Simon's Brides Page 8

  She glared at him. She didn’t like it, but what he said made sense. If he got caught, then both Simon and Beth could be in worse trouble. Finally, she nodded her head.

  “Come on, let me help you up,” he grabbed her around the waist. As his scent surrounded her, she dragged in air and prayed he wouldn’t notice the effect he had on her.

  “All right?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

  She nodded as she wiggled into position.

  “Try to keep that beast quiet. Talk softly if he starts to blow. And if I yell, you get out of here.”

  Six

  Amy watched as Simon grabbed the reins of his horse and started forward, his hand on the muzzle of his horse. She sat atop her mount, clutching Beth’s sewing bag to her chest.

  In minutes, the sounds of the woods closed in around her. The chirping of the birds grew much too loud. She questioned the rustle of the wind through the tree leaves. Was someone coming?

  Her nerves tightened. She shifted on her mount.

  He moved, stamping his feet. She groaned.

  She bent forward and whispered that he should be quiet, that Beth’s life might be in danger, that Simon’s life could also be threatened. She stroked the horse’s powerful neck and tried to ignore the pang of hurt at the thought of Simon in danger.

  More minutes slipped past.

  The gloom of the forest pressed against her. Where was Beth? And Simon? Had Simon found her? Was Beth even here? The beating of Amy’s heart drummed through her body. She glanced at the trees, fearful they held the enemy. She twitched, terrified that she’d never react fast enough if someone did approach.

  She strained to hear over the sounds of her own teeth chattering. Terror shook her to her toes. She was scared to death.

  Concentrate on listening for Simon, she commanded herself.

  Suddenly, branches cracked. The birds stopped their chirping. They took to the sky, their flight sending the leaves rustling overhead. Out of the trees, a horse and rider dashed toward her. She blinked.

  Simon!

  And Beth sat in front of him.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Simon ordered as he charged past her.

  He had Beth. Amy slapped the reins against her horse’s flank and chased after him. They raced back the way they had come.

  When they reached the cottage, Amy shouted, “Simon, stop. Is Beth all right? She hasn’t been hurt, has she?”

  Amy started to dismount and Simon ordered, “Stay on that horse. Get back to the manor, now.”

  He whirled his horse around and Amy saw Beth huddled in front of Simon her head on his chest, her eyes glazed with tears.

  “I want to know about Beth,” Amy demanded. “She’s crying.”

  “She’s fine,” Simon snapped. “A little frightened. Look! We must get out of here. You can question her when we get to the house.”

  Amy breathed a quick prayer of thanks and glanced at her sister nestled in Simon’s arms. Then, it hit her.

  Beth was in Simon’s arms. She had her head rested against his chest. He held Beth in his arms in front of him. Tightly!

  Amy urged her horse toward him, “Beth can ride with me.”

  “Amy, move. Now.”

  She glared back.

  Jealousy poured through her. She was jealous of her own sister? A sister who had just been kidnapped? Guilt boiled up inside her. She slapped the reins against the animal’s haunch urging the horse toward the house. What had Simon done to her? First strange sensations rushing through her body, dizziness, breathing difficulties and now, making her jealous of her own sister.

  She dropped her head. Her father would have been ashamed of her. She’d assumed responsibility for her sisters when she promised her father she’d watch out for them.

  Minutes later they rode up to the manor house. Amy sighed with relief. She slipped from her horse and rushed to Simon’s mount. She helped Beth down and dragged her into her arms.

  “I was so worried about you.”

  “I’m all right,” Beth said, wiping tears from her face. “I think I was scared more than anything.”

  “Beth, what happened? Who took you?”

  “I don’t know. He’s not from around here. He had a gruff voice. He spoke as if he didn’t have much schooling. And, he smelled bad.”

  Before Amy had a chance to ask her more, Caro appeared at the doorway and behind her Dora, then Ellie.

  “You found her.”

  “Thank the Lord.”

  The three sisters dash down the stairs and threw themselves toward Amy and Beth.

  Even Agatha stood on the stoop, a relieved look on her face.

  “Someone took her. Kidnapped her,” Amy told them.

  Beth started to cry.

  Amy put her arm around Beth’s waist and led her toward the steps.

  “Let’s get her inside.”

  “She needs something hot to drink,” Dora said.

  “What she needs is brandy,” Ellie insisted.

  “Bring her into the parlor,” Caro added.

  “Please,” Beth whispered. “I’m all right.”

  “You must tell us everything. I found your sewing bag, with your threads and scissors. And the trail you left.” Amy urged Beth toward the door.

  “I ran out of threads. And, tea! I want a cup of tea.” Beth wiped the tears away.

  Simon stood below the steps watching the scene. Beth was in good hands for the moment. He’d do his questioning later. He grabbed the reins of the two horses, aware that Aunt Agatha stood on the stoop waiting.

  “Aunt Agatha, is something wrong?”

  “Oh, Simon. I’m so glad you found her. Has she been hurt?”

  “No, just frightened. I’ll talk to her in a few minutes. In the meantime, where’s Chester, or Clifford? I need one of them to see to the horses.”

  “Simon,” his aunt stepped toward him, twisting her fingers together. Something else was wrong; he felt it.

  “Yes, Aunt.” He paused.

  “Now, don’t be angry,” she started.

  “I’m not angry. What’s wrong?” Oh, Lord, something else had happened.

  Simon looped the horses’ reins around the branch of a nearby tree and raced for the steps.

  “Simon, you don’t need to run like that. He’s gone.”

  “Aunt Agatha, tell me what’s going on? Now,” he shouted.

  “You don’t need to shout at me.”

  She looked ready to cry.

  Simon took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

  “Aunt Agatha?”

  “Harold, that--that man in the room, he’s gone.”

  “Well, damn!” Simon took a deep breath. “When?” he demanded.

  “After you left with Amelia. Harold and that boy came down the stairs together. The Foley boys were helping with something out back. You had the horse so there was nothing they could do. You have to understand. They couldn’t chase after that Harold person.”

  “Harold just walked away?” Simon couldn’t believe that.

  “No, he didn’t walk. That David boy signaled someone down the path and a wagon pulled in front. They got in it and drove away. That was why the Foley boys couldn’t go chasing after them. You had the bay and those boys refused to ride the other carriage horse.”

  Simon swore. David must have had some connection with Harold. In fact, he’d be willing to bet David’s trip into the village this morning had more to do with the kidnapping than seeing his mother.

  And, now, Harold could cause more problems.

  Simon groaned. First, he’d have to warn the women. The restrictions he’d have to put in place would make them furious, but there was nothing he could do about that. And, with any luck, Ben and his crew would arrive tomorrow. They could watch for suspicious individuals.

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck and strode toward the horses.

  “Chester? Clifford?” he called.

  Both young men arrived with Chester in the lead twisting
his hands around his cap.

  “Sorry, milord. Ain’t nothing we could do about Harold. He were gone by the time we got to the front of the house.”

  “It’s all right. We’ll just have to make certain he stays miles from here. In the meantime, I want the horses stabled. Curry them, and give them fresh hay. Do we have any oats?”

  Chester nodded.

  “Well, give them some of those. And, after you get the horses cared for, set up a watch between the two of you. I don’t want Harold sneaking back here tonight.”

  They nodded, then led horses away.

  Simon watched them then turned toward the manor house. Aunt Agatha had already entered the building and he wondered if she had taken it upon herself to console Beth. He wouldn’t put it past her.

  He also needed to talk with Beth. Perhaps she knew who’d taken her from the cottage, who had tied her to the chair in which he found her. That would be a help.

  However, he would need to inform all five sisters that for the time being they would be restricted to the house. He groaned once again, and glanced heavenward.

  “I’m going to need some help down here.”

  When he entered the house, he heard the soft murmur of voices. He would talk to Beth later, after Amy and the others had calmed her. He made his way to the small back room which he had commandeered for an office.

  He sank into a chair and stared at the plain whitewashed wall opposite. “Well, bloody hell,” he swore. He had questions, but with Harold gone, they would remain unanswered. Perhaps Neville’s estate manager had the information he needed. First, he had to determine the amount of debt accrued by the property.

  He propped his feet on the desk and leaned back in the chair. Neville always seemed an able manager. Simon knew the property had yielded an excellent income; in fact, Neville had bragged about his earnings at the last meal they shared.

  Simon sobered. No more of those dinners now that Neville had passed on. And, he’d left Simon with the task of finding husbands for his daughters. Simon needed that done as soon as possible. He couldn’t risk having Harold steal another sister from under his nose and he was certain Harold was the one responsible for Beth’s kidnapping.

  He leapt from his chair and with his hands behind his back, he began to pace. He thought about the women. Of all of them, finding Caro a husband would be the most difficult. Neville claimed she had the most amazing ability with their horses. He’d have to find someone for her who also loved the four-legged beasts. But, who did he know that he could introduce to her, to the other women? Before he could answer his own question a timid knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter,” he ordered.

  “Simon,” Aunt Agatha stuck her head around the door jamb, her lace cap slanted over her curls.

  “Come in, Aunt.”

  “Nephew,” she slipped into the room her hands knotted in the fabric of her gown. “I must mention something to you.”

  “What is it, Aunt?”

  “It’s about Mr. Bolton.”

  “Not Mr. Bolton, Aunt. Just Bolton. Butlers almost always have only one name.”

  “I know that,” she muttered.

  “Now, what about Bolton?” Simon heaved a heavy sigh. It was probable that a storm at sea would prove easier to manage than his aunt.

  Aunt Agatha huffed, “Bolton’s no butler.”

  “He is until I find out what happened to his pension. Harold did a great deal more damage to the people of this manor than to the manor itself. Now, you don’t need to concern yourself about Bolton. I’ll see to him.”

  “Oh, Simon,” she whispered in a voice loud enough to carry through the whole house, “he just won’t do as a butler. He can barely go up and down stairs. If someone knocked at the front door, by the time Bolton arrived, the guest would have left.”

  Simon refused to acknowledge that she had the right of it. As he watched, her chest heaved like a wave in a storm. Well, he couldn’t help it if she was angered. She hadn’t seen the old fellow’s face when Simon had said a valet wasn’t needed. Until he could get the accounts squared away, things would remain as they were.

  “He stays,” Simon replied, his voice husky with displeasure.

  Aunt Agatha made another disparaging sound, but Simon ignored her.

  “Has Beth calmed down? I must question her. And, have Amy inquire how much time before dinner can be served. I’m starving.”

  Simon followed his aunt out of the small office. Maybe he’d get lucky and Beth could answer some of his questions.

  Beth didn’t know a thing. Her kidnapper had stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth before he dragged her away from the cottage. She swore she’d never seen him before. Only the one man captured her, then tied her to the chair in the empty cottage and rode off. She had no idea to where or for what reason. In fact, she claimed after they arrived at the cottage, her kidnaper hadn’t uttered more than two whole sentences to her.

  No answers! He sent Clifford off with a message that he wanted to see the estate manager, Jonathan Miller, first thing in the morning. He dressed for dinner and joined the women for a delightful repast of roast leg of lamb. After the women left the table Simon sat enjoying a moment of solitude with a brandy and a slim cigar. He stared at the cloth covering the table. Tomorrow he had to begin his search for suitable men for Neville’s daughters. The sooner the better.

  Amy’s face teased his memory. Damn! He didn’t want to think of Amy, nor of the man to whom he would see her wed.

  Intense desire washed through him. He didn’t need this. He slammed his fist against the table. What was there about Amy that filled him with desire? He pushed his thoughts away. Stubbornly, he dragged his thoughts to the task before him. Bloody Hell! He didn’t know anything about finding husbands.

  Of course, when he’d finished marrying off the five women, he’d return to the sea and his ships. He ought to begin making some kind of plans this very night. Yes, tonight. Now, in fact!

  And, as soon as possible, he’d leave here, get away from these women, especially Amy.

  He hurried to the study and scoured the desk for paper. He pulled out a pen and ink and sat twirling the wood between his fingers. Who did he know who could meet the requirements of a good husband?

  He made a list of acquaintances, then studied each name. He shrugged and crossed off the first name. George Thurston wouldn’t do at all. George was a miser. His wife would have to wear rags before he’d part with a penny. No, George would make a poor choice to husband one of Neville’s daughters.

  The next man on the list was Henry Blakely. Tall, good looking, but Harry had the reputation of being a womanizer. On top of that, he drank too much. Why, Simon heard he indulged in one or two drinks every night after his meal. No, Blakely wouldn’t do either.

  By the time he had finished, he’d eliminated every name. Simon growled with disgust. This job seemed an impossibility.

  At a sharp knock on the door, Simon threw the pen to the desk. “Come in,” he commanded.

  Amy opened the door and whirled into the study.

  “What can I do for you?” Simon stood. “Did Beth remember something I should know?”

  She shook her head and smiled, heating Simon’s blood. Her luscious lips begged for a kiss. He fought the desire to taste her just once. He felt the male part of him stir. Damn! He needed to get this woman married and quickly, before he gave in to temptation.

  “I need to discuss my father’s will.”

  Simon straightened. “Your father’s will? Have you read the will?”

  “Of course. His solicitor read it several days after Father’s burial. We all heard every word. And, I must say I agree with Papa’s desire to have you find husbands for my sisters. I’ll be most happy to help in any way I can. However, I need to talk to you about his request for me.”

  “You have someone in mind?” A sharp pain shot through him. Why the thought of Amy interested in someone bothered him so much, he didn’t know. Nor did he want to question his em
otions.

  “No, absolutely not,” she snapped.

  Simon felt like smiling. “So, what should we talk about?”

  Amy cleared her throat.

  Simon decided she appeared a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps she needed to be consoled, told that he would exercise great caution in finding all of them good men to marry.