better than nothing. She scrambled to hide it even as she heard the front door fly open.
She slipped it into her stays, praying it wouldn’t stab her in her own heart, then threw herself back into the chair. She took one deep breath to keep her heart from sounding the alarm.
A key clicked in the lock, and the squire came in. “As promised. Your betrothed is here to take you home.”
Squire Stroud must know his ruse did not fool her in the least. She’d already explained to him Lord Chiverton’s part in the smuggling ring and the kidnapping of herself and Gareth. For him to come in addressing her as if he was trying to help her showed remarkable audacity.
Lord Chiverton came in on the squire’s heels, rushing forward and taking her into his arms. “My love, I’ve been worried to death. Thank you for keeping her safe, Squire.”
The squire bowed as far as his girth would allow, then left the room.
“For whom was that show?” she asked. “Do you think I haven’t figured it out yet?”
He smiled the smile that had won her heart only a few months before; now it raised the bile in her throat. “I have been worried, you know. Very worried.”
“Worried I’d ruin your plans?”
He ran the back of his fingers along her cheek, and she swatted his hand away.
“Do you know, I think I love you like this even more than the quiet girl from the country lost in the world of London.”
How dare he speak of love. How dare he even speak to her as if he hadn’t had her tied up no more than a few hours ago.
“How is Gareth?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He rested his arm around her. “Come, my love. I’ll help you home.”
Elaine twisted away. “Stop it. Stop the charade right now. We both know you are not taking me home.”
“Of course I am. Your father will be so relieved to have you home and safely away from those smugglers. Such unsavory people to have in your neighborhood. Something really should be done about that. Lucky for you, your handsome husband has rescued you. We are still engaged, after all. What would society say if our engagement was broken? The rumors I started about your father are nothing compared to the mess I could so easily stir up about you. Or your mother.”
Elaine glared at him. “It was you? But—How did you know?”
“I keep eyes on all the important people in my life. I was fairly certain I’d won you over, but a little extra assurance always comes in handy. How much easier to convince you to marry me when no one else would take you. Such a sad girl missing her brother.”
“You killed John.” She dove at him, ready to claw his eyes out.
He caught her, restraining her. “Calm down. I did no such thing. That was the squire’s doing long before I came along. I only met Stroud three years ago, at the races in Newmarket.”
She shuddered to think back on how Squire Stroud had sat with his merry blue eyes in her drawing room only a few days ago accusing Gareth of John’s death. What an actor he was, almost as good as Lord Chiverton himself.
Lord Chiverton may have been innocent of killing John, but three years was plenty of time for Mr. Kemp. “But you did kill Gareth’s father.”
His silence confirmed it. She hated him even more, if that were possible. “You are mistaken if you think for one moment—”
“And we must think of the younger Mr. Kemp. You wouldn’t want any harm to come to him.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“Of course not. You are perfectly safe.”
But he was threatening Gareth. He had more up his sleeve, this demon from Chiverton. “What do you want?”
“What I’ve always wanted: Havencross. I will establish the biggest smuggling ring in all of Cornwall. You have no idea the money it will bring.”
“Do you not already have enough money?”
He stroked her hair, and she pulled her head away. “My dear, there is no such thing as enough money. I’ll be the wealthiest man in England. And it won’t be from sitting and doing nothing. It will be through daring and adventure.”
He was out of his mind. Mad beyond reason. She repeated her first question. “What do you want from me?”
“Simple.” He smiled, and she wanted to slap it off his face. “You marry me as planned, and Kemp lives. You make any slip at all, and the Cornishman dies.”
A plan that would only work if he kept Gareth locked up indefinitely, his neck under a guillotine ready to fall the moment Elaine made a wrong move.
The truth settled into her heart with the softness of an axe. Gareth would rather die than live like that—than to have her live like that.
She’d set off for London looking for love, silencing the warning that she’d already found the one man who loved her completely. One mistake. One. And all this. If anyone deserved to die, it was her and no one else.
Lord Chiverton would never be able to make such an arrangement work. Never. He was lying to her. All he needed was enough time and leverage to secure the marriage and Havencross. Then neither Elaine nor Gareth would be needed.
But she had leverage of her own. She would agree to Chiverton’s scheme. Not because she was going to go through with the marriage but to give her time to get Gareth out. Just a little more time—that was all she wanted.
“Very well then, my love.” She spat the word at him. “I accept your terms. But I require one condition.”
His eyebrows went up. Whether because she’d agreed to his absurd threat or because she was setting a requirement, she did not know or care.
“I want to see him one last time. I cannot accept until I know beyond doubt he is alive.”
Chiverton considered for a moment, then grinned. “We have an agreement.” Before she could stop him, he leaned in and kissed her mouth. “Sealed with a kiss. Isn’t this wonderful? Already our marriage is off to a good start.”
Years ago, Elaine suffered a violent sickness. She spent days bent over the chamber pot, unable to eat or drink anything as it all ended up in the pot. That was nothing compared to the vileness that consumed her now.
He gave three sharp knocks on the sitting room door.
Squire Stroud swung it open.
“She wants to see him.”
The squire nodded. “Almost ready.”
Lord Chiverton slipped out, and the door lock clicked shut. She was trapped here alone again. Better alone than with that odious man.
She waited a few minutes to be sure no one was coming back—at least not immediately—then hurried over to the window.
“Williams,” she called in a loud whisper.
Her only answer was the squeaking of crickets and the croak of a frog.
“Get help,” she uttered into the night. “My father or Mr. Tippet. Or tell Mr. Winkleigh; he will believe you.” Those were about all the names she trusted.
The crickets made no promises, nor did the frog offer his assistance. Some branches rustled off to her left, probably a cat hunting for mice under cover of dark.
“What are you doing?”
She spun around. Lord Chiverton crossed the room in an instant and peered out the window. She hoped he had better luck than she had. She’d not found at all what she was looking for.
“I was hot from the fire. I needed some air.”
He looked at her, then back into the night. “Hmm,” was all he said.
She pursed her lips at him. “Worried I might have an accomplice hiding out there?”
He said nothing.
“Let me assure you, if I did, I’d be long gone by now.”
He held up a small brown turnip bag.
“Are you going to the garden?”
“It’s for you. If this is going to be a long-term arrangement, best if you don’t know the location. We have, of course, removed him from the mine.”
She snatched it out of his hand. If she had to wear a hood, she would put it on herself.
“I really do admire this new side of you. Had I known how beautiful you are when fired up, I would have angered you long ago.”
She jerked the bag over her head, the sooner to get him out of her sight.
He tied something around her neck, securing the sack in place.
“Are you satisfied now?” she mumbled through the dusty canvas.
“Surprisingly satisfied. Let’s go.”
With his arm gripping her tightly, he ushered her from the squire’s sitting-room prison. She came without protest, high stepping to keep herself from tripping. Her free hand pressed along the knife she had concealed in her bodice.
Lord Chiverton led her out the front door and across a patch of gravel. A second hand wrapped around her other arm, and Lord Chiverton let go.
There was a creaking sound, like leather rubbing on leather, and then the chinking of metal. He must have mounted his horse. A moment later, the hand from her arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up. Her feet lifted from the ground, and she landed on something softer than she’d expected. Lord Chiverton’s lap.
“Hold on tight, love,” he whispered in her ear. “I fear this ride will be a long one. I don’t want to lose you now that we are finally getting to know each other.”