Stephanie Laurens - Beyond Seduction

“Here. Mount up.”

She turned to find Gervase holding Artur’s head. “Oh-thank you.” Shaking her wits into order, she stuffed Ben’s clothes into the saddle pocket, then shoved her boot in the stirrup, grasped the saddle and swung up to Artur’s back.

The instant she had her reins in hand, Gervase turned to his gray and mounted. He nudged the huge horse close, then lifted his head to address the others. “Straight to Helston by the best route. If we get separated, we’ll meet outside the Scales & Anchor.”

Murmurs of acknowledgment sounded all around.

Gervase nodded at her. “Lead off.”

She swung Artur’s head for the gate and loosened his reins.

They were galloping by the time they cleared the gates at the end of the long drive; glancing around, she noted Gervase keeping an eye on Edmond, but he soon saw there was no need and pushed forward to ride alongside her.

“They can ride as well as I do,” she called.

He nodded. “So I see.”

“So what’s going on?”

He glanced back, then called to her, “You and I are going to outdistance everyone else. We’ll be waiting for them in Helston-I’ll explain everything then.”

Regardless of all else, even her own understanding, she wanted Ben rescued as soon as possible. So she nodded, and looked ahead. And urged Artur on.

They gathered outside the Scales & Anchor, a crowd large enough to fill the street. Abel Griggs and his lads joined them, as did many of the local men and boys. It was early evening when Gervase organized the assembled multitude into groups and sent them out searching, quartering the town, spreading outward from the old docks where Ben had last been seen.

Leaving Abel installed on the bench outside the Scales & Anchor to receive any reports, Gervase took Madeline’s arm and together they walked swiftly to the mayor’s house, a short distance away.

“Good gracious!” Mr. Caldwell, the mayor, was shocked by their news. “Of course you must search. Do you have enough men? We could call out the militia-entirely appropriate in such a case.”

Gervase inclined his head, acknowledging the offer. “No need as it happens, not because we can’t use the men, but because most have already joined us.”

“Good, good.” Short and tending toward rotund, Mr. Caldwell bobbed his head, looking stunned. “Shocking thing, to have a youngster kidnapped.”

“Indeed.” Taking Madeline’s arm, Gervase eased her away-before Caldwell started speculating on Ben’s plight, something Madeline didn’t need to hear. “If you’ll excuse us, we must get back to the search.”

“Of course, of course!”

With a nod, her face expressionless, Madeline turned away and let Gervase lead her down the path and back into the street. Her features were set; she felt locked away inside herself, as if everything were happening at a distance, yet she knew that it was real, the here and now.

She knew Ben had been kidnapped and was in danger.

Gervase had explained all she hadn’t known while they’d waited for the others outside the inn. In large measure the explanation was incidental; to her, the only thing that mattered was Ben-finding him, rescuing him, safe and unharmed.

Her detachment, she was beginning to realize, was a boon.

If she thought about the situation too much, let possibilities form and take shape, panic welled and threatened to overwhelm her, to sink her mind in a morass of emotions, but with Gervase beside her she could hold back the black tide and function as she needed to-as Ben needed her to.

Gervase’s hand tightened over hers on his sleeve. “One thing at a time-that’s how to approach this.”

Her gaze on the pavement ahead of them, she nodded.

The sound of clattering hooves, deep woofs and a sudden hail had them both looking up. Two riders were walking their horses up the street, a gentleman and a lady, with two huge hounds ranging alongside, drifting from one side of the road to the other, scenting this, then that.

Drawing rein just ahead of them, the riders dismounted, the lady kicking her feet free of her stirrups and sliding down before the man could assist her. He glanced at her, then, his reins in one hand, came forward. Smiling. “The old tar outside the inn said you’d come this way.”

Gervase’s lips lifted; he shook hands with the gentleman, then turned to Madeline. “Charles St. Austell, Earl of Lostwithiel, and his wife, Lady Penelope. The Honorable Miss Madeline Gascoigne.”

Madeline forced a weak smile and shook hands.

“Just Charles,” the gentleman said, squeezing her hand in kindly fashion. He was as tall as Gervase, but black-haired, with large dark eyes; beyond that, they were of similar build, and shared the same elusive sense of intentness, of being very much alert and aware, even when relaxed.

“You must be quite frantic with worry.” Lady Penelope, a willowy blonde with a look in her gray eyes that said she was not to be trifled with no matter what her husband might imply, took both Madeline’s hands in hers and smiled understandingly. “And do call me Penny.” She looked at Gervase. “So we’re here-the dogs are here. I suggest we make a start so we can find this young lad.”

Charles flashed Madeline a grin. “She’s a bossy sort.”

Madeline raised her brows. “In that case, she and I will get along famously.”

Penny chuckled. “Indeed.”

The dogs pressed close, one on either side of Charles and Penny, looking up at Gervase and Madeline with great canine grins, as if they, too, were eager to get on.

“I brought two pieces of Ben’s clothing,” Madeline said. “Things he’s recently worn. I left them in my saddle pocket.”

“Our horses are at the inn,” Gervase said. “We can start from there.”

They walked quickly back to the inn, dogs and horses in tow. Madeline noticed Penny glancing at her trousers, visible beneath her gown’s hem given she was striding along.

Penny was striding, too; although a few inches shorter than Madeline, she was taller than most ladies. As they reached the archway leading into the inn yard, Penny caught Madeline’s eye. “I confess I’m intrigued. I assume you ride astride? How do you find others take to the trousers?”

Madeline’s smile was wry. “I’ve been wearing them-usually under a riding dress-for more than a decade, so everyone around here has grown used to the sight. But I have to ride a lot, and this is Artur”-she gestured as she led them to where the big chestnut stood tied to a rail-“so a sidesaddle isn’t really an option.”

“Oh, but he’s a beauty.” Penny stroked Artur’s long nose, appreciatively cast her eye down his length. “Powerful, too.”

Madeline nodded as she pulled Ben’s clothes from her saddle pocket.

Beside them, Charles nudged Gervase. “We’re redundant.”

“Not for long.” Madeline turned with the clothes. She offered them to Charles. “How do you want to do this?”

After consulting with Gervase, Charles elected to put both dogs on leashes. He pulled the long leather strips from his saddlebags. “We don’t want them finding the scent and then racing too far ahead of us. If your brother’s on his own, he might get a nasty shock to see these two charging toward him.”

“They won’t hurt him,” Penny put in.

“But they won’t be very friendly toward anyone who’s with him, regardless of whether they’re friend or foe.” Charles finished fastening the leashes; he handed one to Penny. “Let’s go to this bench he was last seen sitting on and start from there.”

They did. Abel stayed on outside the inn, but those searchers who had returned-all with no news-followed Charles, Gervase, Penny and Madeline down to the old docks. The shadows were starting to lengthen. The tavern was deserted; all the patrons were helping with the search.

Charles had the dogs sit before the bench, gave each a piece of Ben’s clothing to sniff, then he showed them the spot on the bench where Edmond said Ben had been sitting. Both dogs sniffed, milled, danced-looked up at Charles expectantly; this was clearly a game they knew. “Find,” Charles said.

Instantly both dogs put their noses to the ground, turned, and headed back along the dock, then up a street that ran roughly parallel to Coinagehall Street.

Everyone followed, hurrying. Charles and Penny jogged, keeping the dogs from racing ahead. The wolfhounds tracked with confidence and ease, moving fluidly; it seemed Ben’s trail was, to them at least, obvious.

The small procession tacked onto a side street, then swung around another corner. The turns continued, but it was apparent that their quarry had struck across the town in one definite direction.

Gervase felt his chest tighten as that direction became plain. He glanced at Madeline, saw from her set expression and the dawning horror in her eyes that she had worked it out, too.

As he’d feared, the dogs reached the High Road, ran a little way along, then stopped. And sat. And looked at Charles; even unfamiliar as he was with the beasts, Gervase could interpret their confident and satisfied demeanor.

They’d followed the trail to the end.

Charles glanced around, then cocked a brow at Gervase.

“The London road.” Face impassive, he turned to Madeline. “The man brought Ben here, then he got into-or was put into-a carriage.”

Madeline met his eyes; her face was nearly as expressionless as his. She nodded, then looked around. Then she turned to those who had followed them through the streets. The group had halted a few feet away, not liking the conclusion of their search any more than Gervase and Madeline.

Somewhat to Gervase’s surprise, Madeline singled out three of the men. “Harris, Cartwright-Miller. You all live in this area, don’t you?”

All three nodded, pushing through to the front of the small crowd. “Yes, ma’am.”