“We’d best get after him, milord,” Boyle said.
Henry looked grim. “They rode out of nowhere and took us by surprise. Shot William, milord, before he could raise his shotgun.”
“Take him to Montford Court, and have my butler call a surgeon.”
“Yes, milord.”
“How many men were with Buchanan?”
“Two as well as he.”
“Not such bad odds,” Boyle said.
“My lord, please save Lady Montford,” Jane cried, crushing a bunched handkerchief in her hand.
“I will, Jane.”
Life wouldn’t be worth living if he lost Maddie. So this was love, the kind the poets spoke of. Had it come too late for him to tell her how much he loved her? “We have the element of surprise,” he said to Boyle. “Buchanan would expect me to come alone, and we’ll arrive sooner than he anticipates.”
As he and Boyle pushed their mounts into a gallop, Hart calmed himself with the thought that Buchanan wouldn’t kill Maddie while she was useful to him. He would find her and bring her safely home.
Close to an hour later, they reined in atop a hill. He and Boyle looked down on the roof of the hunting lodge. Trees, which would provide handy cover as they approached, bordered three sides of the lodge. Green painted shutters were closed over all but a few windows.
Hart directed Boyle to the trees on the east side of the house while he made his way warily to a copse near the front. When he settled into position, a man walked close to where Boyle hid. As he passed, Boyle crept up behind him. Hart saw the man fall. Boyle then dragged him into the bushes.
Hart stepped out and gestured to Boyle to follow him. He had seen an unshuttered window and hoped to gain entry to the house that way.
Boyle nodded and moved stealthily across to him.
Hart edged closer and peered through the window, finding the dining room empty. “It’s locked, curse it. Can you jimmy up the window with your knife?”
Boyle had it open within minutes.
“I’ll go in. You stay out of sight near the front door,” Hart said. He climbed over the windowsill into the room. A thick rug muffled his footsteps as he ran over to the door. He could hear Maddie’s and Buchanan’s voices in the next room, but not what was said. Murderous anger tightened his chest, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he opened the door a crack.
They were in the parlor before the unlit fire. On a straight-backed chair, Maddie twisted her hands tied behind her, fighting to free them, while Buchanan, seated on the sofa opposite, smoked a cheroot.
“You’ll only chaff your wrists doing that, Lady Montford. And your husband won’t be here for an hour or more.”
“And when he comes, he will kill you,” Maddie said fiercely.
“My men will cut him down before he reaches the house. After which, I’m not sure it would be wise to let you go.”
Maddie dropped her head and grew still.
His other henchman stood at the window. “I don’t see Charlie out there on the drive, Lord Buchanan.”
“He must be there, Tom. Charlie might be beetle-headed, but he wouldn’t wander off. He’ll be hiding in the trees. Find him. Tell him to stay hidden until Montford turns up. Then he knows what to do.”
Tom opened the front door and called to Charlie. He turned around. “He doesn’t answer, my lord.”
“Get out there. What are you afraid of, you lily-livered fool?”
Tom ventured cautiously from the house.
Once he had gone outside, Hart entered the room. He leveled his gun at Buchanan. “Get up, Buchanan, and be careful about it.”
Buchanan swung round in surprise. He threw down his cheroot. “How did you…”
