Читать книгу The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch - Louise Allen - Страница 28

Back in the parlour that the men had bespoken, Adam was slouched at one end of an ancient settle and Henry was leaning against it. They were drinking ale with the air of men who could companionably sup their drinks for hours on end without any need to do more than grunt at each other occasionally.

Decima felt her lips twitch as they straightened up and stood, then Adam slid back into his corner, long legs stretched out, and Henry passed cups of tea to her and Olivia.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Adam asked with a lazy lift of one brow.

Decima eyed the dark brown tea with some misgivings as she took the seat next to him. ‘You and Henry. Men seem capable of sitting together for hours on end, communicating in grunts. Women talk.’

‘I’ve noticed. Chatter.’

‘Communication,’ Decima said firmly. ‘It makes society go round.’ She checked that Olivia was on the other side of the room talking to Henry and lowered her voice. ‘Please do not suggest we race again, not with Olivia here. She is very nervous.’

‘But you would like to race?’ Adam appeared to ignore her reproof, his eyes fixed on the foam on top of his tankard.

‘Well, yes. But then I like speed, she does not.’

‘You do, I have noticed.’ He looked up, his eyes green with sparking amusement. ‘Ice skating, riding, sledging…’

‘Yes, all of those things.’ Decima found she had to look away and began to study a blackened print on the wall with apparent interest.

‘And you don’t run away from danger, either.’ His voice was soft velvet with a reminiscent tone that sent the colour hot into her cheeks. It was not the dangers of speed to which he was referring.

‘Charlton would tell you that is because I am a hoyden and have no conduct.’

‘But that is new, is it not?’ Adam asked, drawing swirling patterns in the spilt ale on the tabletop with one elegant finger. ‘You used to be a dutiful young lady who would never step out of line and who always deferred to her relatives. You told me so.’ He lifted his hand away from the table, leaving a wet pattern of interlocking hearts. As Decima stared at it, it began to shrink and dry.

‘And then I came into control of my affairs and with independence comes freedom, I have found. Within bounds, naturally,’ she added in a commendable imitation of Hermione’s tone when lecturing on proper conduct.

‘Indeed?’ Adam was teasing again and the tense moment was past.

‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘I am about to purchase a phaeton and a team and Henry has agreed to assist me with that. He will not approve my trying a pedestrian hobbyhorse, though,’ she added wistfully. ‘He considers that would pass all bounds. There are ladies’ versions, apparently,’ she added when she saw both Adam’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘With three wheels.’

‘Then I am with Freshford on that subject—they would be a truly terrifying addition to London traffic. He is a man of sense.’

Adam glanced across to where Henry was talking to Olivia. Her charming smile was lighting up her face, transforming her from a pretty but passive statuette into a lovely, vivid young woman. ‘Quite beautiful,’ Adam observed dispassionately, as though he was admiring a work of art, and a cold chill ran down Decima’s spine. Was that really all he wanted? A beautiful trophy wife?

She was still brooding when they resumed their places in the carriages. Adam drew alongside to discuss the route with Henry. ‘We turn off to the left at the crest of Brockley Hill, then follow the lane across Stanmore Common. The house is shortly before Bushey Heath.’

With an effort Decima pulled herself together and tried to take an intelligent interest in the purpose of the expedition. ‘It is very pleasant around here,’ she observed, looking around them as Henry followed Adam’s curricle off the main turnpike. She was immediately grateful the men had not chosen to drive high-perch vehicles, as they lurched from one pothole to another. ‘But somewhat isolated. If it were me,’ she decided, ‘I would not think it ideal. It is too far from London to make it easy to drive in and back in the day—not if one wishes to shop or attend a function, that is. But the house may be lovely and make up for that.’

They were crossing an expanse of common land now, with furze bushes and spindly trees in clumps amidst the brown of last year’s bracken. Adam turned in his seat and gestured towards some chimney pots that could just be seen rising above a copse fringing the edge of the open land. ‘That is the house.’

As he spoke, two riders swung out of the nearest clump of furze and spurred towards them. Their purpose was unmistakable, even without the masks pulled up over their lower faces and the heavy horse pistols in their hands.

Decima heard Olivia’s scream, then Adam was turning the curricle, only to be headed off by one of the riders. With the frantic girl clinging to his arm, Decima could see he was having difficulty controlling his team.

‘Damn it.’ Henry was juggling whip and reins. He thrust them into Decima’s hands and reached under his seat, coming up with a pistol in his hand, but the curricle in front cut off a clear shot at the riders and Decima could see he was unable to fire without risking hitting either Adam or Olivia.

Then Adam dropped his whip, thrust Olivia ruthlessly to the floor of the curricle and reached down. Like Henry, he too was carrying pistols under the seat. Despite the plunging team, he stood and took aim. The gun cracked and one of the riders clapped a hand to his shoulder, then his companion fired, wheeling his horse in at close range before Adam could use his other pistol.

‘Oh, God!’ Decima fought with the reins as the team tried to back away from the noise and confusion and Henry managed to drag the other gun from its fixings. For a moment she could not see what had happened. The scene before her seemed as before the shot was fired, then Adam bent, clutched at his thigh and toppled out of the curricle to the ground.

The unwounded rider swung round, threatening them with his weapon. Henry threw himself across Decima, shielding her body as he tried to find a steady bead on the man.

‘Adam!’ Decima tried to push Henry away and steady the horses before they bolted, but the riders closed in on the driverless curricle, one on each side. One man bent and seized the rein and then they were away, cantering across the uneven ground, bearing Olivia away from where Adam’s still body sprawled on the turf.

Decima regained control and drove the few yards to reach his side. She thrust the reins into Henry’s hands and jumped down, stumbling in her long skirts. He was dead, he had to be dead, he lay so still on his back, his right thigh a mass of blood from where the bullet had torn through his buckskins.

As she reached his side Adam groaned and raised himself on one elbow. ‘Olivia?’

‘They’ve taken the curricle.’ Decima fell to her knees beside him. Thank goodness, the bullet did not appear to have hit an artery, the blood was not spurting. She rummaged under her skirts, seized the edge of her petticoat and tore ruthlessly.

‘Go after it,’ Adam gasped, looking up at Henry. ‘Have you a loaded pistol left?’

‘Yes, both.’

‘Take her to the house—you can hold two of them off from there.’ Adam’s breath was coming in painful gasps. ‘Hurry.’

Henry brought the whip down with a crack and the team responded, already almost out of control with fear. Decima barely watched him go, her whole attention fixed on the man sprawled in front of her.

‘Adam? Can you hear me?’ His eyes were closed. ‘I must bandage your leg, stop the bleeding.’ How was she going to move him? Could she leave him here and go for help or would the men come back…? First things first, she steadied herself. Stop the bleeding.

‘Is he out of sight?’ Adam spoke clearly. Thank heavens, it would be much more difficult if he were unconscious.

‘Yes, try not to worry, Henry will save her, I know he will.’ There was the distant sound of a shot.

She looked up from where she was trying to make a pad out of wadded strips of petticoat to meet a pair of calm, lucid grey eyes fixed on her. ‘Of course he will,’ Adam said, lifting himself onto both elbows with a grunt. ‘God, this track’s hard. I must be lying on a flint.’

How could he be so calm, so brave? ‘Lie still, you’ll make it bleed worse. Can you just raise your leg a little, I know it must hurt…’

Adam sat up fully. ‘Leave it.’ He got to his feet, pulling her up with him. Too amazed to resist, Decima stared at him.

‘Your leg—Adam, you must let me bandage it.’ But the blood had stopped completely now and the man facing her was standing squarely on both feet, not favouring either leg. The grey eyes watching her were unclouded by pain, or any sign of fear for Olivia’s fate.

‘You aren’t wounded at all!’ She stared at the jagged tear in his buckskins, the blood-soaked leather. ‘How did you do that?’ Her heart was still pounding with the aftermath of fear and frantic action, her arms ached from the effort of holding the plunging team and she felt sick with reaction.

Adam shook his right arm and a knife slid out from the sleeve into the palm of his hand. ‘Sausage casing filled with pig’s blood in my breeches pocket.’

Decima reacted without any thought. Her right hand went back of its own accord and she hit him, flat on the cheek. ‘You idiot! Henry’s armed, someone will get killed!’

Adam rocked back on his heels, but made no other move to avoid her blow. ‘Bates swapped Henry’s ammunition for blanks before we started. The only person with a loaded gun is me, and that’s here.’ He patted a coat pocket. ‘My two assistants have blanks in their pistols as well and by now I imagine they will have proved singularly inept kidnappers and will have abandoned the curricle and Olivia in it. Come on, I am sorry you were frightened, but it’s all in a good cause.’

‘Frightened? I was terrified. And Olivia—can you imagine how she is feeling?’ Decima gathered up her skirts and ran to catch up with him. ‘Adam, what do you think you are doing?’

He glanced down at her, a smile twisting his mouth. ‘Match-making. I am sure Olivia would consider ten minutes of terror a fair exchange for not having to marry me.’

‘But…’ Decima found she was having to run again. He strode on, leaving her staring after him, her mouth half open. ‘But unless you propose to die of your wound and stay dead, how is this charade going to help?’

‘I am relying on human nature and on your friend Henry’s abilities as a chivalrous hero to carry the day. Now, stop hectoring me for a moment, Decima, you may lecture all you like in a minute.’ The two highwaymen were riding out of the copse, masks gone to reveal the grinning faces of young men on a spree. Neither of them looked capable of anything more vicious than an inn brawl over a girl.

‘All went according to plan, my lord,’ one of them reported, touching his battered tricorne hat to Decima. ‘We let go of the curricle just where you said, and made sure the reins got tangled in a bush—it wasn’t going anywhere. The young lady’s all right, I’d say—shrieking fit to bust, though. Would Henry be the short blonde gentleman?’

‘Yes,’ Adam agreed.

‘He’s well in, then,’ the groom observed with a grin, remembered Decima’s presence, and broke off in confusion.

‘Good work. Off you go, and for goodness’ sake tidy yourselves up before you hit the turnpike or I’ll be bailing you out of the local clink on suspicion of being on the High Toby.’

They rode off in high spirits and Decima took full advantage of his permission to lecture. ‘How can you be sure they will hold their tongues? Is this going to be spread all over town? We will be a laughing stock and the scandal will ruin Olivia,’ she stormed as they entered the copse.

‘They are grooms of mine, they are completely trustworthy and they think they are helping me win a wager with Sir Henry.’

‘Of all the improbable stories! They will never fall for that.’

‘Decima, they are eighteen years old, ripe for a spree and certain that the nobility can be relied upon to carry on in a completely incalculable manner. This just proves it. Now hush, we are almost at the house and I don’t want Henry’s attention distracted from calming Olivia down.’

They were emerging where the edge of the thicket met the overgrown pleasure grounds of the house. Adam turned and began to lead Decima towards the back. There was a small rustic summerhouse and he pushed open the door. ‘Come in here and let me explain.’ Reluctantly Decima let herself be seated on one of the benches that ran around the inside of the little shelter.

Adam shut the door and leaned against it, his face serious in the shadowed room. ‘This is not a joke and not something I am doing lightly, whatever you may think. I should never have offered for Olivia. The circumstances made it impossible not to, and I cannot explain more than that—if she feels she can tell you about it, she will. Once we found ourselves in that position I could not withdraw. At first I thought she could, and might if she realised that I was quite the wrong husband for her. But I had no idea at first just what a degree of subjugation she is held in by her parents’ influence. Her mother in particular. Olivia could no more defy her mother than fly. And then I saw what was happening between her and Henry Freshford. At last I could see a way out.’

‘You saw? I couldn’t understand why you were so tolerant!’ Decima shook her head, still puzzling. ‘Henry loves her, but he is trying to do the honourable thing. Nothing has been said between them, I am sure of it.’

‘So am I,’ Adam retorted grimly. ‘And while I did everything to remind Olivia just how miserable she would be married to me, I did my best to throw her together with Freshford. Your helpful efforts to reconcile her to the match were most unwelcome, I have to say.’

‘But I—’

‘You acted out of friendship and the most honourable of motives, I know.’ He smiled at her and something inside Decima quivered into life. Hope. ‘It is one of the things I love about you.’

Love? Did Adam say love? Decima found her hands were twisting tightly in her skirts and she forced herself to relax them. He loved her as a friend, that was all. They had been talking about friendship.

‘I could see that nothing was going to undermine Freshford’s sense of honour or Olivia’s rigid obedience, other than a major crisis, so I engineered one. I could have gone to him, told him I knew of his feelings, and assured him of my support. But we would never have got Olivia to admit the truth and face up to her mama. And what she would see as certain disgrace.’ Adam grimaced. ‘It took me days to think of something sufficiently convincing, yet that would put none of you at risk.’

‘But has it worked?’

‘Let’s find out.’ Adam held out a hand and Decima took it, her fingers enveloped in his. She was still shaken, but her anger had given way to a feeling of deep apprehension. What if this elaborate ruse had not worked?

They crept up to the back door. Adam reached up and retrieved a key from the ledge above and gently opened it, leading Decima into a kitchen, clean, equipped, but cold and unused. Walking with catlike tread despite his boots, Adam began to move out of the kitchen, along a passage and through the heavy baize-lined door that separated the servants’ world from that of their masters.

They were in the front hall. All the doors were closed except one, standing ajar on the right-hand side of the front entrance. Adam led the way until they were standing outside. He kept her hand in his and Decima found herself clinging to him, as though bracing herself to hear bad news.

‘They have gone.’ It was Henry’s voice, strong and reassuring. ‘They will have no way of knowing who else is here, and one of them is wounded. They will be off, thinking we can summon the constables. It’s all right now, Olivia. I am here.’

There was the sound of a muffled sob, then feet moving on the boards and Henry’s voice again, less clear. ‘There, there, Olivia, you are quite safe with me.’

‘I know. You were wonderful.’ The adoration in Olivia’s voice was touching. Decima shifted, uncomfortable at eavesdropping. ‘So wonderful. Oh, Sir…oh, Henry!’

Adam, who had been standing with one eye to the narrow hinge opening, grimaced and moved away slightly. As he met Decima’s questioning gaze, he smiled and whispered in her ear, ‘I think this is going to be all right, but I’m damned if I’m playing the Peeping Tom. Give them a moment.’

He appeared to be counting, then gave Decima’s hand a squeeze, released it and pushed the door wide. Henry had Olivia in his arms, her face was tipped up to his and they were kissing with total absorption. Decima found a smile of pure indulgence was spreading across her face and she hastily straightened her expression and coughed. How was Adam intending to play this?

The lovers jumped apart as though a shot had been fired. Olivia went white and burst into tears. Henry, as pale as she, drew himself up to his full height and bowed. ‘I am at your disposal, my lord. Please name your friends.’

‘I find you ravishing my affianced bride and you expect the honour of a duel?’ Adam’s voice was icy. ‘I should fetch a horsewhip.’