Her own heartache was nothing in comparison to the pain and uncertainty that her friends at Greenfield Manor were feeling. That was what mattered right now. She must put aside all mooning over the earl and concentrate on seeing that the monstrous scheme concocted by Lord Ludlowe was put to an end.
Augusta made a methodical check for the picklocks, candle and pistol in her pockets, then patted at the bulge of the smallpocket pistol tucked in the waistband of her breeches at the small of her back …just as a precaution.
All was in readiness. Drawing another deep breath, she stole from the shadows and slipped into the gated garden.
“Maythe Devil rut with a two-faced sheep.” His voice still groggy, Marcus struggled to a sitting position and rubbed at the nasty lump on the back of his head. It took him a moment to realize he was no longer in the back of a carriage but lying on a thick Oriental carpet.
“Really, Dunham. That’s hardly the sort of language for a fine gentleman to use in refined company.”
With a small shake of his woozy head, the earl sought to bring his hazy surroundings into focus … a pistol pointed at his chest … the glass of brandy held nonchalantly in his captor’s other hand … and then finally the face that was sneering down at him from the cushioned comfort of a leather armchair.
Ludlowe crossed his legs and took a leisurely sip of the amber spirits.
Another oath, this one even more graphic than the first, slipped from Marcus’s lips.
The other man laughed. “Your eloquent tongue will do you little good now. I warned you not to meddle in any of this, but you wouldn’t cease your rantings in Parliament. Now it’s far too late. You’ve become too great of a threat to me.”
Marcus winced as he slowly sat up. Hell’s teeth, he should have been more alert, but he had been so worried about Augusta that he had failed to pay attention to any lurking danger. It had been stupid on his part, but at least the current situation seemed to assure she would be safe from harm.
Not even the headstrong Lady Augusta would be so foolhardy as to attempt to break into a house that was obviously occupied.
His attention turned back to his own predicament. Measuring the distance between himself and Ludlowe, he saw there was little chance of making a lunge for the man, especially in his present condition. But perhaps if he could keep the fellow talking for a bit, an opportunity would present itself. In the meantime, he needed some time to clear his head.
“A threat?” he repeated. “So why didn’t your men simply stick a knife in my ribs and be done with it?” he asked. “Or did they bungle the attempt yet again?”
Ludlowe’s lips compressed in some irritation. “That harridan Lady Augusta is not around this time to save your neck.” He took another swallow of his drink and seemed to relax slightly. “Can’t imagine what you have been doing in her presence,” he continued in a slow drawl. “From what I’ve witnessed, her reputation for being a spitfire hellion is well-deserved.” A grimace. “You’re known for your good taste in ladies, and you certainly don’t need the blunt. I, on the other hand, have need of a plump dowry, so I shall have to force myself to pretend a continued interest until I have wed the chit. Bedding her will an onerous chore?—”
A rustle of the curtain caused Ludlowe to get up and shut the window. “Yet with such willful spirit, maybe it will prove an interesting diversion, at least until I’ve broken her to saddle.” He exaggerated a shudder. “But with any luck, I’ll beget an heir on her quickly and can turn my attention to females more to my taste.”
It was only with great difficulty that Marcus restrained the urge to lunge at the man, regardless of the distance, and throttle the life from him.
“There was no female to stop the bullet earlier tonight,” he said through gritted teeth, controlling his anger by telling himself he might learn something of use. “Why risk bringing me here?”
Ludlowe regarded him coolly from over his drink. “Yes, I admit the first few tries were meant to send you to your Maker. But the plan had to be, shall we say altered.”
“Really? For what reason?”
The glass swirled slowly, spinning the contents into a vortex of amber and gold. It was as if the motion itself tugged Ludlowe’s mouth down into a smug sneer. “Changed tailors recently?”
The earl pressed his eyes closed for an instant and cursed himself for an even bigger fool that before. In his haste to inform Augusta of his discovery, he had not considered that the obscure tailor would reveal his inquiries so quickly. And he had accusedherof acting without thinking of the consequences!
Ludlowe brushed a speck of dust from his embroidered waistcoat and went on. “The nodcock couldn’t wait to let me know how such an arbiter of style as yourself had admired my choice of silk. That was careless of you, Dunham. But then again, you have never showed much aptitude for cleverness. Too busy using other parts of your anatomy.”
He paused once again, this time to refill his glass. “The ladies, no doubt, shall miss you. However, before I speed you to your Eternal rest, I need several answers.”
Marcus’s lips curled slightly. “Is that so?”
Ludlowe seemed to miss the note of irony. “Yes. At first I thought your speeches were a mere whim, but now it appears you know all too much about my activities for it to be coincidence. Who else is involved with you? Who was it that discovered the piece of my waistcoat? The damn brat struggled like a demon, and I didn’t dare linger once I’d knocked himunconscious, as several of the nearby farmhands were about to quit for the day.”
“Careless of you, Ludlowe.”
This time the mockery was unmistakable. The other man’s mouth hardened. He stood up and sauntered over to where the earl was lying. “You’re in no position to make glib taunts,” he snarled, delivering a vicious kick to Marcus’s ribs. “You’re also going to tell me the identity of that other rabblerouser who is stirring up the public’s interest. Firebrand—” He fairly spat the word out. “That bastard is even more trouble than you are. But I shall deal with him soon enough.”
The earl gave a curt laugh, ignoring the stab of pain in his ribs. “Firebrand? Why, no one knows who he is.”
“The two of you share too many ideas not to have had some contact with each other. My guess is you know very well who the cur is.”
He shrugged. “What makes you think I would tell you even if I did?”
