No Ordinary Groom Read online

  So was she off meeting someone who had information that could put them all in danger? He was worried and frustrated and unable to do a thing about it.

  When the hunt was over, he and the other men returned to the manor for luncheon. Not surprisingly, Julia was among the ladies as they waited in the drawing room.

  As Will escorted Jane into the dining room, he casually asked her where Julia had gone off to. Jane frowned at him, and he knew he’d gone too far. He tried to hint that Kelthorpe had been worried, but he didn’t want to fabricate a lie so easily verified. Jane had no answers for him, and all he succeeded in doing was raising her suspicions.

  That night, even a private concert by the Royal Italian Opera did not make Will drowsy. After hours of pacing, he had finally fallen asleep when a faint sound out on the balcony startled him into silent wakefulness. At the end of his bed, Killer began a soft growling.

  “No, Killer. Sleep.”

  The dog put his head down, although Will could still see the sheen of his open eyes. Will lay back and kept his breathing deep and even, adding an occasional soft snore, all the while keeping his senses attuned for anything out of the ordinary.

  A floorboard creaked near the balcony. Will stayed relaxed and Killer remained still.

  He heard the faintest, shallow breathing coming nearer. He gave another snore, then slit his eyelids to peer into the shadowy darkness. A man approached, wearing all black, with a mask across his face. Will forced himself to wait until the intruder loomed over him. The man raised his arm, and a knife glittered in the moonlight.

  Will shot up and grabbed his upraised arm. The man’s only response was a grunt of surprise. Killer began a furious barking. As they grappled for the weapon, Will thrust his knee into the man’s stomach. The air whooshed out of him, and the knife clattered to the floor. Will punched him several times in the face, and the intruder staggered back toward the open balcony door. He fell through it, then scrambled to his feet and vaulted over the edge.

  When Will reached the balustrade and leaned over it, his attacker was fleeing into the darkness of the gardens. Killer stuck his head out between the posts of the balustrade, barking an obvious warning not to return. Realizing he was still naked, Will swore and went back inside, firmly closing and locking the door. He’d been a fool to leave it unlocked—as if he could hope that Jane would ever climb his balcony to be with him.

  The usual rush of restlessness swept over him after such a near escape, and he paced the room, pausing occasionally to give the dog a congratulatory petting. This was not a random robbery attempt; Julia must have discovered Will’s connection to her pursuers. During the hunt, had she gone to meet that man, then given him orders to kill Will?

  She couldn’t possibly think that Jane was in on the scheme—could she?

  He pulled on trousers, a shirt and boots. It was the middle of the night, so he felt relatively confident he could run through the dark corridors unseen. The occasional lamp glimmered, lighting his way to the opposite wing of the house, where the ladies slept. He found Jane’s door, paused to listen, then slowly opened it.

  Chapter 17

  Motionless, Will first searched the shadows with his eyes, seeing that all seemed normal in Jane’s room. She was asleep in bed; the balcony doors were closed. Moving cautiously, he checked inside the wardrobe and behind the changing screen. He dropped flat on his stomach to search beneath the bed, but to his relief he found nothing. As he rose onto his knees, he came eye to eye with a disheveled Jane propped on one elbow, watching him.

  He smiled. “Good evening.”

  She frowned. “I know you have trouble sleeping, but this penchant you have for invading my room must cease.”

  “Forgive me. Our last encounter is still too vivid in my mind.”

  She hesitated, and he imagined she was blushing.

  Softly, she said, “I understand that my…behavior might lead you to think that I welcome your seduction.”

  He leaned his elbows on the bed. “Don’t you?”

  “No. I’ve allowed unfamiliar emotions to sway me, and now that I know what to guard against, it will stop.”

  “So easily?” he said, lowering his voice. He reached out and ran his fingertip up her clothed arm. “Then you are better than I. Now that I’ve kissed you, touched you—”

  He lifted her hand, and though her eyes remained skeptical, she allowed it.

  “—licked you—”

  When he touched his tongue to the center of her palm, she inhaled swiftly, then pulled back.

  “Don’t you see?” he whispered. “I can’t help myself.”

  “Then you had best return to your bed.” Though her voice sounded shaky, she looked resolute.

  He gave a deep sigh and pushed to his feet. “I’ll leave you then, and we’ll both ache through the night with frustration.”

  She lay back, pulling the coverlet up to her chin.

  “There is just one more thing. We’ll take our leave first thing in the morning.”

  She eyed him curiously but only nodded. “We won’t go to church with the other guests?”

  “No.”

  “Very well. I’ll be ready.”

  “No other protests?” he asked, standing over her bed, enjoying the view of her sleep-tossed hair scattered across the pillows. “Aren’t you enjoying the duke’s guests and many entertainments?” “I would rather see my father. Now shall I come first thing in the morning to change your bandages?”

  “No, I’m healing well.” He paused and grinned. “But if you simply must come to my room—”

  “Good night, William.”

  Will remained awake and restless for the final hours of the night, alternately walking the corridors and circling the outside of the manor to keep watch on the balconies. The thought of Jane in danger made his usual confidence feel raw and shaken.

  When this was over, he would make it clear to Nick that he was finished. Never again would he put his wife or future children in harm’s way. He had done enough for England.

  Just after dawn, Jane sat alone in the breakfast parlor eating. She heard footsteps outside the door and looked up to see William.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I am so pleased at how easily you obey me.”

  “Only because I am in agreement that it’s time to resume our journey. Although I’d like to remain until we’ve had a chance to say good-bye.”

  “If you mean to Miss Reed and the other ladies, it could be hours until they descend. We’ll give Kelthorpe our regrets and be off, so as not to waste the day. You can write them all letters.”

  She watched him help himself to the breakfast tureens on the sideboard. Today he was moving with a briskness that was unusual for him, as if he was distracted from his normal routine. He seemed so—alert.

  A man who could fight while pretending not to.

  Within the hour they said their farewells to the Duke of Kelthorpe. Julia had even come down early, and the two women kissed cheeks and promised to write.

  Jane found their carriage already out front, loaded with their trunks. She greeted Mr. Barlow, who helped her up inside. Sitting down with a sigh on the padded leather seat, she realized she had appreciated the few days away from the rolling confinement. But she was perfectly happy to be back on the road and heading for Yorkshire—and her father.

  The carriage rocked as William swung himself inside and deposited Killer on the opposite bench. She waited for him to begin an inane conversation, or attempt to steal a kiss, but surprisingly he only gave her a brief smile and turned to look out the window. She noticed the carriage was traveling a bit faster than it had before.

  As the minutes turned into hours, she tried to read her book when the road was good; otherwise she studied the countryside—and her betrothed. Something was very different about him, and it made her curious and uneasy. His eyes, normally so good-natured and genial, now seemed cold, as if weighty thoughts occupied him. Though he tried to mask the movement, every so often he leaned out and
quickly glanced behind the carriage. Did he think someone was following them?

  And he had stopped talking.

  This was a man who could hold an entire conversation all by himself. Now, except for occasional inquiries about her comfort, or telling her the distance to the next inn in Newark upon Trent, he remained mute, preoccupied.

  What was going on?

  At dusk they reached the courtyard of the inn, a large, sprawling, shabby affair with galleries on each floor above the courtyard. William stepped outside to speak to Mr. Barlow, then helped her down and insisted on escorting her into a private dining room.

  “But William, you know how I enjoy talking to people.” Jane stared down at her elbow, where he gripped her almost urgently.

  Without answering, he led her through a gloomy hallway off the courtyard, past offices and parlors, following the innkeeper at a pace she almost couldn’t keep up with.

  When they reached their dining chamber, she watched William look about at the little sitting area, with its sofa and upholstered chair, and the table before the hearth. He nodded to the innkeeper, who beamed and rubbed his hands together, as if anticipating a large reward for good service.

  William walked to the door. “Mr. Tupper, could you go over the menu with my intended? She’ll want to know what you’re serving tonight.”

  Jane gaped at him. Since when did she care about the particulars of their meals? “William—”

  “I’ve got to go help Barlow with the trunks and the horses, my dear. I’ll return in a moment.”

  Help Mr. Barlow with his coachman’s duties? He’d never done that before.

  The door closed behind him, Mr. Tupper started talking, and Jane stared about almost wildly.

  What was going on?

  She had had enough of being kept in the dark. Wearing a fixed smile, she told the innkeeper to serve them the inn’s specialty. She walked around him as he stuttered in confusion, then she went back down the hall and out into the courtyard. At least he didn’t follow her.

  She lifted her hood up, pulled the cloak tighter and looked about her. The night was almost dark now, although there were lanterns hung from pegs on various buildings and poles. Horses were being led past her, weary passengers jostled her, and she had to make way for porters carrying trunks on their shoulders. She asked where carriages would be parked for the night and was directed outside the courtyard, to another yard where the outbuildings were grouped.

  She walked through the dark tunnel underneath the first-floor gallery. When she was once again in the open, a cool wind buffeted her, and she gathered her cloak tighter. There were fewer lanterns now, but she followed the noise of horses and stable lads. The stable was a large cavernous building, and off to the right, a line of coaches was parked near a coach house. Men moved to and fro carrying lanterns, and she followed them along the line of coaches until she came to the last one, William’s, closest to a field, which stretched away into darkness.

  Jane was about to give up, but she took a chance and walked around the far side of the carriage. By the light of a wildly swinging lantern, two men silently grappled with each other, their feet braced on the ground as they tried to knock each other over. In the shadows, she could not see who it was, but she had an overwhelming feeling that one of them might be William. She hesitated—panicked, frightened, uncertain if she should call for help.

  She suddenly heard a low moan and realized the bulky shape on the ground nearest the carriage was a man. She took a cautious step forward, then stopped.

  “Hello?” she called softly, glancing back quickly at the combatants. “Do you need help?”

  “Miss Whittington?”

  It was more a croak than a regular voice, but she recognized it at once.

  “Mr. Barlow!” she gasped, going down on her knees in the mud beside him. “Are you all right?”

  When she tried to cradle his head, he groaned, and she felt the stickiness of blood.

  “Lord Chadwick, he needs—” was all he said before he fainted.

  She pulled off her cloak and used it to cushion Mr. Barlow’s head. Then she turned and looked at the two fighting men just as one landed a solid punch to the other’s jaw.

  It was William fighting with a pugilist’s grace and skill, and she stared in shock and even a bit of rising admiration—which she quickly squelched, of course. Killer, abnormally silent for a dog, circled the two men with frantic steps.

  The stranger yelled something in a language she’d never heard before—and William replied. Jane sat back on her heels and just gaped at him, feeling as if everything she thought she knew about him was crashing down around her. She didn’t know what to do but kneel there beside Mr. Barlow and watch the fight until it was finished.

  And it was finished rather quickly. William landed a series of blows to the head and stomach of the stranger that sent the man reeling.

  William glanced over at the carriage as if he suddenly knew someone else was watching. “Jane?”

  But the distraction was enough for the stranger to seize victory by lunging for a bucket and swinging it in a wild arc.

  “William!” she screamed, rising to her feet as if she could help.

  He lifted up his arms to ward off the blow, but he still ended up tumbling to his knees as the bucket caught him in the side. The stranger flung the bucket to the ground and ran into the fields. William took off after him. With a sudden wild barking, Killer followed.

  “William!”

  He ignored her, and she stared openmouthed as the darkness swallowed him up. Mr. Barlow groaned again, and she knelt back down at his side.

  “Are you awake? Can you walk if I help you?”

  For several minutes, she spoke to the coachman in a soothing voice, trying to ascertain if he was well enough to return to the inn.

  “Allow me,” said a voice just above her.

  She fell back onto her rump before realizing it was William, almost a stranger to her by the light of a single lantern. Killer panted at his side.

  “How did you do that?” she demanded angrily. “I didn’t even hear you coming! Did that man escape?”

  He nodded. “We almost had him. Killer and I trailed him to his horse. Killer bit his thigh as he mounted—”

  “Bit his thigh!”

  “If you haven’t noticed, the dog can jump rather high. But it was all for naught, since the brigand pushed Killer off and escaped.” He squatted down beside his dog, ruffled his furry head and hugged him. “The fall must have hurt him. And is that blood on your mouth?” he said to Killer. “Wounded the bad guy, did you? What a good dog.”

  Killer leaned against his leg in an adoring fashion, and Jane sighed.

  She tersely asked William to fetch the lantern off a hook on the stable wall. He held it over Mr. Barlow, who lifted a hand to rub his head. She pushed his hand aside and looked at the wound above his ear.

  “There’s a lot of blood,” she whispered, feeling rather queasy.

  “It’s a blow to the head—they always bleed,” William answered matter-of-factly.

  “Do they?” she said, watching him.

  He spared her a puzzled glance, then pulled off his coat and waistcoat and wrapped the latter about Mr. Barlow’s head.

  “Barlow,” William said, “do you think you can make it inside the coach with my help?”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t move him?” Jane asked hesitantly.

  But Mr. Barlow nodded, and Jane stood up as William lifted beneath his arms and hauled him to his feet. Mr. Barlow was not a small man, but William managed him rather…effortlessly. She quickly opened the door to the coach, then watched as William helped their driver inside. Mr. Barlow slumped against the seat with a sigh. With the flick of a match, William lit the interior lantern, then all four lanterns on the outside of the carriage.

  “Are we going somewhere?” Jane asked.

  “Somewhere safer than this. That bastard’ll be back eventually. I’ll have the horses brought around, and I’ll fi
nd some water and bandages for Barlow’s tough head.”

  “Tough head?” she repeated, although she was still dwelling on the fact that the mysterious villain would return. She stared out across the dark fields and wondered if they were being watched.

  “This has happened to Barlow before,” he said with a grin that gleamed in the low light. “He’s probably used to it by now. A coachman lives a dangerous life.”

  Mr. Barlow gave a snort, as if the two shared a private joke.

  “Up inside, Jane.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be right back. Make sure old Barlow’s not bleeding to death.”

  “The innkeeper is preparing our dinner!” she protested.

  “We won’t have time to wait.”

  “But—”

  William took her by the waist and effortlessly set her inside. She smoothed down her skirts and gaped at him as he put Killer onto the opposite seat. As the door shut behind her, she perched on the edge of Mr. Barlow’s seat with apprehension, but he smiled at her, and his eyes twinkled.

  “It’ll be all right, miss,” he said hoarsely. “I’m feelin’ better already.”

  Men and their bravado. But she gave him a tight smile and pressed the waistcoat more forcefully against his head.

  When William returned, he gave her a bucket of steaming water and a cloth bundle. As she spread it open to see linens and bandages, she felt the coach rock as the horses were harnessed. The lantern above her head swayed dangerously but didn’t spill.

  William ducked his head inside the door. “Come on, Killer.”

  Jane frowned. “Where are you taking him?”

  “See how concerned you are—you’re smitten with him already.”

  “Oh, please.”

  William grinned. “I’m going to have him trail the carriage. He’ll let me know if we’re being followed.”

  She didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. “I thought you said he was limping.”