Sir Freddie taking Alicia so far from London had been a boon initially, giving him time to catch up. Even though Sir Freddie had been rocketing along, always using four fresh horses, Tony knew he was close on their heels.
While they were traveling, he had no fears for Alicia. Once they stopped…
His experience lay in pursuing someone he needed to catch, not save. Every time he thought of Alicia, his heart lurched, his mind stilled, paralyzed; shutting off such thoughts, he concentrated on Sir Freddie instead.
Why this route? Was Sir Freddie intending to drive through to the Bristol Channel and rendezvous with some lugger? Was Alicia a hostage? Or was she intended as the scapegoat Sir Freddie had from the first sought to make her?
That was Tony’s blackest fear. The landscape, the desolate sweep of the moors rising up on either side of the road fed it. If Sir Freddie intended to stage Alicia’s murder and make it appear a suicide, and thus quash the investigation…
Tony set his jaw. Once he got hold of her, he was taking her to Torrington Chase and keeping her there. Forever.
Sending the whip swinging to flick the leader’s ear, he drove the horses on.
TWENTY-ONE
ALICIA EMERGED ONTO THE MOOR WITH A SENSE OF RELIEF; the wood had been dark, the trees very old, the path uneven and knotted with their roots. Here, at least, she could breathe—dragging in a breath, she looked up, tracing the path they were following to where it skirted a pile of rocks and earth, the workings of the disused mine in which Sir Freddie planned to drown her.
Every nerve taut and alert, she kept walking, head high, her pace neither too fast nor yet slow enough to prompt Sir Freddie to hurry her. Scanning the area, she searched—for a rock, a branch, anything she could use to overpower him. Closer to the mine would be preferable, yet the closer they got…
She was supremely conscious of him walking steadily at her heels. He seemed relaxed, just a murderer out to arrange another death. Quelling a shudder, she looked again at the mine. The path rose steadily, steeper as it led up the shoulder of the workings before leveling off as it skirted the lip of the shaft itself.
The clouds were constantly shifting, drifting; there was always enough light to see their way, but when the moon shone clear, details leapt out.
Like the discarded spar she glimpsed, just fleetingly, to the right of the steepest section of the path.
Her heart leapt; her muscles tensed, ready…
Quickly, she thought through what would need to happen. She had to distract Sir Freddie at just the right spot. She’d already decided how, but she needed to set the stage.
Reaching the spot where the steep upward slope commenced, she halted abruptly. Swinging to face Sir Freddie, she found the slope was sufficient for her to meet his gaze levelly. “Do I have your word as a gentleman that my brother won’t be harmed? That he’ll be released as soon as possible in Upper Brook Street?”
Sir Freddie met her eyes; his lips twisted as, nodding, he looked down. “Of course.” After a fractional pause, he added, “You have my word.”
She had lived with three males long enough to instantly detect prevarication. Lips thinning, she narrowed her eyes, then tersely asked, “You haven’t really got him, have you? There is no second carriage.”
She’d wondered, but hadn’t dared call his bluff or even question him while trapped in the carriage.
He looked up, raised his brows. Faintly shrugged. “I saw no reason to bother with your brother. I knew the threat alone would be enough to get you to behave.”
The relief that surged through her nearly brought her to her knees. The weight on her shoulders evaporated. She was
Trusting to his overweening confidence to keep him from wondering at her continued acquiescence for just a few steps more…
From behind, she heard a faint chuckle, then his footsteps as he followed. Up ahead to her right lay the wooden spar. Just a
Again she stopped dead, swung to face him.
At the last second let her contempt show. “You
She slapped him. With the full force of her arm as she delivered the blow, with him lower than she, his face at the right height to take the full brunt of her momentum.
He had no chance to duck; the blow landed perfectly. Her palm stung; he staggered.
She didn’t pause but turned and raced, scrambling up the few steps to the spar. She heard him swear foully, heard his boots scrabble on the path. Bending, she locked both hands on the spar, hefted it, and swung around. Driven by resolution laced with very real fear, she put every ounce of strength she possessed behind her swing.
He didn’t see it coming.
She wielded the spar like a rounders bat. He was still lower on the path than she; the spar hit him across the side of the head.
The spar cracked, broke, fell from her hands.
He slumped to his knees, groggy, dazed, but not unconscious. He weaved. Desperate, she glanced around.
There were no other spars.
She grabbed up her skirts, stepped around him, and ran. Fled like a fury down the path, leaping down from the workings and streaking across the moor to plunge into the dark wood.
Chest heaving, she forced herself to slow. The roots were treacherous; she couldn’t afford to fall. If she could get to the cottages and raise the alarm, she’d be safe. She didn’t even have to worry about Matthew anymore.
From behind her came a roar; the thud of heavy footsteps reached her, rapidly gaining.
Fighting down panic, she kept her eyes down, locked on the path, feet dancing over the tree roots—
She ran into a black wall.
She shrieked, then stilled as the familiar scent, the familiar feel of Tony’s body against hers, of his arms wrapping about her sank into her senses. She nearly fainted with relief.
He was looking beyond her, over her head. “Where is he?”
His words were a lethal whisper.
“On the path leading up to a disused mine.”
He nodded. “I know it. Stay here.”
With that he was gone. He moved so swiftly, so silently, surefooted in the darkness, that by the time, dazed, she turned, she’d nearly lost him.
She followed, but carefully, as quiet as he. She’d expected him to wait in the shadows and let Sir Freddie blunder into him as she had, but instead, he paused, waited until Sir Freddie was nearly to the trees, then calmly, determinedly, walked out of the wood.
Sir Freddie saw him. Pure horror crossed his face. He skidded to a halt, turned, and fled.
Back up the path.
Tony was at his heels almost immediately. Following as fast as her skirts would allow, she could see that he could have overhauled Sir Freddie anywhere along the upward slope. Instead, he waited until Sir Freddie gained the level stretch beside the gaping mine shaft before he reached out, spun Sir Freddie around, and plowed his fist into his face.
She heard the sickening thud all the way down the path where she was laboring upward. The first thud was followed by more; she couldn’t see either man but felt sure Sir Freddie was on the receiving end. She hoped every blow hurt as badly as they sounded. Gaining the level stretch, she looked, just in time to see Tony slam his fist into
