The remaining gentlemen began to climb up the embankment to recover their mounts. Jonathon turned back to the inn, to avoid being seen on the road in front of them. He was soon rushing into Moira's room.

"He did it! Hartly pulled it off. I wish you could have seen it, Moira. It was better than a stage play. They are on their way back here now. It won't be long. Are you all set to leave?"

"We cannot leave yet. Hartly has got his own money, and Ponsonby's. He has not got mine. Stanby was putting up only twenty-five thousand. My money is still in Bullion's vault."

Jonathon, caught up in the thrill of the moonlight escapade, had not thought of this.

"I begin to think it was all a ruse to keep us from disturbing his plan, Jon,” Moira said grimly. “All Mr. Hartly cared about was his own money. He will leave the inn as soon as Stanby retires, collect his ill-got gains from the man acting the Black Ghost, and never be seen again. We have been outwitted."

"You have had too much time to sit, fretting,” Jon said. “You mistrust every man because Stanby is such a rotter. I shall run downstairs and see what is afoot. I can hide behind the sideboard in the passage outside the Great Room."

Jonathon could hear the merry laughter coming from the Great Room even before he reached the bottom of the stairs. Bullion was pouring brandy; the gentlemen were making toasts to their success and their new venture. He listened but could hear no clue to Hartly's plan to help Moira. Jonathon did not believe for a moment that Hartly meant to leave him and Moira out in the cold. He did not have to warn them he meant to move tonight. They would never have guessed it. Since he had told them, and warned them to have their trunks packed, then obviously he meant to look after them.

The sound of merriment rose higher. Ponsonby was singing now, a ribald song. His voice began to peter out. Jonathon peered into the room and saw that Ponsonby had passed out. Bullion was still filling the other gentlemen's glasses. They were all putting it away at a great rate. Major Stanby began to weave to and fro, then sat on a chair with a jerky motion that suggested he had fallen rather than sat voluntarily.

Within a minute, his head fell forward onto the table. Ponsonby rose from the floor like Lazarus rising from the dead.

"Is he out?” he asked Hartly.

Hartly put his finger to his lips to hush Ponsonby. He shook Stanby's shoulder and said in a heavy voice, “Come now, Major, a toast to His Majesty.” The head on the table did not stir. The doctored brandy had done the job.

Ponsonby took hold of Stanby's hair and lifted his head, looked at his closed eyes, and let the head bounce unceremoniously onto the table. “Right, he's out. Let's go,” he said.

Hartly grinned. He handed Bullion a jingling leather bag. “Bullion, you did well. If you would care to get the money out of the safe, I shall alert Lady Crieff we are ready to depart."

"I have something I want to put in the safe for Stanby,” Ponsonby said, and darted from the room.

Jonathon ran quickly upstairs before he was seen. He did not tap on Moira's door but just stuck his head in and said, “You was dead wrong, Moira. Hartly is getting your blunt now. He will be here in a minute. Now, ain't you ashamed of yourself, not trusting him? I told you he was a right one.” Then he ran to his own room to call a servant to take down the trunks.

Moira just stood, frozen to the spot. He was coming? He had told her the truth! Her ordeal was over. The two or three minutes until he came seemed an eternity. When the tap sounded at her door, she walked as one in a trance and opened it. Mr. Hartly came in and handed her a leather valise.

"The money is there. Twenty-five thousand,” he said, opening the case to show her.

She just looked at it. “Oh,” she said. After a moment she added, “Thank you, Mr. Hartly,” in a very small voice.

"My pleasure, Miss Trevithick.” They stood, gazing at each other in the silent room.

"It was very good of you,” she said stiffly. Her silvery eyes continued gazing uncertainly into his.

A slow smile began at his lips and spread over his face. “Do you know, I have a feeling Lady Crieff would have been more forthcoming in her thanks,” he said, setting aside the valise and seizing her hand.

"You must think I am horrid,” she said, blushing at the memory of past indiscretions.

"Yes indeed. It was unspeakably vile of you to wish to recover what was stolen from you, to say nothing of your cowardice in tackling one of the greatest villains who ever blotted the face of England. We shall not even mention your wretched ingenuity in impersonating Lady Crieff, and doing it well enough to fool us all."

She smiled uncertainly at these ambiguous compliments. “Where will you go now?” she asked.

"I had planned to return to Hanover Square when things are settled with Stanby."

"To Lord Daniel's house?"

’”Actually, to his father's house. Lord Daniel is only a younger son of Lord Tremaine. The elder son does not usually enter the army."

"Lord Daniel was in the army?” she asked, as realization dawned. He nodded. “Was he, by any chance, a major?"

"Just so."

"You?"

"Guilty as charged. Will you go to Cove House, or home to Surrey?"

"Do you think it would be safe to go home?"

"Bow Street will be here by morning to take Stanby into custody. He is wanted in connection with dozens of crimes, including bigamy. He never was legally married to your mama, Moira, so you need not fear he has any claim to your money. We would have called Bow Street in earlier, except that some of his crimes are difficult to prove. The fifteen thousand he got from my cousin Robbie Sinclair, for instance, at a rigged game of cards. That is what brought me down to Blaxstead. Ponsonby's family-his real name is Lord Everly, by the by-was fleeced by being sold shares in a nonexistent gold mine. The family gave up on recovering their blunt. Everly was told that if he could recover it, it was his. Stanby had never met him, so when he discovered that Stanby was here, he came after him, using a different name. He plans to leave the shares Stanby sold his papa in Bullion's safe, along with the Crieff jewels. We would not want the major to be left empty-handed."

Moira listened, waiting to hear what crime Stanby had perpetrated on Hartly. “And you? Had you no personal interest in catching Stanby? I mean-Mott and Ponsonby and I all recovered our money. What do you get for all your work?"

"I hope I get the girl?” he said questioningly, drawing her into his arms. Moira did not resist.

As his lips found hers, she had the strange sensation that, while her head was spinning, her heart had stopped beating altogether. The embrace began as a light, tentative touching of the lips but soon escalated to scalding passion. His lips firmed as his arms tightened inexorably around her in a vicelike grip, nearly suffocating her. A wave of golden exultation unlike anything she had experienced before washed through her. It felt as though a big golden sun were shining, warming her to her very core.

Hartly lifted his head and gazed at her with dark eyes. Then he lowered his head, and she felt a trail of fiery kisses over her eyes and ears. His palm brushed her fevered cheek and moved to cup her chin, tilting her head upward. She saw the tenderness of love glowing softly on her. “Do I get the girl?” he asked, in a ragged voice.

A smile trembled on her lips. “Yes, if you want me. I cannot imagine what you would want with such a depraved creature."

His matching smile stretched to a grin. “You are sadly lacking in imagination, milady. I want-this,” he said, and kissed her again.

Wrapped up in their love, they did not hear the door open. “I say!” Jonathon exclaimed joyously. “Does this mean he has asked you to marry him?"

Moira drew away in embarrassment. “Certainly not!” she said. “I was just… just thanking Mr. Hartly… that is, Major-I mean Lord Daniel. Oh, what should I call you?” she asked in confusion.

"Call me ‘my fiancé,’ until we are married. That will solve the question.” When she opened her lips to object, he raised a finger. “No welshing on a bargain. You said I got the girl!"

Jonathon rushed forward to pump Daniel's hand. “I shall call you Daniel. Are you coming home with us, or are we going to your place?"

"That will be up to my fiancée,” Daniel replied. “Eventually, we shall remove to Oakdene, my place in Sussex, when you are a little older, Jon."

"Oh, do come home with us first,” Jonathon said. “Moira is always saying we need a man around the place, and now that we have our blunt back, we can begin doing all the things that need doing. The roof needs releading, and there is that pasture Papa meant to tile, and-"

Daniel nodded. “As I have an excellent bailiff, perhaps it would be a good idea to go to your place first. But before those decisions are made, I would like to take Moira to Cove House. There will be a certain amount of unpleasantness here tomorrow. We can leave for the Elms in a few days. Moira, does that suit you?"

Moira did not care where she went, as long as she was with Daniel. “That will be fine,” she answered in a daze.

"Excellent. I want to take a couple of barrels of your cousin's brandy back with me. I shall deliver you to Cove House now. Ring for someone to take down your trunks, Jon."

"I have already done it, but I do not want to go to Cove House with Moira. I should like to stay here,” he said. “I have never seen a Bow Street Officer. I daresay he will be carrying a gun. You shan't forget to take me for a ride in your curricle, Daniel? You promised. You will let me take the ribbons when we get home, won't you? Moira, you have not forgotten you promised I could have a curricle if we got our blunt back from March."

"For goodness’ sake, Jonathon,” Moira exclaimed. “Stop chattering. You make my head ache."

"But you will let me stay here with Daniel?"

Daniel said, “If you are in the next room and very quiet, I daresay we shall forget you are there when Moira leaves."

Jon gave a cheeky grin. “Oh, you mean you want me to leave so you two can snuggle some more."

"Just so,” Daniel replied blandly.

Jonathon left, and Daniel resumed his interrupted lovemaking.


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