Page 20 of An Affair at Stonecliffe

Her behavior Sunday had been an act. She had pretended to consider his offer to assuage his suspicions and buy herself time. And he’d been gullible enough to believe her. He’d even felt sympathy for her. Worse, he’d encouraged the countess to hope. Carlisle wanted to smash his fist through something.

But he pulled his temper back under control. He had to act, not storm about. “How long has she been gone? Did your man even think to look for her?”

“Yes, sir. Dawkins went straight to her place as soon as he came to. But it was late by then, and he was hesitant to knock on her door; his orders were to not let her know he was following her. So he waited for her to come out this morning. When she didn’t, he checked and found her flat was empty.”

“It was a trifle late to worry about revealing his presence if she knew him well enough to drug him,” Carlisle said scathingly.

“He—I think he was scared, sir, because he’d failed to do his job. He was groggy, and he thought he’d drunk too much ale and simply fallen asleep. It wasn’t until he talked to me that he realized he’d probably been drugged. I raked him over the coals for it, and I’ll let him go as soon as I get back.”

Carlisle sighed and waved away the idea. “No. He’s hardly the only person Noelle Rutherford has given the slip. If he’s your best man, as you say, we need him out looking for her.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve set all my men on it. Dawkins asked her neighbors, but nobody saw her leave. They’re a closemouthed lot there, of course, but he offered money and still nobody knew anything. My men are checking inns to see if she took a coach out. We started with the ones closest to her place, but she could have gone farther out to catch one, just to throw us off.”

“She would,” Carlisle said with bitterness. “She’s always two steps ahead. What about the shop? Did you look there?”

“Aye. I did that myself, sir, first thing. That fancy French woman told me she’d not come in this morning. Seemed right put out, too—she started spouting French and waving her arms about.”

Carlisle nodded. “Of course. The shop would be too obvious. She’ll run for the Continent again, no doubt. Dover’s the likeliest port. I don’t think she’d have the means to hire a carriage, so she’ll take the stage. She knows I’ll come after her; her only advantage is time. That means she’ll leave as early as she can. Find me the inns most convenient to her with the earliest routes this morning.” He paused and let out a sigh. “Or yesterday evening. God help us if she was able to catch a mail coach last night.”

He spent the next hour pacing his office and thinking dark thoughts. When Diggs returned with the names of three likely inns, Carlisle tapped one decisively. “The Running Hare. It’s the earliest, even if it is a little farther away. And no doubt she found a bit of amusement in the name.”

Carlisle’s mouth twisted at his words. He was beginning to understand the woman better now. Despite her straightforward manner, Noelle was adept at deception. She’d played the role perfectly. He would have been suspicious if she had immediately agreed to his bargain. Instead, she’d refused at first, then gradually appeared to give way, leading him on while she made her plans to escape. She was more than clever or shrewd. She was fierce. Determined. And she despised him. It was clear now that reason stood no chance against that deep well of hatred inside her.

“We’ll get ’em back,” Diggs assured him. “I’ll go after them.”

“No,” Carlisle replied grimly. “Send some men after her on the other routes, just to make sure. But I’m going to the Running Hare. I’ll be damned if I let her get away again. I intend to deal with her myself.”

CHAPTER SIX

DIGGS HURRIED OFF to do as he bid, and Carlisle sent word to the coachman to bring his light traveling carriage around to the front. Noelle might have time on her side, but his advantage was speed. The passenger coach would be slow; it wasn’t one of the speedy mail coaches. His pair of grays was fast, and his traveling coach light. He wouldn’t require the number of stops the public vehicle would, and he had the money to change out horses along the way. He had to catch her at Dover, if not earlier. If he let her board a ship to the Continent, he’d completely lose them again.

Going into his office, he pulled a pouch of coins from the safe; there was no telling what sort of problem he might encounter with that blasted woman. It took only a few bob at the Running Hare to get the stage agent to tell him that an attractive woman with a young boy had indeed boarded the earliest stage to Dover this morning. Carlisle hastened back to the carriage, telling his coachman, “Spring ’em, Morton.”

His driver was skillful and his team swift, and they made excellent time. He wasted no time at his stops, pausing only long enough to change out the horses and let the coachman grab a drink and a bite to eat.

Still, they had not yet caught up with the coach late that afternoon, and Carlisle was beginning to fear she would reach Dover, where it would be far harder to find her. They came upon a coach stopped at an inn, and his heart leaped inside his chest, but it turned out to be a coach traveling the opposite direction. They pressed on, and it was dusk when they sighted a stagecoach lumbering along the turnpike in front of them.

Morton slapped the reins and soon caught up with the other vehicle, waving to the driver to pull to the side. With a shrug, the driver complied, and the heavy coach rolled to a stop. As soon as his carriage stopped in front of the stagecoach, Carlisle jumped down.

The driver leaned over and called down, “’Ere! Wot’s goin’ on?”

Carlisle ignored him as he jerked open the door of the coach. A large number of people filled the seats, and they all turned to look at him in astonishment. But it took only a quick glance to see that Gilbert and his mother were not among them.

Carlisle let out a soft curse and swung the door shut. He turned to the driver, who was climbing stiffly down from his high perch. “I’m looking for a woman.”

The heavyset driver let out a bark of laughter. “Ain’t we all, mister?”

“Is this the early coach from the Running Hare?”

“Aye.” The coachman stretched, looking not at all displeased at being stopped.

“There was a woman who got on it. With a child. She’s about this tall. Brown hair, blue eyes, trim figure. Dressed in drab clothing.” Carlisle pulled out a few silver coins, and the coachman looked more interested.

“Aye, there was a woman like that. But she got off in Maidstone.”

“The devil.” Carlisle clenched his jaw. The wretched woman had outwitted him yet again. She must have realized he would chase the coach down, so she had hopped off early. She could be anywhere by now.

The coachman went on cheerfully, “Weren’t no lad with her, though.”