Turning round, he strode back over to Hope. ‘Is he…?’ she wept.
‘Shhh,’ the Viscount soothed, gathering her into his arms. As she calmed, he kissed her lightly on the lips and leaned back. ‘It’s not over yet love,’ he murmured, stroking her hair. ‘We still have to get out of here, and right now we have no idea whether that gunshot was delivered by Henry or those come to rescue us.’ He grimaced and stepped back. ‘But whatever happens, we cannot remain entombed down here with a dead man.’ He glanced back at the body on the floor and spied the pistol laying two feet away.
He grinned slowly. ‘And now we have a weapon. Let’s give Henry Atwood the reception he deserves.’ Dropping another light kiss on her forehead, he went to pick up the gun. ‘On my say so, could you do that err… thing you do with your voice again my love?’ He went to position himself by the door, so did not see Hope’s mortified flush.
Turning back to her he quirked a brow and added drily, ‘Just one more thing before you wake every ghost within a three-mile radius. Do you think you might refrain from shouting except under the direst circumstances once we are wed?’
∞∞∞
The stomach-churning mess in the large entrance hall would undoubtedly take an entire army of servants to clear up, but the Reverend’s sheepish comment of, ‘Mayhap we should have checked the Admiral for weapons before we stuffed him in the trunk,’ was paid no more than a passing heed. They were all far too afraid that the noise of the gunshots had alerted the remaining henchman to their presence, leaving them minutes at best to find Gabriel and Hope.
‘Mayhap Freddy can find them,’ faltered Grace in panic.
Before anyone had chance to answer, they heard an incoherent shout.
‘That’s Hope,’ exclaimed Reverend Shackleford. ‘I’d know those vocal cords anywhere.’
‘Which way did it come from?’ demanded Nicholas urgently. The rest shook their heads and the Duke briskly ordered everyone to remain still and listen. Two minutes later there was another muffled shout.
‘This way,’ the Reverend announced, letting go of the foxhound who took off with a single bark.
Freddy led them all down a hitherto unnoticed passageway which culminated in a small study. Without hesitation, the dog stood in front of a panelled wall wagging his tail enthusiastically. The shout came again, this time more urgent.
‘Tare an’ hounds,’ groaned the Reverend, ‘Hope’s being murdered as we speak.’
Nicholas, Adam, Roan and Malcolm began examining the wooden squares covering the wall. On the face of it, each one looked the same until abruptly Adam gave an exultant shout. Pressing something, there was a click and a door shaped section of the wall swung open.
‘About bloody time,’ muttered the Scotsman as they crowded round the entrance to a steep flight of stairs.
‘Grace, remain up here in this room’ ordered Nicholas, making no effort to soften his words. His wife opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again as her father threw her a cautionary look as he dragged Freddy away from the opening. ‘Be careful,’ was all she said in the end as the Duke began carefully descending.
‘Roan, with me,’ he ordered softly. ‘Adam, Malcolm, guard the top of the stairs. If the bastard manages to get past us, it’ll be all down to you two. Protect Grace first and foremost.’
‘Steady on,’ mumbled Reverend Shackleford a trifle indignantly. Percy simply hovered at the door, wringing his hands.
Seconds later the two men were at the bottom of the stairs, Just as Hope’s shout came again, this time with only a door muffling the deafening cry.
‘God’s teeth,’ muttered Roan looking incredulously at the Duke who raised his eyebrows in return. ‘Get ready,’ Nicholas murmured and silently began turning the key while Roan stood sideways at the entrance gripping his pistol in preparation.
‘After three,’ whispered the Duke, without looking up.
Seconds later he shoved his foot against the door, slamming it open. In the same heartbeat, Roan stepped forward, pistol first, only to come face to face with Gabriel Atwood who was pointing his own borrowed weapon directly towards the former sea captain’s face.
For a second, nobody moved, then a relieved grin slowly suffused the Viscount’s face. ‘What the bloody hell took you so long?’ he drawled, lowering his pistol. ‘Any more of Hope’s entreaties for help were like to render me deaf as a post.’
∞∞∞
With the demise of both Henry Atwood and his father, it wasn’t too difficult to ensure there was no scandal. Few people cared about the imprisonment of two anonymous cutthroats and certainly no one took note of a bizarre story involving a kidnapping by a man held in such high esteem. Indeed, the Admiral was buried with full military honours along with his son Henry.
The official account was that Benjamin Atwood had refused to believe his nephew dead. He’d been absent from London for several months desperately searching for Gabriel, determined to find him and bring him home. During his father’s absence, his devoted son Henry remained ensconced in Northwood Court, a diligent custodian of the Estate.
Naturally the Admiral eventually located his nephew, wounded and left for dead by the French, and after diligently nursing him back to health in a secret location, valiantly attempted to bring him back to England. Sadly, Benjamin Atwood lost his life after being struck by a mast during a violent storm that almost destroyed the fishing vessel on which they’d secured passage.
Henry Atwood, on hearing of his father’s tragic demise, and subsequently mad with grief accidentally fell down the stairs and broke his neck. The Admiral’s widow Caroline Atwood, on learning that both her husband and son had perished had taken herself off to a convent where she undertook a vow of silence.
‘And if they believe that bag of moonshine, they’ll believe anything,’ was Reverend Shackleford’s muttered verdict. His opinion was of course shared by those few who knew both the Admiral and Henry intimately, but no one cared enough to throw a rub in the way. Indeed, it was generally considered the whole Atwood family were slightly dicked in the nob and best left to their own devices.
Which suited the newly restored Viscount Northwood entirely.
