Christian nodded. “Very clever.”
“What happened when they reached the cove and discovered the tide was in?” Charles asked.
Edmond explained, describing events much as they’d imagined them—that the man had cursed, then driven away with the lady, leaving his gathered crew hiding in a barn. He’d returned alone on horseback just before sunset. Later still, they’d stumbled into the arms of the wreckers, and, as they’d guessed, their traitor had persuaded the local villains to lend him their aid.
From Dalziel’s and Christian’s politely urbane expressions and the tiredness behind their eyes, it was obvious they had no good news to report regarding their London gentleman. Gervase caught their eyes, arched a brow. “Not even a sighting?”
Dalziel’s lips turned down in a grimace. “He must somehow have slipped behind us.”
Charles shook his head. “God only knows where he was hiding.”
Madeline, studying her brothers with a sister’s fond eye, noted the light—a light she knew to be wary of—shining in Edmond’s and Ben’s eyes. She followed their gazes…to Dalziel.
She glanced at Harry, but he hadn’t been as exposed to Dalziel as the other two. Then she looked at Christian, Charles and Gervase…and fought against the urge to narrow her eyes. Dalziel, she suspected, was one of those men who too often proved to be a dangerous influence on a certain type of suggestible male. To her mind, all the males at the table, except Dalziel, fell into that certain suggestible class.
As for Dalziel himself, she doubted he was in any way suggestible; he was a man born to rule.
“If only there were some way to get just one good clue to his identity.” Dalziel’s eyes held a faraway, distant, predatory look. “It seems he doesn’t want me to see him, which presumably means I’ll recognize him…but none of you others will.”
“None of the men he’d brought from London had any idea? An address? A way to make contact?” Gervase looked at Christian.
Who shook his head. “Not a clue. He walked into taverns in London, hired them, and gave orders to gather down here in a run-down cottage. He spoke to them there a few times. Other than that, they never saw him and have no idea where he might have been staying. He always wore a muffler and hat to shade his face, even when he was pacing up and down on Kynance beach.” Christian looked across the table at Edmond. “Edmond’s description was the same.”
Edmond smiled shyly, shifting under their gazes, then he glanced at Dalziel. “Perhaps Lady Hardesty knows his name.”
All conversation halted. Everyone turned to stare at Edmond, puzzled….
Dalziel made the connection first. “The lady in the curricle?”
Edmond nodded, but the action was uncertain. He looked up the table to Madeline and Gervase. “I haven’t met her but I think it was her. Tall, oldish, dark-haired—and she wasn’t from around here. She was wrapped up in a cloak and kept the hood around her face most of the time, but she had a London accent, like the man.”
Further down the table, Belinda leaned forward, peering at Edmond. “Did she have a mole—just here?” She pointed to a spot just above the left corner of her lips.
“Yes!” Edmond nodded. “I saw it. It was black.”
Belinda looked at the others and nodded. “Lady Hardesty. Katherine and Melissa mentioned the mole.”
Madeline recalled, nodded too. “She does have a mole there.”
Around her chairs scraped as all the men got to their feet.
Dalziel set down his napkin. “You’ll have to excuse us.” He nodded to Madeline, then Sybil. “We need to reach Lady Hardesty as soon as we can.”
Madeline remembered that their villain had a habit of killing all those who could identify him. She felt herself pale. “Yes, of course.” She pushed back from the table.
Gervase had already sent a footman flying to the stables for four fast horses to be saddled and brought around. He exchanged a glance with Madeline, then led the men to the gun room for pistols.
The ladies looked at each other, then, breakfasts forgotten, everyone rose and went out to the front hall, milling before the open front door.
The men came striding back, each carrying two pistols, checking them while Gervase described the way to Helston Grange, Robert Hardesty’s house.
Hooves clattered in the forecourt. Charles bussed Penny on the cheek as he passed. Gervase paused to brush his lips across Madeline’s. “I don’t know what we’ll find, or when we’ll be back.”
She squeezed his arm, nodded and released him. “Go—and good hunting.”
Dalziel heard and saluted her as he went past. His face was set.
The four checked saddle girths and stirrups, then mounted. In less than a minute, they were wheeling toward the forecourt’s entry arch.