Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,134

she needed a sign, then the sight of Madam Layla seated in a chair, having a maid do her hair, was it. She recognized those golden curls instantly.

Creeping back along the ledge, Ivy went as far as she could the other way. It was cold and icy, so she had to be careful or she’d fall, and then she’d be no help to Rory.

Reaching the end of the building, Ivy found the roof sloped there. If she could get onto that and reach the gutters, she may be able to hang off them and jump the rest of the way.

Gripping the roof, she climbed onto it. The slate was rough, which would stop her from sliding. Clutching the side, she began to ease down slowly.

Would they come looking for her soon? She had to get down before they did. Rory would stay safe until she could get back to him… he had to.

It seemed to take forever, and her gloves were torn, hands raw by the time she reached the gutters. Ivy’s arms ached from holding on, but she’d make it; she had to. Lowering herself over the edge on her tummy, she let her legs dangle, but didn’t dare look down.

Please don’t let me break anything.

The gutter creaked and then bent as she lowered herself further, and then she was falling.

She landed on her feet; they gave way, and she fell onto her bottom, knocking the breath out of her body. Ivy rolled to her knees. Desperate for air, she wondered if she’d pass out, and then finally, the blessed relief. Inhaling large, steadying breaths, she staggered to her feet.

Running as fast as she could, she kept to the trees until she reached the stables. Listening, she heard no voices, only the thud of her heart.

You can do this, Ivy. Rory needs you.

She tiptoed inside. Horses had their heads hanging over the stalls, some nipping at her bonnet as she crept past.

“That Madam Layla, she’s got them all at her mercy.”

The words came from up ahead. Moving forward, she peered around a wall and found four men in a tack room talking. Ivy would never get a horse out of there without one of them hearing her. She saw the door had a lock on it. Could she shut it before they realized she was out there?

“That Lord Trockler will do anything for her,” a man was saying as she crept closer. “It’s like she’s a witch and casts spells over them.”

“Or she’s good at what she does, if you get my meaning. Them noblewomen is all uptight in the bedroom, but not Madam Layla. That’s what lures them to her.”

Ivy was now beside the door. There was a piece of wood to drop, then a key to turn in a lock. Pressing her palm to it, she swung it slowly.

“Hey!”

She slammed it and dropped the wood. Her fingers shook as she turned the key in the lock, then removed it. Running back to the first stall, she looked inside. No horse, only straw. The next had a horse but no saddle. The third had Rory’s horse, still saddled with the rifle strapped in place.

Fists pounded on the locked door behind her as Ivy led the horse from the stable. Mounting, she guided them outside. Rory had told her to leave and get help, but that help would be some distance away in the form of Timothy and the driver. Could she leave him for that long? What would they do to him once they knew she’d gone?

If only Lord Trockler was still in that room with Rory, she could go in there and retrieve him, then leave. She’d locked four men in the stables, but knew an estate this size would have more staff.

Ivy was not usually indecisive, and yet this was surely the most important decision of her life.

Letting go of the reins, she let the horse decide. He made for the house.

“Excellent choice.”

Tying him to a tree out of sight of the house, Ivy dismounted and unstrapped the rifle. Making sure it was loaded, she crept up the front steps and into the house. The parlor that Rory was in was on this floor. Listening at the door, she heard only the hum of men’s voices. Tapping on the wood, she stood back and waited.

Chapter Seventeen

Ivy had not reappeared, and Lord Trockler was getting nervous. He was pacing the room, while Rory drank brandy, pretending to be calm when he was actually wound tighter than a