Mary Blayney (41 page)

He was right. Michael shrugged, hoping the duke would let it end there.

“I am asking for your help, Major, assuming that you have an interest in keeping Olivia safe. I ask you,” he emphasized the word
ask,
“to stay a while longer and tell me everything that you recall about the incident.” The duke sat down. “Olivia has told me as much as she can, but you will have another perspective, possibly more valuable. I am asking you, Garrett, not ordering you, well aware that, according to my sister, you do not take orders well.”

Not a total victory, but good enough, Michael decided. Without a word, he walked around the table and took a seat. With the wall at his back and Olivia within sight, he finally relaxed.

23

T
HE DUKE AND
M
ICHAEL
spent the next hour poring over the maps. Michael recounted every pertinent detail of their time together. Then the duke asked him to describe the two men he’d met at the cottage the morning after the storm.

“They gave their names as Smith and Jones, which tells me they have no imagination but they were so nondescript that those names suited them perfectly.”

Michael looked at the ceiling and pulled at the details. “Smith had an accent. Scottish, I think. He was better dressed but not well-dressed. The other was cast as a servant and probably was. Smith did all the talking.”

“And they would not tell you where they were from.”

“I asked Smith directly and he gave me a vague answer about traveling the Peak District.”

The duke nodded. “Which no one does this time of year.”

“Smith sounded as though he had been to school.” Michael added, “But even that is a guess.”

“Do you think he was pretending to be a gentleman?”

“I think he may have been one, Your Grace.” Michael looked at the duke with a rueful smile. “Fallen on hard times.”

The duke nodded and Michael was fairly certain that he understood the unspoken truth, that one man living hand-to-mouth could easily recognize another.

“They stayed at the place where they held Olivia. The shed where I put my horse showed signs of other recent occupation. They left hay and water, which made me wonder if they planned to come back or simply left in a rush when they found Lady Olivia missing. The yard was full of ruts from a carriage. That would explain why there have been no new faces in the village.”

The duke took it all in before he returned his attention to the maps, and said “What do you think the two of them will do now?”

“Try to find out what happened to Olivia. Report to their employer and follow his orders, or run away and hope never to be found.”

The duke considered Michael’s suggestions but kept his own counsel. That was his prerogative, but it did not make for much conversation.

Sitting for this long was a mistake. Fatigue pulled at him, and with an apology Michael stood up to add fuel to the fire. When the tea arrived, he took it from the footman, another excuse to walk off exhaustion. He set the tray on the table nearest Olivia and made sure the covering on the pot was adjusted to keep the tea hot.

When he returned to the table the duke was lost in thought, tracing boundaries on the map. Michael remained standing. “I have told you all I can, Your Grace.” When the duke nodded Michael went on. “That has earned me an answer to a question of my own.”

The duke looked up, obviously not welcoming the suggestion. Michael asked anyway. “Do you know why someone would kidnap her?”

“Yes.” Meryon did not hesitate. Or explain even though the silence between them grew tense.

“That annoys the hell out of me, Your Grace. You ask for my help but will not give me pertinent information. I have experience tracking men. I could find the kidnappers far more efficiently than a cosseted nobleman whose best skill is giving orders.”

The duke did not rise to the baited insult, but Michael did see his hand fold into a fist, the telltale sign of anger the duke was doing his best to control.

Michael braced his hands on the edge of the table. “You do not have to tell me what you know, much less what you suspect. The moment I told you where you could find Lady Olivia, I was no longer responsible for her safety. I have been reminding myself of that since I was made so unwelcome, first by your porter, then by your brother.”

His stomach still hurt from that punch. “In this instance, however, I find it impossible to think of myself first. That is why I am willing to tell you everything I can.”

The duke was still silent. Meryon watched him with a puzzled speculation that revealed only a little of some inner debate.

The duke would have made as good a spy as Gabriel was a poor one.
“Your Grace, allow me to show you once more how an alliance works.” He straightened. “I learned something tonight. I give it to you because I do care. Not about your title or your castle. I care about Lady Olivia’s well-being.”

Michael stared at the tabletop and when he looked up again, he tried for a tone of voice that was not laced with disgust.

“Your protection of the castle is inadequate. You have to look no further than that excuse for a night porter at your front door. He abuses his power, does not do his work and wins you over with a submissive air that you are unable to see through.”

He went on to detail his two uninterruped circuits of the castle and his easy access through an unlocked window.

The duke tried not to show his feelings but his fist was white at the knuckles before Michael finished.

So, he was one of those men who did not want to be made aware of his shortcomings. Not that unusual, but in this case very selfish.

Michael’s assessment finished, the duke’s continued silence was as good as a shout for him to be gone. Michael made his way to the door. He glanced at Olivia and actually prayed for her safety, though it was hardly a prayer that would be well received in a church.

Silence followed him. Just before he left the room, Michael looked back to see if the duke had been turned to stone.

Meryon was standing, watching his progress with a small smile that should have made Michael feel more comfortable. It did not. It gave him pause.

“I always thought the army did its best to repress independent thought.” The duke leaned back against the table as he spoke, his arms folded across his chest. “I wonder how you, and my brother David, survived without a court-martial.” The duke’s tone was conversational, almost friendly.

“I was not in a traditional unit after the first two years. There was a reason for that,” Michael admitted, letting go of the knob. “I cannot speak for your brother.”

“Perhaps he will tell you one day.” As he spoke, the duke went over to his sister, stood quietly as if he were a mourner and this was where she had been laid out. He nodded to himself, and followed Michael’s path to the door. He approached him, speaking in a low voice.

“I have two goals now, Major Garrett. I want to destroy the men who did this. When I find them I will ruin their lives and what is left of their reputation.”

Michael nodded.

“This was an assault on my family honor that I will not tolerate. Even more important I want to keep my sister safe. It may be that her reputation will suffer even though she is the innocent in this.”

“I can see I have misread your silence again.” Michael allowed a smile. “Your brother was right. Your title does not exempt you from sensibilities.”

“David said that?”

“No, but that is what I understood from his comments.”

What a refreshing change. The duke’s anger was not aimed at him, unless Meryon still thought that Michael was one of the villains.

“Your Grace, you call me a rescuer with one breath and still do not seem convinced I am a hero. Yes, I have committed more crimes than any man in residence here, I am sure. All of it done in the name of king and country. Never once did I rape a woman, nor was I ever cruel for a selfish end. God is a master of irony if your sister’s ruin is the wrong I am held responsible for.”

The tension around the duke’s mouth eased, his eyes softened, his expression a silent acceptance as effective as his words of rage had been.

“Please,” the duke said, certainly a rare gesture of courtesy, “come back and let us talk about how to secure the castle, how to protect not just Olivia but all the people who live here. You are right. Her life is worth more than our pride.” Meryon held out his hand. “Thank you for saving her. Without Olivia meddling in everyone’s life from kitchen to chapel, this would be no more than a place to eat and sleep and mourn. I owe you more than money. I owe you respect and honesty.”

Michael accepted his hand, touched but also curious about the duke’s relationship with his wife and child. Olivia had said they were not in residence. Perhaps they spent all their time in London, he decided. This family was complex, if not downright secretive. Secrets might have been his specialty once but they were no longer his concern.

More to the point, it seemed that the duke wanted his help. The man’s trust might only be given in increments, but this handshake marked the first step.

“Would you wake up Olivia? I think her neck will ache enough to make a real bed appealing.” Meryon did not wait for an answer but stepped out the door, leaving it open.

Obviously waking a sister was beneath a duke. Michael retraced his steps. He squatted until he was eye level with Olivia so that when she opened her eyes she would not see a man looming over her. He expected she would have nightmares about that as it was.

“Olivia,” he whispered. “Olivia, sweet girl, wake up now.” He touched her arm just below the shoulder, where her cloak had slipped down. He felt the softness of her skin, the warmth of it, before she started awake.

Thank God, the minute she recognized him the fear disappeared. She relaxed against the back of the chair. “Oh, you’re still here. I’m glad.” She smiled sleepily.

“Yes, I’m still here.” It was an inane answer, but he could think of nothing else to say. Her sleepy eyes reached into his heart and warmed it. Her scent, cinnamon and spices, distracted him. He answered her smile with his own. “Did you dream?”

“No dreams.” She closed her eyes and he felt abandoned. When she opened them again, she seemed more awake. “Maybe one dream. You and I on Troy, riding.” She shrugged. “That’s all.”

“That would be an easy one to make come true.” He ran his hand down her arm and squeezed her hand.

The duke was beside them now, watching. Olivia’s eyes shifted to him. “He is a good man, Lyn, is he not?”

Michael did not wait for the duke to answer. “Your tea is here.” He had to clear his throat and repeat the sentence.

Olivia raised a hand to her throat. “It feels better already.” Stretching, she stood, tottered a little and put a hand out for him to steady her. She plopped back down on the chair.

Michael poured some of the special tea. Even though it was not much more than warm when she sipped it, Olivia sighed with relief.

“Tea must be the greatest comfort ever invented.” She felt stupid the moment after she said it as it occurred to her that tea did not begin to compare to the comfort of being held in Mr. Garrett’s arms. Olivia consoled herself with another sip when she realized he had held her for the last time. “Mr. Garrett, you are not leaving tonight, are you?” She sent a pleading look to her brother who shook his head.

“I trust he will accept our hospitality tonight at least.”

“Oh, good. For I should like to prepare something special for him and give him a proper good-bye.” She gave him her best smile and a little giggle escaped as a mental image of what she would like that to be. Besides cinnamon buns. His lips twitched but Mr. Garrett did not smile back. The silence lengthened. Finally Lynford cleared his throat.

“Olivia, Samuelson is back.” The duke offered her his hand to help her up. “He can go with you to your room and stay as a guard. It is time for all of us to be abed.”

“Big Sam? He’s back. And safe?” She gulped the last of her tea, accepted her brother’s help and stood up with more confidence. She smoothed her dress and her hair as she rushed to the door. Michael felt a stab of resentment as she threw the door open and clapped her hands together.

“Big Sam! How are you? You did not catch a chill, did you? The weather has turned so nasty.”

“Not wet or cold, milady. I should be beaten for leaving you to walk home alone. I am going down to the stable and make the groom take a switch to me.”

He was the biggest man Michael had ever seen. Not just tall, but massive in every way, with a head too small for his body and skin as pale as his hair. He had the ageless look of a fairy tale ogre. God forgive him, Michael was relieved.

“If you had the groom beat you that would make me cry, Big Sam. It was not your fault. I was the one who would rush home and not wait for you. It was very kind of you to stay when Reverend Drummond asked.”

“The vicar asked me to stay?” It looked as though Big Sam was having a hard time understanding her words. “Yes, milady, I should have known it was wrong. My job is to keep up with you. I don’t know much, milady, but I do know that. Lord David said the duke might dismiss me.”

“No, he will not. We need only blame it on the horrible men who took me. They deserve a name even worse than stupid Galatians.”

Big Sam nodded.

“Peach thieves,” Olivia suggested.

“Not my fault?” Sam asked as though the idea was taking root.

“Never, Big Sam.”

If Big Sam was an ogre, Olivia was the princess who charmed him.

“Fish poachers, that’s what they are,” Sam suggested.

“Grape apes,” Olivia said.

They both laughed at that.

“Good night, Mr. Garrett. Good night, dear brother. I will see you both tomorrow.” She gave her brother a quick curtsy, then turned back to give Big Sam her hand. He took it, not as a gentleman would, but as a child might, and the two of them walked down the hall.