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The carriage jerked and jolted to a halt. The door opened, and a black-clad figure stepped inside. Rachel struggled to keep her expression neutral.
“’Ere, now,” he said. “Where’s the guv’nor?”
“This is Lord Westhampton’s carriage,” Rachel replied, “if that is what you mean. Westhampton is back at his estate.”
The man was silent for a moment. Finally he asked, “Are you the missus, then?”
“I am Lady Westhampton,” Rachel admitted.
“Right. Well, I’m thinkin’ you can deliver the message, then.”
“The message?” Rachel felt as if she had stepped bizarrely into a scene from a play, one in which everyone knew the lines except her.
“Aye. Tell ’im he needs to watch ’is back. ’E’s gettin’ too close. There’s some’un wishes ’im ill.” He nodded, then sprang from the carriage.
Behind him, Rachel gazed in stunned silence.
“This is a suspense tale with a witty twist.”
—Romantic Times on The Hidden Heart
Secrets of the Heart
Candace Camp
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
1
Rachel leaned back against the soft velvet squabs of the carriage seat and stifled a sigh. She glanced across at Gabriela, who was curled up in a corner of her seat, asleep. She envied the girl the easy sleep of youth.
Rachel had not been able to fall asleep, despite the monotonous rumbling of the coach. She could not dismiss the odd feeling of ennui, even sorrow, that had plagued her ever since they’d left Westhampton yesterday morning. When Michael had handed her into the carriage, she had felt a distinct urge to turn back and say that she had decided to delay her trip for a few more days. But, of course, that had been impossible. She had already put it off three days longer than she had planned. She had to get Gabriela back to her guardians; they were waiting for her at Darkwater.
A shout outside the carriage startled Rachel from her reverie, and she lifted a corner of the curtain to look out. She could see nothing but the dusk of evening, the branches of the nearby trees a darker shape against the grayness. Then there was a shout from the coachman, and the carriage lurched forward. In the next moment, Rachel heard the sharp report of a gun. She dropped the curtain with a gasp.
The coachman’s voice rang out, calling to his horses, and the carriage jerked and jolted to a halt. Rachel grabbed the leather loop beside her seat and held on. Across from her, Gabriela let out a squeak of surprise as she tumbled unceremoniously to the floor. The girl scrambled back up onto the seat and turned to look at Rachel, wide eyed.
“What is it?” Gabriela whispered. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Rachel tried not to let her fear show. She could think of no good reason for the sound of gunfire or the coachman yanking his animals to a stop. What came to her mind was highwaymen, although it seemed bizarre to find them this far from London.
She heard voices and turned toward the door, her fingers curling into the palms of her hands. She would be brave, she thought, reminding herself that she had Gabriela now to look out for, and she tried to envision what her redoubtable sister-in-law Miranda would do—or her friend Jessica, with her soldier’s daughter’s courage. But she could not help a brief, desperate wish that Michael had decided to accompany them to Darkwater.
The door opened, and a black-clad figure stepped inside. Rachel struggled to keep her expression neutral. He was a smallish man, she told herself, and it was only the black attire and the scarf across the bottom of his face that made him seem sinister. She would give him her money and he would leave, and the incident would be over with no harm to anyone.
The man’s eyes above his mask looked startled, and he glanced around the carriage, then returned his gaze to Rachel. He looked, she thought with some astonishment, puzzled.
“’Ere, now,” he said somewhat plaintively and jerked down the scarf to reveal his entire face. “Where’s the guv’nor?”
Rachel’s fear subsided dramatically as she looked at his face, almost comical in its dismay. “I beg your pardon?” she asked, pleased at how calm her voice came out.
“The lord,” the man went on. “This is ’is carriage, ain’t it? I saw the sign on the door.”
“This is Lord Westhampton’s carriage,” Rachel replied, rather puzzled herself now. “His coat of arms is on the door, if that is what you mean.”
“Aye, that’s the one. Westhampton. It’s ’im I’m wanting.”
“I am afraid that you are in the wrong
