Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (30 page)

Gripping the familiar wooden hilt of his knife, Roane forced a few deep breaths. Had he surer aim, he’d throw the damn thing in the blackguard’s face. But he couldn’t risk hurting Helen. Finally, he dropped the blade on the floor and kicked it across the room. “What do you want from me?”

“I want what should have happened three years ago—for the Midnight Rider to get his justice.”

As if Harrington knew anything about
justice
. Roane swallowed back the damning words rising up inside him. Helen was visibly shaking now. He’d seen her afraid before, but never like this. Not ever. “Let the girl go, Harrington. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Nothing to do? You took everything that was mine, Grantham.
Everything
. My position, my reputation, my home. Why would I let you keep anything that is yours?”

“It was the law that decided, not me. I was sent to Australia. We both lost.”

“You and that whore of a sister,” Harrington continued as if he’d not spoken. “You stuck your nose in my business, and now I will do the same to you.”

“We have money.” Roane would not plead, he would not beg. But he would see Helen free. “You can have it, if you let the girl go.”

“Oh, I’ll have the money. But I want my revenge first.” Harrington shifted and, for a terrifying moment, Roane feared he was going to shoot Helen. But, instead, he pushed her toward the chair in the corner. “Sit.”

Then, he stood beside her and pointed the gun at her temple. “Tie her up, Grantham. And I’ll be watching so make it tight.”

“I don’t have any rope.”

Harrington pushed the barrel of his pistol onto Helen’s head so hard she had to crane her neck to the side. “Look harder.”

Roane took the rope out of his saddlebag, his blood pulsing with such force he could barely think. Helen…his Helen… in danger because of him.

Stiffly, he knelt before her and met her eyes. She was scared, but behind that he could see her anger. Good, it would keep her strong.

His brave Helen
.

She
would keep him strong. He gripped the rope and wrapped a length of hemp around her delicate wrists.

“No, behind her back,” Harrington ordered.

Helen glanced down at him, her lips pressed together. They would survive this. They
had
to. He could not consider another possibility.

Roane moved around behind her and did as instructed, their captor watching closely to be sure he didn’t tie the ropes too loose. “Where are your helpers?” He tried to sound casual, but his heart twisted with worry for the innocent downstairs. “Why are they not here aiding you?”

“You took them from me as well. One drowned in that damned river. The other ran off looking for him and never came back.”

He couldn’t feel relief at the news, not when he was binding Helen’s small wrists. Once he was done, he crossed the room, drawing Harrington as far from her as he could.

“It’s too late for you, Grantham.” The man sneered, picking up Roane’s pistol from the floor and following him across the room. “I’ve been waiting for my revenge for too long. It will be easy to convince the magistrate the Midnight Rider returned and tried to steal my sixteen thousand pounds.”

Behind Harrington, Helen struggled with the ties at her wrists. Her eyes darted to his shaving kit on the nightstand beside her. Roane gave her a quick shake of his head no. It was too dangerous, using a straight edge razor with her hands tied. She was more likely to cut herself than the rope.

But when did Helen ever listen to him? She started to rise slowly from the chair.

Roane whipped his attention back to Harrington. “What have you been doing these last three years, Harrington? You don’t look in the best health.”

Harrington hit him across the jaw. Roane took the blow. Helen was standing now, opening the shaving kit behind her back.

“I’ll just rough you up a bit first. Protecting myself against you, of course.” Harrington hit him again, in the gut. Then in the face.

“Have you just been sitting around, waiting for me? That’s rather sad, I must say.” Roane wanted to keep Harrington’s attention on him. Wanted to bide his time, wait for Helen to free herself, wait for the moment to fight back, to wrest the gun from his enemy. But Harrington slammed his fist into Roane’s temple and the world was a blur. He shook his head, tried to clear it, but his brain was a muddle.

Harrington stood back and raised his pistol to Roane’s heart.

Time stopped. Roane slowed his breath, lowered to a crouch, ready to attack. Spots dotted his vision and he focused through the haze.

“I’ve waited years for this,” Harrington said, regret in his voice. Regret this game of revenge would finally be over.

Movement. Helen was stalking across the room toward them. No. She should get out.
Out
, he silently ordered.

“Revenge is empty. I know how it feels, the disappointment.” Roane tried to keep talking as Helen stepped closer. “It’s never satisfying, in the end. You will kill me and then what?”

“And then I will take your woman.”

Helen was only a few steps away. She charged Harrington and grabbed Roane’s pistol, the one he’d shown her to shoot.

Harrington whirled toward her, aimed his own weapon, but she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Roane ducked.

A loud
bang
.

Harrington was on the ground, blood seeping from his thigh. He lay motionless, his eyes closed.

Helen stumbled back, tripped against the bed and fell to the floor. Roane lunged at her and pulled her up to her feet. He checked her over quickly—no blood. Thank God. Wild with relief, he dragged her against him, their hearts thundering between them.

“Is he dead?” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Roane craned his neck to study Harrington. “I don’t think so, not from a bullet to the leg. I imagine he hit his head and is merely asleep.”

She shook violently. “I hate guns.”

“I know.”

“Fighting is so vulgar.”

“So you have said.” Her mind was reaching for something ordinary. He’d seen this before. The shock would set in soon.

Roane rubbed her arms, over and over telling himself she was unharmed. She was not injured, not bleeding.

Footsteps pounded down the hallway outside their room. Someone banged on the door. “It’s Tiffen. I’m alone.”

“Enter.” Roane commanded, relieved to see his friend open the door in good health. “Is aught amiss downstairs?”

“He came right up here. You couldn’t just return quietly, could you?” Tiffen scanned them quickly as he closed the door. “You are unharmed?”

“He was going to kill Roane.” Helen’s voice was toneless.

The innkeeper crossed the room and knelt beside Harrington. “He’s still breathing.”

“Did he arrive with anyone else?” Roane asked. “Two other riders?”

Tiffen shook his head and stood. “He was alone. I just gave him a room not twenty minutes ago. ’Tis bad luck, but the magistrate is supping downstairs. I’ll hold him off as long as I can.”

“What kind of man is he?” Roane asked.

“Fair, but strict. He cannot be bribed, but I’ve not had problems with him.” He glanced at Harrington. “I’ll call for the doctor as well.”

“Thank you, Tiffen.”

“I’m always happy to pay off my debts. We’re even now, Grantham.” With a solemn nod, he closed the door behind him.

Roane gave Helen one last squeeze then let her go. “We must hurry.”

“Hurry where?” she asked, bewildered.

“To safety. We cannot stay.” He threw her a glance, noticing she was still pale. Then he crossed the room to repack his saddlebags. “I’ll gather your things, shall I? We leave in sixty seconds.”

“But you did nothing wrong.” Still, she wasn’t moving.

He tossed his shaving kit in the bag. “If only that mattered. I am a bastard and a felon, Helen. I have no use for the law.”

She looked around the room, dazed. Harrington lay on the floor in a growing pool of blood. “I must find Mittens.”

Roane made a
hurry along
motion with his hands, but she didn’t move.

“Helen,” he admonished, stuffing her riding clothes in his bag. “We haven’t time.”

She looked at him, her eyes empty as glass. “I cannot go.”

He swore under his breath. She was unnerved and not thinking clearly. “We haven’t a choice.” He yanked open the secret door seamlessly fitted into the wall and she gasped. “It leads into the stables. No one will see us leave.”

She shook her head again. “I cannot go, Roane. Not like this.”

“You have to come with me.” He grabbed her arm. There was no way he was going to leave her.

“I don’t have to do anything you say.” She struggled away, her tone sharper.

He smashed his lips into a line. “Do you know I argued with my sister just like this, moments before I was caught and deported?”

“All this revenge and violence, I haven’t a stomach for it.” She backed away, wrapping her arms around herself and shaking. “I need a moment. I can’t think.”

“I don’t have a moment. I
love
you, Helen. I will take care of this. Come with me,
now
.” Another surge of panic pumped through his blood. Why wasn’t she listening? He tried to reach for her arm.

She crossed to the other side of the room, holding her elbows. “James loved me, too, and what good did that do? I take care of myself, Roane. And I don’t want to run from this.”

He stared at her, too frustrated for words.

She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye, her gaze clearer now. “Remember what you said in the barn? That you must let go of your past and live a new future? Let it begin here and now, Roane. Stay and tell the truth. If you run, they will only hear Harrington’s account and assume you are guilty. You will always be an outlaw.”

“They will assume I am guilty anyway, truth be damned. I
cannot
go back to gaol.”

“Of course you’re not going back to gaol. I’ll stand by your side. And Tiffen. We’ll do this together. We will make them believe in your innocence.”

“You don’t know what you are saying, Helen. You’ve lived a life of privilege and advantage; you couldn’t know what is best for me. Are you coming with me or not?” It hurt to breathe through the ache in his chest.

She bit her lip, tears shining in her eyes.

She wasn’t coming. He should have known. In the end, everyone left.

“This is goodbye, then.” He struggled to push the words through his throat.

“Why wont you listen to me?” She stomped her foot. “You demand I do what you say yet you wont listen to me. How do you know I can’t help you?”

Voices sounded in the hallway, then heavy footsteps. He hadn’t time for this.

“I’ll never forget you, buttercup.” He traded his gun with Harrington’s, threw his saddlebag over his shoulder, and pressed a pouch into her cold hands. “Tell the magistrate the truth of your identity. Pay him to return you home safely to London.” He took her face in both his hands and planted a hard kiss on her lips. “I love you, Lady Helen Gladstone. Say goodbye to me. Please.”

She shook her head, her eyes bright with tears, and for a moment he thought she’d refuse him. He dropped his hands and stepped away, but she grabbed his arm. When she spoke, her voice was quiet as a raven’s wing slicing through the dusk. “Goodbye, Roane Grantham.”

His heart, it was sliced open. “Goodbye, buttercup.”

He slipped through the secret door and disappeared into the darkness.

***

H
ELEN WAS NUMB
as she watched the scene play out before her. The magistrate burst into the room, the doctor only minutes behind. Both men took one look at her—pale and shaking and innocent as she could be. They believed her story without hesitation.

She brushed over Roane’s involvement, never mentioned him once, in fact. She claimed Harrington had kidnapped her, using the rope marks on her wrists as proof. She said he’d finally let his guard down, and she’d grabbed his gun and shot him. Roane had acted quickly, switching the pistols. He was not new to this game.

Tiffen must have been listening through the wall, for he supported her story with lavish details. Harrington, still unconscious, was tended to by the doctor and taken into custody, charged with threatening a peer.

Helen moved to a new room and sat before the fire, waiting for Roane. The danger had passed, certainly he would return, probably through some secret crack in the wall.

He never came.

The next morning, eyes red from crying, she climbed into the private coach she’d hired. With two deputies riding alongside for protection, she set out for London.

Her eight thousand pounds in hand.

The first leg of her journey, she picked at the food Tiffen had insisted she take along, though she wasn’t hungry. The hills rolled by—placid in the distance—and all she could feel was the endless, empty days of her future passing one by one.

She had been successful. Had lived through an adventure, saved her family and their dependents, proved her own strength.

And she felt miserable.

The two deputies grew increasingly nervous throughout the day, as if they sensed danger. Helen wondered more than once if Roane was following them. She opened the window and looked for him, even tried to signal to him from her chamber that night. He did not come.

The second day, she no longer tried to eat. She could barely breathe. And she had no choice but to admit the depth of what she’d lost.

She loved him.

She loved Roane. She loved how tender he was, and brave, and perceptive. She loved how he was considerate of her needs, even when he didn’t want to be. How he showed the world a laughing face, when behind his smile he carried scars.

She loved him so much she felt ill.

If only she’d admitted the depth of her feelings when she’d had the chance.

Yes, he was trouble. Yes, he was imperfect and afraid in his own way. And, yes, he was gambling his entire future on horseflesh, the same vice that had been James’s ruin.

But none of that mattered. Why hadn’t she seen that yesterday?

Instead, she’d turned him away when he needed her.