Chapter Fifteen
L issa followed Anthony as he led the way down the dark corridor toward the ballroom. They’d had to wait until after five in the morning before Pemberton and Alice had said goodnight to Leighhall. The sun would be up in less than an hour, so they needed to find something quickly.
She almost wished they could stay for the bacchanal now that she’d discovered all the women were spending the morning hours in the parlor making changes to their costumes. Delilah said that Leighhall always sent revealing costumes for the last night, and they always modified them. Maybe if Anthony found something, she could convince him to stay.
At the first set of doors to the ballroom, he stopped and slowly opened one so they could slip inside with no noise at all. Thankful she’d worn her maroon evening dress for its lack of decoration and dark color, she stood in the dark, cavernous room as he closed the door behind them. How could he see in the almost-complete darkness? Luckily, there was a muted light coming in from the terrace doors, no doubt from the moon through the clouds, a sign a storm was rolling in.
Anthony took her hand and led the way to the gentlemen’s room then suddenly stopped.
She froze. Had he heard something?
He reached out to what looked like a column, but she’d didn’t remember one being there.
He swore under his breath, which made her look closer. The column was opposite another, which was across from another and another. It was clearly set up for the event later that evening. Each column had rope nailed into it halfway up, with the rest lying on the ground. In the middle of the four columns was what looked like a sideboard that had been covered in a tablecloth. As the purpose for the setup became clear, she shivered.
The carnal sacrifice. Did Leighhall really believe one of them would allow themselves to be tied onto that sideboard?
The answer came swiftly. He did.
Anthony tugged her forward, and soon they were before the gun case. She could only tell because her hand touched the glass. Anthony handed her the lamp he carried and went about finding the hidden latch. The click was the only sound as the case moved across the floor.
She felt his hand reach for hers, and she grasped it as he pulled her forward into absolute darkness.
He closed the door before using flint and tinder to light the lantern she held. Once there was light, they moved toward the desk.
He lit the larger lantern. “I want to see the rest of the room before reviewing these papers. Can you get into the locked drawers?”
She grinned and pulled a hairpin from her hair. “I can.”
He leaned forward and kissed her briefly, then turned and moved along the wall, studying the weapons.
Immediately, she set the small lantern on the desk and bent over the top drawer. After inserting her hairpin, it took but seconds before she heard the tiny click. Opening the drawer, she found more letters, but left them to work on the next locked drawer.
When she opened that one, she sucked in her breath. It was filled with old gold coins and pieces of jewelry. Did Leighhall collect stolen treasure as well? She and her grandmother could live the rest of their lives with but half of what was there. Glancing up to see where Anthony was, she found him studying the marks in the practice wall.
Quickly, she dropped a few pieces of jewelry into her hidden pockets then filled her hand with gold coins and slipped them into her boots. She grabbed more and stuffed them beneath her breasts and into her stays, thankful once again that her chest was on the smaller size.
“Did you find anything?” Anthony strode toward the desk.
“Indeed I did. Look.” She pointed to the open drawer of wealth.
He didn’t appear impressed. “Unless that’s stolen, that won’t help us.”
That he could be so unimpressed with such a hoard reminded her that he was from a far different class than her, something that was easy to forget with him. “That drawer over there has more letters.”
“This may help.” He pulled the drawer completely out and set it on the chair behind the desk to study the letters. The only furniture in the entire room was a few small tables for lanterns.
Now that Anthony had lit a few more lanterns, most of the room could be seen, though a few dark spots still remained. The walls were covered with old weaponry, no two pieces alike. Everything from blades, to guns, to whips, and a few she didn’t recognize. They were hung from just above the floor to about twelve feet high.
It would have passed for a room in a museum if it weren’t for the blank wall planked in wood. Now that the wall was lit in full, faded figures could be made out on it. Two were sketched, one an outline and one a complete painting. Scratches and holes were all over each figure as well as in the large spaces between them. The open space in the middle would make practicing with the various weapons easy. She shivered. If Leighhall were moderately skillful with even half the weapons, it made him extremely dangerous. Truly understanding Anthony’s concern, she moved her attention to the letters on the desk.
Maybe she needed to review the ones about women as well as the ones on weapons. She skimmed the contents of the top letters nearest her. Three were about women and one on a weapon, but then she noticed a pattern in the ones about women. “Anthony, whoever is writing to Leighhall about the ladies he’s tupping starts the letters out by being grateful for the information.”
Anthony looked over. “What information?”
“It doesn’t say. But the signature on them changes. Sometimes it’s an elaborate P and sometimes it’s a plain capital R . Another has a small g . The handwriting, though, looks the same. Why would someone not sign their name?”
He stepped next to her. “Because he’s worried that if the letter falls into the wrong hands, he’ll be discovered?”
She met his gaze, anticipation filling her at the prospect of figuring out what Leighhall hid, besides the ancient weapons.
Anthony pointed to another letter. “This one discusses how the claymore will be delivered and hopes it is equal to Leighhall’s trouble.” He carefully lifted the letter that was on top of the signature. “This one was signed with the plain capital R . It sounds like Leighhall is receiving the weapons as gifts for providing information.”
Even as Anthony said the words, the content she’d read clicked into place. “That has to be it, but to what purpose?”
“We need to keep reading.” He turned back to the letters in the drawer.
With a better idea of what she needed to find, she walked around the desk searching for what kind of information was being provided.
“Ballocks.”
At Anthony’s vulgar swear, she looked up. “What is it?”
“This one references poison that could be slipped into food.”
She widened her eyes. Murder? Suddenly, the villager’s comments drifted through her head. But they do say there is a locked room at Woburn Manor that the lord doesn’t allow anyone into, not even to clean it. Some say he does terrible things to his staff in there.
She looked around her. If people were tortured in the room, they wouldn’t be heard. But she’d seen no dried blood. In fact, the room was very clean, with no dust on the weapons and the floor polished to a shine except where scratches from the weapons had marred it. Someone other than Leighhall was allowed inside. But none of that related to poison, or rather, not directly. “Poison is another weapon that causes death.”
“True. Keep searching.”
She returned her attention to the papers scattered across the desk. She’d just read a phrase commending Leighhall’s loyalty when a noise came from the china cupboard door. She snapped her gaze from it to Anthony, apprehension skittering up her spine. It could be the staff beginning the day, or it could be Leighhall! She pointed to the lantern and mouthed, Light.
Anthony immediately reached for it as she raced to the other side of the room to douse the other three. She had two of the three out when the door started to open. Quickly, she extinguished the last before crouching down to the floor, having seen Anthony do the same behind the desk.
Unfortunately, light flooded the room as Leighhall stepped inside followed by his butler.
“Who dares come in here?” The viscount’s fury was clear in his tone. “Show yourself. Now!”
Hoping Anthony wouldn’t listen, she clasped the dagger in her pocket and slowly rose.
“You!” Leighhall strode forward, and the rage in his eyes had her taking a step back.
His expression changed from anger to calculation in an instant. “You doxy. How did you get in here?”
Knowing his opinion of women, she cowered, hoping to lessen his anger. “I was just getting a closer look at the china. I wanted to see who made it. When I set it back, I must have hit something, because the cupboard opened.” She took another step back and hunched her shoulders, making herself as small a threat as possible.
Leighhall stopped in front of her, his gaze moving over her as if he were deciding what sexual position he’d like first, or what part of her body he would torture. She couldn’t be sure which.
Grasping the dagger in her hand harder, she lowered her gaze in submission, but as she did, she caught a glimpse of Anthony crawling behind the butler.
Leighhall’s finger raised her chin, but she kept her eyes lowered so he wouldn’t see the disgust at his touch. “The door to this room is locked, my dear liar.”
She snapped her gaze up to his and widened her eyes, shaking her head and dislodging his hand. “No, I swear. It was unlocked. I locked it once I came in.” She looked away toward the butler as Anthony rose behind the man. Quickly she brought her gaze to Leighhall’s again. “When I saw the weapons, I grew fearful. I don’t like guns.” She shivered.
A loud thwap , followed by a thump, had Leighhall turning to find the butler on the floor and Anthony standing there with a battle axe in his hand.
For a moment, he looked like a vengeful Viking to her, which she fully appreciated. But then she moved to get away from Leighhall.
How the man could turn and react to Anthony’s presence yet still reach out and grab her arm, she wasn’t sure, but his deadly quickness told her much about her opponent. “Now it makes sense.”
“Let her go.”
Leighhall laughed. “No. I want to know who sent you.”
Anthony’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t know what the man spoke of. “No one sent me. I came here because I admired you, but in the span of two days I have discovered you are hardly one to be admired.”
“You can drop the lie. You’re here to stop me, but you can’t. Everything is in motion, and you, and she”—Leighhall tugged Lissa toward him, holding her against his chest—“will quietly disappear.” The man chuckled. “Of course, I will have some fun with her first, but alas, you will not be alive long enough to watch.”
She’d thought Anthony looked like a Viking before, but now his gaze grew intense, almost glowing like an avenging angel’s. She felt Leighhall shift his weight as if expecting Anthony to attack. The slight movement gave her the space to pull her dagger from her pocket. Thrusting backward, she felt it sink deep between the man’s ribs as his hold loosened.
Pulling out of his grasp, she spun, making the mistake of looking at the damage she’d done. Blood seeped through Leighhall’s white shirt, and she froze.
“You bitch!”
She jumped at the rage in his voice, which allowed her to step further away, though she couldn’t take her eyes from the blood. She heard Anthony’s footsteps advancing across the floor.
Spinning around, Leighhall unhooked a crossbow from the wall before turning and aiming it at Anthony.
Her heart shuddered, breaking her trance. She reached for a weapon on the wall next to her, lifting a chakram from its hook, and sent it hurtling through the air just before Leighhall released the arrow. Her weapon hit his arm as he loosed the arrow, which buried itself into the wall far from Anthony.
She had but a moment of relief. “Anthony, behind you!”
The butler swung a claymore at Anthony, who turned in time to block it with his battle axe.
Leighhall threw down the crossbow and turned on her. Without a word, he pulled a broadsword from its mount, the metal screeching as it slid from its hooks.
She ran to the other side of the room and lifted from the wall a curved saber, a weapon she knew well.
Leighhall halted, no doubt surprised by her action. Then an evil grin twisted his lips and he pulled the sword breaker from the wall, advancing on her while the sound of Anthony’s weapon clashing with the butler’s filled the room.
She swallowed hard. The chance the saber would break was slim, but if her blade was caught, he’d have her. Keeping her gaze away from the blood soaking the man’s shirt, she focused on his sword.
His first hit ran up her arms with its strength. She may know how to wield a saber, but having a trained man attacking her with a broadsword would wear her strength down in minutes. The sounds of weapons clashing told her Anthony was occupied, so she’d have to fend for herself, just as she had in France before meeting him. She moved deeper into the shadows, the two lanterns Leighhall and his butler had set on tables near the door giving limited light.
“You can’t hide from me, trollop.”
She cringed at his words, not because they were crude but because of the sheer hate within them. Saving her strength, she didn’t respond, keeping her gaze fixed on his sword. As it descended toward her, she brought her own blade up, deflecting his and using the momentum to spin about and into an even darker area. Her maroon dress would make her a difficult target.
Leighhall paused, clearly perplexed. “Who are you? Are you a spy for the queen?”
She just shrugged, not willing to divulge anything.
He advanced again. She backed up farther, but her retreat was halted by the door she’d entered through.
Leighhall grinned. “It’s a pity I won’t be able to enjoy you first, but you are far too dangerous to keep.”
He brought the sword up with two hands and swung down.
She braced for the impact, but it didn’t come as Anthony tackled Leighhall from the side, dislodging the sword from his grasp.
Relief flooded her and tears of thankfulness itched the back of her eyes, but as the two men rolled back the other way, the flash of the sword breaker caught the light.
Anthony held no weapon and fought to keep the sword breaker from his body.
Ignoring the prone butler, she searched the wall for something she could use to help. She didn’t dare let loose a dagger when they changed positions so quickly. She also wasn’t sure she could stomach more blood.
Her gaze lit on a shield. Raising herself on her toes, she struggled to get the heavy shield loose. Finally, she jumped and hit it, knocking it from the wall. The noise was ignored by the two men bent on killing each other.
Grabbing up the heavy shield, she waited. As the two rolled closer, she could see the sweat on Anthony’s forehead. Watching the sword breaker come so close to his throat had her hands sweating, making it that much harder to hold the shield.
She couldn’t let her emotions cloud her actions. That was weakness. Fortifying her resolve, she waited for the right moment.
And then it came.
Leighhall was atop Anthony, using his leverage to push the sword breaker down.
She lifted the shield and slammed it against the man’s head.
Instantly, Leighhall went limp and Anthony rolled him off. Jumping to his feet, he grasped her to him. “Lissa. My Lissa.”
She melted into his embrace, relief causing her to shiver. Never had she been so scared of losing someone, not even in France. She didn’t understand it, but she wanted to cry when she should be laughing.
Anthony moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back, inspecting her. “You are not hurt?”
She shook her head, even as she noticed a nasty red bump starting to swell on the right side of his forehead.
“Lissa.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “We must leave. Now.”
She looked at the two prone bodies. “Are they dead?”
He grimaced. “No. And we will not kill them.”
She kept silent about Leighhall’s stab wound. He might well die. “Let us go.”
He took her hand and headed for the door to the gun case.
“Wait.” Breaking his hold, she ran to the drawer on the chair and grabbed a bunch of letters, stuffing them into her hidden pockets. She looked longingly at the drawer of coins and jewels, but time was of the essence.
Running back to Anthony, she took his hand and let him lead her out. Even as the gun case moved back into place with a click, they were silently traversing the ballroom, the light outside proving the sun had risen but was firmly packed behind thick clouds.
Anthony opened one of the French doors to the terrace, and they were hit with cold winter wind.
Without a word, she followed him out and across the gardens to the stable. When they arrived, they found his coachman had started to prepare the coach, but the horses had yet to be harnessed.
Anthony handed her into the coach, which at least kept the wind away. Anxious about the delay, she watched as Anthony helped the coachman connect the horses. Though Anthony had had her pack before going to sleep, they hadn’t planned to leave until after breakfast, so their clothes remained in their room. Maybe Leighhall would burn their belongings out of spite.
Finally, Anthony opened the door and joined her, the cold air filling the space. He carried in a wool blanket. “This should help us stay warm until we reach the first inn.” He sat next to her, pulling her close to his side, then covered them in the blanket as the coach headed down the drive.
Despite the warmth of both Anthony and the blanket, she shivered, unable to keep from watching out the window, expecting a gunshot at any moment.
“I promise we will obtain feet warmers and more blankets as soon as we get to an inn.”
She grasped his hand, still reeling with a mix of emotions like the dancers of the scotch reel. “I’m not cold. Not now. I’m worried.”
He squeezed her hand. “Yes, we left a mess behind. Leighhall will hunt us down once he wakes.”
“If he wakes.” Her words came out in a whisper, but Anthony heard her.
“You’re worried about the stab wound.”
She nodded, relieved that he was so observant.
“If that butler wakes soon, I’m sure he’ll get Leighhall the attention he needs. Which means we must figure out what Leighhall was up to, or we will have no defense against him.”
Happy to have her mind on something other than the possibility they were being followed, she ran over the information they had accumulated so far. “We know he was being gifted with weapons, which he appears to be obsessed with.”
“I would agree. And we know that he was gathering information from the women he tupped.” His mouth quirked up as he said the word.
She grinned, surprised she could after what had just happened. “ Oui , and you said they were all connected in some way to the king and his family and friends.”
“Clearly, Leighhall was spying on the king, but to what purpose? The war with France is over, so I can’t see any Frenchman finding the information of any consequence.”
She pondered the puzzle of who would benefit from knowing the king’s actions. “I understand your king is mad. So who would care what he did or whom he spoke to?”
Anthony stiffened next to her, alerting her that he may have an idea. “What was the signature you noticed on the letters on the desk?”
“There were three. There was an ornate P , a capital R , and a small g .”
She waited as Anthony thought. Then his brows rose before lowering once more before he shook his head. “It can’t be.”
She shifted on the seat so she could face him. “What can’t it be?”
“Not what, who. Those initials could stand for Prinny, regent, and George. All the same person.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t the regent already have people reporting to him on his father’s activities?”
“Yes, he would, which is why I don’t understand. Hopefully, there will be something in those letters you pocketed that will help us put the pieces together. In the meantime, we have to assume Leighhall is acting under the command of the regent, which makes him even more dangerous.”
She sat back, trying to imagine a ruler being grateful to the likes of Leighhall. “One letter did praise Leighhall’s loyalty.”
Anthony leaned back against the seat as well and linked his fingers with hers. “Then there is only one thing we can do to protect you.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Protect me?”
“Yes. My dear Daguette, you not only stole those letters, but you stabbed a peer.”
A strong foreboding filled her. “I also stole some coins and jewels.”
He sat straight again and stared at her in surprise. “Lissa, why?”
She didn’t want to tell him. He would object, tell her she would be an outlaw if she followed through on her plan to live independently by committing crimes. But they had promised each other long ago that they would not lie to each other. Seeing no help for it, she answered, “I decided to collect valuables so I could sustain Grand-maman and myself without having to marry. You saw Leighhall’s drawer. He had plenty.”
As his eyes rounded, she rushed on. “I know what you would say. Oui , it is wrong. But mon ami , I cannot live under the rule of a man. I need to live, not exist. Even your middle-class tradesmen and lawyers would stifle me.” She folded her arms, knowing he’d try to convince her otherwise.
“I know.”
“I would rather be a mistress than a w—What?” She unfolded her arms and stared at him.
“I said, I know. You would be miserable as a wife.” His gaze was soft, caring, making her belly feel as if little minnows swam inside her.
“Then you can see why I had to steal.”
“I can.” He nodded then took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, because you stabbed a peer and stole from him, there is only one way we can save you from going to prison.”
“ Oui , I know. I must hide. I can give you half of what I took and you will take care of Grand-maman. Non? ”
“No, hiding won’t be an option. They will find you. Leighhall is nothing if not thorough.”
Her heart skipped a beat and her hands grew clammy. What he said was true. Leighhall would never give up. “ Mon ami , you must hide me.”
“I cannot. There is only one avenue for us to take to keep you out of prison.” His gaze was no longer soft, but determined.
When Anthony was determined, he succeeded. She already felt safe. “Tell me.”
“We must go to Gretna Green.”