nd keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area, Jemima didn’t bother to check for danger, practically running up the steep slope toward her goal.
“Round the back,” Peter panted from behind her.
Jemima flew around the side of the building, her scream captured by the large hand that clamped suddenly over her mouth. Her wide eyes met Edward’s for a moment before she realised who he was and she relaxed against him.
“What- ?” she gasped, breathing hard from the exertion of running up the steep hill.
Edward stood back to reveal Eliza standing behind him, relief clear on her face at the sight of them.
“Did you get them?” she whispered, studying the tear tracks on Jemima’s cheeks with a frown.
Jemima nodded briskly and frowned at the door.
She was about to ask why they hadn’t knocked when there was a loud thump against the door, followed by the long ‘meeeoooww’ of a cat, and very loud hissing.
Peter’s brows rose as he studied the door in consternation.
“Harrold,” Edward announced flatly.
“The cat?” Peter scowled as the door shook again. He shared a look with Edward and was about to suggest tossing a coin to decide who would go in first, when the door was yanked open and a very dishevelled, and very beautiful, young woman appeared.
“Jemima!” she gasped. Her face lit up at the sight of her friend. The fact that she was standing between two large brawny men didn’t register to begin with as she stared at her friend, hardly able to believe that she was back in Padstow.
She flew out of the door, which banged back against the wall and slammed shut behind her, and clasped Jemima in a warm hug for several long moments before turning to Eliza.
“Oh, dear Eliza,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes, “you’re back!” and she returned Eliza’s hug without hesitation.
Their reunion was cut short by a loud wail of protest coming from inside the house.
Harriett frowned at the door and only then seemed to realise Jemima and Eliza were not alone. Immediately, wariness replaced the joy on her face, which abruptly closed down to reveal nothing but mild politeness.
The change in her demeanour was so swift, so drastic, that the men weren’t sure what had happened.
Peter remembered Jemima’s warning that her friend was eccentric and somewhat withdrawn with men in particular. Only then did he realise why Jemima had made a point of mentioning Harriett’s oddities. The sudden change in her demeanour warned him that she wasn’t going to be amenable to anything they wanted, for no other reason than they were men.
Shaking his head, he stood back and watched as Harriett turned and pushed open the door to her cottage. The loud wailing grew louder and was accompanied by loud thumps and bangs that made Edward tense in readiness.
Peter placed his hand on his pistol and waited. He didn’t care if they had to shoot the damned cat; they weren’t going to remain outside in plain view for much longer. He mentally began to count to ten, his gaze locked on the doorway.
He got to five and watched the door swing inward. A dishevelled Harriett appeared, reluctantly beckoning them to enter. Wicked looking scratches had bloodied the sleeves of her dress, which were now torn beyond redemption. Peter shared a look with Edward, who just shrugged and grinned, and followed everyone inside.
“Before we go, I just have to take a look at that beast,” Edward whispered, smirking at the thought of Hugo wrestling it out of the door.
Peter snorted. “You’re forgetting, my dear man, the beast has to go with us!” He was aware of Edward’s horrified stare as he moved into the house after the ladies.
Harriett Ponsonby wasn’t what he was expecting, either. Peter was about to turn away when a movement outside the window caught his eye. He frowned and nodded to Edward who moved to stare out of the window at the new arrival before moving to the door to let him in.
Within moments Hugo entered, shaking branches and leaves off his great coat as he stomped through the door, a dark scowl of foreboding on his face.
“God, why are things never simple?” he grumbled, glaring at Edward as he passed.
He was about to turn to Peter, when his spotted the third lady in the room.
The very beautiful, dishevelled, but very intriguing, lady who must be Harriett Ponsonby.
Surely this can’t be the witch, he thought, wondering if he had missed something in Jemima’s description of her friend. He had been expecting to escort an aged harridan out of her house, not the startling redhead staring openly back at him. This stunning goddess before him; this epitome of perfection, was a witch?
“Hugo, I’d like to introduce my dear friend, Harriett Ponsonby,” Eliza said, nodding toward Harriett, who made no move to approach any of the men. “Harriett, this is Sir Hugo Dunnicliffe, the man who has arranged Scraggan’s downfall, and this is Peter Davenport, Lord Harlec, and Edward Cavendish, my fiancé.”