“You are going nowhere, Jessop,” Brynn said, forcing him into a chair and holding him there. “Kendrick, escort Her Grace out, please.”
The last thing Maddy heard was Jessop growl, “Who the hell is Kendrick?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Madelyn, stubborn woman,didn’t go far, and no amount of persuading sent her to the public eating area. They stood outside the door to the private dining room with Jessop inside.
“When is Clarion coming?” Brynn demanded, leaning against the locked door. Eli Benson and his father, the innkeeper, had joined them. “I can’t think you want any room in your inn used as a jail. We need a place to confine him, and we’ll need the earl’s authority as magistrate to hold him, much less to deport him. His and Glenmoor’s.”
“Can’t we just hog-tie him and put him on a boat?” Kendrick asked.
Brynn wished it were that easy. He was fed up with Jessop and—if truth were told—the entire drama of the Glenmoor succession. He wanted the man gone and Madelyn at peace. “A soldier or a mine owner can’t get away with it, but a duke could.” Brynn eyed Kendrick pointedly.You could be the duke. You could have clapped him in irons when he showed up demanding money.A quick glance told him Madelyn had the same thought but was, as always, conflicted about the issue.
“David and Phillip are supposed to meet us at the dower house for tea,” Madelyn said.
“Your cottage? Why the dower house?”
“Didn’t someone tell you? We planned a progressive celebration over the next few days: Today, tea at the dower house after we help the children gather pine and holly to decorate. Tomorrow, dinner at Willowbrook. Finally, a Twelfth Night ball at Clarion Hall.”
“Lovely,” Brynn said, shaking his head. “We’ll have an extortionist threatening all and sundry to deal with over paper crowns and snap-dragon.”
She raised her chin. “We didn’t plan on Jessop invading our holiday.”
A loud crash sounded from the room, preventing any further squabbles. Brynn and Kendrick both started for the door to the outside, but old Mr. Benson stopped them.
“I have Alfred standing guard at the window. I thought Jessop might try something. Didn’t Corporal Goodfellow accompany you, Lady Madelyn?”
She sighed. “Of course he did. I left him in the stables.”
The corporal peeked around the door as if their words had summoned him. “Under control out here, sirs. Alfred shoved a bench up against the window.” He ducked back out.
“This won’t work for long,” Brynn said.
“We used the storage room at the hall for prisoners last summer,” Eli Benson reminded him. “The earl would certainly let us do it again.”
“Kendrick here has children to see to. Perhaps Eli and I can transport him to the hall with Goodfellow’s help,” Brynn said.
“I’m going with you. We can use my gig. Philip left his carriage here for Rhys and the Kendricks. Then we can meet as planned at the dower house,” Madelyn said, granite-hard determination in her voice.
Damned fool woman. “There is no room for you in the gig. Eli will drive, and I don’t see a riding habit.” Brynn glared at her, daring her to object. “Stay with Kendrick and the children.”
Her fierce stare put a stop to that idea. “It is my equipage. I’ll drive. Besides, I need to see this farce through.”
He gave up. Jessop would be bound and surrounded by two former soldiers. What could go wrong?
“Your Grace, please accompany Alfred to the stables. I don’t want you near this door when Goodfellow and I open it. Jessop is like a caged animal in there.”
Her disgruntled expression didn’t surprise him, though whether it derived from him ordering her life or reverting to use of her title, he couldn’t say. If the latter, she best get used to it. That title stood as a shield between himself and the temptation that was Madelyn Tavernash. He planned to keep it there. She did as he asked for once. He sent Eli ahead to warn Clarion and ordered Alfred to saddle the horses and hitch up Madelyn’s gig.
He watched a slightly disgruntled duchess follow the ostler and opened the door with Goodfellow at his side.
Clouds hung heavily over the valley and a fierce wind blew when they crossed the Afon and started uphill, Madelyn at the reins. Brynn and Corporal Goodfellow followed the gig in which Isaiah Jessop sat, bound hands and feet.
The damned woman was a distraction. Even from behind, wrapped in a cloak, her graceful back drew his eyes. The bonnet hid her glorious hair, and he wished it to the devil. He suspected Jessop did as well, as the wide brim hit his head when they went over a bump.
Brynn forced his attention to Jessop. They had knocked him to the floor when he’d rushed the door and searched him thoroughly, finding a deadly-looking knife in one boot and a pocket pistol in his coat. He wasn’t a man who took defeat easily, and Brynn regretted allowing Madelyn to handle the gig. Even now, Jessop fidgeted with his bound wrists, occasionally rubbing them on the peculiar leather belt he had around his waist to hold up the loose, homespun trousers he wore. Brynn thought it a colonial affectation. He narrowed his eyes.
What is the miscreant doing?
