Читать книгу Hunter Of My Heart - Janet Kendall - Страница 13

Chapter Four

The cool air numbed Sabrina’s cheeks and the earth crunched like thin wafers beneath her feet. Occasionally a drift of Scottish mist brushed the black landscape and a cloud shuttered the light of the moon. Despite the desolation, she and Marga headed toward Edinburgh. “Do you think they’ve discovered we’re gone yet?”

Marga hurried her stride. “Monseigneur never considered we would use the servant’s stairs. A man too sure of himself. After checking on you twice, he might have left you to pout.”

“Pout! I still can’t believe they bargained over me as if I were a horse!” Nor could she forget Kenilworth’s angry kiss, one that branded her lips and stirred an odd sensation in her stomach. Just thinking about the encounter renewed the tingle.

“A month we must wait for your wedding? Ha! My little ones will think I abandoned them.”

As they walked in silence, tears pooled in her eyes, but Sabrina refused to let them fall. Her mother always said a rainbow followed a storm. The squall that had killed her parents left her three rainbows—the twins, and money her father pushed into her bag at the last moment. From that tragedy, her shop had emerged. Where was her rainbow now?

Do what you believe and follow your heart, not what others want you to do. Those were her father’s last words. When she was sixteen, Sabrina tucked away his sage advice; now, the words fed her purpose. She had promised her mother she would guard the twins and nothing would break that vow.

To keep her word, Sabrina needed a thriving shop. But it was more than a livelihood. No other employment could give her independence, something she required because of the twins. Now they must start anew. At the thought of her bleak future, a chill tunneled to her bones and eroded her confidence. She summoned her strength, and, with an effort, she considered the immediate future.

“Are you all right, ma chérie?” Marga shifted her valise to the other hand. “If you curse monseigneur or your grandpapa, I’ll not mind. I might spit a few choice words myself.”

Sabrina managed a smile. “If Alec’s health is better, should we move to France or back to South Carolina? The French population in Charleston was vast enough to shield us before.”

“I detest the idea of running and hiding. Poor Derek. Your father spent every spare shilling on legal fees. In the end, Thomas paid the remaining balance and loaned your father money, too. I do not want to find myself beholden to another as Derek was.”

Sabrina frowned. “Father never told me he was indebted to Thomas.”

“You were a child. Revealing your grandpapa’s perfidy was hard enough.”

Now Sabrina understood that her father’s dream to start a shipping business wasn’t the only reason he had wanted to return to England. Honor and repaying a debt were important to him. Her heart ached. Deaths. Debts. And Kenilworth.

Fury burned inside her. “I detest Lord Sadlerfield.”

“With reason. Now I worry he will discover the twins aren’t mine. They resemble you.” Marga looked at her with sadness in her eyes. “Alec’s health might force us to stay in England. If so, you must marry monseigneur. Then we pray your grandpapa will not poke his nose into my life.”

“If nothing else, I need time to learn the truth. Lord Sadlerfield blackmailed Kenilworth into the marriage.”

“Oui? How will that help us now?”

“Kenilworth paid me the debt money so I would marry him. Maybe if we learn his secret, he’ll reconsider.”

“Ma chérie! Blackmail him into removing his offer?”

“I don’t recall him proposing.”

“You intend to ask Geoffrey to help us?”

“Of course. Kenilworth had the audacity to investigate me. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Use the money monseigneur just relinquished to pay Geoffrey? We need that in case we must flee.”

Sabrina smiled. “Lord Sadlerfield offered to fund my personal needs. I consider an investigation a personal need.”

“Très bien! Learning his secrets might be a way to keep you from marrying! You have your uncle Philippe’s blood. He too was clever in his work as an intelligence officer.” Marga let out a disgruntled sigh. “If we do not learn what monseigneur is about, you know what you must do.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

A distant rumble caused Sabrina to tilt her head. She grabbed Marga’s elbow. “Listen! Horses! Quick! Down the brae!”

They rushed down the slope until brambles stopped their descent. When Sabrina pushed the branches aside, the thorns punctured her hand. She bit her lip to stifle a cry. Quickly she and Marga passed through the opening.

As they lay belly down, Sabrina smelled the moist earth, and the vibration of thundering hooves rattled her insides. Kenilworth or highwaymen? Sabrina rummaged through her valise until her skin touched the cold steel of her pistol. Foreboding constricted her lungs. Although Kenilworth’s banknote and every shilling she possessed lay in the bottom of the bag, she almost wished the horses belonged to thieves. When the pounding of the earth ebbed, Sabrina expelled a long breath and relaxed her fingers.

“Soyez tranquille. I did not live through Napoleon’s war to die now. We will get home safely.”

Marga’s brave words calmed Sabrina’s thumping heart. “I’ll try not to worry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Mon Dieu! We are family! We take care of our own. After Philippe died, marriage no longer bound me to your parents. Where would I be without your father’s support? I would have starved during the war. Derek’s generosity is something I will never forget.” Standing, Marga grabbed her umbrella and valise.

They returned to the road and continued to walk. Sabrina rotated her shoulders to ease the ache in her arms, but the thorn impaled in her left hand continued to throb. Every discomfort reminded her of Kenilworth. If he had paid her immediately, the duke might not have found her so quickly or put the twins in a vulnerable state. At least she wanted to think that were so.

Although she feared Kenilworth or her grandfather would search and eventually find her, she wanted to prolong, even prevent that fate. Her own welfare and the twins’ aside, she worried about her aunt. Would he harm Marga? When Sabrina envisioned the duke supplying twisted evidence for an imaginary crime, she lengthened her stride. Her spinning emotions urged her toward the twins.

As they approached a bend in the road, plodding hooves broke the silent night and banners of mist veiled the rider’s identity. Her heart jumped. Quickly Sabrina looked for a place to hide, but the flat land dotted with birch trees dimmed her hopes. Her pulse raced. After retrieving her double-barreled pistol, she placed her thumb on the hammer but hid the weapon in her cloak’s folds.

A heartbeat later, she sucked in her breath as Kenilworth and a coach emerged from the mist. Panic, followed by anger, shot through her veins. He stopped his horse in front of them, and the coach, adorned with glowing lanterns, pulled up next to him.

Kenilworth straightened. “Well, Miss Barrington, going for a stroll? Or did you forget the agreement we made?” His tone was very dry.

“I changed my mind. I refuse to marry you.” She moved her hand to her side.

“Miss Barrington...” He gazed at the pistol in her hand. “Put that bloody thing away before you hurt someone! The last thing I need is for you to blow a hole in your foot.”

Tumbling emotions turned her blood hot. Yes, she even wanted to experience a touch of revenge because he had insulted her integrity and, in part, ruined her life. His actions threatened those she loved. Irrational thought overcame sensibility.

She wanted him to experience the loss of control and helplessness she felt. With a tight grip on the pistol, she summoned her darkest look. “We’ve left your property. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re still on my property. Now put that gun away and get in the coach. We have a deal.” He started to dismount.

“Mon Dieu! Are you deaf? She does not want to marry you!” Using her umbrella, Marga speared his swinging leg.

Kenilworth glared at her aunt and then tied the horse’s reins to a birch tree. When he turned, he stared at the pistol she aimed at his stomach.

“I’d at least wait until after our marriage. You’d be a wealthy widow.”

She motioned with the weapon. “I’ve no intention of even being your bride. Now, move and let us leave.”

“If you point a gun, you’d better be prepared to use it.” With unblinking eyes, he stood erect. Hands on his hips. Legs apart.

Sabrina held his gaze and knew his rigid stance was a dare. She couldn’t shoot him. Deep in her heart, she knew she would eventually have no choice except to marry him. Until then, she refused to relent.

Aiming the pistol to Kenilworth’s right, she pointed at a lone birch. “Don’t move, milord.” As she lowered the hammer, his body stiffened. “Now, look to your left. Should I try for the left or right branch?”

“To your right. It’s farthest from me.”

Gritting her teeth, she focused and fired. Wood crackled and snapped. Birds squawked. She smiled, feeling an odd satisfaction. Somehow, the act replaced the dignity Kenilworth had stolen.

“Luck,” Kenilworth murmured, eyeing the severed branch.

Feeling the challenge in his single word, her blood started to hum. With her arm raised, she sighted the other branch, but the fluttering of his greatcoat cape caught her eye. She shifted her gaze to just below his waist and adjusted her aim.

“If that’s where you want to shoot me, go ahead.” He didn’t budge.

“Ma chérie! You proved your point!”

Sabrina ignored her aunt, cocked, shifted her arm and fired. Marga shrieked and the horses neighed. The air smelled of singed wool. The reality of her act reached her conscience. What if he had moved? What if she had shot him there? Blood rushed to her head and her hand shook. Despite this, she couldn’t let Kenilworth see her despair or guilt and reached for words of bravado.

“I wanted to clip your wings two minutes after I met you.”

Without examining the shredded tip of his cape, Kenilworth shortened the distance between them. His gaze held hers. A triumphant look made his eyes gleam. “Now, your gun’s empty, and I won’t need to worry about your life.”

The telling sign in his eyes scorched her like lightning. He’d used mockery as a trick not a challenge. Instead of pruning his arrogance, she’d boosted it. The blow grated her pride and added to her careening emotions, but she clung to her bravado. “How do you know I won’t shoot you next time?”

“You had the opportunity and didn’t. Just in case, give me the pistol until you cool your temper.” He held out his hand.

Quickly she hid the weapon behind her back. “You don’t own me or my possessions yet, milord.”

Despite the huge difference in their size and social class, Marga rapped Kenilworth’s arm with her umbrella. “That is ma chérie’s only weapon! Besides me, of course!”

“What are you going to do? Spear me again with your umbrella?” Kenilworth glowered.

A click sounded. “I could do more than that, monseigneur!”

Startled, Sabrina glanced at the winking knife that protruded from the umbrella, and she quickly searched her valise for her bullets. A knot formed in her throat. She knew Kenilworth would force her to go with him. Tears threatened to fall.

“Madame Beaumont, how clever. So, you too carry a weapon. Give it to me.”

“I will not! This was my husband’s umbrella! I have little of his but this.”

After muttering a curse, he thrust his hand in the air. “Keep the blasted thing!”

Sabrina glanced at Kenilworth, who turned and marched in her direction. A tear rolled down her cheek. As she pawed deeper into her valise, her fingers finally found the bullet pouch. Too soon, he stood beside her.

“What? Tears?”

Slowly Sabrina lifted her gaze. Was that concern or mockery in his eyes? The angle of his head shadowed his face so she couldn’t tell, but displaying weakness was unwise in this arrogant man’s presence. Still she needed a reason for her damp eyes. “I have a thorn in my hand.”

“Annoying varmints, aren’t they? I’ve just experienced a few myself. They’ve a knack of working themselves deeper.”

A second passed before she realized he’d called her a thorn. Perhaps he considered himself one, too. “We should both heed what we touch then, shouldn’t we?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Now that you’ve spent your anger, are you ready to return to the castle?”

His faint conciliatory tone didn’t soften her stance and if she agreed to return with him, she would admit defeat. “No.”

Kenilworth’s black brows snapped together. “I don’t like this situation any more than you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you going into the coach willingly, or do I throw you inside?”

She took a step backward. “Don’t touch me.”

“Do you realize I could charge your aunt with assault? Would you like to see her in jail?”

“You wouldn’t!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Try me.” His tone exuded confidence.

Sabrina swallowed hard, knowing how horrible jail would be and that the twins needed Marga. He’d faced a bullet and remained adamant about their marriage. Perhaps she could escape again. Carefully she put her pistol back in her valise. “I should have shot you in the chest.”

“You had the chance and...missed.”

Her fingers itched to prove him wrong. “Your puffed-up chest makes a broad target, but a bullet wouldn’t have done any damage.”

“You don’t consider a hole in my flesh a serious injury?”

“I would have aimed at your heart, but you don’t have one.”

He jerked his thumb left, then right. “Which direction, Miss Barrington? The castle or the authorities in Edinburgh?”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe I’ll continue my stroll another time.”

“Not without me, you won’t.”

Taking their valises, he escorted them to the coach and opened the door. A figure loomed inside. Every muscle in her body tensed.

“Good evening, Sabrina,” Lord Sadlerfield said, and turned to the earl. “Well done, Kenilworth. My granddaughter obviously has her father’s temperament.”

Sabrina pursed her lips. “I’m proud of the comparison.”

Her grandfather looked at Marga, and Kenilworth quickly made introductions. “So you are her kin. Madame Beaumont, you will stay until after their wedding. First to serve as witness and second to prepare Sabrina for the consummation.”

Given the duke’s stoic composure, Sabrina couldn’t tell what he knew about her aunt. She prayed he knew nothing but couldn’t take the chance. “Your grace, if I must marry him, you should at least let me decide the place. I choose London.”

Marga grabbed Sabrina’s hand. “Monseigneur. Your grace. I have responsibilities in London. My shop and children need my attention. To stay another month is impossible!”

“You have a servant watching your whelps,” the duke replied dismissively.

“I can’t let her travel alone.” Sabrina’s heart stopped but she held her grandfather’s stony glare. How much did he know? She prayed that he didn’t see through the excuses. All they wanted was to return to the twins. The shop’s future was as nebulous as her own.

“Young lady, after your act of defiance, I have decided you will wed within three days.”

Two days later, Sabrina stood outside a tiny brick chapel on the castle’s grounds. To the side, a cemetery lay with neat rows of headstones but she could almost hear her pounding heart amidst the serene setting. Behind her, the Sadlerfield barouche squeaked and footsteps approached. Marga dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Her grandfather wanted the ceremony to begin.

Tears crowded Sabrina’s throat. “Even in my worst nightmares, I didn’t imagine things happening this way.”

Marga straightened. “We will talk after the ceremony. I have an idea that might ease the situation a little.”

The reassuring words lifted Sabrina’s spirits. “You always know the right thing to say.”

As her grandfather moved beside her, he nodded to his footman to open the door. The hinges creaked and stale air hit her in the face, further reminders that this affair would hold no cherished memories. Terror lodged in her throat. As the only guest, Marga entered, her merino wool gown stirring the dust on the floor. She wiped the bench with her handkerchief and sat.

Sabrina fought the urge to run, but the duke took her arm and escorted her toward the altar, dark for the unlit tapers. Seasons of grime stained the windows and the dim light painted the interior gray. The brightest thing inside was the preacher’s shiny head.

Her knees threatened to buckle, and her uneven stride echoed off the wood beneath her feet. Near the altar, Kenilworth stood erect. The pale light failed to hide the grim set of his jaw. He stuck a finger down his snowy cravat as if it were too tight. Considering the surroundings, his white linen shirt and ebony frock coat of superfine looked out of place.

The occasion didn’t deserve finery. Sabrina touched her white pelerine collar and simple gray wool gown with pride. When she met Kenilworth’s dark look she shortened her stride. Nothing or no one had prepared her for this moment or what might follow.

Lord Sadlerfield handed her to the earl then sat. When she hesitated to place her fingers in Kenilworth’s, he pinned her with a black look. She slapped her hand against his broad, warm palm. The instant his long fingers curled around hers, she recalled the power they possessed. With only pride to rely upon, she thrust out her chin. She couldn’t turn back.

Leaning toward her, Kenilworth smiled, but darkness clouded his eyes. “I take it you’ll say the vows with the same intensity,” he whispered, and tucked her hand on his arm.

“With the same sincerity as you will.”

He turned to the clergyman. “Do the shortest version, sir.”

The preacher’s eyes darted from bride to groom. “Yes, milord.” He cleared his throat. “Sabrina, will you have this man...”

Their hollow words resonated off the stone walls. Within minutes the ceremony ended. In that second, she realized he had failed to give her a wedding ring and sensed the blatant omission was a protest. Despite the forced marriage, the lack of a ring galled her.

“You may kiss the bride, milord.”

Something urged her to deny him, and Sabrina stepped back.

Kenilworth seized her hand. “I think I will.”

Suddenly he pulled her close, crushed his lips over hers, and that same odd sensation made her stomach chum. His clean-scented clothes heightened her senses. As his mouth grew softer, her mutinous body arched against his hard form. Warmth seeped across her skin, but when she realized she was returning his kiss, she snapped her head back. He was only kissing her for the audience and punishing her for her slight.

“That’s enough, milord.”

“My dear countess, that’s just the beginning.”

She stared into his green eyes, ones that glittered with dark promises. “Beginning?” The word came out a whisper.

Planting his broad hand on her back, he urged her up the aisle. “I made a devil’s bargain with Sadlerfield. I accepted your scheming deal and made a vow to God. Do you know what that means?”

She licked her dry lips. “No.”

“I’m your husband. You’re my wife. As distasteful as that is to you, I intend to see you play the role well. A perfect countess. Is that clear?”

“I’ve no experience.”

A slow smile matched the promise in his eyes. “I intend to teach you. Everything.”

She shivered. “Dare I ask for specifics?”

He laughed.

The echo of Kenilworth’s mocking laugh still rang in Sabrina’s ears. “Marga, this marriage is going to be awful. He’ll be here any minute. I’m sure he’ll want to consummate the union.”

As Sabrina conveyed Kenilworth’s demand, she paced her new bedchamber, one that adjoined his. She moved around her Queen Anne dressing table, slid her finger over its mahogany surface. Taking several steps, she planted her hands on the back of the wing-backed chair where Marga sat. Sabrina wrinkled her nose at the wallpaper. Peacocks. A male with his pompously fanned tail hovered over a hen, it reminded her of Kenilworth.

Suddenly a tremor rippled through her. He exuded overpowering maleness, which caused her stomach to flutter during his kiss. Then as now, she dismissed the urge to examine the feeling. More important things needed her attention.

As she stared at the rose-patterned carpet, Sabrina realized her words had drifted into silence. “I must think of a new plan. I can’t stay married to him.”

Marga gasped. “We agreed you must do this for the twins.”

Moving around the chair, Sabrina faced her aunt. “Remember we considered investigating Kenilworth?”

“Oui. Blackmail him. What good is that now?”

“Blackmail is an ugly word. Consider this! If we learn his secret through an investigation, he might consider an annulment.”

“What about your grandpapa? He will never allow it.”

“If I can convince Kenilworth, we could keep our plan secret. Once I reach my majority, Lord Sadlerfield loses his legal right to dictate my life. My birthday is just a few months away.”

Marga tapped her nails on the brocade upholstery. “Then you must think of ways to stop him from bedding you.”

Heat crept up her neck. “This is what you planned to tell me?”

“Oui, you might avoid the act until you know him better. It might not seem so distasteful to you then.”

Loath to admit it, his kiss was anything but unpleasant. She frowned. “Why is that?”

“Not all women enjoy coupling. At least he is an attractive man. Once you acquaint yourself, you might find pleasure in sharing a bed. Did you forget the Times? They said he was a good man.”

“Shabby reporting! Probably not a word of truth!”

“Possibly, but he did not ask for this marriage. You cannot fault a man who tries to turn a bad situation into good.”

Sabrina snorted. “I want to return to London, speak to Geoffrey and at least consider an annulment. What if Kenilworth happens to meet the twins?”

“I doubt he will pay much notice. Your grandpapa is paying him money to produce an heir. His interest will be bedding you.”

She pressed her palms over her ears. “Don’t remind me! I can’t give the duke an heir! Unless I reveal Alec, the babe would usurp my brother’s rights.” Yet, when she considered lying next to Kenilworth’s hard form, the odd tingling sensation returned. She disliked her body’s reaction. Sinking onto the bed, she ran her hand across the emerald velvet counterpane. “Can you think of anything to keep him from me?”

“Your monthly. A headache. Inebriation.” Marga grimaced. “They are the usual excuses, but he will know what you are doing. If an annulment is the goal, you must invent new reasons.”

“I’ll think of something. Surely we can return to London before I run out of excuses. Then I’ll ask for Geoffrey’s help.”

“Pray your grandpapa never learns what we are doing.”

She groaned. “A chance exists to nullify my marriage. I want to explore the idea at least. What if Alec’s health is better? We have money now and could leave! I can’t do that if I’m married.”

“You have a point. I wish we could take the twins far away from here. A place where your grandpapa would never find us.”

Sabrina’s heart ached, for she and the twins had never been apart. Suddenly she realized how much she took for granted—their incessant chattering and their rebuke of authority. She missed their cherub smiles and bright blue eyes, Alec’s mischievous nature and Christine’s thoughtful demeanor. She also worried Alec’s health would worsen. “Do you think they’re all right? Do you think they miss me? I don’t like being separated from them.”

“Nor I. I miss them, and they are too young to understand if we are absent too long. With the ceremony over, we can finally return to London.”

A knock sounded on the adjoining door.

Sabrina started and wrung her hands. As she looked at her bare fingers, an idea burst forth.