Читать книгу Lady Lyte's Little Secret - Deborah Hale, Deborah Hale - Страница 11

Thorn Greenwood shifted in his saddle. He’d been riding hard for several hours on a succession of narrow county roads which skirted around Bristol to reach the highway that ran between that bustling port and the city of Gloucester, over thirty miles to the north. A bilious sense of urgency gripped his belly as he spurred the spirited mount St. Just had loaned him.

A brisk west wind from off the mouth of the Severn whipped the horse’s mane and threatened to snatch away Thorn’s hat. He jammed it down tighter and kept riding.

“I should never have let her leave Bath without me,” Thorn muttered aloud the words that had drummed in his head over and over while he’d been riding.

The full moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale ghostly light over the heath and on the black ribbon of road that wound through it. Thorn squinted into the shadowy darkness, straining to catch the faintest sign of Felicity’s carriage.

Might he have reached the highway before her? Or was she several long miles ahead of him on this lonely, perilous stretch of road?

Thorn did not have long to ponder the question, for just then his horse reached the crest of a slight rise. From that vantage he could make out a small bobbing light not far ahead—one that he prayed was being cast by a driving lamp on Felicity’s carriage.

A sigh of relief rose to his lips, only to be sucked back in a gasp. The light had abruptly stopped moving.

That might mean any number of things, but at the moment Thorn could think of only one. Crouching low in the saddle, he urged his flagging horse to one last desperate dash, fearing he might be too late. The pounding of his heart outstripped even the fast-rolling thunder of hooves against the road.

In the instant he drew close enough to see, Thorn recognized Felicity’s equipage. The flame of satisfaction that flared within him rapidly quenched at the sight of a man preparing to enter the carriage box.

A man with a white handkerchief shrouding the lower portion of his face.

As Thorn drew near the carriage, he reined in his mount, then hurled himself from the saddle onto the intruder. The two of them pitched into the carriage as a woman’s scream pierced the darkness.

The boneless sprawl of the man beneath him told Thorn the fellow had been knocked senseless. Just to be safe, he groped around the carriage floor until his hand closed over the highwayman’s pistol.

“Keep away from me!” cried Felicity. “Keep away, do you hear?”

Thorn struggled to speak so he could reassure her that all was well—at least better than it had been a few moments ago. But his flying tackle of the highwayman had both winded and stunned him. Unable to coax out any words louder than a whisper, he scrambled up from the floor, intent on comforting Felicity in his embrace, instead.

As he reached for her, she screamed again, loud enough to make his ears ring. At the same time, her heeled slipper came into violent contact with his midriff. Thorn doubled over with a grunt of pain.

He lurched backward, only to trip over the unconscious highwayman and crumple onto the seat opposite Felicity. Before he could catch his breath or collect his wits, she fell on him, scratching, slapping, pummelling like a wild creature. Thorn fell back before the onslaught, his hands raised to fend off the worst of it.

“Felicity!” he gasped.

Her attack did not abate. If anything, it gathered speed and force, each blow punctuated by a squeal or high-pitched grunt.

“Felicity, it’s Thorn.” He caught her deceptively fragile wrists in his hands to stay her assault and gave her a good hard shake to bring her to her senses. “You’re safe, now.”

She froze for a moment. “Thorn? Is it really you?”

Some overwound spring inside him fell blissfully slack. “Do you know anyone else daft enough to chase you halfway across the county at this hour of the night?”

“Thorn.” She choked out his name again. Then, with all the power and passion she had thrown into fighting him, Felicity hurled herself into his arms, weeping in great gusty sobs.

“Hush, now, hush.” Thorn gathered her close, stroking his side whiskers against her hair and fighting a fast-rising tide of desire that threatened to drown his self-control.

First, the headlong race to overtake her, spurred by his fears for her safety. Then, confronting the worst of those fears, only to have Felicity launch her furious assault upon him. It had fired his blood as hot as any love play—the physical contact, the heightened passions, the pounding hearts and panting breath.

And now, cradling Felicity in his arms as she unleashed a torrent of tears on his topcoat, her backside warm against his thighs, with only a flimsy barrier of muslin and broadcloth between his flesh and hers.

At that moment, Thorn would have bartered everything he owned for them to be back in Felicity’s bedchamber, rather than on the open road in a cold carriage with a dazed highwayman beginning to stir at their feet.

“M-Mister Greenwood?” a tremulous young voice inquired from beyond the open carriage door. “Is that you, sir? What happened?”

“Has Lady Lyte come to any harm, sir?” asked a second, deeper voice.

“Apart from a nasty shock, I believe she’s well enough.” Chilling thoughts of what might have befallen Felicity sharpened Thorn’s tone. “No thanks to the pair of you.”

“He did have a gun, sir,” the young footman protested.

The driver offered no excuse, but his voice sounded thoroughly chastened. “Is there aught we can do, now, Mr. Greenwood?”

The highwayman groaned and tried to sit up. Thorn applied some weight to his right foot, which rested between the fellow’s shoulder blades, forcing him back down.

To the driver and footmen who hovered outside, Thorn ordered, “Find a bit of rope to truss this black-guard up.”

“Very good, Mr. Greenwood, sir.”

“Tie him to his horse if you can find it, or to mine if you can’t,” Thorn added. “Then tether it to the carriage. We can turn this fellow over to the proper authorities at the first town we reach. For now, I believe we’d better continue on our way as quickly as possible, in case others of his ilk might be lurking about.”

Perhaps goaded by that warning, Lady Lyte’s driver and footman wasted no time finding some material with which to bind the highwayman, who sounded too befuddled to put up much resistance.

By the time the carriage had recommenced its journey northward, Felicity’s weeping had quieted to a volley of sniffles. Still, she made no effort to distance herself from Thorn. Greedily, he drank in the touch and scent of her, all too conscious of how much he had missed her in the short time they’d been apart.

Might the trouble he’d taken to ride to her rescue have changed her mind about terminating their liaison prematurely? he wondered as he cradled Felicity in his arms.

Hard as Thorn tried not to be enticed by that will-o’-the-wisp of false hope, he failed.

She ought to push Thorn away, order him out of the carriage or, at the very least, rail at him for frightening her half to death. But as her carriage sped on toward Newport, Felicity found herself unable to take any of the actions she ought.

There would be many long years ahead for her to manage without the warm, steadfast comfort of Thorn Greenwood’s embrace. For the present, she needed it more desperately than she had needed anything in a great while. And Lady Felicity Lyte was not accustomed to denying herself anything she needed.

She could not remember ever being so badly frightened. Her heart kept up its rapid flutter in her bosom, and despite a good warm wrap, she began to tremble.

“There, there.” Thorn stroked her arm.

Was it her imagination, or did he press a fleeting kiss on the top of her head?

“Are you all right, Felicity? Or did I speak too soon when I told your servants you were unharmed?” The tender concern that radiated from Thorn’s tone and touch soaked into her heart like warm ointment.

Pride would not allow her to accept comfort for the most grievous wounds life had inflicted upon her. No matter how she might crave it.

“You spoke aright, I suffered nothing worse than a nasty shock.” She sniffled. “Have you a handkerchief I can ruin?”

She would have hated anyone else who’d witnessed her break down into hysterical tears. Perhaps she would hate Thorn for it in the cool light of day when she could see how the betrayal of weakness had diminished her in his eyes. But for this sweet, dark moment she would allow herself the dangerous luxury of relying on a man.

“A handkerchief?” Thorn shifted her a little so he could pry his coat open and rummage in the pocket of his waistcoat. “I believe I have.”

He pressed the folded square of linen into her hand. “There. Do your worst. That’s what laundry’s for.”

“Thank you,” Felicity managed to squeak. The gentle fumbling brush of Thorn’s hands had set her flesh atingle.

She wiped the last residue of moisture from her eyes, thankful that by the time Thorn could see her clearly, the worst ravages of her silly tears would have faded.

If that was vanity, well, so be it. She could not abide having an attractive man see her at less than her best.

As she blew her nose, masked by the forgiving darkness, a thought struck her. “Are you all right, Thorn? After bringing down that awful man…then the way I went at you. I am so sorry. I can’t imagine what got into me.”

“You were only doing your best to defend yourself.” Thorn chuckled. “And making an admirable job of it, too. I don’t believe I took any lasting damage, though.”

A few blows from her wouldn’t have done him any harm, of course. But if that odious highwayman had managed to get off a shot with his pistol…Felicity would never have forgiven herself if Thorn had been injured on her account.

“Well?” she prompted him, bracing herself for the reprimand she probably deserved. Thorn Greenwood seemed like a man who could deliver a stern scolding when one was called for.

“Well…what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

“The dressing-down you’ve been rehearsing in your mind ever since you left Bath.” Felicity blew her nose again. “Where is it?”

“Oh…that.” Thorn gave a wry chuckle which succumbed to a deep, weary yawn. “It’ll keep until morning. For now, I believe we’d both be better served by an hour’s sleep if we can get it.”

The poor fellow, he must be perfectly exhausted after spending the evening in search of his sister, then the last several hours in pursuit of her.

“You talk sound sense, as always, Mr. Greenwood.” Felicity made a halfhearted attempt to rise from Thorn’s lap. “No doubt you would rest more comfortably without the burden of a blubbering woman to squash you.”

She would likely benefit from putting some distance between them, too. It was difficult enough to keep regrets at bay without the sensation of his arms around her to remind Felicity what she would soon be missing.

“You’re no burden.” With gentle insistence, Thorn drew her back into the protective circle of his arms. “Besides, I’m apt to sleep more soundly for the reminder that you are out of danger.”

“In that case…” Felicity settled back into Thorn’s embrace. “I’m content to remain where I am.”

More than content, in fact. Though she did not dare tell him so.

“Thorn?”

“Yes?” He sounded halfway to sleep already.

She shouldn’t pester him with questions, Felicity chided herself, but she so liked the sound of his voice. “Wherever did you get a horse to come after me?”

“From St. Just.” Thorn patted his pocket. “I’ve got blunt, too. Won it in a card game.”

If Thorn had confessed to stealing the money, Felicity could not have been more surprised. “I thought you never gambled.”

“Never did till tonight.” His words had the slurred, dreamy quality Felicity had heard so often in the past weeks when he’d held her close after their lovemaking. “Don’t know the devil about cards. It may have helped that I was the only sober fellow at the table.”

“Perhaps a little beginner’s luck?” Knowing full well she shouldn’t do it, Felicity could not stop herself reaching up to brush her knuckles against Thorn’s side whiskers.

“Perhaps.” He whispered the word as if it was the sweetest of endearments.

Then, before Felicity could withdraw her hand, he tilted his head to catch her fingers between his shoulder and his cheek, nuzzling them in a chaste gesture of affection that brought a lump to her throat.

She forced her question out past the obstruction. “How could you possibly stake yourself in the sort of bankrupting card game Weston St. Just favors?”

Thorn’s head snapped up again, flinching from her touch in a way he had not flinched from her earlier attack. “I’m not a complete pauper, you know.”

His fortune—or rather his lack of it. Even as she regretted her question, Felicity could not stifle a twinge of annoyance. How many years had she tread with bated breath around the subject of her late husband’s want of prosperity?

At least Thorn Greenwood was making an effort to repair his family’s fortune. And by a more principled means than simply marrying the first available heiress.

“I didn’t say you were a pauper. Most men don’t carry a great deal of ready money around in the middle of the night, that’s all.”

Thorn did not answer at once. Had he fallen asleep, Felicity wondered, or was he too offended to reply?

“I have an old watch and a signet ring,” he said at last, as if confessing to a crime. “St. Just managed to convince the other players they were worth something.”

His admission stung Felicity in a vulnerable spot, just as her question about his gambling stakes must have done to Thorn. She knew very well the watch and ring to which he’d alluded. What price they might fetch from a jeweller, she could not guess. Yet they were priceless to Thorn—a reminder that he belonged to an old family of good breeding.

Despite her fortune and the title for which she’d paid so dear a price, Felicity knew many people still scorned her as an upstart tradesman’s daughter. Suitable only as a mistress for a respectable gentleman like Thorn Greenwood, but never a wife.

Such a union would cause no end of talk. And respectable gentlemen abhorred being a topic of gossip among tattles like Weston St. Just.

Thorn’s arms relaxed their grip on Felicity, and his breath warmed her hair in slow, rhythmic gusts. As she steeled herself to put a great deal more distance between them on the morrow, a further significance of his gambling stakes struck her.

He had gone to a great deal of trouble on her account. First, gambling his most valued possessions, then riding through the night to overtake her carriage. Finally, risking his life to rescue her from danger. Thorn Greenwood was not a man given to pretty speeches, but his actions spoke eloquently of his feelings for her.

Percy Lyte had never valued her as anything more than a source of hard cash and heirs. And when she’d proven deficient in the latter capacity, her husband’s thinly veiled contempt had eroded something vital within her. Something that Thorn’s honest, unconditional affection promised to nourish.

He had put aside his natural prudence to take a gamble for her sake, Felicity mused as the first feeble glimmer of daybreak gilded his strong, agreeable features. She, on the other hand, would need to curb her own daring impulses, lest they induce her to take a reckless gamble on Thorn Greenwood.

And risk losing far more than she could afford.

Thorn woke with such a violent start he might have dumped Felicity onto the floor of the carriage, if her arms had not been clasped so firmly around his neck.

The jolt did succeed in rousing her from her own sleep, though.

“What’s the matter, my dear?” she asked. “Did you dream about that awful highwayman?”

“Ah…something like that.” Thorn struggled to curb the sensation of panic that galloped within his chest.

He could scarcely recall his dream, now, though it had seemed so real and urgent only a moment ago.

He’d been playing some curious game of cards for stakes that had grown larger and larger. Until he could no longer fold his hand without being ruined. Fear and reckless confidence had warred within him when he’d finally lain down his promising handful of hearts, only to be soundly trumped by strange cards that looked like miniature banknotes.

As the winner raked in the pot, Thorn had realized that he’d risked both his honor and his heart. And lost.

“Where do you reckon we are now?” He concentrated on slowing his breath as he disengaged himself from Felicity.

Something about the unsparing light of day made it impossible for him to continue holding her in his arms, even within the privacy of her carriage. No matter how much he wanted to.

Felicity made an unsuccessful effort to smother a yawn as she peered out the window. She seemed no more anxious than Thorn to continue their awkward embrace. Perhaps he had only imagined the wistful warmth in her voice last night and that delicious brush of her fingers against his side whiskers.

“We’re coming to a small bridge,” she said. “I believe Newport lies just the other side of it, and I have good reason to hope we may catch up with our runaways there.”

As she told Thorn about her custom of stopping in that village when coming and going from Bath, Felicity shifted onto the seat opposite him. “Do you know the hour?”

He fished the venerable timepiece from his watch pocket and consulted it.

“After seven.” Thorn shook his head. “Your poor driver and footmen will be done in, to say nothing of the horses.”

“I hope we catch Oliver and your sister before they’ve had a chance to stir.” Felicity stared out the window, ignoring Thorn’s gaze. Or, perhaps, avoiding it. “Then we can all take a day’s rest before returning to Bath at our leisure.”

Thorn nodded and made vague noises of agreement, though with scant conviction.

Of course, he wanted to recover his scapegrace little sister before she mangled her reputation beyond repair. But that would mean parting from Felicity again. This time, with no chance of reprieve.

In spite of his disquieting dream, Thorn had trouble working up the least enthusiasm for that.