Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2), Maggi Andersen [best short novels of all time TXT] 📗

Nicholas suffered a swift, desperate desire to enfold her in his arms and kiss her. Instead, he grasped her chin with his finger and thumb, forcing a smile. “I don’t intend to. Don’t worry.”

Once mounted, they trotted their horses along the drive toward the bridle track which led to the river. Never in his life had he expected to face such a challenge to hearth and home and to those he loved. Rage tightened his stomach; he fought to tamp it down. He knew from experience anger clouded the brain and led to missteps. He didn’t intend to lose his cool; clear-headed thinking had always served him well on the battlefield.

They entered the woods. Bird calls and rustles among the bushes greeted them beneath the canopy. Nicholas breathed in the smells of damp and rotting leaves. He saw no sign of a disturbance made by this man or men. Had they ridden this way?

Nicholas rode out of the woods with Warren and made for the bridge over the river. “Maybe Vano can tell us more. He will know if any strangers are still in the area,” he said to Warren. They urged their horses into a gallop across the fields and headed north to where the coil of smoke wafting into the sky pinpointed the position of the wanderer camp.

The gypsies had begun to pack. Vano stepped forward and hailed them as they approached.

Nicholas leaned towards him from the saddle. “You’re leaving?”

“A day or two, milord. Time to move on once my child is born.”

“I hope the birthing goes well.” He didn’t ask how many children Vano had but suspected many of the children running about the camp were his progeny. Nor was he about to discuss with Vano what had occurred during the night. “Has anyone seen the man at target practice again?”

Vano nodded. “One of my men saw him on horseback this morning.”

Nicholas’s pulse quickened. “Could he describe the fellow?”

He shrugged. “Dark hair is all.”

Not Max’s brother. But Nicholas remained convinced Simon Leeming was behind it. “Where was this?”

“Two miles east of here, near the fork in the river where the willows grow.”

Nicholas took up the reins. “My thanks, Vano. Safe travels.”

He bent his head in his peculiar half bow. Nicholas suspected it was beneath him to defer to anyone, but perhaps he considered he owed Nicholas a modicum of respect. Or maybe he had an eye on his next visit. His following words confirmed it.

“Next year, then, milord.”

Nicholas turned his horse’s head. “Goodbye to you.”

He and Warren rode away. Once they were out of earshot, Warren said, “My father cursed the gypsies. Drove them off his land. Thieves they are.”

“I find it better to remain on good terms with them. Vano isn’t such a bad fellow. You respect them, they respect your land, at least most of the time.”

Warren looked doubtful.

Urging their horses into a canter, they rode on.

A short time later, they’d eased their mounts into a trot when Nicholas pulled up. He pointed ahead of them. “The place Vano spoke of is a half-mile or so beyond those trees.”

When they got as close as they dared, they dismounted and tied the reins to a branch.

Nicholas pulled out his gun, cocked it, and crept forward. Warren followed. The men’s two horses grazed near the river.

As they edged closer, loud voices reached them.

Nicholas signaled to Warren.

They covered the distance in a half-crouch and took cover in a thicket of trees. Nicholas spotted the camp through the branches. A stone’s throw from the riverbank, Simon and his French friend, Bettencourt, sat on a log, tearing off pieces from a loaf of bread and drinking from a bottle. The two men were involved in a heated argument.

Nicholas turned to Warren and held a finger to his lips. He gestured and moved behind the thick trunk of a dead tree to hear their conversation.

“You’re a fool. If I’d meant you to attack the house, I would have said so,” Simon yelled. “I instructed you to find the boy’s bedchamber and deal with him. Make it look like an accident had befallen him. Now they’re on the alert for us.”

“They expected something to happen. I couldn’t get inside, so starting the fire was the only option,” Bettencourt said. “They’d planted guards around the house. It was then or never. Should the house have burned down, your worries would have been over.”

“But it didn’t. And if it had burned down, who’s to say if the boy would have died? This has been a clumsy effort from the start,” Simon snarled. “I told you to entice Caroline into the garden at the ball where we could have taken her hostage. What happened to your so-called famous charm?”

As he listened, Nicholas gritted his teeth with anger.

“It would have worked if the opportunity had presented itself. She left before I could dance with her.”

“Bah. Now we can’t get within a mile of the house. The gates are guarded. We’re locked out and cannot use the carriage. Forget taking hostages. It’s my bet they’ll keep the boy inside the house. We might as well give up on this occasion and leave before they find us. You can bet Pennington is out searching for us at this very moment. We can wait for another chance. When the boy returns to school will be better. He won’t have much protection and can suffer an unfortunate accident. We should plan for that as soon as we leave here.”

“You are set on this course?”

“I am. I should have been Baron Leeming, and but for that blasted boy, I would have. After Max had two daughters, I thought I had the title within my grasp. He’d been sickly as a child with scarlet fever. Left him with a dicky heart. It was obvious he wouldn’t