Runaway Lady

‘I’m here because the Dutch are blockading the Thames,’ Harry replied, secretly pleased she’d challenged his deliberately provocative behaviour so directly. When he’d heard he would be confronting a vengeful widow, he’d been afraid he might have to deal with tears and emotional pleas.

Although he couldn’t see her face, he saw her gloved fingers tighten on the mask, and sensed an increased tension grip her body. He was satisfied that whatever else might or might not be the truth, the lady was indeed sensitive to mention of England’s current enemy.

‘And what has that to do with my notice?’ she asked sharply.

‘I was going to sign up on a merchantman, but until the blockade is lifted…’ He shrugged. ‘If I don’t work, I don’t eat.’

‘What if the blockade is lifted and the ships sail before you can return to London?’ she asked.

‘There’s always another ship,’ he said nonchalantly, which was true, although he hadn’t built his fortune by habitually letting the initiative slide. ‘I am here, in need of work. What is it you want me to do?’

‘With such an arrogant, heedless attitude, I am surprised you ever find anyone willing to hire you,’ the lady said tartly.

‘They hire me because I am very good at what I do.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Many things.’

‘Be more specific. Can you use that sword by your side?’

Harry laughed. ‘I’m hardly likely to say no,’ he pointed out. ‘I have guarded the passage of men and goods along many dangerous routes, from Scanderoon to Aleppo, Smyrna to Istanbul.’

The mask moved slightly as the lady looked Harry carefully up and down.

The fifteen years he’d spent in the Levant meant he was not used to being in the company of women. Whenever he was in the presence of his sister-in-law, Mary, he felt ill at ease, anxious that he do nothing to alarm her or embarrass his brother, Richard. After the Dutch attack on the English ships he’d escorted Richard, Mary and their newborn son to Mary’s family home in Bedfordshire. Once there, Harry had been invited by Mary’s parents to remain as an honoured guest, but he’d felt so uncomfortable in the presence of his sister-in-law and all her female relatives he’d claimed he had business to attend to in London. He’d given his apologies as courteously as he could, while inwardly castigating himself for his lack of social address. But when he’d heard the news from Swiftbourne that a Dutch agent was recruiting men at Richard’s coffee-house he was glad his return to London meant he was available to investigate the matter.

The expressionless scrutiny by the masked lady was an odd, potentially disturbing experience, but it left Harry unmoved. If it had been Richard’s wife, or one of her sisters, studying him so closely Harry would have felt very unsettled—concerned he had either offended the lady or revealed his ignorance of the manners of polite English society in some subtle, unintentional way. But he felt no such qualms in the presence of the spy. What the lady saw was what she got. And since she hadn’t already dismissed him he was beginning to suspect he could be just what she wanted.

If she really was a Dutch agent, recruiting men to work against England from within its borders, her interest in him might not be so surprising. Not if Swiftbourne’s parting shot was correct. ‘You have a lean and hungry look, Harry,’ his former guardian had said. ‘The kind of man any conscienceless agent would want to employ.’

‘You are judging me by yourself, my lord,’ Harry had replied drily, and received a characteristically enigmatic smile in response.

‘It will be your duty to protect me,’ the lady said, her words cutting across his thoughts.

‘From whom?’

‘My lord’s former…former mistress—her servants, that is.’

Harry’s eyes widened briefly before he controlled his expression. Would a grieving widow have taken a lover already? Perhaps she hadn’t been so distressed by her husband’s death? But if she was enjoying her new freedom, it cast doubt over the claim she was determined to avenge her husband.

‘She is jealous, you see.’ The mask trembled briefly, before the lady’s hand steadied once more. Harry noted the tell-tale gesture and immediately suspected this was yet another lie.

‘Despite what you said, I assure you my beauty does not drive most men wild,’ said the masked lady, and from her tone he was inclined to believe she meant it. ‘But my lord is quite fond of me. Very fond of me. Besotted. I mean, devoted,’ she corrected herself quickly. ‘Unfortunately, his former mistress… Well, she wants to scratch my eyes out.’

‘You want to hire me to protect you from a cat fight?’ Harry exclaimed.

‘Of course not! I would never demean myself…she has servants, of course. They might try to cause me trouble on my journey to Portsmouth.’

‘Indeed. And what about your besotted, devoted lord?’ Harry found her description of her nameless lover very unconvincing.

‘What about him?’ the masked lady said uneasily.

‘Why did so devoted a gentleman ever let you out of his sight? Why is he not providing for your comfort and safety? Did he misuse his former mistress or fail to provide adequately for her when they parted? Does he know you are hiring a manservant in the back room of a coffee-house? For my own future well-being, I must ask—is he a reasonable man, or prone to jealousy—?’

‘Very reasonable. Very reasonable,’ the lady broke in hastily. ‘He is the soul of discretion, of good sense—’

‘Yet he left you alone in London at the mercy of his former mistress while he went to Portsmouth?’ Harry made no attempt to hide the scepticism in his voice.

‘Well, um…it’s the Dutch, of course,’ the lady said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘He cannot leave his post until this business with the Dutch is resolved.’

Harry noticed the almost irritated note in her voice. What kind of spy considered war a nuisance?

‘Is your lover married?’ he asked.

‘What? Of course not!’ The mask quivered with outrage at the suggestion. ‘Do you think I’d have an affair with a married man?’

‘If he’s not married already, why isn’t he going to marry you?’ Harry asked.

There was another long silence. ‘You are right,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t thought of it before, but you are completely correct. He should be marrying me and, as soon as the opportunity arises, I will draw it to his attention.’

‘Madam, I cannot believe a lady possessed of such firm resolve needs me to protect you from a mere former mistress,’ said Harry. ‘Let me spare you the expense of my hire—’

‘Sit down!’ she all but shrieked as he started to stand up. ‘I do need you. I definitely do need you.’

‘Is that so?’ Harry relaxed back onto the chair, satisfied his bluff had worked. He had no idea what the lady was up to but, spy or not, he intended to find out. ‘And when will I see your face? Or do you intend to hold that mask in front of you all the way to Portsmouth?’

‘Masks are very fashionable,’ she said, somewhat defensively. ‘Respectable ladies wear them to the theatre and even to market or in the street.’

Since Harry hadn’t ventured near the theatre since his return to London, he couldn’t comment on that. ‘But you are not, by your own admission, a respectable woman,’ he pointed out. ‘At least, not until you coerce your lord into marrying you. I am surprised your ambition needed to be prompted in that regard.’

‘I am not hiring you to cast judgement upon my morals, but to protect my person from harm,’ said the lady coldly.

‘When will I see your face?’ Harry repeated. ‘I don’t work for anyone unless I have looked into their unmasked face.’

‘In ten minutes’ time,’ she said. ‘If you accept the post and agree to leave immediately, you will see my face. Do you wish to serve me?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

‘I will hire you only on condition that you promise to do everything in your power to protect me—and do nothing to harm me.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Harry was startled by her demand. It also gave him pause. He didn’t believe her story of her absent lover or the jealous former mistress. She hadn’t provided any evidence that she was a Dutch spy, but she might yet prove to be a traitor. Harry had never broken a promise, and he wasn’t prepared to make a blind commitment now.

‘I will protect you as long as you do no harm to anyone else,’ he said.

‘I just want you to keep me alive.’ The words seemed to burst from her of their own volition. A desperate plea she had no control over. Harry’s gut tightened as he heard the unmistakable fear in her voice.

‘I will not let anyone hurt you,’ he said brusquely, even as he damned his own instinctive urge to protect.

‘Thank you.’ She visibly relaxed, tension ebbing from her body. ‘You will be well rewarded.’ Without any warning she lowered the mask to the table.

Chapter Two

The sudden revelation of her face threw Harry completely off balance. With the mask in place he’d been able to suppress the awareness he was dealing with a woman. He’d even managed to consider her comments about her lover as if they were no more than pieces in an intellectual puzzle.

As soon as he saw her face that illusion was destroyed. She was unmistakably feminine, with a heart-shaped face and smooth, unblemished skin. Her lips were soft and slightly parted, and she was looking at him with vulnerable hopefulness in her large brown eyes. For several heartbeats he lost himself completely in her gaze. He wanted to stroke her cheek and touch her lips to see if they were as soft as they looked. She’d claimed she wasn’t beautiful—but now Harry knew that had been another lie. She was captivating. He felt his body stir with more primitive arousal and cursed himself that he had so little experience with women that one glance at a lovely face should have such a potent impact upon him. He preferred always to be in a position of control.

He growled a Turkish curse in his throat. ‘Do not look at me like that,’ he warned, more harshly than he’d intended. ‘You’re paying me to keep you alive, nothing else.’

Confusion clouded her eyes for a moment; then she straightened her spine, her lips firmed and temper sparked in her eyes.

‘That’s all I expect from you,’ she said crisply. ‘I have already hired a coach. I will give orders for it to be made ready and then we will leave.’

Cornwall—Saturday, 15 June 1667

‘I wonder where Saskia is now?’ Anne said, her voice low and shaky.

‘I hope to God she is safe.’ Sir Benjamin Trevithick’s hands clenched into useless fists as he tried to control his fear and rage.

‘I am sure she is. She was so strong and brave when we overheard…when we…’

‘You are strong and brave too.’ With an effort of will Benjamin relaxed his hand and cupped the side of Anne’s face—the uninjured side. Her other check and her eye were still badly bruised from the back-handed blow which had knocked her to the floor a week ago.

The shocking moment when Lady Abergrave had lashed out at Anne was burned into Benjamin’s memory. He’d woken early, restless because he’d had an uncomfortable night. Anne had brought breakfast to his bedchamber, just as she had done every day since he’d broken his leg. He’d known at once that something was troubling her, but before he had a chance to ask what was wrong, his aunt and Tancock had come into the room.

Anne had jumped at the sight of her stepmother, her face paling until Benjamin feared she might faint.

‘Where’s Saskia?’ Lady Abergrave demanded.

‘She…she had a headache,’ Anne stammered.

‘Where is she?’

Anne’s eyes grew huge with fear and her voice sank almost to a whisper as she replied, ‘In…in bed, I suppose.’

‘She’s not in bed.’ Lady Abergrave advanced on Anne.

‘She was going for a walk to clear her head, and then she was going to bed,’ Anne said, a little more firmly.

‘Liar!’ Lady Abergrave struck her stepdaughter so hard Anne staggered and landed in a shaken heap on the floor by Benjamin’s bed.

Every time Benjamin remembered that moment he was filled with renewed horror and shame. He’d been trapped beneath the sheets by his broken leg, desperately reaching for his crutches, unable to protect Anne. All he’d managed to do was fall out of bed beside her, powerless to intervene.

He stroked the soft skin of her unhurt cheek with his thumb, trying to comfort her as he remembered how they’d been locked together in his bedchamber while Tancock and his henchmen went in search of Saskia. Anne had told him in whispers about the deadly conversation she and Saskia had overheard. When Lady Abergrave and Tancock returned his aunt had been in an even worse temper, but he’d felt a flood of relief because they hadn’t found Saskia. They hadn’t given up looking for her. Benjamin knew that Tancock and at least one other man had gone in further pursuit of her. He prayed continuously that his sister should remain safe, but the longer she was gone the more worried he became.

He was also effectively a prisoner in his own house. He wasn’t willing to accept that situation without a fight, but he trusted the servants even less than Saskia had. They’d all received their wages from Lady Abergrave for years. They might understand in theory that in a few days’ time Benjamin would be master of Trevithick, but immediate power lay in his aunt’s hands, enforced by the core members of her retinue. Men like Tancock, who had already proved they would follow her orders without compunction.

Footsteps sounded in the gallery outside the bedchamber. Benjamin lifted his head, apprehension knotting his stomach. Ned Fenwick, a large, scarred manservant, came cautiously into the room, the knife in his hand very visible. Lady Abergrave followed, carrying Benjamin’s crutches. Without them he was completely immobile.

‘Come here, girl,’ Lady Abergrave ordered.

Anne stood up and took a few reluctant steps forward. As soon as she was well clear of Benjamin, Fenwick reached out and seized her arm. Benjamin’s hands clenched.

Lady Abergrave saw the gesture and smiled mockingly. ‘Your obedience buys Anne’s continued good health,’ she said.

‘If anything happens to her, you will have no power over me at all,’ Benjamin returned, his muscles trembling from the effort to maintain his self-control. Lady Abergrave’s willingness to threaten her stepdaughter to force his co-operation limited his options even more effectively than the questionable loyalty of the servants and her regular removal of his crutches.

‘Sir William Boscawen has just arrived at the quay,’ said Lady Abergrave, laying Benjamin’s crutches out of reach as Fenwick took Anne out of the room. Benjamin knew she’d brought them for the sake of appearances in front of the visitor and that they would be removed as soon as Sir William had gone. ‘I will bring him up to see you. Remember, if you say anything out of turn, it will be Anne who suffers.’

A few minutes later Benjamin struggled to keep his composure as he accepted Sir William’s commiserations on breaking his leg so close to reaching his twenty-first birthday. For nearly an hour he made polite conversation with Sir William and Lady Abergrave while he desperately tried to think of some discreet way of communicating the danger to his visitor. Sir William was a genial neighbour, but he was neither decisive nor particularly intelligent. Far worse, from Benjamin’s point of view, he was one of the many men who had courted Lady Abergrave in her youth—and remained equally dazzled by her twenty years later. He would never believe she had murderous intentions towards her nephew. But if Lady Abergrave realised Benjamin had tried to seek the magistrate’s help, she would retaliate by hurting Anne.

London—Saturday, 15 June 1667

It took only a few minutes for Saskia to let Johanna know she was leaving the coffee-house and collect the bag containing the few possessions she’d acquired since leaving Cornwall. She set off for the livery stable, very conscious of her new manservant and protector striding beside her. For the first few yards he gained ground on her. After that he moderated his pace to match hers. She had a ridiculous urge to show him she could walk just as fast as he could—which felt very strange, because for so long she had curbed her physical energy in Pieter’s presence.

A long-suppressed memory of her first winter in Amsterdam flashed into her mind. It was before Pieter’s accident, and they’d both gone skating on the frozen canals of the city. Pieter had been strong and quick, with all the assurance on the ice of one who’d learned to skate almost as soon as he could walk. At first she’d been nervous and hesitant, but she’d quickly gained her balance and her confidence. She’d been exhilarated by her new-found skill, laughingly, perhaps shockingly, challenging Pieter to race with her. They’d had that one winter of carefree joy—then Pieter had been crippled and her expectations for her future had irrevocably changed.

The fugitive awareness flickered in her mind that, even when he was whole and healthy, Pieter had never possessed quite the virile energy of the man walking beside her. Then she pushed aside her memories and her unsettling response to her companion. Now they were in public she was once more holding the mask to her face. It was Tancock she was hiding from, but it was also a relief to conceal her expression from her new manservant’s far too intense and disturbing scrutiny. It occurred to her that, even though she had supposedly been the one conducting the interview, he had asked nearly all the questions. She would have to rectify that at the earliest opportunity. She needed to know more about him before she trusted her life and Benjamin’s in his hands.

‘It would be more efficient if you tied it on,’ he said, indicating the mask.

‘There’s a button I should bite to hold it in place,’ she replied, ‘but then I would not be able to talk. What’s your name?’

‘Harry Dixon. What’s yours?’

‘Sarah Brewster.’ Thinking up a suitably English name had been one of the first things she’d done. She owed her Christian name to her Dutch mother, and it was far too unusual to use openly in her current situation. She was still pleased with her new English name. She was less convinced that the story she and Johanna had invented about the jealous former mistress was equally satisfactory, but she’d needed an explanation for why she required protection. Johanna had suggested she hint she was an actress, but the opportunity had never arisen.

‘We’re leaving for Portsmouth this afternoon, Mistress Brewster?’

‘Yes.’ Portsmouth was not their destination, but she didn’t intend to reveal where they were really going until they were well on their way. Guildford would be soon enough. They wouldn’t get that far today, but Saskia was conscious of every minute ticking by, taking them closer to Benjamin’s twenty-first birthday on the twenty-second of June.

She had to rescue him before then. She was very afraid that, if she didn’t, as soon as Benjamin gained control of his inheritance he would be forced to sign a will in Lady Abergrave’s favour and then he would be killed. That had been Lady Abergrave and Tancock’s original plan when Saskia had been out of their reach in Amsterdam. Surely Lady Abergrave wouldn’t risk killing Benjamin before his birthday while Saskia was still alive? She must know that as long Saskia had breath in her body, she would seek justice for her brother. But Saskia didn’t dare predict how her aunt might behave. As fear for Benjamin overrode every other thought, she quickened her pace until she was almost running.

‘You are very eager to return to your lover’s arms,’ said Harry Dixon.

‘Oh… Yes.’ Jarred out of her preoccupation, Saskia flushed behind the mask. ‘That is, I have a great deal to do when I reach Portsmouth,’ she added hastily. She was very glad their arrival at the livery stable cut short any further conversation about her supposed lover. But her new servant immediately created another complication by insisting he ride beside the coach rather than sitting next the coachman. A saddle horse was an additional expense Saskia hadn’t anticipated.

‘You are hiring me to protect you. If you have any sense, you won’t interfere with the arrangements I make,’ Harry said, when she challenged him.

‘I’m paying for your arrangements,’ she pointed out.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Can’t you afford a horse for me?’

‘Of course.’ The problem for Saskia wasn’t lack of resources, but a limited supply of ready coins. She’d arrived in Plymouth from Amsterdam with four bills of exchange concealed in the pocket beneath her skirts. She’d converted one of the bills into English coins in Plymouth on her first day in England, and she’d used that money to pay her way to London. Unfortunately, the Dutch attack meant she was temporarily unable to convert her other bills of exchange into cash. She’d given one to Johanna in return for the clothes and coins the other woman had provided, but she would have to wait before the crisis between the Dutch and the English was resolved before she could present the others to one of London’s goldsmith-bankers.

She wasn’t yet ready to reveal the existence of the bills of exchange to Harry Dixon, but once they had saved Benjamin she planned to reward him by giving them both to him—and perhaps more besides. Her brother’s life meant far more to her than money.

‘Choose a horse,’ she ordered. ‘And then let us be on our way without any further delay.’

Leaving London was a slow business. They drove through the ruins of the burned City and were delayed for over an hour by the heavy traffic of carts and people before finally crossing London Bridge into Lambeth. Saskia wanted to scream with frustration—or at the very least get out and walk. But she knew that made no sense. Once they were out of London they would make better time.

She relaxed slightly once the coach was rumbling steadily forwards. The first part of her mission had been successfully accomplished. She was on her way back to Benjamin. Now she must plan her next steps. How was she going to rescue her brother when she reached Cornwall? And how was she going to bring Lady Abergrave and Tancock to justice? She had to make sure that neither of them could ever be a threat to her family again.

She still hadn’t solved the problems by the time they arrived at the Coach and Horses inn at Kingston-upon-Thames. It was late evening and Harry announced they would stay there for the night.

‘We can go a few more miles at least,’ Saskia protested.

‘Are we staying here or not?’ the coachman asked.

‘We’re staying,’ Harry said, and the coachman obeyed immediately without waiting for Saskia’s response.

Harry’s automatic assumption of command irritated Saskia. She’d managed Pieter’s business for years. She wasn’t used to having her wishes ignored or overruled. She almost challenged him there and then, but over the years she’d learned to pick her battles. A public argument with Harry was unlikely to enhance her authority in either his eyes or the coachman’s—particularly when he was right. Despite her restless need to keep moving, she knew the waning moon would provide little light for the journey. It made sense to stop for the night and continue early in the morning. At least it would give her an opportunity to learn more about her new manservant before she risked trusting him with a portion of the truth.

Harry was well aware of Sarah Brewster’s irritation. She was clearly impatient to complete her journey. He thought she was also annoyed with him for giving orders so freely, but that didn’t worry him. He was used to taking command and he had two priorities: the first was to establish whether she was indeed Saskia van Buren and a traitor; the second was to keep his promise to protect her. He would do whatever was necessary to achieve those goals. He had no intention of compromising his efforts by pandering to his new employer’s whims, even though she was a distractingly attractive woman.