Page 30 of Society's Most Disreputable Gentleman

The scurrying men ignored her as they loaded up as much cargo as could carry from the stone chamber and hurried after their leader. Pressing herself against the curtain wall, heart hammering, Amanda waited until the sounds of the departing men and horses faded.

She raced towards the gate of the bailey, then stopped short, gasping. Her sympathetic guard lay face down on the ground near the entrance; Jenkins, struggling to free himself from his bonds, sat nearby.

She ran first to the groom, pulling off the gag and wrestling to untangle the knots that bound him.

‘Are you all right, Miss Amanda?’ he asked. ‘Your father will discharge me, and rightly, for letting that blackguard take you!’

‘I’m unharmed. Of course Papa shall not discharge you! How could you have known there would be brigands on the road in full daylight, any more than I did? Nor could you resist such superior numbers. But the guard!’ she cried. ‘Did they…?’

‘Knocked him out,’ Jenkins replied. ‘The group from town arrived before they could finish him off.’

Leaving Jenkins to free the last knots, she turned and put her fingers to the temple of the downed man. Mercifully, a pulse still beat strongly.

‘Could you carry him on your horse back to village?’ she asked Jenkins. ‘And look for Master George. I’m afraid he may be involved in this.’

‘Nay, miss, I can’t leave you! I didn’t bring no weapon, more’s the pity, but if we hole up inside Neville Tour, won’t nobody be able to take you.’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no need; you heard Black John’s men. They’re heading back to secure their vessel. If I set off for Ashton straight away, taking the path over the fields that only the local men know, I’ll be safe enough. Please, you know how precarious my father’s health has been since losing my aunt and mother. I fear for his life itself, should his son be killed or injured. You must go for George at once!’

The downed farmer began stirring. Helping him to sit, Amanda said, ‘Let my groom help you into town. I haven’t anything here to treat your hurts.’

‘I’ll just make my way home, miss.’ He touched his bloody head gingerly and grimaced. ‘Never thought it would happen, but the innkeeper at the Sloop and Gull were right. The folks rose against Black John at last.’

Amanda argued with him for a few minutes, but the farmer was adamant. Amanda suspected he wanted to be home and gone before any revenue officers made an appearance.

‘Will you at least give me your name, so my father can thank you?’

The injured man managed a grin. ‘Now, miss, you know with the Gentlemen it’s best to ask no questions, in case the authorities was to question you later.’

He was probably right, Amanda thought. She wasn’t very good at dissembling. After sending off the farmer with an admonition to take care, she turned to the groom.

‘You’ll find my brother now, please?’

‘Aye, miss. You get yourself home, too, afore whoever be coming here arrives. You hear anything while you’re going through the fields, you spring that mare. Ain’t a horse in the country can catch Vixen.’

Moments later, the groom was on his way and the farmer had limped out of sight. Time to collect her mount and ride home, before the townsmen arrived or any hint of the disturbance reached Papa.

As she recalled the shocking events since her departure from home, her legs suddenly went too weak to support her. Shocked, horrified, at what had happened, what had almost happened, she sagged back against the curtain wall.

Never in her life had she given a thought to travelling the countryside with more than a groom to accompany her. There had always been smugglers about, but they’d never operated in daylight and never, ever, accosted women.

She remembered Black John’s mouth on hers, his rough hand snaking under her skirts. Nausea welled up, her head swam; for a moment, she thought she might be ill.

Sitting down on the ruined wall, she forced herself to take deep, steadying breaths. Nothing had happened, really. She’d lost her hat somewhere in the struggle and the brigand had threatened and manhandled her, but she was not truly hurt.

She’d not think of what he might have done. She must calm herself before she arrived home, lest her father sense her distress.

But as she rose to fetch her mare, she heard the pounding of hooves that announced a rider approaching at a gallop. Panic slashing through her again, she glanced about wildly for some crevice in the ruins where she might hide herself, for a stone or even a stick she might use as a weapon. Oh, why, believing a skirmish was imminent, had she not brought even a small pistol with her?

Finally she settled on a large round stone, pitiful as protection, but better than nothing. She’d just secreted herself behind the crumbling walls of one of the outbuildings when she heard a shout. ‘Miss Neville! Amanda! Are you there?’

Surprise and joy welled up as she recognised Greville Anders’s voice. She had no idea why he would be riding up, calling for her, but never in her life had she been happier to hear her name on anyone’s lips.

Relief making her weak, she sank back against the rock wall. ‘Here,’ she called, her voice despicably weak and trembling. ‘I’m in here.’

Chapter Fourteen

Thank heavens, Miss Neville was still at the fortress! Greville thought as he pulled up his horse. Putting from his mind any thought of what the brigand might have done to her, the mere idea of which would make him crazy, he tossed down the reins, took his weapon in hand and sprinted in the direction from which her reply had come.

His poor mount was blown, after he’d urged him uphill at a steady gallop ever since he encountered Jenkins on the road from Salters Bay and learned Miss Neville had been held captive by Black John and his men. Despite Jenkins’s assurance that she was quite unharmed, Greville vowed that if that brigand had laid a finger on her, he’d search him out and tear him limb from limb. Terrified for her safety and furious, he’d let the innkeeper and the other townsmen head back to the coast to intercept the smugglers while he proceeded on alone, driven by the need to make sure she was safe.

He’d never seen a lovelier sight than her slender form, seated on rock beside one of the ruins in the bailey. Picking up his pace, he rushed to her side, forcing the nightmarish visions of brutal violation back into the dark cave from which they’d sprung.

‘Thank God you’re all right!’ he told her. ‘I met Jenkins on way, told him I’d come for you while he went back to Ashton to let everyone know you are safe. You…are unharmed?’

She nodded, trying to control her trembling lips. ‘I am now. But what of my brother? I sent Jenkins to find George and send him back to Ashton Grove.’

‘I already did. I think today’s violence finally impressed him that dabbling in smuggling is not a game, but a risk that carries serious consequences. Are you truly all right? That villain did not touch you?’

She shook her head, but one hand went unconsciously to her lips.

‘That blackguard!’ Greville exploded. ‘He did hurt you? By St George, I’ll strike him down where he stands!’

‘He didn’t have a chance to steal more than a kiss before news of the ambush in Salters Bay reached here. He and his men left with all speed for their ship, desperate to reach it before the townspeople got there. Anyway, I would have fought with everything I possessed to prevent him taking m-more.’

To his dismay, her voice broke and her calm demeanour splintered. Lips trembling, she gasped out a ‘sorry’, hugged her arms about herself and dropped her gaze, tears tracking down her dusty cheeks.

The need to offer comfort was too strong to resist. ‘Poor sweetheart,’ he murmured and pulled her into his arms.

Once she was safely cradled against his chest, her tears came in earnest, great gasping sobs that clawed at his heart while her fingers clung to his shoulders. He hugged her close, as he’d wanted to do for so long, savouring her scent and her softness.

Before his body got other ideas, he warned himself sternly that comfort was all he would offer, no matter how tempting her lips or how deliciously soft the breasts pressed against him.

At last the storm of weeping subsided and she pushed away. Reluctantly he released her.

‘Mr Anders, I am indeed sorry. First I stumble into danger, then I weep all over your coat. You’ve no reason to believe me, but I’m not usually such a poor honey.’

Smoothing back a stray wisp of golden hair, he wiped a tear from under her eye. ‘It’s my privilege to offer comfort. I’m only glad nothing else happened. I would have had to put to sea in pursuit of Black John and I’m still not quite healed enough to handle a tiller.’

That earned him a wobbly smile. ‘You’d have pursued him, for me?’

‘To the gates of hell. Him, or anyone who tried to harm you,’ he replied, with implacable steel in his tone that could leave her in no doubt of his sincerity.

She took his hand and kissed it, then laid it against her cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

The sheen of tears as she looked up at him made the already bright blue of her eyes even deeper. Helpless to resist, he ran one gentle finger over her reddened lips. ‘It’s an outrage that brigand touched these,’ he murmured.

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