To Bed a Beauty (Courtship Wars 2)

Roslyn jumped to her feet, eager to have something to do to distract her. “Yes, of course.”

She quickly left the drawing room and went upstairs to Winifred’s bedchamber. The dressing room door was partially closed, but when she pushed it open, she came to a puzzled halt.

A footman stood there in front of Winifred’s dressing table, pawing through her ladyship’s jewel case.

He froze at Roslyn’s unexpected entrance, then guiltily dropped the expensive diamond necklace he had been fingering.

Her first instinctive thought was that she’d interrupted a thief trying to steal Winifred’s jewels. Yet before she could say a word, the footman suddenly whirled and barreled past her out the dressing room door, his head bent low so she couldn’t see his face, only his ginger-colored hair.

Knocked askew, Roslyn nearly fell to the ground, and as she struggled to regain her balance, she realized the thief wore a sling on his right arm.

Good God! He had been wounded, just like the highwayman who had held up the Freemantle carriage last week!

Gathering her scattered wits, Roslyn gave chase, but he had already bolted out of the bedchamber. Picking up her skirts to keep from tripping, she ran after him. By the time she reached the end of the hall corridor, she saw him bounding down the sweeping front staircase.

“Stop him!” she cried out, hoping one of the servant staff would hear her and help her thwart his escape. “Stop that thief!”

Another footman was stationed at his post behind the stairs, along with the Freemantle butler, Pointon, no doubt because they were expecting the duke’s arrival any moment. When Roslyn shouted again, both servants recovered from their startlement and bounded after the fleeing thief just as he flung open the front door.

As Roslyn ran down the stairs, they caught him and dragged him back to the entrance hall. At the first contact, he gave a yelp of pain and clutched his wounded right arm, but then erupted in fury, swinging his good arm and delivering a hail of blows against his captors so that he eventually broke free.

Roslyn had almost reached the foot of the stairway when Winifred appeared, the shouts and scuffle having brought her out of the drawing room.

“What in heaven’s name…?” Winifred demanded in bewilderment as the injured thief made for the door again. Her words trailed off, though, when she caught sight of the ginger-haired miscreant. She abruptly froze, while her face turned white.

Yet Roslyn was too occupied to pay much attention to her friend. Instead she set out after the thief, reaching the doorway as he charged down the entrance steps. When he turned to his right, racing along the front of the mansion, Roslyn hesitated barely an instant before following, nearly tripping on the steps in her haste.

It registered in her mind that the duke had just driven up in his curricle while a waiting groom had gone to the horses’s heads. But she couldn’t spare the time to answer when Arden called out to her. She rushed past him and along the gravel drive, watching the thief sprint for the south corner of the house.

Her breath ragged now, Roslyn dashed after him, but when she turned the corner in pursuit of him, she saw with dismay that he had reached his bay horse that was tied to a tree branch. Roslyn muttered an oath as he hauled himself up onto his saddle with his good arm. He was getting away!

Whirling, she ran back to the front of the house.

Arden had jumped down from his curricle and was staring at her. “Roslyn, what the devil is going on?” he exclaimed.

“No time to explain!” she cried. “The highwayman…”

Without pause, she scrambled to climb up into the curricle’s seat and gathered the reins, hoping the duke would forgive her for commandeering his expensive equipage and pair.

“Stand aside!” she ordered the startled groom.

The instant he obeyed and let go the bridle, she snapped the reins over the backs of the spirited grays. The horses sprang forward, nearly throwing Roslyn from the seat.

With a gasp, she righted herself at the same time she heard the duke’s own muttered curse over the rattle of carriage wheels. Arden had somehow caught the seat railing and leaped on board the swaying curricle. He was clinging precariously to the side as they bowled along the drive.

Roslyn had difficulty controlling the grays, but she didn’t dare stop long enough to let the duke climb to safety. Ahead, the highwayman’s bay had broken into a gallop and was racing up the drive.

Arden cursed again as he finally pulled himself into the seat beside her. “Roslyn, for God’s sake, slow down!”

“No, I have to catch him!”

“Then give me the damned reins before you land us in a ditch!”

He seized them from her grasp and took control, and in a moment the grays recognized his expert hand and settled into a more even rhythm.

Yet the highwayman was still increasing the distance between them. And before the drive ended, he cut across a stretch of lawn to meet up with the country lane, giving himself an even greater advance.

The curricle lost some speed as Arden negotiated the turn, but then he urged the grays faster. Roslyn clung to the side railing as the curricle bucked and shuddered over the uneven ground. Yet she could tell they were losing the chase.