Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order #3) - Adele Clee Page 0,81

stupid. Look at the terrible mess she’s made of everything. Cavorting with a degenerate who will rob her blind. I’m sure Miss Hart will be grateful we arrived when we did.”

It was not difficult to determine Lady Hollinshead’s motive. Her greedy eyes glinted at the mere mention of treasure. Oh, she would pretend to take care of Vivienne while stealing a large portion for herself.

“Besides, you can stop with the holier-than-thou attitude. You’ve played your part in this, too. You listened to their conversations, studied the clues. You determined they would find the treasure at Highwood. You sent word we were to follow you to Bedfordshire. Arranged the rendezvous point and told us to come back tomorrow if they hadn’t found the treasure.”

Mrs McCready broke into a sob. “Because ye promised to help the lass, make sure she didna marry that devil.”

The countess shrugged. “And I have.”

The carriage slowed and pulled into the yard of a busy post-house.

Mr Ramsey shuffled to the edge of the seat. “Well, I’m famished. I’ll hurry inside and order supper. You must wake Miss Hart, help her from the carriage while they change the horses.”

“We cannot do it on our own,” the countess complained.

“We cannot take her into the inn in her nightgown. It will look mighty suspicious.”

“We shall have to leave her alone in the carriage. I shall tell the postmaster she’s sick. There will be no issue when he learns I’m a countess.”

Vivienne listened to them concocting their plan. Somehow she was going to steal the tea chest and make a hasty escape. Somehow she would find her way back to Evan Sloane.

Chapter 20

Vivienne’s first opportunity to escape came when the three other occupants of the carriage alighted. Mr Ramsey hurried through the rain into the inn, leaving the countess and Mrs McCready to explain the unfortunate nature of their sick passenger to the postmaster.

She could have simply climbed out of the vehicle, cried that she had been abducted. But she still felt a little woozy from the toddy and tonic, and a hysterical woman in a nightgown might be carted off to the nearest asylum.

Equally, the countess had taken possession of the tea chest, gripping it to her hip like a beloved babe. And Vivienne would not return to Evan without the precious letters.

As luck would have it, the yard was in chaos. Post-boys hurried about carrying luggage, lugging mail bags to protect the contents from the sudden storm, helping injured passengers hobble back to the inn. An armed guard barked orders while all stable hands darted left and right, not knowing which way to run. The accident had occurred half a mile away, and the postmaster insisted on retrieving his horses and the mail before he could think about hiring post-horses.

“Do you know who I am?” the countess complained when the postmaster informed her the inn’s private parlour was now a storeroom for mail. “It’s late, and I insist you change my horses at once.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, my lady, but you’ll have to wait.”

The countess did wait. Rain pelted the windowpanes. An hour passed during which Vivienne pretended to be asleep while her abductors squashed into the carriage and ate supper, for it was far too rowdy and uncivilised in the coaching inn.

More coaches and riders entered the yard, seeking shelter or fresh mounts. All were told the same story, all made to wait.

Needing to drain his bladder after consuming a flagon of wine, Mr Ramsey disappeared into the white stone building and did not return.

“No doubt the fool is gorging on beef stew and has the serving wench dancing to his tune.”

“Och, he’s been some time, my lady. Perhaps he’s unwell.”

“Good riddance.” The countess huffed. “I say we leave without him and he can forfeit his share.”

“But Mr Ramsey threatened to tell the earl of yer plans. And we’ve five days before the ship sails. We canna risk getting caught.”

“Mr Ramsey will sell the information, regardless.”

“Shame ye only purchased three tickets. It might have been better to take the loose-tongued rogue, too.”

Three tickets? But Mr Ashwood had mentioned only two.

The countess stared at the box as if it held the answer to her prayers. “Well, I’m tired of waiting. I shall instruct the coachman to head to the next inn. The horses are rested, and we should make the five miles without incident.”

“What about Mr Ramsey, my lady?”

“I must use the inn’s facilities if we’re to continue on our journey. I’ll not stoop behind the carriage. I shall see if