Lady Pirate (10 page)

 

“Psst…Pssst! Hey!” A voice came out of the darkness.

Her head jerking around, Valoree squinted at the bushes and trees that Henry had disappeared into several moments earlier. “Henry? Is that you?” she said in a hiss, then glanced nervously around the tree she was hiding behind. Thurborne had reached Beecham and the two men were now talking.

“Well, who the hell else would it be hidin' in the bushes hissin' at ye?”

Her quartermaster sounded cranky. She supposed she couldn't blame him. It had been an awful evening. Casting a nervous glance toward the men on the balcony, Valoree took a deep breath, then skittered across the small open space. She dove into the bushes, crashing into Henry's barrel-like chest. “Oh, there you are.”

“Aye, here I am,” Henry answered dryly, steadying her.

“Did you find another way out?”

“Aye.” Turning, he began to push his way through the bushes. Then he stopped. “Well, it's not an ideal exit,” he warned over his shoulder. “But a stone wall surrounds the town house gardens, and one side of it faces onto a street. I thought I could boost ye over the wall, then go fetch the carriage and bring it around to pick ye up.”

“That'll do,” Valoree answered. Anything to escape.

The two set off.

“Here we are,” Henry announced a moment later, pausing under a tree and tipping his head back to consider the wall. “What do you think?”

Valoree nodded as she looked at it. It was only a couple of inches taller than she. Were she not in such a clumsy, heavy dress, she would have managed it on her own. “All right. Give me a boost.”

Henry locked his fingers and stooped to hold them at knee level. Rucking her skirts up, Valoree placed her booted foot in his hands, then reached out. Grasping the top of the stone wall, she launched herself upward as she pulled with her arms. Henry straightened and boosted her at the same time, and that lifted her high enough that she landed on the wall on her stomach. Quickly she swung one leg up to the side, catching at the wall with her foot and scrambling into a
sitting position. Once perched there, she squinted down at him.

“I'll go back through the party, fetch the carriage, and bring it around,” he told her.

“Why not just come this way? You can walk around to fetch it rather than go back through the party.”

Henry shook his head. “I'm too old to be scrambling over walls,” he told her, turning away. “I won't be a moment.”

Valoree watched him disappear into the bushes again, then turned to glance at what lay on the other side of the wall. It was more an alley than a street—dark, narrow, and not well traveled. Unfortunately, though there was no one to see her, there was also nothing to see. She began to swing her legs on either side of the wall in boredom. Glancing back the way Henry had disappeared, she tried to calculate how far he might have gotten. He had probably reached the balcony.

She had just decided that when, glancing idly down at the ground just inside the wall, she stiffened. Something metal was glinting in the moonlight. Tugging her skirts out of the way, Valoree felt along the top of her boot for the knife that always rested there, then cursed. It was gone, of course. Must have been bumped out of her boot top as she had struggled to mount the wall.

Straightening, she peered down at it again. Short, sharp, and with a jeweled hilt, it had been passed down through the family for generations. It was almost all she had left of the family that had once been hers. That and Ainsley Castle. But Ainsley wasn't yet hers, and wouldn't be if she couldn't find a husband and get with child.

She couldn't leave the dagger behind. Cursing under her breath, she swung her right leg back over the wall and launched herself off of it. She landed harder than she expected and stumbled to the side, rolling in the
dirt and underbrush, then stopped herself and crawled to her hands and knees. Reaching out for the knife, she picked it up, then sat back on her haunches to inspect it. She needed to be sure all the jewels were still present.

The knife seemed fine. Deciding not to risk its falling out of her boot again, she stood and reached up to lay it on top of the wall. Then, grasping the top of the wall with one hand, Valoree tugged her skirts up with the other. Revealing one booted foot, she dug it into the wall, then attempted to pull herself up with both arms. Of course, the moment she let go of her skirts, her second foot tangled in them. With a jerk both her feet slid out from under her, sending her smacking into the wall.

This had been a lot easier with Henry's help.

 

Daniel had maneuvered Beecham around so that his back was to the garden. He didn't want the other man to spot Valoree sticking out from her tree. Unfortunately, once he had completed the maneuver, as he peered into the gardens himself he found he could no longer see her either. His gaze slid over the shadowed area as he nodded absently at Beecham's conversation, but he could discern nothing.

Where the devil had she gone? he wondered; then he stilled, his eyes narrowing as he spotted movement in the darkness at the periphery of the garden. Someone was sneaking toward the balcony, sticking carefully to the shadows. But it wasn't Lady Ainsley, he was sure. There were no bell-shaped skirts hampering the figure.

Quickly, Daniel turned his head slightly away so that whoever it was would not know they had been spotted. Instead, he watched from the corner of his eye. The figure drew nearer, then hesitated. Suddenly, straightening abruptly, it started forward at a fast clip
that sent it sailing by into the ballroom almost too fast for Daniel to recognize the man.

“Who was that?” Beecham asked, turning suddenly. He must have caught a glimpse, however, for with some shock he said, “That was Lady Ainsley's uncle.” Excusing himself, Beecham went off after the man at once.

Daniel watched him go, then turned to peer back down at the gardens. Moving to the steps, he walked down them, then paused to glance around before setting off to where he had first noticed the man, at the edge of the gardens. Finding almost at once a rough sort of side path that had been trounced into the trees and bushes on the edge of the garden, he did not hesitate, but began to follow it. After several steps, he heard a muffled curse from ahead and picked up his pace.

The path ended quite suddenly, and Thurborne stepped out of the bushes to find himself confronting the back end of a skirt—Lady Ainsley's—as the woman hung from the wall and scrambled to climb it.

“Damn it!”

Daniel blinked as the woman before him swore again, then briefly settled on the ground. She launched herself upward once more almost immediately, pulling with her arms and scrabbling at the wall with her feet.

“Might I be of some service?” he asked with amusement, chuckling when she released the wall abruptly, stumbled a step back, then tripped over her own skirt and plopped onto her behind in the dirt. The curse she snapped then was nothing any lady he knew would have ever uttered—and certainly not with such believable vehemence.

Moving around in front of her, he reached out, offering assistance. Lady Ainsley hesitated briefly, then slapped her wrist into his hand, her own fingers closing around his wrist like a vise. Before Daniel could re
cover from his surprise at both the masculine action and the strength in her fingers, she was pulling, and he had to brace himself to prevent being tugged over on top of her. Gathering himself quickly, he pulled even as she did, bringing her to her feet before him.

“Attempting to avoid leaving via the ballroom, I take it,” he asked, watching with interest as she busied herself in brushing off her hands on her once pristine skirts.

Sighing, the girl gave up trying to remove the dirt on her hands, then used them to push the damp mane of hair off her face. She propped them on her hips as she considered him. “It seemed an easier alternative.”

“Aye,” Daniel agreed. “If one can scale this vast wall.”

Her eyes flashed. “Do not make fun of me. I could climb this damn thing if I just had my breeches on and not these horrid skirts.”

“Ah, but then you might be mistaken for a man,” he teased. When she merely glared at him, he turned to consider the wall, then turned back. “Why did your uncle not help you up the wall ere leaving to”—he arched an eyebrow questioningly—“fetch the carriage?”

“He did,” she snapped. At his doubtful expression, she rolled her eyes. “Well, do you think he expected me to manage it on my own with all these bothersome skirts?”

“Then why, pray tell, are you down here instead of up there?” He nodded toward the top of the wall and watched with some interest as she ground her teeth together.

“I was up there when he left.”

“Then how did you get down here?”

“How do you think?” she asked scornfully. “I jumped down.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “What is this? An inquisition?”

When he merely arched his eyebrows at her and leaned back against the wall, she sighed impatiently and returned to her task. Grasping the top of the wall she leaped and strained to pull herself upward. He watched in fascination for several moments, waiting for her to beg his assistance as most women would, before he realized quite suddenly that she would not do it.

“All you need do is ask,” he said at last. She turned, a small struggle on her face. Asking obviously wasn't easy for her, he realized with some wonder.
Amazing
. In his experience, females were always asking for help. They were thought weaker and used that to their advantage.
Pray, my lord, the basket is soooo heavy, if you could but carry it. Oh, my Lord, prithee, I couldn't possibly walk from here to there on my own, if you would but loan me your strong arm to lean on.

But not this one. She would most likely continue to struggle until doomsday ere asking, Daniel realized. He felt himself soften. Straightening, he caught her arm and drew her away from the wall, then stepped in front of her. Placing his back to the wall, he dropped to his haunches, and held out his interlocked hands. “Up we go.”

She considered his proffered hands suspiciously for a moment, then sighed. Positioning herself in front of him, Lady Ainsley reached over him to grasp the wall, then glanced down to find his hands with her eyes.

“On three,” he murmured, considering the booted foot she placed in his hands. What odd dress, he thought. “One, two, three.”

He pushed, but not too eagerly. She pulled with a grunt, and she landed on her belly on the wall, her lower legs pressed against his face. Grinning, Thurborne slid out from between her and the wall, then straightened and moved behind her, considering her
voluminous skirts as she swung her right leg to the side and tried to heft it up onto the wall as well.

“Some more help perhaps?” he teased, watching her skirts swing back and forth as she struggled.

Her grunt of rage was most entertaining. Stepping forward, he slid his hands under her skirts and caught her by her boots. “Up or to the side?”

“Up,” she snapped, and he slid his fingers lightly up until he touched something other than leather, laughing at her abruptly cut-off yelp.

“To the side, to the side,” she roared, not sounding at all ladylike. Thurborne continued to chuckle as he grasped one leg, lifting and swinging it to the side. A moment later she had broken free from his hold and sat straddling the wall. Immediately, she pulled her other leg up beneath her as if not trusting him not to touch her again. Then she felt along the wall for something. When she didn't find it, she released another curse and turned to glare down at him. Even in the darkness he could see that she was furious.

“If I had my blade with me I'd—”

He never got to hear the end of that threat, for at that moment the jangle of a carriage and the clip-clop of horses reached them both. Glancing over her shoulder, Lady Ainsley muttered something under her breath. Then suddenly, she dropped off the wall, disappearing on the other side.

“What took you so bloody long?” he heard her snap on the other side of the wall.

“Long?” a man cried. “Why, I nearly ran through that there house, then hustled Skully straight on over here. I only left you but a moment ago.”

Her response to that was cut off and muffled by the slam of a carriage door; then Daniel heard the conveyance jangle away down the street.

He stayed where he was long after the carriage had rolled away, his mind replaying the incident and cer
tain things that had been said.
I could climb this damn thing if I just had my breeches on and not these horrid skirts.

Ah, but then you might be mistaken for a man
.

Nay, he thought uncertainly. It could not be…But she had been wearing boots and something else beneath her skirts. And she had said
my breeches
. Still, what did all this mean?

“Daniel!”

Recognizing his mother's voice, Daniel peered back toward the bushes he had walked through to reach the wall. He started quickly back through them, stepping out into the garden to see his mother standing on the balcony, glaring impatiently out into the darkness.

“Oh, there you are, Daniel.” She sighed as she spotted him. “Lord Beecham said he saw you out here. Whatever were you doing in those bushes? The party is inside.”

“Which is perhaps why
I
am
outside
,” Daniel muttered, jogging up the last few steps to join her.

“Oh, really,” she muttered with exasperation, turning her cheek up for his dutiful kiss. Once that was out of the way, she stepped back to eye him. “Did you see Master Whister today?”

“You know I did,” he answered.

“And?”

“And what? Do not try to pretend you did not know the codicil to Gran's will. She told you everything. No doubt you have known about it for some time.”

The woman had the grace not to deny it. Instead, she asked, “I am arranging several small soirees in the next little while. One for tomorrow night even. Is there anyone in particular you would like me to invite?”