The Rake's Bargain. Lucy Ashford
that kiss. It was with only the greatest difficulty that she managed to keep her voice calm as she guided Luke and Francis away from their captive. ‘Well done, both of you,’ she said, ‘for timing your rescue to perfection.’
Francis looked stunned. ‘He had a gun. And he was molesting you. Kissing you. As far as I’m concerned that decides it. We’ll leave him here.’ Francis picked up his hat, which had fallen off during the struggle. ‘Luke and I spotted some woodcutters at work further along the track. They’re bound to come this way once they’ve finished for the day, and find our fancy gentleman—so let him fume in his bonds for a while. He deserves no pity from us.’
‘And he won’t get it,’ said Deb swiftly. ‘But I’m afraid we have to keep him under guard for a little while longer.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s a friend of Palfreyman’s.’
Francis stared; Luke let out a small yelp of horror.
‘That’s right.’ And that’s not the least of it. Our prisoner has seen those awful, awful books, and once he’s set free, he might recount the whole incident to Palfreyman. My plan to save the Players could be wrecked...
‘Mr Beaumaris was actually on his way to Hardgate Hall,’ she went on. ‘And you were right—that is Palfreyman’s bay that he was riding. So you have to keep him a prisoner, I’m afraid, until I receive Palfreyman’s written promise to drop all charges against the Players.’
‘But that’s not till...’
‘I know. Not until tomorrow.’
‘But he’ll need feeding.’ This was Luke speaking. ‘He’ll need somewhere to sleep, Miss Deb. He’ll need—’
‘We can do it if we have to,’ interrupted Francis. ‘But what about you, Deborah?’
‘I’ve got to go back to Oxford, to the Angel, Francis.’ Somehow she managed to sound calm. ‘I’m booked to entertain the inn’s customers for an hour, tomorrow at noon. Don’t you remember?’
Francis looked gloomy. ‘But the rest of the Players have gone on to Gloucester. Can’t we just leave, now, and join them?’
‘No! We’ve put posters up all around town for my show, and you know as well as I do that if we let our customers down, they won’t turn up the next time we’re here! Also, I have to stay in Oxford to get Palfreyman’s reply tomorrow morning!’
‘Do you really believe he’ll write to say he’s going to lift those charges against us?’
‘I’m sure of it,’ Deb replied confidently. Francis would be confident, too, if he knew what she’d stolen from Palfreyman’s house. ‘I’ve told him that I’ll expect his reply by ten tomorrow.’ From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed their prisoner stirring slightly; her spirits plummeted again. ‘I don’t think Palfreyman will dare to be late. But it does mean that you and Luke are going to have to keep our prisoner here until I get back to you, early in the afternoon.’
Both men looked appalled. Clearly she wasn’t the only one to realise that they had a truly formidable opponent in Mr Beaumaris. ‘If there was an alternative I’d use it, believe me,’ she continued earnestly. ‘But I’m afraid we’ve really no choice.’
Francis still looked deeply unhappy. ‘Very well,’ he sighed. ‘I noticed there’s a charcoal-burner’s hut off the track back there, and it doesn’t look like it’s been used for years. If we get him inside it, he wouldn’t have to lie out in the cold and wet all night.’
Deb remembered the insults that Mr Beaumaris had paid her and replied thoughtfully, ‘Francis, do you know, I don’t think I care very much if our prisoner does have to lie out in the cold and wet all night. But you’re right, I suppose. Luke, you must ride over to Hardgate village and pick up a few provisions—it will all work out, you’ll see. As an extra precaution, Francis, I’ll give you Mr Beaumaris’s gun.’ She spoke with forced cheerfulness as she handed him the pistol. ‘As soon as Luke rejoins you, you can take our prisoner to the charcoal-burner’s hut for the night. By the time I’ve done my performance at the Angel, I’ll have received Palfreyman’s written promise not to prosecute us—then I can ride back here and we’ll let Mr Beaumaris go free.’
‘But then Mr Beaumaris will ride on to Palfreyman’s, and he’ll tell Palfreyman all about us!’
‘By which time we’ll be well out of the way, believe me.’
Francis glanced at their furious prisoner. ‘I’d say that the more miles we put between ourselves and Mr Beaumaris, the better.’
Deb couldn’t have agreed more. As she mounted her old pony, Ned, she tried to keep up her optimism, but she felt more and more afraid of the consequences of this ill-fated encounter. And yet it was hard to describe the almost crushing disappointment she’d felt when she realised that Mr Beaumaris was a friend of Palfreyman’s.
Something about Mr Beaumaris disturbed her in a quite alarming manner. There was no denying that he was absolutely, compellingly male, with his brilliant blue eyes and his unruly dark hair and hard, lean jaw. Gorgeous, Peggy Daniels would say. Mouthwateringly gorgeous. But shouldn’t Deb have been immune to that?
Instead, what his kiss had done to her just terrified her. Yes, she’d lured him into the kiss because she knew that Luke and Francis would arrive any minute, and it had been the obvious way to distract him. She’d been prepared to feel revulsion and fresh fear. Instead, she’d been completely stunned by her own reaction to the touch of his lips on hers.
Damian Beaumaris was the kind of man she absolutely detested. He was arrogant. He was hatefully insulting. But as soon as his mouth came down on hers she’d felt shock flooding every nerve and her world had slowed. She’d wanted—no, she needed to be closer to him; she even heard her own little moan of longing. She still felt as though her world had turned upside down.
Deb drew a deep breath, and urged her ambling steed onwards.
In less than an hour Deb had returned to the inn to find that the rest of the Lambeth Players had travelled on earlier as arranged, taking their carts of belongings and their other two horses. She was glad everything here at least had gone according to plan, but she missed their lively banter. After stabling Ned, she went to buy herself a hot meal to take back to the stables where she would spend the night, but she wasn’t able to escape the sharp tongue of the innkeeper’s wife.
‘I’m hoping, young lady,’ the woman said as she ladled out some dubious-looking stew, ‘that a few people turn up for this speechifying of yours tomorrow. It’s going to put us to a deal of trouble, you know, clearing our yard and setting up a stage for you.’
Deb took her plate and looked at her steadily. ‘Your courtyard is always packed every year when I appear. You know that. And they pay.’
‘Sixpence apiece, but you take half of that!’
‘Ah, but the people who come to see me also drink your ale and buy your hot pies by the dozen.’ Which I’d guess you fill with the local butcher’s sweepings, Deb added to herself. She’d tried one of them once—it was horrible. She turned to go, but the innkeeper’s wife hadn’t finished with her.
‘The rest of your friends,’ she said suddenly, making Deb almost drop her plate. ‘They paid their bill and cleared out this morning. Now, where were they bound?’
‘They’ve gone on to the fair at Stow on the Wold,’ Deb lied glibly. ‘A little muddying of their trail might be a good thing, all in all.’ Mr Beaumaris. Palfreyman. Oh, heavens.
Still the woman hadn’t finished, but came closer, her eyes gleaming with malicious curiosity. ‘It must