they overlooked it in the rain and darkness.
Sir Edward and his sons traveled swiftly, anxiety and fury mingling in their collective breasts. Sir Edward’s main thoughts were for the safe return of his daughter; those of his sons were of a more savage nature. Once they finally overtook Tynedale, and there was no doubt that they would, Tynedale would be lucky indeed if he lived to see another sunrise.
At every inn or tavern, and even the few houses nestled near the road that they came upon, they halted long enough to satisfy themselves that Tynedale had not stopped and taken refuge within. As the hours passed they grew weary and more discouraged and the confidence of the twins began to lag. Having ridden astride they had suffered the most from the vicious strength of the storm and when a shabby little tavern appeared on their right in the early hours of the morning, they were more than willing to stop.
The tavern was set well back from the road, almost hidden by a copse of shaggy trees, and if not for the winking yellow light coming from one of the windows, they would have ridden on by. A few bony horses were tied to the hitching rail, their backs hunched against the storm.
Leaving their horses to the care of the Anslowe coachman and the grubby ostler who had stumbled out of the tavern at the sound of their arrival, the four men entered the building. The tavern did not look to be the sort that catered to the gentry, but they were too discouraged and exhausted to care very much that the place was more likely the haunt of local highwaymen and suchlike than of gentlemen like themselves. All they wanted was a place to warm themselves by the fire and to partake of a drink of hot punch and perhaps swallow some sustenance.
The arrival of four gentlemen caused a stir, and after some furtive observation, a few of the inhabitants disappeared out the back door. The others watched the gentry with curiosity.
Sir Edward had begun to remove his greatcoat when he caught sight of the man seated at a scarred oak table near the fire.
“Tynedale!” he roared, striding across the room. His three sons having spotted their quarry almost simultaneously were fast on their father’s heels, their expressions murderous.
At the sound of his name, Tynedale glanced up from his contemplation of the tankard in front of him. He blanched and leapt to his feet. His gaze darted about for a way of escape, but there was none, the Anslowe men crowding him back into the darkened corner. The other inhabitants watched with interest, but no one moved to intervene.
Robert’s hand was at Tynedale’s throat, his face dark with fury. “Where is she?” he snarled. He shook Tynedale like a dog with a rat. “Speak! If you wish to live another second, tell us what you have done with her.”
Tynedale gargled some reply. Despite the icy cast to his eyes, Sir Edward said to his son with deceptive mildness, “My boy, perhaps if you loosen your grip just a trifle…”
Reluctantly Robert did so, his fingers relaxing fractionally.
Tynedale, gasping for breath and his eyes everywhere but on the faces of the men in front of him, muttered, “Have you gone mad? Why did you attack me?”
Robert’s teeth were bared as he growled, “You know very well why we are here. Damn you! Where is she?”
Recovering somewhat, Tynedale said, “I can see that you are laboring under great duress and for that reason, I shall not hold you accountable for your action.” Tynedale lifted his chin. “I am afraid,” he said, “that I have no idea what you are talking about. And as for a female…I am traveling alone—you may have seen my ditched curricle several miles back.” He nodded in the direction of the tavern keeper, a brawny fellow who stood behind a long counter watching the exchange. “If you do not believe that I am alone, ask him. He will tell you I arrived here an hour or more ago and that no one else—male or female—was with me.”
Robert’s hand tightened and Tynedale’s fingers clawed at the choking hold. “What have you done with her? Tell me or I will throttle you where you stand.”
“Er, excuse me, sir,” said the tavern owner in a diffident tone. “We don’t have many gentry stopping here and I do not mean to intrude into the business of my betters, but I can assure you that what the gentleman said is true: he arrived alone.”
Not content with the tavern keeper’s word, Sir Edward insisted upon a thorough search of the place. It did not take long and revealed no sign of Nell. Even an inspection of the ramshackle building that passed for a stable at the rear of the tavern turned up no clue as to Nell’s whereabouts.
Tynedale vehemently protested his innocence despite dire threats from Robert and the twins. As the minutes passed, Sir Edward began to have doubts. Perhaps he had been wrong. Nell had been snatched from her room, of that he was certain, and Tynedale seemed the likely culprit. But was it possible that he had been mistaken? Dread filled him. Had his darling daughter been spirited away by some nefarious fellow with something uglier than a runaway marriage on his mind? Was she, perhaps, even still in London, having been whisked away to some den of iniquity, to be forced into whoring? He shuddered. It was not unheard of for comely females to find themselves in such a position, but for it to have happened to someone of Nell’s station seemed impossible and Sir Edward could not believe that she had suffered such a fate. The fact remained, however, that someone had snatched Nell. With Tynedale eliminated, he could only wonder whom. And for what reason?
They could get nothing more out of Tynedale and eventually, with many a black look, removed themselves to a small table as far away from him as possible to discuss the situation. At a loss to know what to do next, it was decided that Sir Edward and Robert would return to London, watchful for any sign of Nell along the way. They were agreed to not abandon the suspicion that Tynedale had been the one to steal Nell. Because of that, and the impracticality of attempting a covert action with the coach, Drew and Henry would pretend to leave with them, but they would secret themselves nearby and watch and follow Tynedale. It was possible that he had hidden Nell somewhere nearby. And if he had…
It was the ache in her leg that woke Nell. As she struggled upright, daylight was seeping into the cottage, but it was cold and gray and a glance out the window revealed that the day would be the same. The worst of the storm seemed to have passed—a steady rain was falling but nothing like the downpour of the previous night. And Tynedale had not found her. With her back once again against the wall, she stretched and rubbed her eyes, disoriented from the events of the previous night.
The room felt warmer and Nell wrestled out of Tynedale’s cloak and pushed it aside. She looked down at her nightgown and made a face. Even protected by the cloak, it was ripped and torn in places and splattered with mud and who knew what other disgusting substances.
A sound—a snort? a cough?—alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Heart banging in her chest, she rose un-steadily to her feet. Her gaze fell upon the greatcoat and boots a second before she spied the dark head of the man who slept in a chair in front of the dying fire.
She gasped and shrank back, terror flooding through her. Tynedale had been bad enough, but to be at the mercy of a stranger, possibly a robber, a murderer or a highwayman was far worse. At least Tynedale had not frightened her. Not really.
Her gasp had been soft, but it had been enough and in one lithe movement the black-haired man surged to his feet. He spun around to face her, a silver-bladed knife appearing in one of his hands.
Nell’s eyes dominated her face, the tawny hair hanging in tousled glory around her slim shoulders. Helplessly she stared at the tall man who confronted her, thinking she had never seen such a dark, dangerous face in her life. His eyes were a bright, glittering green beneath the scowling black brows;
