Free This Rake of Mine by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

turned to Jonas and said, "Hire as many men as you need. Get axes, saws, rope, block and tackle, whatever you need to cut it up and get it out of the way."
    "Oh, you mustn't do that, my lord," came a feminine protest.
    He turned around and stared at the proponent of this unlikely objection—Miss Porter.
    She stood behind him, her hands knotted into fists at her sides. "That tree doesn't belong to you. It isn't yours to cut up willy-nilly."
    "I beg to differ," he told her. Not his tree? Why, that was ridiculous. "In case you've forgotten, Miss Porter, this is my house, my land, and
my tree
." He turned to Jonas. "Offer double wages to any man willing to help."
    The lady was not so easily deterred. She caught him by the elbow and steered him closer. "Do you see that plaque?" She pointed at a small metal plate nailed to the trunk.
    "Yes," he said, having never paid the medallion much heed. He assumed it had been placed there by one of his previous errant relations. Hadn't Thistleton Park always been the last bastion for the wayward and outlandish members of the all-too-proper Tremont clan? Marking a tree wouldn't be that far a stretch for one of his ramshackle forebears.
    'That's the King's crest," Miss Porter was saying. "That means this tree belongs to the crown."
    "The wha-a-at?" he stammered. Now she was starting to sound as dicked in the nob as Aunt Josephine. Yet, even as he drew closer to study the plaque, if only to humor the woman, he realized it was indeed the King's seal upon the tree.
    What the devil did the king of England want with the Thistleton oak?
    "Ships," Miss Porter told him, as if she had read his mind. "The tree was most likely consigned"—she glanced around the weed-filled garden and ill-kept grounds—"or sold to the crown for the construction of naval ships. It is a common practice, since oak, good oak of this size, is in high demand."
    "She's got the right of it, milord," Bruno said, coming up alongside them. "I came across the papers some time back."
    "And you didn't think to mention it?" Jack asked him.
    "Didn't think it was important. It wasn't like this tree was about to go anywhere. At least not 'til last night," Bruno said. "Now that it's gone and toppled over, it is subject to the bill of sale, which says the oak can't be moved or cut until the king's man or some bloke from the navy yard approves it."
    Not cut? Not moved?
Impossible
. He needed it gone. Now.
    He turned from the tree and shook his head, well considering the treasonous act of chopping the damned thing up into kindling and pleading innocence if anyone ever came to claim it.
    Then Jack glanced back at the sea behind them—the channel that separated England from her enemies—and knew that it was ships that guarded them well. Ships made sturdy because of the solid English oak that kept them afloat.
    His tree could make the difference between England and tyranny. A lofty, impressive notion, but hardly one of comfort given the circumstances.
    He had enemies of his own, right in his very camp. Though one might be hard-pressed to put a schoolteacher and three slips of girls on the same pedestal as a hostile nation, Jack knew only too well what curious, inquisitive creatures ladies could be, especially young misses. Nosing about, peering into his life, asking questions…
    "Demmit," he cursed.
    Miss Porter didn't look as shocked as he thought she should be. In fact, he suspected she shared his sentiment.
    She wanted no more of his company than he desired her… her company, that is. Yes, that was it. Her company.
    "There must be some way out of here?" she asked, an edge of panic underlining her words.
    So she wanted to be gone as much as he wanted the same. That was good news indeed.
    "If we cannot remove our carriage," she was saying, "then can you loan us yours?"
    Bruno snorted at such a request.
    "I haven't a carriage," Jack told her. "And if I did, it would be like our wagons, trapped inside the yard as well."
    "Then we'll hire