In protest, Harper began barking, the throaty rumbling punctuated by indignant protests from the Weasels.
“Quiet!” she commanded.
The cacophony ceased.
“You’re right,” said Raven. “We need to make a plan.”
“We have one,” replied Charlotte. “You heard Wrex. He told us to remain here and stay out of trouble.” Though in all honesty, she was no happier about the order than they were.
“But he needs our help to ensure that the intruder doesn’t escape!” countered Raven. “There are any number of ways for the varlet to slip out of the house.”
That was true . . .
Charlotte drew in a measured breath and glanced back at the closed door, weighing her options.
A furtive scuff andclick.
She spun around—just in time to see the tip of Harper’s tail disappear into the reading area.
“Wait!”
Too late.She heard the French doors open, and by the time she stepped out to the back terrace, the Weasels and the hound had disappeared into the midnight shadows.
“Drat,” muttered Charlotte, after stepping back inside and closing the doors. She hesitated for a long moment, then picked up the wrought-iron poker leaning against the hearth and hurried for the corridor.
* * *
Wrexford skidded through a sharp turn and sprinted down the darkened corridor leading to the West Wing, mentally gauging his chances of catching the intruder as he came down the main stairs.
The odds were good, decided the earl, thanks to Raven’s batlike hearing. Unless the intruder was unnaturally fleet of foot, the fellow was likely in for a rude surprise. No doubt he had expected everyone to be sound asleep, their slumber deepened by copious amounts of celebratory champagne.
However, the thud of racing steps descending the stairs urged Wrexford to quicken his pace.
Damnation, the fellow is faster than I thought.
He rounded the corner just as a dark-clad figure leapt over the two remaining treads and hit the floor running. With a well-timed swerve, the intruder narrowly avoided a potted palm and then headed for the back entrance by the mud room for riding boots and oilskins.
Intent on catching the fellow before he escaped from the house, Wrexford accelerated—only to collide with Cordelia as she came flying down the stairs. Her flapping wrapper tangled around his foot, causing him to stumble.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, grabbing his arm and somehow keeping both of them upright.
The earl regained his balance, just as the sound of more footsteps echoed in the corridor. He pulled free from Cordelia’s hold and spun around, shielding her with his body.
“Lower that damn poker,” he said to Charlotte. “The intruder has fled, and the house is safe.”
“What—” began Charlotte.
“Keep our guests calm if any of them have been awoken by the ruckus.” Wrexford was already moving. “I’m going after him.”
Given the fellow’s speed, he doubted there was any chance of catching up to him after the unfortunate delay. However, he was not yet ready to give up the chase.
The back door by the mud room was swinging in the breeze. The earl barreled through the opening and jumped from the raised terrace down to the sloping lawns. Catching sight of his quarry in the moonlight, he threaded his way through a narrow orchard of apple trees and scrambled over a low stone wall.
The intruder was halfway across the back pasture and heading for a swath of woodland.
Wrexford set off in pursuit, only to catch a glimpse of a four-footed shadow running through the meadow grass, followed by two wraithlike figures, pale as ghosts in their white nightshirts.
“Raven! Hawk! Stop at once!” he bellowed, hoping his words weren’t blown away in the wind.
