“No. Wait,” she whispered back.
The front door opened with a creak. Footsteps crossed the floor. A rasp as the panel opened. Then the ladder shook as someone climbed it. Maddie stopped breathing, her heart banging against her ribs. She aimed the pistol at the top of the ladder, steadying the firearm with both hands.
Hart called, and then his head appeared at the top. “Don’t shoot me. Good God.” He stared at the man who had roused himself and was spitting curses with fury. He turned to Maddie, surprise in his eyes. “You shot him?”
“I had to. He won’t die, will he?”
Hart crouched down and looked at the fellow, who spat at him. “Unfortunately, no. Excellent work, ladies.”
Maddie couldn’t decide whether to burst into tears or fall into his arms. She did neither. Setting an example for Jane and for Hart, if she was honest, she calmly allowed him to assist her down the ladder.
“It must have been a long, terrifying night.” His hands released her waist, leaving some of his reassuring warmth. He turned to help Jane, who scurried down after them.
“Fire up the stove and have a hot drink while I take this fellow to the constable. We shall have to appear before the judge at the Assizes when they next sit. It will be after we return from Scotland, but we won’t worry about that now.” He scaled the ladder again and came down with the runt of a fellow over his shoulder.
Maddie watched the coach pull away up the lane while Jane stoked the fire. They sat with their second cup of tea when Hart returned.
“The fellow refuses to talk. Perhaps a stint in jail will refresh his memory.” He rubbed Maddie’s arm, concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry you had that terrifying experience. I wish we could go somewhere safe and let you rest awhile. But we must leave for Scotland straight away.” Hart smiled. “There’s a hamper of food in the coach, and warm rugs. You can sleep until we stop at an inn for the night. Take the ladies’ baggage,” Hart said to Henry, who stood waiting.
Maddie smiled. “It’s good to see you, Henry. You and Jane must have met when you worked for my father.”
“We did, milady.” Henry nodded to Jane.
Jane’s cheeks turned rosy as Henry gathered up the bags.
Well, what have we here?Maddie thought, then forgot about it, her eyes raking the gardens for a sign of the rest of her uncle’s men. Reassured, she settled into the luxurious equipage as the coach trundled away on their long journey north.
They soon left the village behind, and as Hart had promised, the food in the hamper was delicious. Maddie ate bread and cheese, and Jane had a scone. After some lemonade, they lay tucked up beneath fur rugs while the coach carried them smoothly along the road on its superior springs. The tension which held her in its grip since the man appeared in the loft slowly ebbed away. Maddie leaned against the soft, padded squab, smiling at Hart opposite her, seated with his back to the horses. He reminded her of a brave and handsome knight of old. What would she have done if he hadn’t come to her aid in Bath? She still wasn’t sure why he did. Or why he wanted this marriage. But she was very glad he did.
Beside her, Jane slept. Maddie’s eyelids grew heavy. She pulled the rug up around her shoulders and closed her eyes.
Chapter Twelve
An hour hadpassed and, exhausted, Maddie was still sleeping. Her slender fingers curled beneath her chin, long dark eyelashes feathering her cheek. Incredibly brave, she had been through so much. Relieved to have her safe from her uncle at last, Hart didn’t forget that much lay ahead of them. Wakeham could remain a danger. Hart didn’t know enough about him to understand his motives. It had become clear he wanted his niece dead. But why? Thinking about how much Maddie had suffered at her uncle’s hands, anger twisted his stomach. As soon as they returned to London, he and Maddie would visit her solicitor. She told him Wakeham explained her father’s will, and she’d seen no reason to suspect him of lying. But now she doubted everything he’d said to her. Hart remained convinced the will would give a clue to Wakeham’s behavior. Although it left the mystery of the man’s involvement with scoundrels unsolved.
When dusk fell, they stopped for the night, dining at a well-appointed inn. Afterward, they played whist with two of the guests, a married couple, Mr. Brocklehurst, and his wife. Brocklehurst kept a full glass of brandy at his elbow and played badly. His wife’s attempt to flirt with Hart became blatant and embarrassing. Hart could sense Maddie growing restive after she and Brocklehurst lost the first game. He struggled not to chuckle when Maddie asked Mrs. Brocklehurst if she was feeling all right. “You are fidgeting so,” she said with concern. “Perhaps your laces are too tight?”
The lady glared at her and did not deign to reply.
Not something a lady should say in male company, but Hart approved. While he silently applauded Maddie, he wished she was enjoying the evening. After a game in which he and Mrs. Brocklehurst won, Hart stood and put an end to the evening.
He bowed. “Forgive us. We have an early start and a long day ahead.”
As he settled Maddie’s shawl around her tense shoulders, he expected her to speak of it, but made light of it, considering it best not to allow Mrs. Brocklehurst’s behavior to come between them before they’d even tied the knot.
*
Maddie was relievedwhen Hart cut the evening short. Mrs. Brocklehurst failed to say goodnight to her, while her husband clumsily climbed to his feet and swayed over Maddie, smiled sadly, and kissed her hand.
She might have enjoyed the game if his wife behaved. The well-dressed, attractive woman of some thirty years, on learning that Maddie was not yet Hart’s wife, flirted outrageously with him all evening. She eyed Maddie’s green gown with obvious disdain, and smiling at Hart, leaned forward over the table in her low-cut dress. Maddie saw her fingers touch Hart’s with a light stroke when he handed her the cards. Hart failed to respond, giving his attention to arranging his cards. Mr. Brocklehurst drank steadily through each play. He was too far in his cups or too used to his wife’s behavior, for he ignored it. While Hart did nothing to encourage the woman, neither did he stop her; Maddie had itched to slap her face.
When the clock struck eleven, Hart escorted her to the chamber she shared with Jane.
“Mrs. Brocklehurst’s behavior was outrageous,” she said on the stairs, unable to hold her tongue a moment longer.
Hart raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Mm? She played well. The last was an excellent winning hand.”
Maddie narrowed her eyes. “You must have noticed she simpered at you all evening.”
