To Bed a Beaty

“Her ladyship’s servants could search the countryside tonight, but it would be pointless. He’ll be long gone by now.”

“So we should simply do nothing?” Roslyn asked in frustration.

The duke’s eyes, cool and green, met hers. “A thorough search can be conducted in the morning. I wounded him, so there may be a blood trail to follow. But for now there is nothing to be gained by trying to chase after him.”

The duke directed his gaze toward Winifred’s coachman, who was still attempting to calm his jittery team. “You will take her ladyship home and see to her safety.”

“Aye, yer grace.”

Roslyn wanted to argue, yet she knew Arden was right. It was pointless to search for the wounded highwayman until morning.

“I would like to go home,” Winifred murmured in a weak voice.

She looked about to swoon, which alarmed Roslyn even more than the holdup had done. Her friend was one of the strongest women she knew and never succumbed to the vapors.

“You need to sit down, Winifred,” Roslyn urged, guiding her to the door of the barouche.

Arden helped her inside, then handed Roslyn up beside her.

He was about to step back to allow the footman to close the door when Winifred leaned forward to address him. “Please, will you accompany us, your grace?” she implored. “I would feel ever so much safer with your presence.” When he hesitated, Winifred patted her bosom with a fluttery motion. “Please…my heart is beating so hard, I think I might faint.”

Roslyn shot her friend a highly suspicious glance. Winifred had never before suffered heart palpitations either, and the possibility that she was feigning weakness in order to secure the duke’s time and attention was too strong to dismiss.

Arden, however, nodded in polite agreement, perhaps because he was too much of a gentleman to question her motives. “Let me direct my coachman to follow us.”

Roslyn was not overjoyed that the duke would be riding with them, for she’d expected to be rid of him by now. Yet she could hardly object when Winifred claimed to need his comforting presence to soothe her frayed nerves.

When he turned away, Winifred sagged back against the seat, fanning herself weakly. In the glow from the interior lamp, her complexion was as ruddy as ever. Her voice, too, was steadier when she said, “You were very brave, my dear. I am grateful that you tried to save my brooch, but it wasn’t worth your life. I am so thankful you weren’t shot-and that Arden was there to rescue us.”

“I am as well,” Roslyn murmured.

The duke returned just then and climbed in to sit opposite them. He was still armed, she saw as the barouche began moving.

“I always carry a brace of pistols when I travel,” he said, seeing the focus of her gaze.

“Thank heavens you did,” Winifred said. “You are a capital shot, your grace, and quite heroic. Was he not, Roslyn?”

“Yes, indeed,” she admitted reluctantly.

His mouth curved. “You managed to stay calm, I noticed, Miss Loring. Some young ladies would have given way to hysterics.”

“I am not the hysterical sort.”

And yet she was more unnerved by the holdup than she’d realized. They all could have been injured or worse. Roslyn felt herself shudder, remembering how the bandit had threatened to kill Winifred’s footman. No doubt she was suffering from a delayed reaction, but she was indeed grateful for the duke’s presence.

“Bloody coward,” Winifred muttered, “accosting two unarmed ladies.” She glanced at Arden. “I hope you will stay the night at Freemantle Park, your grace. We need you to protect us.”

“I had already decided as much.”

Roslyn shifted uneasily in her seat. “Surely it isn’t necessary to impose on his grace.”

His eyes held a gleam of amusement. “Are you so eager to be rid of me?”

She felt herself blush at his perceptiveness.

“Someone,” Arden continued, “must organize a search and speak to the local authorities tomorrow. Perhaps set up a watch to try and prevent future robberies. You have a bailiff or a steward, my lady?”

“A bailiff.”

“Then I will meet with him in the morning and make arrangements.”

Roslyn still was reluctant to involve the duke in their affairs. “You needn’t put yourself to such trouble.”

“I have no wish to tell Marcus about the attempted robbery, do you? If I handle the matter, he won’t need to know.”

She hesitated, acknowledging his point. If Marcus thought there was a highwayman at large threatening the district, he would likely postpone his wedding trip, and Arabella deserved to enjoy her newfound happiness uninterrupted.

“I suppose not,” Roslyn finally said. “But still-”

“I will deal with it,” Arden stated, cutting off any further protest. There was an implacable note of finality in his tone, as if he was unaccustomed to having his decisions questioned. But he was a duke, after all.

“Now tell me what happened tonight,” he suggested. “What exactly did our highwayman say and do?”

Roslyn gave a brief account of the attempted robbery, and Winifred chimed in with a detail or two.

“I could scarcely believe it was happening,” the elder lady added at the last. “Ours is a very quiet neighborhood. And this is not the main road to London.”

“I think,” Roslyn said slowly, “that he waited for us to leave Danvers Hall and then followed us.”

Arden’s interest sharpened. “Why do you say so?”

“Because he knew precisely what jewels Lady Freemantle was wearing. He must have seen her earlier today.”

“Or perhaps he was informed by someone who did see her,” Arden observed.

“But it is curious that he only wanted her brooch.”

“Brooch?”

Winifred drew aside her shawl to display the piece. “This was the only item that devil demanded. I can’t imagine why he would want my brooch.”

“Did either of you recognize him?” the duke asked. “Anything familiar about him? Any identifying characteristics?”

“Not that I noticed,” Roslyn said thoughtfully. “Although I realize now that he was surprisingly wellspoken.”

His speech was not of the lower classes, Roslyn was certain. In fact, Winifred’s accent was much rougher than the brigand’s.

“Well,” the duke said, “we can do our best to find him, but I doubt we will have much luck.”

Roslyn had to agree. Finding a small, red-haired, well-spoken footpad who had tried to rob Winifred would likely be impossible. The only detail that might lead to his identification was that he was likely wounded, perhaps in the arm, but they couldn’t even be sure of that.

Falling silent, she settled back against the squabs, wondering how the special evening had suddenly turned so grim.

Drew was regretting the turn of events almost as much as she. This was precisely what he had hoped to avoid-becoming further entangled with Roslyn Loring. He would rather be halfway to London by now. Yet he couldn’t leave the ladies without protection. And he owed it to Marcus to stay and see to matters.

Barely an hour before, he’d promised his friend to keep an eye on the two younger Loring sisters. He and Heath had remained late at the ball in order to say farewell to Marcus and share a brandy to mourn the demise of his bachelorhood, even though Marcus had soundly rejected their condolences and claimed to be wildly content with his love match to Arabella.

Drew found himself swearing at the wretched timing. It was the devil’s own luck that the highwayman had struck so soon after his making that promise.