Stealing the Bride by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

inside and seek his bed, for it was a warm and rare one indeed, but he couldn’t just yet. His lordship had gone and wandered off, and until he was back, safe and sound, Elton was going to maintain his vigil.
    Then he heard it again. The thick, enticing sound of hoofbeats coming closer. He wasn’t off his knocker. It was horses. Four of them, coming at a breakneck speed.
    And it wasn’t a carriage. He knew that just from the sound. Riders. He frowned and ducked behind a bale of hay. Some instincts never died.
    Riders rarely brought good news. He knew that much, and so he concealed himself to see what scurvy business they were about.
    Not that it surprised him that trouble was descending around the quiet inn. Wherever his lordship went, trouble was sure to follow.
    And that’s why he didn’t mind so much being in his debt and all.
    Life with his nibs was never dull.
    The riders thundered into the yard, their horses clattering to a stop.
    The innkeeper came out almost immediately. “Gentlemen, what can I do for you? Rooms? Meals? A hot drink to chase away the chill of the evening?”
    A brute of a fellow jumped down from his mount and pushed past the innkeeper, sending the poor fellow onto his backside.
    “Oh aye, trouble,” Elton muttered under his breath. He shook his head and glanced toward the inn. And Lady Diana and her Mrs. Foston were in there without his lordship around.
    Elton didn’t like this one bit.
    The innkeeper rose from the ground. “I’ll call the magistrate! I’ll get the constable! I’ll not have trouble in my—” He fell silent from a knock on the head by one of the other riders. The assailant and his partner stormed inside, following the first fellow.
    Muttering a rather obscene curse, Elton considered his options.
    Then came the answer to his problems.
    “Elton?” the only too familiar voice of his lordship hissed through the dark stable yard. “Elton, where the devil are you?”
    “Here, sir,” he said, relieved for the marquis’ timely arrival. He stepped into the light only to find himself facing a disheveled Temple. His normally meticulous employer looked as if he’d been chased by the hounds.
    “Where are they?” the marquis asked.
    Elton didn’t need to ask who. “Inside,” he said, jerking his thumb at the doorway.
    “All of them?”
    Elton nodded. “Aye.”
    Temple stalked across the yard to the berline and reached up and under Elton’s seat, where they each kept a brace of pistols stashed, just in case.
    Obviously this was one of those instances.
    While his lordship checked the pistols, Elton began leading their mounts out of their stalls. He could put the horses in their traces and have them ready for traveling quicker than the best postboy.
    “This is going to be just like Amsterdam,” Temple shot over his shoulder. “We’ve got to get out of here. Now .”
    “Aye, sir,” Elton said, his hands running through the leather lines and guiding the beasts into their places. Then he paused, realizing exactly what his nibs had just said. “Like Amsterdam?” He glanced at the horses the riders had come in on. “Not that!”
    “Yes, just like that. Consider our experience with the Dutch a dress rehearsal for tonight. But this time our enemy is French.”
    “French!” Elton spat, as Temple dashed toward the inn. He didn’t know whom he hated more, excise men or the French. As far as he was concerned, they probably shared the same devilish sire. His hand went first to his missing eye, then to the knife in his belt.
    “Hope they enjoy their walk back to the coast,” he said, as he started toward the four waiting mounts.
     
    Temple dashed inside and went up the stairs, ignoring the overturned tables and the few patrons cowering beneath them. Down the hall, Marden and his companions were trying to break into Diana’s room. The old inn had weathered many a change, but the doors to the room, built at time when sturdy meant just that, was not about to give