The Hired Hero Read online

  Caroline heaved a small sigh. So what, exactly, could she tell him? As she mentally recounted the actual events of the past few days she realized that even to herself they sounded more gothic than a Radcliffe novel, especially since she dared not offer an explanation. The information she carried was vital to England’s war effort. She would trust no one with her secret. She wouldn’t let her country—or her father—down. If only he had given her a clearer picture of the dangers.

  Drat it! If she had been a man, if she...

  The look in her eyes, smudged with pain and weariness as they were, would have warned anyone who knew her well that she was roused for battle. She was just as clever as Papa and Lucien, she told herself. And certainly more so than dear Uncle Henry, who would be utterly at a loss as to how to deal with a conundrum whose origins were less than a century old. Put her faith in someone who barely managed to remember to leave the sanctuary of his library for meals? She thought not. Despite her father’s orders, Uncle Henry would be the last person she would look to for help. She was going to have to rely on herself.

  She thought for a moment on the snatches of conversation she had just overheard. From what she could gather, it seemed they thought she was fleeing a husband who beat her. Her lips pursed. Lucien has once told her that if one was going to tell a hum, it was best to base it as much as possible on the truth. At least this saved her from having to concoct a credible story of her own. Perhaps it was best to leave that impression for the moment.

  * * * *

  The rider reined in the gray stallion and looked around carefully, assuring himself that no one was about to note his presence. He dismounted and led his horse off the road into a thick copse of beech trees. His mouth tightened in distaste as he surveyed the steepness of the ravine, the rocks the brush, the mud and his own immaculately polished Hessians. It had to be done, nonetheless. The descent was difficult, but the gentleman, though of only average height, was powerfully built and negotiated the treacherous footing with a certain lithe grace.

  The carriage lay shattered, half submerged in the river that cut through the tumbled boulders and granite outcroppings. Amid the twisted wreckage lay the bloodied carcasses of the horses which were already beginning to swell and attract flies. The coachman’s body lay face down near a broken wheel. With the toe of his boot, the gentleman turned the dead man over. The bullet wound at the base of the neck explained the other carnage. With a muttered oath at the stupidity of the hired ruffians, the gentleman let the disfigured face fall back in the mud. They truly had made things more difficult than necessary. He picked his way to where the door of the carriage hung precariously by one hinge. Wresting it open, he peered inside.

  There was nothing but a small valise.

  He stood motionless for a few moments, as if in deep thought. His hand reached in and fished it out. It didn’t take long to search it and its contents thoroughly. He tossed it aside, his grim expression showing no surprise at not finding what he was looking for. Then with slow, deliberate steps he walked a way along the river until a pile of boulders blocked any further progress. There was no sign of a body. His eyes gauged the current. Yes, it was possible. It could have been carried downstream.

  With another oath, the gentleman turned and began to trace his steps back up to the road. He dared not linger in the spot too long. Damn the chit, he cursed to himself. She had to be dead, she had to be! Her body should be there. And so should the papers. He paused and looked back down the slope. Nothing could survive a fall over that. As he grabbed a small sapling to steady his climb, his eyes fell to a nearby gorse bush, not far from the crest of the road. Clinging to one of its thorny branches was a small strip of dark cloth.

  * * * *

  Davenport ran his hands through his hair. His long legs were stretched out towards the meager fire and an open book lay on his lap. Good lord, he thought, he needn’t resort to brandy to help him sleep. He had only to essay a few chapters on the raising of sheep—though the pages on breeding had reminded him how uncomfortably long it had been since he had enjoyed the pleasures of the opposite sex. A sigh escaped his lips. Well, like many other things, that would just have to wait until he could visit town. He had no intention of taking on his brother’s habits as well as his title.

  He closed the book with more force than necessary. At least his body felt pleasantly tired from the physical exertion of the day’s labor. He wouldn’t need to rely on the effects of brandy or boring tomes to help him get some rest tonight. Taking up his candle, he rose and set off for his bedchamber. It was quite late. The house was in total darkness, save for his solitary light, as the earl climbed the wide staircase and made his way quietly down the corridor. At the door to the mysterious stranger’s room, he paused, then opened it and entered.

  In sleep, her face had softened, easing the edge of wariness he had noticed that morning. She looked even younger, more vulnerable. His mouth quirked in a slight smile as he recalled the shot she had landed on his nose. She had spunk, whoever she was. The smile dissolved into a slight frown. He hoped the matter of her identity and her situation would prove simple, but somehow, in the pit of his stomach, he sensed that nothing about her was simple.

  He had a problem on his hands, and that was the last thing he needed.

  * * * *

  Caroline awoke with sunlight streaming over her face. It felt warm and—pain shot through her shoulder as she turned towards the window, bringing her sharply back to reality. She sat up as best she could, once again aware that she was in a strange room, in a strange house, on a strange mission. Her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her that she had not eaten in more than twenty four hours. In fact, she was famished. She was contemplating just how much longer she could hold out when salvation, in the massive form of Mrs. Collins, pushed open the door, arms laden with a large tray from which was emanating the most heavenly smells.

  “I brought ye some porridge and a pot of tea,” announced the older woman upon noticing that Caroline was awake. “Ye must be starving, ye poor thing.”

  Caroline made a squeak.

  The housekeeper put the tray down and settled her ample backside on the side of the bed. “Here now, let me help ye.” She spooned up a large helping and guided it towards Caroline’s mouth.

  As the steaming mixture of oats, thick cream and sugar slid down her throat Caroline’s eyes closed in bliss.

  Mrs. Collins nodded in approval. “Need to put some meat on them bones,” she remarked as she thrust forward another bite.

  It didn’t take long for the bowl to be emptied.

  “Thank you.” Caroline gave the woman a smile of gratitude. She felt much better. “That was wonderful.”

  The woman held a cup of tea to Caroline’s lips. “That nasty knock on the head ain’t affected yer appetite, it seems. I’ll bring more, as soon as the doctor says it is all right.” She surveyed what little of Caroline showed from beneath the bedcovers. “At least yer a sight more comfortable than ye was when his lordship dragged ye in here.” Her eyes shifted to the muddy garments over the chair. “Shall I try to mend those?” she asked, though her expression showed what she thought of the effort. “Or perhaps I should...”

  “No!” cried Caroline. “I mean—thank you, but please, just leave them. I am quite skillful with a needle.”

  The housekeeper merely shrugged her shoulders.

  Once again Caroline was aware of the delicate lace at her neck. “Whose is this?” she inquired, her eyes falling to the fine lawn material.

  “Oh, that’s an old one of Lady Atherton’s. Lucky the two of you are close to the same size, though yer a mite taller.”

  Caroline’s eyes narrowed with interest. “His lordship—she tried to remember his name—is married, then?”

  At that moment, the doctor walked in, followed by Davenport. “I see our patient is awake this morning and able to take a little sustenance.” He nodded in approval at the empty bowl. “Nothing more than gruel today, then tomorrow maybe I shall allo
w something more substantial.”

  Caroline’s stomach growled in protest.

  Mrs. Collins cleared the tray, making room for Dr. Laskins at the side of the bed. He felt Caroline’s forehead, then took gentle hold of her wrist.

  “No sign of fever,” he said. “And the pulse feels strong. You have a good constitution, young lady, to have weathered the ordeal you have been through with no further ill-effects.” His hand moved to Caroline’s shoulder. The mere touch made her wince.

  The doctor’s expression turned to one of concern. “However, we are going to have to deal with that injury. The shoulder has come out of its socket. It must be set back.”

  Caroline closed her eyes She had seen such a thing happen to a groom at Roxbury Manor. She could still remember his screams as three men had wrestled to pop the offending limb back into place.

  Davenport spoke for the first time. “Is there no alternative?”

  The doctor shook his head. “It must be done. Perhaps a footman might come up and assist me?”

  Davenport pulled a face. “I have no footmen. I shall lend a hand—but wait.” He left the room and returned in a few minutes with a large tumbler filled with amber liquid.

  “Drink this,” he ordered.

  Caroline looked at him in consternation. “Wha...”

  As soon as she opened her mouth, the earl grasped her jaw and unceremoniously dumped the entire contents of the glass down her throat.

  Caroline sputtered wildly, sending a spray of tiny droplets over the front of Davenport’s shirt. “That...that was extremely unnecessary. You needn’t have forced me!”

  “I have little time to argue,” he countered.

  “You are no gentleman.” She glowered at him.

  “So I have been told on numerous occasions,” he muttered.

  “What was that foul...” Caroline sniffed the air, then shot the earl a scathing look. “Do you always reek of brandy?”

  “Only when driven to it by difficult females,” he answered through clenched teeth. He looked down at his soiled shirt in dismay. Damnation, he would have to change, else his men think he was no different than the previous earl. And that was his last clean shirt. He glared back at the girl, then turned his gaze to the doctor. “A few more minutes and we should be able to begin.”

  The doctor smiled grimly and folded his arms across his chest.

  “What do you mean?” asked Caroline.

  Davenport ignored her question and began to converse with the other man about the weather, the state of Squire Dawson’s broken leg and the price of wheat as if she wasn’t there.

  Caroline felt a rush of anger. At least, it must be that, for she felt hot all over. It was strange, however. In the past, even when she had really lost her temper, she had never felt so...odd. She narrowed her eyes, for it was becoming increasing difficult to focus.

  All of a sudden she giggled. “Stop swaying! You are making me dizzy,” she said to the earl, though it was her own head that was lolling from side to side.

  The doctor rolled up his sleeves. “I think we may begin.”

  “I feel terrible,” announced Caroline, her speech slightly slurred.

  “You are about to feel worse,” replied Davenport as he took hold of her good arm.

  The doctor grasped the other one below the elbow and began manipulating it back and forth. At the first touch, Caroline gave a little cry of pain.

  “Steady now,” urged the earl.

  She gritted her teeth together and did not cry out again. Sweat began to bead on her forehead, and as the pain became worse her nails dug into Davenport’s wrist, nearly drawing blood.

  “Just a little bit more,” muttered the doctor.

  “Hurry, man, for God’s sake,” snapped Davenport.

  With a last wrench the bone popped back into the socket. Caroline collapsed back against the pillow, her face as bleached as the surrounding sheets.

  “Brave girl, well done.” Davenport unconsciously brushed a damp tendril of hair from her brow as he spoke.

  Caroline managed a weak smile. “Not missus.... didn’t throw a fit of vapors...”

  “No, indeed.”

  She began to speak again then was suddenly, violently, sick.

  The earl stared down in dismay at his ruined shirt and breeches. An oath escaped his lips.

  The doctor cleared his throat. “I shall call for Mrs. Collins. I’m sure she will be able to take care of...tidying up.” He placed a small vial on the table. “Here is more laudanum for the pain she will undoubtedly feel when she wakes. Mrs. Collins knows the dose.” He snapped his bag shut and regarded the earl with what Davenport could swear was a glint of amusement. “Shall you be able to manage?”

  Davenport muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  “I shall call again tomorrow morning. Have a pleasant day, my lord.”

  * * * *

  Davenport sighed as he kicked off his boots and stretched his stockinged toes towards the sputtering fire. Good lord, it was more difficult than he imagined. His eyes strayed to the open ledger book on his desk. No matter how he juggled the columns, the debts were staggering and it would be some time before he could hope to make a dent in them. Perhaps Sykes was right.... His jaw tightened. Even though the family honor had meant nothing to his father or his brother, he was determined to do all in his power to see that it sunk no further. Even without the promise to his mother, he would have done no less. But he had lived up to his word, he thought grimly, though she had no idea what it had cost him. The price to restore Highwood would be paltry in comparison. With a sigh, he took up the poker and raked out the dying embers.

  Upstairs, as he made his way to his bedchamber, he was startled by a noise coming from the room of his mysterious stranger. He paused for a moment, then pushed open the heavy oak door at the sound of another cry. She was having a nightmare. Her shoulders writhed beneath the coverlet as if she were trying to struggle free from some imagined bonds.

  “No!” she gasped weakly. “No!”

  Davenport put down his candle and took her hand. It immediately tightened around his, surprising him with the strength in the slender fingers.

  “Tell him... “ she muttered.

  He bent his ear close to her lips. “Tell him what?” he asked softly.

  Her breathing was rapid, ragged. “Don’t worry—I...” Her voice was barely there. “I can take care of myself.” Then she fell silent.

  The earl held her hand until he felt the tension ebb out of her grip and her breathing settle back into a regular pattern . Tucking her hand carefully back under the covers, he left for his own room, to face his own demons.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  The doctor left off probing at Caroline’s shoulder and stepped back with a satisfied look on his face. “You are recovering from your injuries remarkable well, miss. Another day of bed rest and you may begin to get up and move around. Of course, your arm will take longer to mend. I imagine it will ache like the devil for some time.” He paused and gave her an appraising look. “I must tell you, well, I’ve never seen a female show the fortitude of...”

  “Of a man?” she suggested, a slight smile stealing over her lips. “ I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.”

  “Oh, for you miss, quite the first, I assure you.” He rose to leave. “ I shall call again in a few days. In the meantime, Mrs. Collins will see to it that you build your strength and his lordship...” He trailed off.

  Caroline found herself wondering just what his lordship would see to.

  “Good day to you, miss. And good luck.”

  Caroline nodded absently. Well, she would no doubt find out the earl’s intentions soon enough.

  True to the doctor’s expectations, Mrs. Collins did arrive a short while later with a tray of steaming porridge and pot of tea. Caroline submitted to the housekeeper’s ministrations even though she felt capable of feeding herself, for it gave her the opportunity to learn more
about her surroundings between bites.

  “Why, Hemphill is the closest village. Ye ain’t from around there, then?”

  Caroline took a long swallow of tea, then quickly changed the subject. “ Please thank her ladyship for the loan of a nightdress. I’m most grateful for the kindness.”

  “Can’t,” replied Mrs. Collins. “Thank her, that is. She ain’t around anymore.”

  Caroline wondered what the housekeeper meant by that indelicate phrasing. Was he a widower? That would account for his rather gruff demeanor, especially if he was only recently bereaved. Or perhaps his was like many marriages of the ton, one of convenience rather than any mutual affection, and his wife spent her time in London or —

  “I expect there are some other things in the attic that will fit,” continued the other woman. Her expression indicated what she thought of Caroline’s plan to take a needle to her own ragged garments. “I’ll have a look up there as soon as you are finished with your meal.”

  “But perhaps, well, perhaps his lordship would be upset?”

  Mrs. Collins shrugged. “Why ever should he care?”

  Caroline took a few swallows of the hot, fragrant tea. She wasn’t sure how to answer, but she found herself growing more and more curious about the earl. “Does his lordship spend most of his days out overseeing his estate?”

  The housekeeper gave a snort. “If that’s what ye still call this place. But I give him credit. There’s not many gentleman would strip off their shirts and work along with his tenants.” She must have noticed the look of disbelief on Caroline’s face. “Aye,” she nodded. “Shoulder to shoulder with ‘em in the fields, that’s a fact.”

  “How strange.”

  “Place is mortgaged to the hilt, so they say. Who knows how long afore the creditors foreclose. If there was other decent work to be had, I’d leave in a trice.” Mrs. Collins, naturally garrulous, was taking full advantage of a fresh—and captive—audience. “Not that it’s all that bad here, mind you. Most of the house is closed up, under holland covers, so the work is manageable fer me. Only other help is Owens and the Cook, but his lordship don’t seem to need much....”