Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 20

Chapter Ten

His lordship’s title produced a private dining room, the landlord’s personal attention and the assurance of a meal equal to any they might enjoy in London.

‘What will you do when we find them?’ she asked when the soup tureen had been put on the table.

‘If Marguerite still wants him, then she must marry him, I suppose. If she has changed her mind, then I am most certainly not going to insist.’

It did not escape Sara that Lucian’s answer did not cover the first encounter with the errant pair. She wondered if she could hide the ammunition for the pistols, but there was a sword case as well and Lucian was doubtless as willing to run Gregory through as shoot him. Besides, if she did unload the guns then they would probably encounter a highwayman, Lucian would be wounded and it would all be her fault...

‘What are you brooding about?’ he asked as she ladled oxtail soup into bowls, lost in thought.

‘Highwaymen. I had wondered whether I should hide all your ammunition. But you have rapiers, don’t you? And it would be tempting fate too far to be careering about the country unarmed.’

Lucia took his bowl and regarded her much as if she had grown an extra head. ‘Have you any idea what I would do to you if I found you had hidden my ammunition?’

‘No.’ The soup was exceedingly good. Sara concentrated on it and not the fact that she was alone in a private room with this man, was travelling for goodness knew how long with him and that what she really wanted him to do was leave the eloping couple to their own devices and bespeak a private bedchamber here.

‘Neither do I. I suggest that we do not put it to the test.’

The soup was followed by a fricassee of chicken and baked fish in cheese sauce. They ate in edgy silence broken only by stiltedly polite requests for the bread or the salt.

Lucian cracked first. ‘Just what do you think I should have done when Farnsworth asked for Marguerite’s hand in marriage?’

‘Agreed to a private engagement if they would wait for eighteen months. If he is a decent young man, he would have agreed. You made them feel as though they had been backed into a corner, with no choice. They are young and everything is so immediate when you are Marguerite’s age. It was black and white to her and a dramatic flight with the man she loved was not only emotionally right but it also had all the glamour of a fairy-tale romance.’

‘Which just goes to prove my point that she was far too young.’

‘And you are so old and sensible? How old are you, my lord?’

‘Twenty-eight. Men grow up faster, are more worldly-wise.’

‘My mother says that all men are little boys and all little girls are women. Think about it—you did the equivalent of putting up your fists and saying, I’ll black your eye if you touch my toy soldiers. Marguerite calmly set about seducing Gregory.’

‘So you implied the other day. How, for goodness sake?’

‘I was not going to tell you, but I think I must. She took off her nightgown and crept into his bed when he was asleep. What do you think happened then when he woke up? In fact, he probably was beyond the point of no return by the time he was properly conscious. Can you really blame him for that?’

It was a struggle, she could see it in his face, but Lucian eventually shook his head. ‘No, I cannot. I suppose by the time he realised it was not some particularly vivid erotic dream things had gone too far. Hell.’ He threw her an apologetic glance for the language. ‘I really do not want to imagine it. This is my little sister we are talking about. Wherever did she get such ideas from?’

‘I do not know where men get the notion that young women are total innocents. It is no wonder that you prowl around looking ferocious, protecting us against shocks and surprises that are no surprise at all.’ Sara stabbed a knife into a blameless apple pie. ‘Unless a girl is dim-witted, completely unobservant and has neither friends nor access to books, then of course she knows about these things. The actual mechanics may well escape some of us until our wedding night if we have the sort of mother who mumbles worrying messages about duty and the compensations of children, of course.’

‘I suspect that was not your mother’s approach. And however comprehensive a young lady’s theoretical knowledge might be, that still does not protect her from some predatory rake with seduction or worse on his mind. Nor from the consequences of being compromised in the eyes of society. Do pass me that pie before you stab the unfortunate thing to death. I very much doubt it is male.’

‘I have nothing against men when you are behaving reasonably.’ Lucian narrowed his eyes at her, but made no comment. ‘As for Mata, well, she was raised in an Indian court and received the full theoretical erotic education expected for a well-educated woman.’ The slice of pie that Lucian had just cut fell off the knife with a soft splat. ‘Which, naturally, she passed on to me.’ She could have sworn he stifled a moan. ‘Are you in pain?’

‘Not at all. I bit into a clove. That is all.’

His eyes had lost focus for a moment, which was very gratifying. If she could only keep Lucian thinking about his own masculine frailties then perhaps he would be less inclined to murder Gregory for his.

Sara was contemplating how best to add fuel to the flames when there was a tap at the door heralding the innkeeper.

‘There’s a scrubby lad asking for you, my lord. I saw you talking to him earlier or I would have sent him on his way with a flea in his ear.’

‘Bring him in, would you?’

The urchin was escorted in, one ear firmly held between the man’s finger and thumb. ‘A proper limb of Satan, this one, my lord. Do you want me to stay and keep an eye on him?’

‘No, thank you. We have a business agreement.’ The landlord went out, his expression a silent comment on the strange ways of the Quality. ‘Well? It is an hour and a half.’

‘Sorry, guv’nor. Only it was the Black Swan they changed at and that’s right off on the outskirts of town to the east. But they hitched up three bays and a black to the same yellow bounder and they’re headed for Gloucester. They left nigh on two.’

‘Not going to London, then. You did well.’ Lucian tossed three crowns to the boy who snatched them out of the air and ran before the nob could think better of his generosity. ‘This makes it easier—if they vanished into London they’d be the devil to find and there’s always the chance Marguerite would be recognised. Are you ready to go? This is where we drive hard and fast and begin to reel them in.’ He drew on his driving gloves and jammed his hat on his head, his expression grim.

He’s hunting, she thought with a shiver, then saw that Lucian had ordered a team to be harnessed in place of the pair they had used on the country roads. Now they would be driving over turnpiked highways for miles and, despite the anxiety about Marguerite and the anticipation of an uncomfortable journey, there was the secret thrill of speed with a real whipster holding the ribbons.

* * *

‘Worcester.’

Lucian’s voice jerked Sara out of a troubled sleep into darkness lit only by the glow of the carriage lamps on the hedgerows and a twinkling mass of light ahead. Her head bounced painfully on something hard and she realised she was slumped against his side, her temple on the point of his shoulder.

‘Oh, I am sorry—have I been asleep long?’

‘Only since the last change.’

They pulled into an inn yard as a nearby church clock struck midnight. Sara hurried off in search of the privy and came back to find the horses already hitched and Lucian draining a tankard.

He passed her another. ‘We are gaining. They came through four hours ago and the ostler told me that they had to settle for a second-rate team. The ones we have got, which do look like quality, were not rested enough to send out then, in his opinion. That and night driving means we’ll pull them back long before they reach the Border.’

‘Let me drive.’

To her amazement Lucian did not immediately refuse. ‘You can drive a team?’

‘Yes. I have driven both my father’s and Ashe’s teams and they both keep only blood horses. And I have driven at night.’ Only in India, though, and at a walk, but she was not going to tell him that. Lucian seemed tireless, but he wasn’t made of iron. Even if he did no more than catnap it would do him good to rest his arms and shoulders.

‘Very well.’

His ready acceptance shocked Sara into immobility. She hadn’t expected him to agree, not really. Her father and brother would never have let her take the ribbons with a strange team and at night. She couldn’t decide whether he had a flattering belief in her ability or was simply applying common sense and snatching some rest.

‘Well, come along.’ Lucian was waiting to give her a helping hand into the driver’s seat.

Sara climbed up, collected up the reins and took her time sorting them carefully in her left hand. She would not be pushed into haste by a desire to impress him. When Lucian was settled beside her she took a firm grip on the whip, made herself relax her wrist and ordered, ‘Let them go!’

She kept the team at a collected trot, learning them as they passed through the streets which were, however irregularly, at least lit. ‘Go to sleep,’ she said without turning her head to look at the man beside her.

‘In a minute or two,’ he said as a dog rushed out of an alleyway, barking hysterically at the leaders. They jibbed and she collected them up and drove them on. Lucian kept his hands where they were and, she realised, he hadn’t so much as made a twitch to take the reins from her.

‘Thank you for trusting me.’

‘You have the confidence and the steadiness that is required and now I see you can keep your head and are strong enough to hold them together. Wake me if I snore.’

‘I will be sure to.’ Not that he would fall asleep immediately, she was certain, however relaxed the big body against hers was. It would take more than witnessing her deal with a minor incident before he would trust her entirely, she knew, but the show of confidence was as welcome as it was unexpected.

Have I misjudged him? Sara wondered as they left the town and her eyes adjusted to the moonlight. The road stretched on, pale against the darker verges. They were fortunate that the moon was full and that it had been dry so that the dusty road was not dark with rain. The team were well balanced and responsive and she let them extend their trot. Was Lucian not the domineering male she had categorised him as, or was he a pragmatic man aware that he could not keep going all the way to the Border without rest?

There was a heavy pressure against her side as he relaxed into sleep and she felt her mood soften even further into something perilously like tenderness. Surely she was not falling for this man? Desire was one thing, but developing a tendre for a powerful, opinionated man with traditional views on honour and the independence of women was quite another. An affaire could be ended in a civilised manner when it had run its course, she assumed—not that she had any experience of that kind of thing—but unrequited feelings could be nothing but painful. And she was not going to let herself explore exactly what those feelings might mean.

* * *

Sara thought Lucian woke before they reached the next posting inn in Kidderminster, but he kept silent beside her, allowing her to drive, and she was glad of his forbearance—and glad to stop when she reined in outside the Blue Boar.

‘They’re a good team and you handled them well,’ he said, swinging down from the seat. He waved away the ostlers who came running out. ‘They’ll do until Wolverhampton, it’s only about another fifteen miles. Move over.’

With Lucian up beside her Sara flexed her aching hands surreptitiously and rolled her shoulders. She would not have admitted it for the world, but she was glad to hand over to him and his praise, delivered in perfectly matter-of-fact terms, was both a surprise and a pleasure.

‘Cold?’ he asked as he gave the team the office to start.

‘No, just a bit stiff.’

‘There’s a rug under the seat.’ Lucian reined in and wrapped the reins around the whip handle so she could reach down. ‘Put it around your shoulders, it will keep the muscles warm.’ When she fumbled with fingers still cramped from the reins he tugged it straight and tucked it around her, then drew her against him and kissed her, long and slow. ‘Mmm. I prefer this to driving with a groom.’

Sara found she had nothing to say when he collected the horses’ attention again and drove on. That kiss had been tender and yet somehow possessive. Surely Lucian was not beginning to feel... No, of course not, he was simply tired and affected by the moonlight and the unconventionality of their closeness on this long, long drive.

* * *

She had made herself close her eyes and doze so she would be able to take her turn with the reins later and this time slept solidly until the curricle turning sharply into an inn yard rocked her against Lucian. ‘Where are we?’

‘Stafford.’ He smiled at her, despite the dark shadows under his eyes and the tightness of the skin over his cheekbones that betrayed his weariness. ‘You slept right through the last change. We’ll get down here, stretch our legs.’

She watched him as he talked to the men unhitching the team, saw them react to his natural authority and the easy way he spoke to them as he helped out by taking a trace, lifting the shaft. As she leaned against the wheel, sleepily content in the shadows, she wondered where the stern, authoritarian man had vanished to.

Then, as Lucian turned, he froze, his attention on a vehicle on the far side of the yard. He asked a question, his voice sharp in the almost deserted space. Then he strode towards her, all trace of that tired smile wiped from his face. ‘They are here.’

‘Thank goodness.’ The relief was heartfelt until she realised what might happen now. As Lucian turned to reach into the back of the curricle for the valises—or his pistols, she did not stop to see which—Sara ran across the yard and through the door of the inn. A sleepy waiter in the hallway jerked awake as she shook him by the shoulder. ‘The young couple who arrived earlier. Which room are they in?’

He gaped at her clothing, seeming not to comprehend the educated English combined with such exotic garb, but when she repeated the question he pointed at the stairs. ‘Number six, on the left...’

Sara took the stairs two at a time, blessing her trousers, and skidded to a halt in front of a door with a faded number six painted on it. She knocked, then, as the front door banged open again, turned the handle and went in. There was a gasp and a scuffle from the shadow that must be the bed, then she knocked against a chair, spun it round and jammed it under the door handle. ‘Marguerite?’

‘Sara? Gregory, it is Sara.’

‘For heaven’s sake, light a candle,’ she snapped as footsteps came closer along the uncarpeted landing. There was a scrabbling, a scraping and then a flicker of light that grew as the man in the bed touched it to the candle wick.

‘Open this door.’ Lucian kept his voice low, but the tone was enough to have Marguerite turn white.

‘In a moment,’ Sara said, then glanced at the bed. ‘I suggest you both get into something less likely to inflame the Marquess than your bare skins.’ She turned her back as the door latch rattled, but kept talking. ‘Do you want to marry him, Marguerite? Be very certain.’

‘Oh, it is you in those clothes! I didn’t... Yes, oh, yes, of course I want to marry Gregory. But Lucian will kill—’

‘No, he will not.’ Sara realised she was standing on a pair of breeches and tossed them behind her on to the bed as a fist thudded into the door. ‘Hurry up! It will only enrage him further if he finds you in bed together—’

The lock broke and the chair went flying. Lucian stalked into the room, kicking pieces of wood aside. His hands, Sara saw with a gulp of relief, were empty.

‘Lucian, she wants to marry him, you can’t kill him now.’

He brushed past her as though she wasn’t there. Sara spun round to find that the young man with the scarred face was on his feet wearing nothing but breeches and his eyepatch. With a courage that Sara could only marvel at he moved round the bed until he was face to face with Lucian who was four inches taller and far broader in the shoulders. ‘I am at your disposal, my lord.’

The right hook sent him sprawling on the floor. Lucian grimaced and blew on his knuckles. ‘Get up. I can’t talk to you down there.’ Gregory got unsteadily to his feet, lifted his chin until he could look Lucian in the eye and stood there swaying.

‘It did not occur to you to come to me and tell me what had happened in Lyons?’

‘I begged him not to.’ Marguerite, her nightrobe half off her shoulders, scrambled across the bed and clutched Gregory’s arm.

‘And you still want to marry this fluff-headed chit?’ Lucian asked, his tone verging on friendly curiosity.

‘I... Yes, my lord. I love her.’ Gregory’s face reflected complete surprise at the question.

‘You will give me your word that you will both stay here tonight. In the morning we will discuss what is to be done. Yes? What is it? Don’t you knock on your guests’ doors?’ He turned on the unfortunate landlord who stood on the threshold, nightcap askew, a truncheon in one hand.

‘There is no door! You broke it open!’

‘I broke the lock and a chair. And I will pay for the damage,’ Lucian said coolly. ‘I want two decent bedchambers for myself and my valet.’

Sara stepped back into deeper shadow as Lucian advanced on the landlord, making him step back on to the landing. ‘Give me your word you will not run away again,’ she said to the young couple, low-voiced and urgent. ‘I promise you he will allow you to marry.’

‘My word on it,’ Gregory said, his voice shaking. Marguerite burst into tears and Sara, her head spinning with tiredness, looked round the door, saw the landlord in full retreat and joined Lucian. ‘They will stay there,’ she told him, closing the damaged door behind her as best she could.

‘That is the good news,’ Lucian said. ‘The bad news is that a severe storm two days ago took most of the tiles off the back of the roof. There are only two habitable bedchambers and that—’ he jerked a thumb to the room she had just left ‘—is one of them. I’ll sleep in the bar.’

As he spoke the landlord came up the stairs, dumped their luggage at the top with a glare and stomped back down again.

‘No, you will not.’ Sara scooped up her valise. ‘We will both sleep in the remaining bedchamber.’

‘Sara, we agreed about this.’

‘We agreed that you would not want your lover befriending your little sister. Well, your little sister is in there in bed with a man she is not married to and you need a good night’s sleep because you have a lot of thinking to do in the morning.’ She blinked at him, almost too weary to focus. ‘Please, Lucian. I will only lose sleep worrying about you otherwise.’

Lucian picked up the pistol and sword cases. ‘Anything to keep you from worrying.’ His smile was wry as he added, ‘I really do not think I am a threat to any woman’s virtue tonight.’ He led the way down the passage and pushed open a door. ‘This is the one, I think. Yes, it does appear to have a ceiling.’

Sara stumbled into the room. She was beyond tiredness, she realised hazily, and hardly aware of what he was saying. She tugged her turban loose with one hand and began to unbutton her coat with the other. On the far side of the bed Lucian was dragging off his clothes in just as random a manner. When she fell into bed dressed only in her shirt she was barely conscious of the covers being pulled over her shoulders or of Lucian’s breath warm on her ear as he murmured goodnight.