knew the Marquess would try again to charm her into setting him free. And she wasn’t sure how long she could resist, unless she kept away from him completely. It would be best if she left him to Martin. Best for her. Not for him, given Martin’s present mood.
Coward.
And what if his uncle wouldn’t pay the ransom? What would they do then? Not only would they not have the money they needed, they’d have the Marquess bent on revenge. If only she had something he wanted in exchange for the mortgage.
There was one thing he seemed to want. Her. And that was out of the question. Wasn’t it? Was it really too high a price to pay for what she’d done?
She inhaled a deep breath. ‘Bring ’is horse inside,’ she said to Martin. ‘We needs to talk.’
They did very little talking on the way back to her cottage after leaving their horses at Martin’s cousin’s farm. Anger surrounded Martin like a wall Eleanor could almost touch; while she regretted causing him upset, his grim silence left her free to mull over her options.
The Marquess did like her. He kissed her when she was Ellie. And he kissed her when she was Lady Moonlight. And instead of kissing her, he could easily have overpowered her before Martin came back. He’d been too busy kissing her to save his own neck, the rake, and she’d thanked him by chaining him to a wall. She winced.
But if she took this step, she’d be well and truly ruined. Wasn’t she already far beyond the pale of what was acceptable? A thief, and, if this afternoon was anything to go by, a wanton. Her stomach gave a horrid little lurch, the kind that stops your breath at the knowledge of the inevitable. It didn’t matter. She was the one who’d created the mess, she should be the one to pay the price. Not the Marquess. Certainly not Sissy and William. And definitely not Martin. It also would not lead to prison.
But she’d have to get Martin out of the way.
Once inside the cottage, Martin put his hands on his hips and glowered. She braced herself for a lecture. She was actually surprised he’d lasted this long before taking her to task.
‘What is it you want to say, Martin?’
‘I’d like to know what you thought you were doing with that lordling. Don’t you understand? He could…’ He took a breath. ‘You don’t know what these men of the world are like.’
A flash of heat scalded her cheeks. Martin thought of her as an innocent, but what had happened out at the barn wasn’t all one-sided by any means. Where the Marquess was concerned, it seemed she didn’t have an iota of control.
‘It wasn’t what you think,’ she muttered. ‘There was a spider.’ Martin knew how she hated the horrid crawly things.
‘Well, if you hadn’t been rolling around the grass you wouldn’t have seen a spider. I know what I saw, and he had his hands on you.’
And she hadn’t resisted. Not for a minute. Shame flooded through her at the look of disgust in his eyes, even though she knew he was trying to hide it.
‘Give up this nonsense, my lady,’ he pleaded. ‘Before you end up on the gallows, or worse.’
Unfortunately, worse seemed to be the only alternative. She avoided his gaze, fearing he would sense something amiss. ‘You are right. This is not going to work.’
Martin let go a long breath. ‘Thank God. I’ll go and set him free.’
‘No. I’ll do that first thing in the morning.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I need you to take a message to William. Right away. Then go to Lady Sissy and wait.’
‘You will be there when I get back?’
‘No.’
He looked startled, then worried. He opened his mouth to argue.
She forestalled him. ‘It is all in the note to William. I’m going to Scotland to visit Molly MacDonald—you know she’s been begging to see me for weeks. I can’t risk the Marquess discovering my whereabouts.’
The worry on his face didn’t ease. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I know I am.’
She pulled out paper and a quill and sat down at the kitchen table while Martin paced back and forth, as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind. She ignored him. First she wrote a short note to Mr Jarvis, telling him the money was on the way. Next a note to Molly, asking her to forward her letters on to William when they arrived and promising to explain the whole when she arrived in a few weeks’ time. ‘I want you to post these for me in the morning.’
Martin halted and nodded.
The next letter was to William. Explaining the mess she’d caused and begging him to wait with Sissy until he heard from her that all was resolved. She sanded and sealed the note. ‘You will take this to Portsmouth and leave it with the harbour master. Stress that it must be put into William’s hands the moment his ship arrives.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he understands. You will take care, my lady? Setting him free and all?’
‘Yes, Martin. I know exactly what I have to do. Give me the key.’
She handed him the letters and he gave her the key to the Marquess’s shackles.
‘I’ll wait until you have time to get well on the road,’ she said. ‘Tell William not to worry when you see him. And, Martin, whatever you do, do not bring him here. The Marquess is not to blame for this.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Something tells me you are keeping something back. You should go to your brother yourself. Tell him the whole story to his face.’
No fool, Martin Brown. ‘Martin, do this and I promise I will never ask you for aught else. Now make haste. You don’t want to miss William’s arrival.’
He sighed. ‘Very well, my lady. But I will keep you to your word.’
Another night in the pitch black with only his mare’s soft breathing for company. Instead of kissing the wench, he should have forced her to untie him. Used her as a hostage. Instead he’d let his lust overcome reason.
That and her tears. He hated to see any woman cry. Something that had cost him dear over the years in farewell trinkets.
Where the hell was Le Clere? Surely a ransom note would have had him scouring the countryside? And Dan knew of this place. He would have told Johnson where to look.
An owl hooted. Had something disturbed it? Garrick listened. Nothing. He returned to his fingertip exploration of every board in the wall behind him, every crevice within reach on the floor. One little nail to poke in the padlock was all he asked.
A splinter drove under his fingernail, sharp and agonising. He cursed.
‘Is that you, my lord?’ The whisper came from the direction of the door.
Puzzled, Garrick peered into the impenetrable
