The Devil's Surrogate by Jennifer Jane Pope Page A

felt a chill of incredulity course through her.
Did this silly spoiled brat know exactly what she was being
manoeuvred into agreeing to? Would she yet draw back from the
brink, or would pride...?
    'Agreed!'
Isobel declared. She turned to the cluster of bird slaves. 'I'm
afraid you poor things will have to wait around a little longer.
Sir Roderick, I presume you have a maid who will help me
prepare?'
     
    Thomas
Handiwell had said to Hart, 'I fear this will be a wasted effort,'
and now, as they were confronted by the grim-faced men who stood
beyond the towering iron gates marking the boundary of the Grayling
estate, he could see he was to be proved correct in his
assumption.
    At this stage
the perimeter wall was built of stone and brick, a massive,
impossible to scale edifice that rose maybe twenty feet on either
side of the solid gateposts with their stone lions glaring down
upon the road. Just within stood a small blockhouse that afforded
shelter to the four men who guarded the gate, four armed men who
could presumably call upon reinforcements if they thought their
outpost was under serious threat. Only one of them appeared to be
armed, and that with only a pistol tucked into his belt, but
Handiwell felt certain there would be other weaponry at hand if
required, and that they would seize it long before any serious
attempt could be made to force open the heavy gates.
    It was the
pistol carrier who came up to the thick bars as they approached.
No, he replied in response to Handiwell's opening question, Sir
Roderick was not receiving visitors this day. No, he would not take
a message up to the house, but if the gentlemen cared to leave a
written note, he would see to it that it was passed to Sir
Roderick, and he felt certain a messenger would be sent if the
gentleman was prepared to grant them an interview. And no, he knew
nothing about banditry, abduction, or highwaymen, and the presence
of armed men elsewhere in the woods was none of his business,
although he knew Sir Roderick had grown tired of poachers taking
his game.
    'No man goes
to such length to protect a few deer and pheasants,' Handiwell
muttered when they had wheeled their horses around and begun the
long trot back towards the main road. 'And Grayling must have
something akin to a small army in there.'
    'I'd say he
has quite a private force,' Hart agreed. 'Certainly my small band
would appear to be heavily outnumbered, and even if they do agree
to send more men up from Portsmouth, well, if Grayling has a mind,
it would take quite a battle to force a way in there.'
    'I think Riley
had it right, though the cheek of the Irish blackguard annoys me at
times. A full frontal assault is not the way, at least not at this
time. Without proof that it was Grayling's men shooting at us then
the fellow is quite within his rights to protect his own property,
and I cannot see any magistrate granting us a warrant.'
    'Then we must
pray that your two Irishmen succeed where we cannot,' Handiwell
said, 'though it pains me to think we must trust all to a couple of
ex-poachers and a young boy who'll probably end up in the colonies,
or swinging from a rope for poaching himself!'
     
    Ross seemed
totally unhurried and completely unworried by Sarah's obvious
discomfort. He drew a pipe from a pocket in his jacket that he
filled with deliberate precision and then lit, walking about the
chamber puffing deeply and filling the air with acrid tobacco
fumes. At first Sarah tried to follow him with her eyes, but she
soon gave up on this and returned to staring directly in front of
her, trying to ignore the persistent pressure of the
leather-covered shaft upon which she sat, and the dull throbbing
now emanating from her groin.
    'A shame they
needed Titty Kitty for other sport,' he mused as he stepped back
into her line of sight. 'She's got a hungry little mouth and an
active tongue I should have liked to see lapping away at your pussy
for a while. Well, maybe tomorrow. I doubt she'll be