“Whitney, how do you fare?”
“For a moment there, I thought you were not here. I almost cast up my accounts when I heard your voice.”
Moreham pulled the coil of rope he’d brought with him from his saddle. He left Whitney and followed Cross and his prisoners into the gatehouse. Cross took the rope and produced two pristine white handkerchiefs. He tied up Roberts and Colchester then gagged them with the handkerchiefs. “My lords, if all goes well, we shall return within the hour and release you from your bindings. You may consider your capture to be an affront to your titles, but I prefer to think of our actions as a means to keep you alive. You can offer your thanks later.”
“Whitney as for you, all you have to do is stay in the saddle and do exactly as I say. We will both be home before the sun rises, and this nightmare will be behind us.”
“Moreham, I wish I had your confidence of such an occurrence...” Whitney’s voice broke.
“Whitney, remember what Philly said, there are many plots against the government on any given day. If not here, you may have been involved in something far worse. Now, we must deal with this conspiracy once and for all.”
Whitney shook his head. “You don’t understand who we are up against. I have only met him once and that was enough for me. Cold eyes. Reminds me of a corpse laid out for burial. Not looking forward to seeing him again.”
Cross reappeared with their horses. Moreham nodded his thanks and swung himself into the saddle. His friend followed suit, and the three men headed back down the lane. Moreham kept Whitney at his side. He had to ensure the man did not turn tail and run before they gained entrance to the abbey. Whitney’s worried glances over his shoulder did not help.
Moreham wished the sun was rising and they were heading in the other direction. Back to the manor and Gillian.
Gillian pulled the hood of Lady Roberts’ cloak up over her head and walked out of the manor to the waiting carriage. Perkins brushed past the groom waiting by the coach door to assist her. The butler winked at her as he shoved the door closed. A quick thump on the side of the coach, the snapping of the coachman’s whip and she was away from the manor. Only then did Gillian finally take a breath. She slumped into the velvet upholstery and waited. Well sprung, the carriage moved down the drive to the gates with little to no movement.
A call from the gatekeeper signaled their exit from the estate. Gillian leaned forward, peeked out the window and waited for the coach to turn toward the abbey. She had no idea what she would do if the coachman went to the left which meant they were headed in the opposite direction. A left turn would mean traveling on the road that bordered the estate’s fields and no houses where she could seek help should she be discovered. Gillian had never felt so alone as she did at that moment. She fell to the right as the coachman called to the horses to veer in that direction.
Gillian wondered where Moreham was. Had he and Cross switched places with her uncle’s friends? So lost in thought, she didn’t realize the carriage had slowed down until she heard voices outside. Her heart hurt from its frantic beating.
The door flew open and a small man entered.
“Really, Lady Gillian, did you think you would be able to escape me so easily?”
Gillian groaned on hearing the familiar voice from the abbey courtyard. “Well, one must do what one must. Rather forward of you to presume to stop my coach and importune my privacy. I have no jewels or coins should you have robbery on your mind.”
“My lady, robbery is such a common crime. Treason, on the other hand, is far more satisfying and profitable. Since you are the one present, my dear Mary must have been less than proficient in her attempt to depart without notice from the manor? I am assuming the lady is otherwise engaged. My man realized you weren’t her when Perkins all but shoved you into the coach since you are a good foot shorter than my blond Amazon.”
Gillian ignored the man’s comment. She knew she must get as much information from him as time allowed. “Who are you?” She leaned forward and looked out the window. “We have another quarter hour before we reach the abbey. Time enough for you to satisfy my curiosity. Odds of me surviving the night are not in my favor so what will it hurt to explain? Consider it entertainment for my last moments.”
“It seems you are everything Percy said you were. He worried you would see through his deception. Far too intelligent for a woman, he said.” The man crossed his leg over his knee and relaxed into a slouch against the backward-facing seat. “Very well, I am the bastard son of the Duke of Whitney. I am your cousin. Stephen Whitney Martin.”
“You lie! This is not humorous in the least. Uncle would never deny his flesh and blood even a child born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Before he met the first duchess he carried on with an actress, my mother, Samantha Martin. And no, you have never heard of her. Her acting was mediocre at best, but she was beautiful. My papa set her up in a house, visited her on the sly and after a few months she found herself with child. By the time she learned of her pregnancy, Whitney was long gone to America to fight.
“My mother wrote letters to him petitioning him for support. He gave her a pittance to see her through my birth. I am
