Bargaining With a Rogue, page 22
What the devil is going on?
Closing his eyes again, he tried to listen for sounds. The snapping of wood told him there was indeed a fire somewhere nearby, but the small amount of heat against his face let him know it wasn’t a large fire. There was an opened window, because the chirps of birds drifted into the hut. And by the stiff, smelly, substance poking against his cheek, he knew he was lying in hay.
So was this a barn or stable instead of a hut? And yet, why would someone have a low-burning fire in a stable?
Once more, he tried to open his eyes. The pain slicing through his skull tried to keep him from this goal, but he fought against the stinging discomfort.
The squeak of a door made Nash still his efforts. He focused on the sounds. Footsteps came near him. A boot knocked against his shoulder. He bit his tongue against the pain.
“You can open your eyes. I know you’re alive.”
Alive? By that remark, Nash assumed that the man wanted him dead.
He opened his eyes and tried to adjust his vision. Beside the small fire, a man sat, leaning up against a rock. Apparently, there wasn’t furniture in this little shack.
The longer Nash concentrated on the man, the more his face came into focus. Edgar Stone! How had that mousy man captured him? The back of Nash’s head throbbed harder. Now he remembered. The fool crept up behind him and smacked his head with a large, hard object. Of course, that would be the only way to take Nash down.
Stone chuckled. “By your expression, I see you are surprised that I was the one who brought you here.”
Fighting against the pain, Nash adjusted himself on the floor made of hay in order to glare at the other man. “Indeed, I’m very surprised. But I’m more surprised at myself. Your stench was detected quickly enough. I should have known a weasel like you would attack a man without his knowledge.”
Leaning forward, Stone’s eyebrows creased as he threw Nash a scowl. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That means, you fool, that you are not man enough to fight me face to face.”
Chuckling, Stone leaned back against the rock again. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Nash rolled his eyes. “Why is that hard for me to believe?”
“Listen, you little slip of a man,” Stone pointed his finger at Nash, “I would have been able to convince Frances to marry me if you hadn’t been in the picture. I am quite charming, you know.”
“No. I had not heard that about you. Not ever.”
Stone lifted a haughty chin. “Well, it’s true. Frances would have eventually fallen in love with me.”
“Frances cannot stand you,” Nash snapped, even though the rush of words made his head pound harder. “She has better taste in men.”
“Indeed? Like you?” Stone threw back his head and cackled. “Well, let me assure you that I will change her mind quickly. She will marry me.”
“What makes you think that?” Nash struggled again, but managed to sit up fully. “The only way she will marry you is if I’m dead. Is that what you have planned?”
“Once more, you have guessed correctly.” Stone nodded.
“And once more,” Nash replied cynically, “you are going to take the spineless way out and kill a man that cannot fight back.” Shaking his head, he tsked. “That doesn’t say very much about your character. Wouldn’t you like to be able to actually fight a man...and win, without using these childish tactics?” He turned slightly, raising his tied hands.
“You are playing with my mind, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m just encouraging you to fight like a real man. Or are you incapable of doing that?” He tilted his head as he narrowed his gaze on the other man. “In fact, now that I know your true character, I’m willing to bet that you were the one who set my stable on fire the other night.”
Stone chuckled and scratched behind his ear. “You would like to think that, wouldn’t you?”
“It all makes sense,” Nash continued. “You have made it clear that I’m the reason you don’t have Frances, so you are slowly trying to take out the competition. And a weak man like yourself would have no qualms about setting fire to another man’s property.”
Edgar jumped to his feet. Fire blazed behind his eyes as he glared at Nash.
“I am not a weak man.” His hands were fisted by his sides. “I choose to use my intelligence instead of my fists.”
Finally, Nash was getting the man almost where he wanted him. “But you are weak. I am still tied up. If you want me dead, do it the right way. Untie me and we’ll fight to the death like real men. Or...” Nash frowned convincingly, “are you afraid that I might break one of your bones and it might actually hurt?”
Growling, Edgar whipped out a knife from his boot and pointed it at Nash. He held his breath. Had he gone too far? Or would Edgar fall for Nash’s mind trickery?
FRANCES WORE A PERMANENT smile as she wandered through her mother’s flower garden—which thankfully, Augusta decided to keep once she’d married the duke. Finally, after two harrowing weeks, France felt at peace. After the talk she had with her father during the drive back to the estate this morning, he promised her that he would send Augusta and her vile nephew to the winter estate in Essex. Frances just wished her father had a good reason to divorce the woman. England and the Church frowned upon divorces, and yet, living with a woman like Augusta would ruin anyone’s life.
While her father arranged for tomorrow’s wedding, Frances had taken a nap. The much needed rest had refreshed her—as did the bath she had afterward—and now all she wanted was to see Nash again. She wanted to be in his arms, and kiss his sweet lips. She wanted to gaze into his dreamy blue-gray eyes, and thank the Lord how lucky she was to have found him to marry.
That first day when her father had told her she had a month to find a husband, Frances was prepared to enter a loveless marriage. Now she was grateful that she wouldn’t have to.
She stopped by the red roses and bent to take a sniff. These flowers, out of all of them, reminded her of her mother. Sadness crept into her heart as she relived the heartache of losing her parent to a sickness. The physician couldn’t say what had killed her mother, but thankfully, her mother hadn’t been sick for very long before the good Lord took her up to Heaven.
Her mother had loved tending the rose bushes, instead of having the servants do it. When Frances was young, she recalled taking walks through the garden with her mother as she clipped the dead leaves.
Out of the corner of her eyes, something sticking out of the dirt grabbed her attention. Frances bent and pushed back the dirt. A letter had been stuck in the ground. How long had it been here?
She brushed the soil off the old paper and carefully unfolded it. The letter was addressed to Augusta Langely—the name Augusta had before she married Frances’ father. She gritted her teeth as she read the letter.
My dearest Augusta, our plans will soon come together and we will finally be able to live a life of love just as we had always wanted. I made certain that the Duchess of Primberry was given the poison. She will soon meet her maker and you shall continue to get close to the duke in his time of grieving, and convince him to marry you. Soon, his daughter, Frances, will be ready to marry, and I shall ask for her hand. Between the two of us, my dearest Augusta, we shall have the duke’s fortune and lands. It won’t take much to see that the duke and his daughter’s deaths are quick and painless. Until then, we shall continue to convince people that I am really your nephew, and that I need to be near my aunt...who will, of course, be my only family.
Always yours, Edgar Stone.
Shock vibrated through Frances and her stomach twisted with nausea. Before she could stop it, her breakfast jumped from her stomach to her throat. She darted toward the nearest tree to vomit.
Anger shook through her trembling body as she clutched the letter, fear that she would lose the only evidence that showed her mother had been murdered...and that she and her father were next in line. That evil, wicked Edgar Stone, would not win. Neither would Augusta! Frances would see to it that both were thrown in the gaol...or hung.
She gripped her middle, feeling that her stomach still had more to release. Tears swam in her eyes. Hatred for that woman and her evil, so-called nephew, grew quickly inside of Frances. She wanted to wrap her fingers around the woman’s throat and squeeze...
No. She wouldn’t take a life. She wouldn’t sink to their level. Frances would let the law do their job and arrest the two frauds.
Poor Father! He would want to kill his own wife, too. But Frances would try to convince him that wasn’t the proper thing. Taking a life for a life was not the answer.
She stood and moved on unsteady legs toward the manor. Her stomach continued to rumble, but she fought back the feeling and concentrated on making it to the house to find her father. Tears swam in her eyes, making her vision blurry. No matter how many times she wiped away the moisture, more would come.
“Frances!”
She stopped and turned toward the man hurrying toward her, waving his arm. She blinked again, and recognized Adam...Lord Calvin. Once again, she swiped the wetness under her eyes, hoping to finally remove the tears dampening her face.
“Frances, something awful has happened—” His words stopped when he stood in front of her. His gaze swept over her face. “Frances, what is amiss, my dear?”
Raising her shaky hand that still held the letter, she presented it to him. “I...just found this,” she ended with a catch in her voice.
His forehead creased with worry lines as he took the letter and opened it. He scanned the contents and his eyes widened. His gaze jumped back to hers.
“Edgar Stone killed your mother?”
She nodded as tears filled her eyes again. “Yes, and he wants to kill me and my father, as well.”
Lord Calvin stepped closer and took her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest. Immediately, she realized he wasn’t anything like Nash. Still, it was nice of him to try to comfort her right now.
“There’s actually more,” he said in a low tone.
She raised her head. “More?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here. Edgar has kidnapped Nash and plans to kill him, but I don’t know where he has taken him.”
Anger rushed through her once again. She pushed away from Lord Calvin. “Did you see Edgar take him?”
“Yes, but I was on foot and Edgar was on horseback. All I know is that they must be somewhere near your estate.”
Panicked, she couldn’t think straight. Nash was in trouble, and she needed to rescue him. Her head throbbed with frustration as she tried thinking of where on her father’s property the madman could keep her beloved.
Groaning with uselessness, she rubbed her forehead. Think, Frances! Her gaze rested on Lord Calvin’s attire—long, black coat...top hat. Realization smacked her from out of nowhere.
“Adam...were you at my house last night? Did you enter through the west wing door?”
Lord Calvin scowled. “Frances, we don’t have time for this. You need to help me find Edgar before he kills Nash.”
She couldn’t understand any of this, and her mind swam with confusion. Why was Adam so hell-bent on trying to find Edgar? What was Adam’s purpose? To save Nash or to catch Edgar?
What was going on? Her questions needed to be answered quickly, before she was the one going insane.
TWENTY-TWO
Adam grasped Frances’ arm and tugged as he started them back around the house. Irritation inside of her overrode the moment, and she stopped short, jerking her hand away from him. “I’m not going another step until you tell me what is going on.”
Inhaling through his mouth, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Tell me the truth, Adam.”
His eyes darkened with his scowl. “I’m Lord Calvin. Will you please remember that?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me the truth, please?”
He sighed and folded his arms. “Remember when I told you I was a spy for the Prince Regent?”
She nodded.
“One of the men I had suspected of treason for a while now is Edgar Stone. I followed him here. That’s why I came back.”
“So all of this was just an assignment?”
“Yes...although, I’m glad I told you the truth about my identity.”
She shrugged. “Go on.”
“I suspected Edgar was working with someone, but it wasn’t until I met your stepmother when I knew who that person was.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Augusta?”
“Yes. She and Edgar have been supporters of Napoleon Bonaparte from the very beginning. They rob people of their money as a way of getting back at the Prince Regent. Every person that the prince has awarded—like your father—Edgar and Augusta are determined to ruin their lives. They have chosen your family now.”
“By killing my mother,” she shouted as tears sprang to her eyes.
“Yes. That was Edgar’s first mistake. I assure you, he will be arrested, along with Augusta.”
“Has she killed anyone?”
“No, however she is Edgar’s accomplice, which is not good for her.”
Finally, things started adding up in Frances’ mind. No wonder she hadn’t fully trusted Augusta. Now it made sense as to why she didn’t like Edgar from the moment she met him. Was her guardian angel mother trying to protect Frances? She wanted to think so.
“So why would Edgar take Nash?”
“To get him out of the way so he can marry you.” He pointed to the letter he still held. “Remember, that’s part of their plan.”
“Make sure you keep that letter safe, Calvin. That’s the only proof we have of him killing my mother.” Her voice broke again.
He stepped toward her and gathered her in his arms. “Frances, you can trust me to do just that. Consider it a way of me apologizing for all I have put you through.” He pulled back and looked into her eyes filling with tears. “I do still love you, but...things have changed. I no longer wish to marry you.”
She managed a small smile. “Do not fret, dear Calvin. I don’t wish to marry you, either. I’m completely in love with Nash.”
“I know. I could tell last night at the ball. You never looked upon me as you did him last evening. I’m glad you found someone to be with.”
Sniffing, she pulled away and wiped the tears off her face. “All right now, let me concentrate on where Edgar would have taken Nash. Are you sure he took him somewhere on my father’s property?”
“Yes. I’m wondering if he is going to kill Nash and make it look like your father did it.”
She snorted a laugh. “What an idiot. My father loves Nash and cannot wait until we are wed.”
“Edgar doesn’t know this.”
“True.” She paused, thinking of where the evil man might have taken her true love. Immediately, she recalled seeing an old shack on the property. It was one of the first shacks built that housed the servants many years ago.
“I think I know where he is.”
NASH STOOD WITH HIS unbound hands folded across his chest as he watched in humor as Edgar danced around him. The man looked like a cross between a boxer and an Indian trying to do a rain dance. But the man was serious as he hopped around, holding up his fists. Of course, he had yet to throw the first punch.
Thankfully, Nash’s criticism had worked. Edgar wanted to feel like a real man and fight Nash. But if something didn’t happen soon, he’d think the man wanted to dance with him, instead.
“I say, Englewood,” Edgar said in a snarky tone, “you stand there as though you don’t expect me to clobber you.”
“You know, Stone, for once, you’re right.”
Edgar stalled as confusion etched in his dim-witted expression. Nash would bet good money the man was thinking over what had just been said.
“So...you aren’t going to fight me at all?” He shook his head, still holding up his fists. “Perhaps you are the one who isn’t a real man.”
Nash sighed and lowered his arms. Edgar’s frame stiffened and he lifted his hands higher.
“I suppose,” Nash said slowly, “that I shouldn’t feel guilty if I hurt you.”
“Ha!” Edgar spit at him. “I daresay you are stalling. Now I can see you are the weakling.”
Nash rolled his eyes. The insipid man asked for it, and he was going to get it.
In one quick movement, Nash fisted his hand and punched Edgar square in the nose. The sound of bones crunching rented the air. The man didn’t even have time to block the punch.
Edgar screamed like a child and covered his bloody nose. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and landing on the ground. He then fished through his pocket and pulled out a knife, pointing it at Nash.
He wanted to laugh. Did the man actually think that was going to scare him? He shrugged and in another swift movement, kicked the knife out of his hands. Once again, the sound of bones crunching pulsed through the air.
Swearing—and crying—Edgar cradled his injured hand and his broken nose. The pathetic man curled on the ground and rocked back and forth. A chuckle escaped Nash’s throat. At least the man tried to prove he had a spine. Sadly, though, he didn’t succeed.
“I swear this to you now,” Nash said with tight lips as he glared at the pathetic man, “I will get in touch with the magistrate and have you arrested for kidnapping me. I’ll also have him look into your lineage, because I highly doubt you are a real lord. Gentlemen do not act this way, I assure you.”
Nash turned to leave, but decided he’d better tie Edgar up. After all, the man was a coward. He’d run and hide to keep from being arrested.
Nash searched the floor, looking for the ropes that had bound his wrists together. They were right over here... A movement from outside pulled his attention toward the door just as Augusta entered. In her hand, she held a pistol, pointing right at him.
He stood still, waiting and wondering what she’d do next. Her gaze shifted to the floor where Edgar was curled in a ball, whimpering like a baby. Her expression hardened and her gaze whipped back to Nash.
