If He's Dangerous Page 2

  By the time the two men finished pounding him, Argus was hanging on to consciousness by a very thin thread. There was not a part of him that was not crying out in pain. When Charles leaned over him, Argus glared at the man even though he suspected Charles could see little of it due to Argus’s rapidly swelling eyelids.

  “As I have said, this grows tiresome,” said Charles. “Very tiresome indeed.”

  “So sorry to bore you,” replied Argus, not surprised to hear how slurred his words were for his mouth was bruised, bleeding, and swelling up as fast as his eyes were.

  “This may end soon. We think we have found a way to get what we want.”

  Alarm swept through Argus, pushing aside the rapidly approaching dark of unconsciousness, as he feared Charles was about to use one of his family to try and break him. “I have told you that, if I had a gift, it would not be something that can be taught or given away.”

  “So we begin to think, but there may be a way to steal it.” Charles straightened up and fussily tugged at the lace around his wrists. “I am uneasy about what has been proposed, but one can always be rid of a witch when her usefulness passes.” He smiled at Argus and then started out of the room. “Be sure to rest well, Sir Argus. We want you strong when next we visit.”

  Argus stared at the door as it shut behind the men, wincing at the sound of the lock turning. A witch? Despite all the strange gifts his family had been blessed with, Argus was not sure he believed in witches. The abilities his family had could be explained logically. Magic, potions, and spells often defied logic. Yet, he could not fully dismiss the possibility that such things existed. And, if they did, there just might be a way to steal his gifts from him. The thought of a man like Charles Cornick possessing his gift, going after others in his family to steal theirs, made Argus’s blood run cold.

  We. The man had said we. Argus knew he would have to consider the importance of that once he recovered from this beating enough to think clearly. If there was some conspiracy against his family, they could all be in a lot more danger than he had first thought.

  “Lorelei, seventh child of the Duke of Sundun-moor,” he whispered as unconsciousness tightened its grip on him, “I pray you are stronger than you look. It appears more than my own fate rests in your small hands.” Even as he fell into the beckoning blackness, he slipped his hand beneath the thin mattress to touch her shawl.

  Lorelei frowned at her father as he paused in his long dissertation concerning the Wherlockes and the Vaughns. “So they are magic?” she asked.

  “No, child,” he replied and smiled at her, revealing the sweet handsomeness that had gained him three beautiful wives. “They have God-given gifts. I believe we all have a touch of them, but some people have a much stronger dose, something they can actually make use of. We have all had that faint warning of danger, that moment of unease that saved us from some accident or threat. The gifted ones can actually see that danger coming in a dream or a vision.”

  He took a breath, and, knowing he was about to launch into yet another long lecture, Lorelei quickly asked, “Can a person send his spirit out from his body?”

  “Is that the rumor you heard?”

  “Amongst others,” she murmured and hoped she looked as innocently curious as she was trying to.

  “I have heard something of that. A man goes into a trance and sends his spirit, his soul, out to wander the world. It is not written of as much as the other gifts are, the ones such as seeing ghosts and having visions.”

  “I see. So, you do not think it is possible to do that?”

  “Oh, I cannot see why it cannot be done, just that it must be difficult. After all, we all believe we have a soul that leaves the body when we die. Why can we not find a way to send it on a little trip now and then while we are still alive?”

  Lorelei let her father ramble on for a while longer before excusing herself to dress for dinner. As she made her way to her bedchamber, she thought on all he had told her. It appeared that the Wherlockes and the Vaughns might truly be gifted, that the rumors whispered about them might all be true. Her father certainly thought so and, although he did seem to be lost in his books most of the time, he was a very intelligent man. And, she mused, enough others believed in it, too, or there would not be so many papers and books written about such gifts.

  That meant that Sir Argus Wherlocke could have actually sent his spirit into her father’s garden. The man could actually be in danger. Her heart pounded at the thought and she told herself it was from excitement and not fear for a man with dark eyes and smooth skin. The question now was, did she write to his family telling them what had happened and risk being thought a mad woman? Or, did she just ignore the whole matter, decry it as the product of a fevered brain, and risk leaving a man in captivity?

  The moment she entered her bedchamber she went to her writing desk. It would be easier on her mind to be thought a fool or mad than to think she had left a man in mortal danger when she could have helped him. She quickly penned three letters, certain that their butler, Max, could find the addresses for the three Wherlocke names she recalled from her father’s lengthy, and somewhat rambling, talk.

  Letters that would take time to get where they were being sent, she thought. If the people she had chosen were not at home it could be even longer before they learned of the trouble Sir Argus was in. Lorelei decided she could not just sit by like some delicate flower of womanhood and wait for others to rush to the man’s rescue, especially when she could have no certainty that they would rush, or even be able to do so. She needed to begin the search for him herself, immediately.

  Setting the letters aside to be addressed, franked, and sent out in the morning, she began her preparations for dinner. She needed to make a few plans, but was confident she would be able to decide on the best place to search if she just thought about it for a while. Lorelei knew there was an added spring to her step as she headed down to dinner. She was looking forward to being a heroine.

  Chapter 2

  “I have no idea why we are trudging around after you on this mad quest.”

  Lorelei ignored her cousin Cyrus’s grumbled complaint as she studied the house below them. Since arriving at her cousins’ home, Dunn Manor, it had taken three long days to find it. She idly scratched her arm, the grass she was sprawled in irritating her skin. Every instinct she had told her this was the house she had been searching for, but, although it was in relatively good repair, it looked empty. Nestled in a shallow valley, surrounded by low hills and trees, it looked utterly devoid of life. Yet, there were the lavender and sweet pea, both growing luxuriously without the tempering touch of a gardener. And there were the distinct small barred windows running along the bottom of the house that she had briefly glimpsed through Sir Argus’s rapidly fading form. He was behind one of them; she was sure of it.

  “You are here because you know I can find anything I go looking for,” Lorelei said.

  “True,” agreed Cyrus as he cautiously sat up, glancing all around to make certain no one was near. “That is, of course, if we believe that you truly saw some man in your garden asking for help and had not just cooked your head too much in the sun.”

  “If you did not believe me, why did you come with me?” Since no one had sounded an alarm when her cousins sat up, Lorelei quickly did the same.

  “Nothing else to do and there was always the chance you could be right. I fancy myself a hero.” Peter grinned, giving his square face a touch of true handsomeness. “House appears deserted. Do we go hunting for the prisoner now?”

  “We might as well,” Lorelei replied.

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I rather envisioned us creeping up to the place, hiding in the shadows of a moonless night, dressed all in black. Perhaps even masked so as to hide our true identities.” She grinned when her cousins laughed, and then she stood up. “However, we have seen no sign of occupancy in the hour we have lain here watching the house. Best we set about the matter of rescuing the man now.
” She brushed off her skirts and headed down the small hill.

  “What about Vale?”

  Lorelei stopped to look back at where her maid still sprawled in the grass, obviously sound asleep. “We could just leave her here to sleep. She looks quite comfortable.”

  Peter shook his head, his dun-colored curls bouncing with the movement. “She will get upset if she wakes to find herself alone.”

  Upset was a mild term for what Vale would be if she woke up alone with no knowledge of where her mistress had gone. Vale was very prone to loud dramatics. Lorelei walked up to her maid and gently woke the woman.

  “Are we returning home now, m’lady?” Vale asked as she stood up and brushed off her skirts.

  Before Lorelei could reply, Peter and Cyrus yanked her and Vale back down to the ground. Her complaint over such rough treatment lodged in her throat when Peter silently pointed to three approaching horsemen. She patted his arm in gratitude for his quick thinking and studied the men now reining in before the house.

  One gentleman and two ruffians, she decided. No one came out to tend to their horses. No one appeared to even open the door for them. That confirmed her opinion that the house was deserted. All except for Sir Argus Wherlocke. Lorelei was even more certain now that her garden visitor was in that house and that the three men who had just arrived meant Sir Argus harm. She had to clench her hands tight on the long grass shielding her from view to stop herself from leaping up and running down the hillside in a vain attempt to stop the men from entering the house. They were all well armed and would probably just shoot her and go on about their work.

  “Now, just why are three men entering an abandoned house?” whispered Peter. “No one to escort them, to tend the horses, or open the door for them. They have guns and I cannot think why you need weapons to go into an empty house. And two of them look like dockside rogues.”

  “That they do,” agreed Lorelei, tense with fear for the man she knew in her heart was a captive inside that house. Was she too late to help him? “I was just thinking the same.”

  “You might be right about this house, but we cannot go in there now.”

  “No. We will just watch for now and try to slip in there tonight.”

  “Are you certain that will be safe?” asked Cyrus.

  “As certain as I can be,” she replied. “There is nothing here to show that these men reside here. As Peter and I have said, there is not one servant, no fire to welcome them, and they have left their mounts saddled.”

  Cyrus nodded. “So if they are here tonight when we return we will know, for we will see their horses. Are we waiting now to see if they leave?”

  Lorelei nodded, her gaze fixed upon the house and her stomach clenching with fear. The men were here only to hurt Sir Argus and the knowledge churned her insides. Time crawled by as she waited for the three men to come back out. When they finally reappeared, the way one of the gentleman’s thick-necked lackeys rubbed the knuckles of one hand made her shudder. She watched them ride away and beat down the urge to immediately storm the house.

  “Something is most certainly going on in there,” muttered Cyrus as, several tense moments after the men were gone, he sat up. “I did not like the look of those men. Up to no good. One dresses like a gentleman, but he keeps damned poor company.”

  “True.” Lorelei sat up, unable to look away from the house. “I doubt those men are his servants. And the man I saw in our garden was covered in barely faded bruises.”

  “So you think this little visit was made to deliver even more bruises?”

  “I do.” The need to run into the house, find Sir Argus, and nurse his wounds gripped her with surprising strength. “They believe he has a gift, one he can just hand over to them, and these visits are made in an attempt to persuade him to do that.” She finally looked at her cousins, not surprised to find them frowning at her, their doubt clear to read on their faces. “I know you find all this difficult to understand and believe, but Papa believes in such things and the vast number of books and papers he has collected on the subject means many others do as well.”

  As her cousins considered her words, she continued, “But it does not really matter what you and I believe. The gentleman who just left does believe Sir Argus Wherlocke has a gift, and he wants it. I did see a man in the garden. The loss of my shawl is proof enough of that. I understand how difficult it is to believe that as I barely believe it all myself, yet my shawl disappeared with him. I also feel certain that this is where Sir Argus Wherlocke is being held prisoner and that those men certainly did not come here to share a cup of tea with him.”

  “That is certain,” said Peter as he stood up and then helped Vale to her feet. “No matter what else I believe concerning your man in the garden, I am certain that something bad is going on in that house. So, why do we not go right down there now?”

  “Because we cannot be sure the men have left for good. If they have done what I believe they have, we will also have to deal with a man beaten hard and we did not bring what was needed for that. Best to be sure they have gone and come readied for a man who cannot aid us much in his own escape.”

  “Agreed. So, tonight we shall return and see exactly what is going on in that house. Seems you will get your chance to creep up to the house, hide in the shadows, and wear black. But it will not be a moonless night and I am not wearing any mask.”

  “Oh, m’lady,” protested Vale as Cyrus helped Lorelei to her feet, moving to assist her in brushing off her skirts, “I wish you would forget this business. It could be dangerous. I did not like the look of any of those men—not even the gentleman. You wrote to Sir Argus Wherlocke’s family. Can you not wait for them to come to his aid?”

  “Vale”—Lorelei stepped away from her maid’s fretful attentions—“those men beat Sir Argus. I am certain that is why they were just here. To beat him again. I doubt they then paused to tend to the wounds they gave him. I cannot wait knowing that each day he is so abused.”

  Her cousins murmured their agreement, but Vale argued against taking any action all the way back to Dunn Manor. Lorelei finally shooed the woman away and went to the bedchamber she always used when visiting her cousins. She needed to make plans for the rescue of Sir Argus and could not do that with Vale fluttering about the room wringing her plump hands. As Lorelei readied the clothes she intended to wear, she grinned. Vale might just swoon when she saw what her mistress intended to wear as she slipped through the night to rescue a stranger.

  “You stole my clothes!”

  Lorelei grinned at her cousin Peter, ignoring Vale’s gasps of shock. “You did not expect me to creep about rescuing a man hampered by skirts, did you?” She idly brushed her hands over the black breeches she wore. “I will need to be quick and nimble. Skirts do not allow that.”

  “Vale is dressed in skirts.”

  “Vale is staying here.”

  “M’lady, I . . .” Vale began to protest.

  “Vale, you need to make sure no one discovers that we are gone and that the room I chose is readied for Sir Argus.” Lorelei kissed Vale on the cheek and gently pushed her maid from the room.

  “But . . .” Vale tried to argue as Lorelei nudged her out into the hall.

  “We need someone to keep watch here and help us when we return.” Lorelei quietly closed the door on a muttering Vale, waited until she heard her maid walk away, and then turned to her cousins. “You know I am right about this. I will be better able to keep pace with you while dressed as a lad.” She ignored the way her cousins stared up at the ceiling as if looking for heavenly aid. “Shall we go?” She started to walk away from them, smiling a little as she heard them stumble to catch up to her.

  “You do realize that, if anyone sees you in those clothes, you will be utterly ruined,” said Cyrus.

  “Considering that we are about to snatch a man from the cruel grasp of some kidnappers who beat him regularly, I believe that ruination is the very least thing I need to concern myself with.”

  “A
h, good point.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lorelei moved along a little faster, nearly running to the stable to get the horses. She did not want her cousins to have too much time to think or they would realize that she was spouting utter nonsense. No matter what the reason, even a matter of life or death, she would indeed be utterly ruined if anyone caught sight of her in male clothing. There was a chance some people might understand, might even find it amusing and hold silent. However, her luck was such that, if she were seen, it would be by someone who could not wait to tell the world and its mother of the scandalous behavior of the duke’s daughter.

  Just as they reached the rise above the house, the moon came out from behind the clouds. Lorelei scowled up at the full, brilliant moon. Shadows would have been better and safer, but that moon made those few and far between. She could only pray that no one came to see the prisoner or, at the very least, the clouds returned before they had to make a run for safety.

  “Peter will stay with the horses,” Cyrus said as he moved to stand beside Lorelei. “And act as a guard for us.”

  “Lost the coin toss, did he?” She shook her head when Cyrus just grinned, and then she looked at Peter. “Watch for a signal from us. We may need some help with the man.” When he nodded she started down the slope, eager to find some shadows to shelter them from view.

  Cyrus kept watch as Lorelei worked to unlock the door. The sound of the lock releasing after many failed attempts nearly made her cheer. Her brother Tudor had shown her the trick several years ago, but she had not practiced it in a long time and had feared, for a moment, that she had lost the knack. The loud creak of the door as it opened made her wince, but no outcry followed the sound. Then Cyrus lit the lamp he carried and she knew she had been right. The house was no longer lived in, no longer even tended to. The only disturbance in the thick layers of dust and cobwebs coating everything in sight was a neat path made by the men who had come to the house.