The Elusive Earl (Saints & Scoundrels) Page 9

  “Not bored enough to play nursemaid to my direct line of command’s wife and daughter.”

  “Would you prefer we swap, and you travel with the other Miss Penderley?” A safe question to ask Samuel, as Daniel knew that Brianna’s reputation for causing chaos and mayhem was extremely well known throughout the department, with all of the other agents perfectly happy that Sir Walter generally relied upon Daniel to assist.

  “Hell, no.” Samuel’s face paled. “I would be…happy to accompany Lady Penderley and her daughter. Brianna Penderley, or rather, I should say, the Principessa, is all yours, my friend.”

  Daniel grimaced slightly. A princess. Lord, what had he gotten himself into? He grabbed the waterproof satchel and stuffed the dossiers into it.

  “But you will need to be careful, Thornton,” Samuel urged. “It didn’t take me long to connect the dots, and once others do and word spreads, she will be in danger, for there are many bands of the Garendetta through the region who will wish to ransom her to the Prince.”

  “Trouble seems to be the woman’s middle name.”

  Chapter Ten

  Casolesi Forest, Calabria Region

  The young girl slowly squeezed the cloth, trickling some water from it into his parched mouth. Travis greedily gulped what little passed through his cracked lips.

  “Vai fuori di qui!” a man’s harsh voiced yelled to the girl from the door, telling her to get out in Italian.

  She scurried out of the room, taking the precious water Travis longed for with her. He looked up as one of his captors stopped beside the chair he was strapped to.

  “De journals not in de girl’s room,” the man said. “This what we been told.”

  Travis gave a small shrug and then groaned. Even the slight movement inflamed his bruised and possibly cracked ribs. “I told you, she doesn’t have them and doesn’t know where they are.”

  “My boss, he not happy, no journals found.” The man hunkered down next to him. “He tells me to punish you again until you tell us where they are.”

  “I don’t know where they are,” Travis said into the small space.

  “I believe you.” The man stood and dragged over the empty chair and sat down next to him. “But my boss, he insists.”

  Travis looked into the dark gaze of the Italian man. “You can tell your boss to go to Hell.”

  The man merely shrugged. “He been a told dat many times before. But I make deal with you. I not beat you today if you tell me about de man dat is with your cousin.”

  “I haven’t seen Brianna in weeks.” Travis’s voice was tinged with frustration. “How would I know who she is with?”

  “He a very tall, English man. Big and strong, with de dark gold hair and de green eyes.”

  Immediately, Travis felt like laughing. They could only be describing the Earl of Thornton, and if he was with Brianna, she would be safe. That was some comfort at least.

  “Ah, I see you know who I describe.” The man leaned in closer to Travis’ face. “Who is dis man?”

  Travis finally let a grin split his battered lips, uncaring of the pain. “You have no idea of the storm you’ve just brought upon yourselves, do you?” He laughed and was pleased when a frown appeared on the man’s face.

  “Who is he?” his captor demanded.

  Suddenly, Travis stopped laughing. “He is your death.”

  …

  On the road heading to Cosenza

  “What on earth is wrong with you today?” Brianna asked Daniel, her body jostling in the seat as the carriage continued to roll over more uneven ground on the road heading toward Cosenza.

  “What do you mean?” he replied, his expression hooded.

  “Well, I’ve made several remarks that normally would have you sniping something scornful back at me, but nothing. Not even a hint of sarcasm in your voice on the entire trip so far.” It was entirely discomfiting.

  “We’ve only been traveling for six hours.”

  “Exactly! A whole day of no snide comments,” she declared. “Whatever is wrong with you?”

  A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. But then, it was as if a shutter came over his eyes, and he was back to his usual enigmatic self.

  “Enjoy the experience, princ…Miss Penderley.”

  She arched an eyebrow. Since when had he not called her by the derogatory nickname, “princess”? Something was certainly on his mind; she’d spent enough time around him in the past to be confident of that. “This is going to be a very long and vexing journey if you will not talk to me and tell me what is wrong.”

  “Why must women always assume something to be wrong simply because a man does not feel like discussing matters?”

  “Well, is something not wrong?”

  He looked out the window, and the sunlight streaming in glinted off his golden hair. It almost gave him the appearance of an angel. Bree nearly laughed aloud at the thought. “That is beside the point,” he eventually replied.

  “See, I knew it!” The man might think he was being all poker-faced, which he was, but Bree could see the small lines of worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. Lines that she hadn’t noticed the evening prior, even with all that had occurred.

  “God, you are an exasperating creature,” he said, though he sounded reluctantly amused rather than vexed. It was a nice change, even though he’d most likely been trying to annoy her.

  Rather than take offense at his comment, she found herself smiling. “Now, that sounds more like the Earl of Thornton I know and love.” Her face drained of all color. “Oh God, I didn’t mean I love you. Goodness no… It was just, um… Well, I meant… It was just an expression that I used. A slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean anything by it…”

  What had she just said to the man? Never had she felt this sense of mortification before! She glanced down at the floor and fervently wished it would open up and swallow her whole; dealing with whatever awaited her beneath would be preferable to having to face the earl.

  Fancy telling the high and mighty Lord Thornton that she loved him. Not that she did, of course. Goodness no. She couldn’t imagine that. Well, perhaps once, a very long time ago as a young girl meeting her best friend’s older brother, a tiny part of her may have imagined him as a dashing knight and possibly entertained the silly notion of a happily ever after with him. But the man’s stuffiness and arrogance had quickly dashed that whim.

  “Relax, my dear,” the man had the gall to say. “Besides, isn’t it expected that a wife should love her husband?”

  “Oh, you are impossible!” She crossed her hands over her chest, willing the heat from her face to subside. “Just don’t speak to me.”

  “And you say I’m impossible?” he muttered. “Woman, you are a contradiction in and of itself.” He shook his head before shutting his eyes and settling back for what looked to be a nap.

  Why on earth had she even mentioned love in the same breath as Daniel Wolcott? It was going to be a very long journey. Bree diverted her attention to staring out the window at the countryside. The land itself was dotted with mountainous terrain in the distance, and she could even spot some snow-capped mountain tops. The passing greenery was refreshingly pretty, covered as it was with beautifully lush vegetation. A nice change from the dirty streets of Naples.

  If she didn’t have the worry of Travis hanging over her head, she would have suggested they stop so she could sketch the landscape. But as she’d said last night, time was of the essence.

  The thought of what Travis may be going through, without her there to assist him, sent a wave of helplessness through her. The two of them had always been very close, with only half a year separating them, along with their likeminded thirst for adventure and passion for antiquities. And now he was in danger. True danger, where his very life was at risk. All over some lost treasure, which apparently Bree’s mother’s journals held the key to.

  The journals. Of course! With everything that had happened and the preparations for the trip, she hadn’t eve
n had a chance to look at the last journal.

  She grabbed her satchel from the seat beside her and pulled it open on her lap. She smiled as the rag doll she’d had since a child looked up at her. She always felt protected, as if her parents were watching over her whenever her little friend Rosa was near.

  She sighed. Her doll and the one journal were the only things she now had left of her parents.

  Pulling out the hardbound book, she took a moment to admire the beauty of it. The mahogany-colored leather had faded only slightly, and embossed along its edges were delicate swirls, intertwining right around the front cover and leading to the center. Her fingers traced along the pattern in the middle of the cover, where an embossed medallion sat, an array of symbols etched around its circumference.

  Her mother’s journal. Of course, she’d looked through it before, had looked through all three of the journals over the years, but only briefly, as she could never decipher the Italian text. But it was always with a mixed sense of sadness and guilt. Sadness, because she wished she could have known her parents. Guilt because she could only remember vague impressions of them, and even then, those fleeting moments were filled with a horrible sensation of pain and fear.

  She furtively glanced up at Daniel, who still had his eyes closed. She was certain he could translate any of the parts Mr. Bartardi had not, but a journal was generally a very personal accounting of events, and she didn’t know if she was quite ready to share her mother’s last days just yet, either with him or with herself.

  She probably would have left the journals alone and safely nestled in her trunk back home, if it hadn’t been for Travis’s encouragement to have Mr. Bartardi look at them whilst they were in Naples.

  Clearly, Travis had known a great deal more about the journals and the lost treasure than what he had disclosed. And he’d had the temerity to read them, too! She was going to have to give her cousin a very stern talking to once he was safe.

  Brianna opened the cover and began thumbing through the yellowing pages. Mr. Bartardi had inserted pieces of parchment within each page, with translations of portions of the text written on them, and there were also some other folded-up pieces of paper in the back of the journal. She had to admire her mother’s writing, which was exceptionally bold and steady, but as usual, Bree could make out only a few of the Italian words. The occasional “tesoro,” which she knew from her travels meant “treasure,” was readily discernible, as were a few similar words that had an English equivalent. But the rest… Thankfully, it seemed poor Mr. Bartardi had done an excellent job translating most of it.

  But Bree didn’t know if she was in fact ready to read her mother’s last entries. And though a part of her was curious to discover what the last days of her mother’s life had been like, Bree was also slightly scared, too, considering the circumstances surrounding her parents’ deaths. Even the thought of their last moments was enough to send a shard of ice to her toes.

  Snapping the book closed, she decided to leave it for another time. They did, after all, have plenty of days of travel left until they reached Cosenza. What they would do when they arrived there, though, was another question entirely.

  “Are you sure Aunt Edith and Amelia will be safe?” she couldn’t help but ask him.

  “Thought you wanted me to be silent?” The man still kept his eyelids firmly shut.

  “Do you wish for me to kick your shin once again?”

  His eyes flew open. “You have a mean streak in you, Miss Penderley.”

  She grinned. “Only when it comes to you, Your Lordyness. Perhaps, though, seeing as we are pretending to be husband and wife, you should call me something other than Miss Penderley? Might seem odd if you do so when others are about.”

  “How remiss of me. You are, of course, quite correct.” His eyes sparkled in amusement, clearly enjoying himself at her expense. “Shall I call you ‘my darling mouse of a wife’?”

  “Oh for goodness sake!” She felt like throwing one of the seat cushions at him. “You are incorrigible!”

  He simply laughed. “And you, my wife, take the bait so well.”

  She shook her head at him but then frowned. The words “my wife” had rolled so effortlessly off his tongue and had sounded so natural. She shivered. She could not allow herself to be attracted to him and end up hoping for a future that he had made certain she knew was not possible. A future that would surely consist of her having to play a dutiful and obedient wife, whilst all of her travel adventures and antiquity collecting would be completely forbidden. She could almost feel her very spirit shrink at such a thought.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze and instead looked out the window again. “I’m just worried for my family.” Which was true.

  “Your aunt and Amelia will be fine. Samuel is one of the best in the business, despite his rather casual attitude. He’s also taking two other men with him to ensure their safety. Trust me, he will take no chances with Walter’s family.”

  “Why didn’t you bring any guards, apart from the carriage driver?”

  “More bodies would slow us down.” He gave a half shrug. “Besides, I know I can protect you.”

  “Rather arrogant of you, is it not?” She continued her perusal of the landscape. Of course, she knew Daniel occasionally worked for her uncle, but doing some clandestine activities in a ballroom, as she assumed was all an earl would be permitted to do, was a far cry from what she imagined they would face on their trip.

  “I know my abilities.”

  “I think you might have to use them, and sooner rather than later,” she warned, as she saw a group of men on horseback, riding directly toward them and all carrying weapons. “I believe we’re about to be waylaid.” She pointed out the window to the group fast approaching.

  Daniel leaned over and looked to where she was indicating. “Damn it.” Quickly, he reached into his own satchel and pulled out a small, odd-looking canvas bag that had a cord of braid attached to it. It seemed somewhat familiar.

  “Is that one of those courier satchels Uncle Walter has often boasted about?” Bree asked. “The ones impervious to water?”

  “It is.” He untied the braid from around the bag and retrieved a small leather-bound journal from inside it, which was nestled next to some other loose papers. The journal itself looked somewhat similar to her mother’s journal she still held. He grabbed Brianna’s satchel and slipped the new journal inside, then closed it and placed it down next to her on the seat. Before she knew what he was about, he plucked her mother’s journal from her hands and quickly dropped it into the special satchel, where his own had been.

  “Lift your leg onto the seat,” he said, deftly drawing closed the string of the bag, as if he hadn’t just asked her to do anything untoward.

  “I beg your pardon?” Brianna couldn’t be certain, but it felt like her eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

  “We need to hide the true journal. I packed this decoy one last night, thinking we might need to use it.” His voice grew impatient. “Quickly.”

  The reverberation of hooves, in addition to those of the horses pulling their carriage, began to sound very close. She did as he asked and placed her right boot up onto the seat across from her.

  He swept aside her skirts and petticoat, and pushed up the leg of her pantaloons to well above her knee.

  Brianna gulped hard. No man had ever seen her leg, let alone touched it, before. It was highly unnerving and completely improper. But she’d do anything to keep her mother’s journal away from thieves. She shivered as Daniel’s hand brushed up past her calf.

  She pressed her lips tightly together as the feel of his fingers skimming across her flesh sent a flush of crimson from her head to her toes. Good Lord, she’d never experienced such a thing before. It was completely embarrassing, yet unaccountably thrilling at the same time.

  He tied the bag around her lower thigh, tightly enough so that it was s
ecure, but not so tight as to cut off her circulation. Then he roughly pulled her pantaloons over the bag and back down to her ankles.

  Bree dragged her foot from the seat and arranged her petticoat and dress around her legs. She made certain to look anywhere but at him, suddenly wondering how it would feel for his fingers to brush across her elsewhere. She very nearly moaned aloud at the thought. What was coming over her? She was turning into a wanton! She pulled all of her energy and focus onto returning her mind to the situation at hand, which seemed like it was about to get rather dire.

  “That journal is Travis’s lifeline,” Daniel reminded her. “We can’t let anyone take it.”

  As if she needed reminding. “Is that what these men are after?”

  “We shall soon find out.” He grabbed her satchel and pulled it down onto the floor, hiding it behind the skirts at the back of her dress. “Don’t be overly eager to hand them the decoy journal, all right?”

  She nodded, feeling her heart start to pump faster.

  Voices from outside shouted something in Italian to the driver, and suddenly, the carriage lurched, grinding to a halt.

  The door to the carriage flew open, and an Italian man still astride his horse was pointing a rifle at them.

  “I find myself experiencing an odd sense of déjà vu,” she mumbled.

  “You and I both, my dear,” Daniel replied. “You and I both.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The men surrounded the carriage, sitting astride magnificent stallions. They wore royal blue and gold military uniforms, with gleaming silver swords hanging in scabbards about their waists and pristine rifles holstered beside their thighs.

  Clearly, not members of the Garendetta. One small mercy.

  Their fierce expressions and disciplined posture would have proven they were professionally trained soldiers even if they had not been wearing the uniform. The coat of arms embroidered on the center of each man’s chest, which Daniel had seen a copy of only last night in the dossiers Samuel had shown him, confirmed what he had suspected.