A Match for Marcus Cynster Read online

  “Only I went to Bidealeigh, looking for you.” She beat at her clothes, brushing away the dirt as best she could.

  Her heavy riding skirts and velvet jacket were dust-covered, but otherwise unharmed. “You’ll do. And I’ll pass muster until I can get a change of clothes. For now—” He broke off and whistled. When Ned and Oswald both came trotting up, he met her gaze. “We need to get back to Carrick Manor—”

  “And then,” Niniver said, steely determination ringing in her tone as she grasped Oswald’s reins, “we need to catch Ramsey McDougal and put an end to his schemes.”

  * * *

  Assuming McDougal would be at the manor, they exercised due caution as they neared. Niniver led the way along a track that followed the fences of the rear horse paddocks. Approaching from that angle, the bulk of the stable and the old barn screened them from all but the attic windows; as it was now late morning, it was unlikely any of the staff would be in their rooms to spot incoming riders and carry word downstairs.

  The mare all the stablemen and stable lads had been tending when Niniver had left had completed the task of birthing her foal; she now stood in the paddock closest to the stable, her gangly foal on wobbly legs by her side.

  Fred was perched on the rail, watching the pair. As Niniver and Marcus neared, Fred grinned and dipped his head to them. “We wondered where you’d got to, my lady.”

  “I had business with Mr. Cynster.” She reined in.

  As the hounds clustered around, noses poking through the rails to scent the mare and foal, Fred got a better look at her, then he looked at Marcus, and his eyes flared. “Heavens be! What happened to you two?”

  “It’s a long story, which we’ll no doubt be telling everyone soon.” His expression hard, Marcus glanced toward the stable. “But first, is McDougal here?”

  Fred’s eyes narrowed. He swung around and jumped down from the fence. “If you mean a gentl’man claims to have been one of the young masters-that-were’s friends—the same one who called yesterday and saw Lady Carrick, and that Ferguson followed out and made sure left the manor—then yes. He arrived ’bout half an hour ago. Last I saw, Sean was walking his horse in the yard.”

  “That’s him.” Niniver exchanged a glance with Marcus, then looked at Fred. “Can you open the stable’s rear door for us?”

  Grim-faced, Marcus nodded. “Let’s get out of sight, find out where McDougal is and what he’s doing, and then decide what to do.”

  Fred swung open the stable’s rear door, and they walked their horses into the dimness. The hounds followed. Niniver and Marcus dismounted as Mitch came up. “Cor, what happened to you two?”

  “Later,” Marcus said. “First, we need to learn if McDougal is still inside, exactly where he is, and what he’s doing.”

  Mitch went out to the stable yard and called Sean in. All Niniver had to do was tell the three stablemen that McDougal had tried to kill Marcus by pretending he’d kidnapped her, and that McDougal was intent on forcing her to marry him so he could gain control of the clan, and the three would have done anything she wanted.

  Mitch went inside to ask about McDougal.

  Meanwhile, to reduce the chance of McDougal riding off, Sean unsaddled and unbridled McDougal’s chestnut and turned the horse into a stall at the far end of the stable.

  Mitch returned with Ferguson.

  Niniver waved aside Ferguson’s questions before he could ask them. “We’ll explain all later. For now, we need to know where McDougal is and what he’s doing.”

  Ferguson blinked but responded to the command in her tone. “He asked to see you. I showed him into the drawing room and went looking for you. When I asked Sean, he said Oswald was gone, so I told McDougal you’d gone out riding. He thought about that, then asked to leave you a note. I showed him to the library—I wouldn’t have left him, but he all but ordered me out.” Ferguson tipped his head at the house. “He’s still there—I left a footman outside the door to let me know the instant he’s finished and ready to leave.”

  “We don’t want him to leave.” Marcus met Niniver’s eyes. “McDougal’s dangerous, and not just to you and me. We need to end this now.”

  Niniver thought quickly; as far as she could see, the only actual evidence they had that it had been McDougal who had trapped Marcus in the mine and left him to die was Marcus’s recognition of McDougal’s voice. She didn’t know what influence McDougal’s family could bring to bear, but they’d already managed to get him free of one major charge, even though they’d subsequently banished him from their lands. Measuring her words, she said, “I want McDougal behind bars where he can’t harm me, you, the clan, or anyone else ever again. So”—she glanced at her clansmen—“I want to give him the opportunity to tell me—us—more. We need to encourage him to give us enough evidence to ensure he can’t escape.”

  Returning her gaze to Marcus, she stated, “I’m going to go in and change.” She glanced at Ferguson. “I want you to go in and tell McDougal I’ve returned, that I’m changing and will join him shortly.” Imagining their meeting, she added, “Leave him in the library—I’ll speak with him there.”

  Marcus straightened. “Not alone.”

  A glance at the others’ faces showed that they all agreed. She couldn’t help a small smile, but she inclined her head. “Not precisely, but to him, I’ll appear to be alone. I want you—all of you—to be in the corridor, listening at both doors—the main one and the one at the far end. Get Hildy, Mrs. Kennedy, and Gwen, too. I want witnesses to whatever he says, but he won’t speak freely if anyone else is in the room. If I walk in, and you all creep up quietly, there’s no reason he’ll suspect you’re there. Once he says enough, you can all come in, and we’ll hold him until the authorities arrive.”

  Marcus’s gaze hadn’t left her face; she could read his indecision in his eyes. He knew her plan was the most straightforward and, most likely, would succeed; against that, should McDougal realize and try to seize her to use as a hostage…

  Holding Marcus’s gaze, she said, “It’s the best way.”

  His lips twisted in a grimace and he lowered his gaze—to the hounds sitting and lying about her feet. “Take the hounds in with you.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I agree that getting more evidence against McDougal will make dealing appropriately with him much easier, but you need some level of immediate protection against him, and the hounds will give you that.”

  She nodded eagerly. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll take them all with me—he’s not to know I don’t often have them inside the house. And the clicking of their claws will mask any sounds you and the others might make.”

  In light of Marcus’s addition to her plan and his subsequent backing, the other men agreed, and they immediately put the plan into action. Niniver called the hounds to heel, and with Ferguson and Mitch, went into the house.

  After ensuring McDougal was still in the library, Mitch returned to the side door and beckoned the others in; they left the stable lads guarding the horses with strict instructions to make sure McDougal didn’t try to take one and escape.

  When Marcus, Sean, and Fred joined Mitch in the side corridor, he murmured, “Happy as a grig, McDougal was, to hear that Lady Carrick had come home and would soon be down to meet with him. He’s settled in the library, like she wanted.”

  Ferguson met them at the head of the corridor that ran along the side of the library. “I’d swear the bastard was going through the estate’s accounts when I went in.”

  Marcus’s smile was openly predatory. “Let him dream. It won’t be for long.”

  Two minutes later, Niniver came hurrying down the main stairs, the hounds moving in a fluid pack around her. She turned into the corridor, and Marcus saw that, in addition to changing into a day gown of pale blue, she’d washed her face and made an effort to remove all signs of her having been in the mine.

  She saw him noticing and flashed him a quick smile. To him and the others, she whispered, “Ready?”

  They all
nodded. She moved past them and led the way down the corridor; the hounds, thrilled to be allowed to remain with her, trotted happily to either side and behind her. The men followed, keeping to the runner and endeavoring to walk silently.

  As they neared the main library door, over Niniver’s head, Marcus glimpsed Miss Hildebrand, Mrs. Kennedy, Gwen, and one of the older maids creep out from the side corridor and take up position, listening at the service door at the other end of the library.

  Niniver reached the main door. She grasped the doorknob, turned to briefly meet his eyes, then she opened the door and, with her usual calm assurance, walked inside.

  She left the door swinging, and with the hounds pushing in behind her, that no doubt seemed natural.

  Marcus took up station by the hinged side of the door, with Ferguson, Sean, and Mitch crowding close on the other side. Through the narrow gap between door and frame, Marcus could see McDougal seated in Niniver’s chair behind the desk.

  The bastard had, indeed, been going through the estate’s accounts, but with Niniver’s entrance, he quickly shut the ledger he’d been reading and got to his feet.

  “Good morning, Mr. McDougal.” Niniver’s frosty tones confirmed that she, too, had noted McDougal’s previous occupation. She halted in the middle of the room. “I have to own to surprise that you’ve called again—so soon after yesterday. I had thought I had made my disinterest in further acquaintance with you quite plain.”

  McDougal’s smile was a combination of smugness and ingratiation. “Indeed, you did, but, today, I’m here on a mission of mercy. I rather think you’ll be grateful that I’ve seen fit to disregard your words of yesterday and come to tell you of the grave tidings I bear.”

  Niniver maintained her icy demeanor but played along by looking faintly uncertain and a touch uneasy. “What grave tidings?” With a flick of her fingers, she signaled the hounds to sit.

  “I’m afraid it’s about Cynster.” McDougal made an effort to school his features into an expression of somber concern.

  Niniver had to wonder if McDougal thought she really was gullible enough to believe such a patently insincere pretense.

  Soberly, McDougal shook his head. “He’s been badly injured and is asking for you.” He fixed his gaze on her face. “I offered to come and fetch you.” He waved at the desk. “As you were out, I was writing you a note. But they—those tending him—say you must come immediately if you want to see him. I don’t wish to upset you, but no one knows how much longer he has.”

  She could readily imagine how she would have reacted to that news if she hadn’t ridden to Bidealeigh that morning; she would have panicked, and putting aside her dislike of McDougal, she would have gone with him, focused only on reaching Marcus. She hauled in a breath; the emotions welling as she realized what might have been made it believably unsteady. “Where is he?”

  “At the inn in the village.”

  A place she would have no hesitation in accompanying McDougal to, but the rooms above the inn could be reached via an outside stair. With the landlord busy in the tap downstairs and his family busy in the kitchens, those rooms might well be the perfect venue for what she had no doubt McDougal had in mind. She asked, “He’s at the inn?”

  McDougal nodded. “In one of the rooms above it.”

  She frowned. “His family?”

  “The landlord sent word. They should be with Cynster by the time we get there.” McDougal came around the desk.

  The hounds sat up straighter, sidling to place themselves between him and her. His gaze drawn to them, McDougal halted, then he met her gaze. “We need to go immediately. Cynster was in a bad way when I left. He might not survive much longer.”

  “Actually, McDougal, I’m perfectly all right.” Marcus walked into the room. His gaze on McDougal, he arched a brow. “How are you?”

  Niniver had glanced at Marcus. As he halted by her shoulder, she looked back at McDougal—in time to appreciate his goggling, open-mouthed, horrified stare.

  McDougal bolted—to the French doors to the terrace and the lawn beyond. The doors were open; he pushed them wide and charged through.

  The hounds had leapt to their feet. Fleeing before sight-hounds turned anything into prey.

  Niniver gave the hounds the order to pursue. All five flew through the open doors, leapt the terrace balustrade, and streaked over the lawn.

  They brought McDougal down two-thirds of the way across the clipped expanse.

  The hounds were trained to hold, but not bite. McDougal thrashed, trying to push them off, but he was no match for five well-trained deerhounds.

  Marcus waved Niniver through the French doors, then followed her out. The others poured into the library and trailed after them as, side by side, she and he went down the terrace steps and strolled unhurriedly across the lawn.

  Niniver suspected everyone was enjoying the sight of McDougal being subdued by the hounds.

  When they reached him, he was being held facedown with two hounds sprawled across his back, while another two beasts had caught his sleeves in their teeth and were holding his arms down on the grass, spread wide. The remaining hound paced before him, watching for any attempt to flee.

  McDougal had surrendered and lay still beneath them.

  “Call them off.” Marcus waited until Niniver gave the command, then reached past the hounds, grabbed McDougal’s collar, and hauled him to his feet.

  He swung McDougal to face him—and smiled. “In case you think you’re going to talk your way free…” He plowed his fist into McDougal’s face.

  Bone crunched. McDougal staggered.

  Marcus released him. McDougal’s eyes rolled up, and he collapsed on the lawn at Marcus’s and Niniver’s feet.

  Sean, who had halted to one side, looked down at McDougal with open disgust, then he shook his head. “You shouldn’t have hit him so hard. Now you can’t hit him again.”

  Rubbing his knuckles, Marcus studied McDougal and reluctantly concluded that the man really was unconscious. He shrugged. “There’s always later.”

  Sean tilted his head, considering. “True enough.”

  Marcus looked at Niniver, then reached out and took her hand.

  She gripped his fingers and raised her gaze from McDougal’s sprawled form to Marcus’s face.

  For a long moment, he simply let his mind and his senses drink her in—her ethereal beauty and those fabulously alive, cornflower-blue eyes. Let his soul acknowledge what she truly was to him, all she represented.

  Her gaze was steady on his, and he sensed she was doing much the same.

  Then her fingers tightened, and she squeezed his hand, then she looked at the others now crowding about—the clan members who’d been in the corridor to bear witness to McDougal’s perfidy now joined by the rest of the household who, drawn by the commotion, had come pouring out through the library.

  Niniver drew in a breath through suddenly tight lungs. “I have an announcement to make.” Everyone looked at her, including the man by her side. Raising her head, she continued, “Mr. Cynster and I intend to marry—” She added the words “sometime soon,” but those were drowned out by the cheers, clapping, and congratulations that rained down upon them.

  She turned to Marcus to see how he’d reacted to her taking the initiative.

  He met her gaze openly, and all she saw in the midnight blue of his eyes was warmth and approval.

  All she saw was love.

  His long fingers shifted about hers, then he raised her hand and—gently, lingeringly—kissed her fingers. “Thank you.”

  Her heart swelled. “No—thank you. For seeing me, and believing in me, in who I really am, and for loving me for myself. For giving me the chance to grow into who, with you by my side, I can be.”

  His smile was everything she wanted it to be. “You were always Niniver—you always had this strength.” He drew her to him, and she rose up on her toes as he bent his head, and they kissed.

  And the crowd about them whooped, clapped, and c
heered, and the hounds yipped and danced around them.

  CHAPTER 17

  Niniver quickly discovered that declaring that they would marry had been the easy part. Taking the next steps while simultaneously dealing with the matter of Ramsey McDougal and his attempted crimes was considerably more complicated.

  Yet having declared their intentions, she felt increasingly impatient to get matters moving in an altarly direction, and with Marcus beside her, she felt as if she could conquer the world. She wasn’t inclined to waste the feeling.

  After ensuring McDougal, now groaning and holding his jaw, was adequately contained behind a locked door in the cellar, she and Marcus returned to the library. A quick canvass of their options suggested that, if they wished to resolve matters expeditiously, they needed the support of several others.

  “But first,” Marcus said, looking down at his ripped and dusty attire, “I need to wash and change into something presentable.”

  “We need to send word to your people, too.” She explained how she’d left things at Bidealeigh. “Mrs. Flyte will be anxious, and Flyte will be, too, when he gets back.” She outlined the information she’d sent with Johnny to the Vale.

  Marcus nodded and reached for paper and a pen. “I’d better send a note post-haste to the Vale to tell them we’re all right and they don’t need to hurry—and to break the news of our betrothal.”

  “Can I suggest you refer to it as ‘our impending wedding’?” When he met her eyes, she shrugged. “If we’re aiming for expeditious, it seems wise to start out as we mean to go on.”

  He grinned, dipped the nib in the inkwell, and started writing. “That the pater and Thomas aren’t here already suggests that they—and Mama and Lucilla, as well—have been out.” He paused, rereading what he’d written. “They’ll most likely return home for luncheon. Shall I tell them to call here afterward?”

  “Yes—we need your parents, at least, and Thomas, too, I think.”