Читать книгу A Treacherous Proposition - Patricia Frances Rowell - Страница 13

As she stumbled along the narrow, odoriferous alley, a chilly breeze brushed against Diana’s cheek, eliciting a small shudder. She started as somewhere in one of the mews a dog barked, only to be silenced by a sharp command. The setting moon shed but faint light over the way, and Diana, encumbered by Bytham’s limp form in her arms, tripped over a loose cobble.

Lord Litton’s firm hand on her elbow steadied her and she glanced at Selena, half asleep in his arms. In spite of his burden, his lordship moved through the night with a watchful eye, followed closely by the exceedingly large footman called Throckmorton.

Diana viewed this addition to the party with mixed feelings. The presence of a veritable giant with the battered features of a former pugilist might prove comforting—if she could believe in his loyalty. Loyalty to her. But could she? At this point her enemies might be anyone. She had been forced to put her faith in Vincent Ingleton and Lord and Lady Litton, but were they truly her friends? They had been so kind, she could hardly think otherwise, but now… In the night, in the dark of the alley, she couldn’t be sure of anything.

Where were his lordship and his burly henchman taking her?

She had not seen Vincent since they had parted at the nursery door. Her baggage had been taken away hours earlier in Litton’s coach, and he assured her that they were going to meet Vincent.

But why were they proceeding in this clandestine fashion?

For that matter, was she wise to cast her whole dependence on Vincent as she had been doing? She had hardly proved herself a good judge of character in the past, she thought wryly. Diana had never quite understood Lonsdale’s motives in removing her from her home so precipitately. She began to wish herself back in the safety of the Litton town house—or even her own former quarters.

She wanted to seize her children and bolt.

But that represented no more safety than her present destination.

Whatever it might be.

No, for now she must trust, warily perhaps, but trust in someone. Not far ahead, tucked up against the mews, the outline of a dark coach loaded with trunks emerged from the gloom. The coachman in his powdered wig and top hat slumped on the box as if dozing. At the sound of their approach he sat up and peered down at them. Lord Litton opened the door and lifted Selena onto the seat. She murmured a drowsy protest before curling up and again sinking into slumber. He then took Bytham from Diana so that she could enter. For a moment she hesitated, afraid to let the children be separated, even for a moment.

Apparently sensing her uncertainty, he stepped in front of her and placed the boy on the other seat, then turned to help her, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Do not be afraid, my lady. All will be well.”

Diana nodded mutely and settled herself beside Selena. She felt the carriage rock as Throckmorton climbed onto the box and the lamps flickered into light. A moment later the coachman startled her by climbing inside. Before she could question this unorthodox procedure, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed his wig aside.

“Vincent!”

He grinned his crooked grin. “Just so.”

“But why this masquerade?”

“For your safety. And mine. There are reasons you needn’t…” He glanced out the window as the coach lurched forward. “I don’t want us to be followed.”

The carriage rounded a corner and set off at a brisk trot. “Is Throckmorton driving? He is coming with us?”

“Aye.” A crease formed between his black brows. “It seems so. Litton insisted I bring him. Throckmorton has been in his employ for several years. Litton says he is reliable and very…useful.”

“But you do not sound as though you are pleased.”

“I don’t know him well enough.”

“Do you not trust him?”

He gave her an appraising look and replied gravely, “I don’t trust anyone.”

In fact, Vincent had no real reason not to trust the redoubtable Throckmorton. He just found it healthier to be wary of all comers. But he had to admit that the reinforcement represented by the footman might prove invaluable if it came to a fight.

He only wished he could completely trust Diana.

She was obviously holding something back whenever he asked about possible enemies. But what? He sat opposite her in the coach with the boy sleeping beside him on the seat. Diana leaned wearily in the corner with Selena’s head on her lap. Vincent hated the dark bruise on her cheek. In a few hours he would see that she had a chance to rest.

She sighed and looked at him. “Where are we going, my lord?”

“To Inglewood, eventually, but I do not want to go directly. I’m sure that whoever is harrying you will look for us there sooner or later, but I hope to delay their finding us until I am ready for them. It will be easier to protect you there than it is in London—and much easier than to do so on the road. When they find us, we will know who they are.”

Diana pressed a closed hand against her mouth. “Why, Vincent? Why are they doing this? Why would anyone take my children?”

“I am not perfectly sure, but, as Litton said, it must be that they desire a way of controlling you.” He studied her expression intently. “What do you know, Diana? And whom would it harm?”

“I don’t know!” Her voice rose on a hint of impending panic. “It must be something someone thinks Wyn told me, but we did not spend much time together. He was always very…busy.”

Vincent nodded. Certainly her husband had neglected her. But that did not mean the garrulous rascal never talked to her. “He is bound to have said something. Some reference to some group of people perhaps?”

She stared thoughtfully out the window for several heartbeats. “I cannot think… Well, yes. He once or twice said something about ‘St. Edmunds’s people,’ as though I would know who he meant, but I don’t. Except for his lordship, of course.”

“Did he ever mention Lord or Lady Holland?”

“Well, yes. We used to be invited to their home, and Wyn would go. I—I had stopped going into society. I could not afford…” He could not see the embarrassed flush in the dark, but he could hear it in her voice. “Why are you asking about them?”

“They are admirers of Bonaparte. There are some English folk who would like to see him replace the Bourbon king.”

Diana shook her head. “Who replaced him only months ago? Can no one ever be satisfied? How many English lives were lost fighting him?”

“Far too many, and if any attempt to restore him is made, there will be many, many more.”

Diana glanced down at her daughter and smoothed the pale hair spread across her lap. “I would that my children might grow up in a peaceful world. I cannot bear the thought that one day Bytham might have to go as a soldier.”

“If I have anything to say in the matter, at least he will not have to fight Bonaparte.” Vincent leaned forward and peered out the window into the dark. “I need to be able to see. Excuse me.”

Before she could ask him questions he wished to avoid, he pounded on the roof of the carriage. It came to a jolting halt and he donned his wig and coat and got out and climbed onto the box with Throckmorton. At least here he would not be so painfully aware of her presence as in the close confines of the carriage. Would not have to inhale her subtle fragrance. Not have to fight the impulse to touch her, to take her in his arms and devour her soft mouth.

They rumbled along at the best speed they could in the darkness for several hours. Vincent was obliged to look sharp to make out landmarks in the gloom. At last he signaled Throckmorton to pull up.

“How far are we from the Ashwell fork, do you think?” he asked of his new bodyguard.

“I dunno, me lord. It’s been dunnamany years since I come this way.” The big man shoved his white wig aside to scratch his brown-haired pate. “But we ain’t come to the Ivel bridge yet. We can turn just past that, but I’m thinking Ashwell’s out of our way if you purpose going to Yorkshire.”

“We’ll get to Yorkshire.” Vincent nodded. “Continue.”

Throckmorton gave the horses the office to start, and a mile or two later the wheels clattered across the bridge. Another quarter hour brought the fork into view.

“Pull up.” Vincent waited until the horses slowed and took the reins from Throckmorton. “Go take a look at that grove to our left. See if there is room to get the carriage out of sight.”

“Aye, sir.” The big man climbed down and ambled cautiously into the trees. After several minutes he returned. “It’ll be tight, me lord, but I think we can make her fit. Ain’t no one going to see us in this light.” They pulled the coach into the trees, turned it so that it could be driven straight out, and doused the lamps.

And then they sat.

And they waited.

The night wind murmured in the trees and somewhere an abbreviated screech and a triumphant “Who-hoo!” announced that a tiny life had ended as an owl’s dinner. Only the faintest starlight illuminated the road. Vincent sat patiently. They would come. He need only await them. And then, between one breath and the next, in the distance hoofbeats sounded. Quickly he went to the horses’ heads to keep them quiet.

Minutes later a coach and four barreled past them. It did not even slow at the fork, but continued up the main pike, away from Ashwell. When the sounds of its passage died, Vincent climbed back up and nodded at Throckmorton.

“There’s an inn at Ashwell. We’ll put up there.”

Throckmorton snapped his whip and they headed down the smaller lane.

They pulled into the inn yard shortly before dawn sent her delicate fingers of color across the sky. Stiff from inactivity and sore from yesterday’s tussle with the kidnappers, Diana all but fell out of the coach into Vincent’s arms. He caught her and righted her, still holding her close and gazing into her face with disconcerting intensity.

“Can you stand?” He kept a cautious hand on her elbow as she backed away from him, flustered by his scrutiny.

Diana took a brace of steps, first one way and then the other. “Yes, I believe so. I was just made a bit awkward by the inactivity.”

“And fatigue, I don’t doubt. But you can rest soon.”

From inside the coach, the children grumbled irritably at being disturbed. Diana smiled. “Alas, my lord, your inexperience with small children is evident. They tend to be early risers, and these two have been asleep all night.”

“That is why inns keep maids. We will make use of them.” Vincent lifted a groggy Selena out and set her on her feet, then reached back for Bytham.

“But—”

He cut off Diana’s protest at the outset. “Either Throckmorton or I will keep watch. We intend to take turns sleeping.” He gave her another appraising stare. “You cannot watch them day in, day out, Diana.”

“I know.” Suddenly the black well of exhaustion and fear threatened to swallow her. “I… I…” She gave it up. “Thank you, my lord.”

They entered the inn to find its inhabitants already astir. The short, portly landlord and his tall, sturdy wife came bustling to meet them, only to stop short when they saw Vincent. The wife turned in her tracks and, signaling to a wide-eyed maid who had emerged from the kitchen, disappeared with the girl into the rear of the inn. The landlord held his ground, but eyed Vincent and Throckmorton warily.

“Good morning, Biggleswade. I trust I find you well?” Vincent nodded politely.

“Ah…” The landlord made his bow, one eye on Vincent and one on Diana. “Yes, m’lord. I enjoy tolerable health. And your lordship?”

“Very well, thank you. I believe it has been several years since I stayed here.”

Biggleswade’s expression indicated that it might suit him better for it to be a bit longer yet, but he answered courteously enough. “How may I serve your lordship today?”

“As you can see, we have been traveling all night. We require a parlor and adjoining rooms for the lady and the children and another room for me close by. Can you oblige me?”

“I… Yes, m’lord. We have the rooms.” He cast a suspicious stare at Throckmorton’s battered face. “And your…uh…?”

“He and I will make use of the same room.” Vincent turned to Diana. “Would you like a tray brought to your room?” Without waiting for her nod he went on, “And we will need a maid to care for the children while the lady sleeps.”

“Aye, m’lord.” The landlord glanced around for his wife. Finding that she had decamped, he bowed and started to follow.

“And, Biggleswade…” Vincent spoke softly, but the man spun around with a start. “I would prefer that no questions be answered about our sojourn here, should anyone ask.”

“Oh! Oh…aye, sir. Of course.”

A few moments later Mrs. Biggleswade reappeared and, with a surly look at Vincent, invited Diana up the stairs. Now what was this all about? Diana glanced at Vincent but his somber countenance revealed nothing. She followed the woman up to an adequately furnished parlor and collapsed into a chintz-covered sofa.

By now the children were wide awake and wanting to explore their new surroundings. As she considered the futility of sending them back to bed, a light tap sounded at the door and a girl appeared bearing a tray with tea, hot bread and butter and milk. It smelled heavenly. Diana had not realized how hungry she had become. Anxiety had left her hardly able to eat a bite the evening before.

The children quickly converged on the table as the young woman set down the tray, and the maid and the innkeeper’s wife helped them into chairs. Diana took her own place gratefully and, in a very short time, served by the ladies of the inn, they emptied the plates.

As she finished her second cup of tea, another tap sounded on the door and Vincent strolled into the parlor. His rumpled black locks lacked their usual neatness and a dark shadow covered his cheeks and chin. He had discarded his neckcloth and coat, but in spite of his disheveled appearance, Diana’s breath caught in her throat.

Or perhaps because of it. The loosened collar showed the sculptured lines of his throat, and his rolled sleeves revealed his forearms lined with veins across the ridges of muscle. How had she never noticed in months past that he was an attractive man? Had she been that caught up in her own problems?

Apparently so.

The innkeeper’s wife scowled, folded her arms across her ample bosom and stepped in front of the young maid, who eyed Vincent warily. He ignored her and addressed Diana. “Are you ready to rest? If this young lady—” he nodded at the maid “—will take the children for a walk, I will accompany them.”

The landlady bristled. “Abby has plenty of work to do and don’t need to be traipsing off with you. If you need help, I’ll watch the little ones.”

Vincent bowed gravely. “Thank you, Mrs. Biggleswade. I would appreciate your time.”

Mrs. Biggleswade nodded, the suspicion in her eyes increasing as she glared at Diana’s injured cheek. Selena and Bytham jumped down from their chairs and—as soon as Diana had reminded them—expressed thanks for the breakfast. They followed Vincent and Mrs. Biggleswade out of the room, Diana’s anxious gaze trailing after them.

Surely they would be safe with Vincent. Hadn’t he, himself, stopped the kidnapping? Surely that meant… But Diana knew she didn’t entirely believe in his intentions. He had said that her enemies wished to take control of her—but was that not exactly what he had done? The way he looked at her at times made her wonder what he truly wanted of her. Still, as he had so accurately observed, she could not watch them day and night. Her eyes threatened to close even as she followed the maid into the adjoining room.

“The bed is freshly aired, m’lady. I saw to it myself.” The girl went to the window and drew the drapes. “Just let me help you with your gown.”

Diana turned and let the young woman unfasten her dress. She had no idea where her trunks had got to, so she climbed between the sheets in her shift, and the maid pulled the bed curtains to. Diana lay for a moment, listening as the girl closed the door and then listening harder for some sound from her children. She thought she heard Selena’s merry laugh just before she plunged into oblivion.

She had no idea how long she had slept. She waked to a sliver of light and the hiss of a whisper. Opening her eyes, she discovered the source of the whisper to be none other than Mrs. Biggleswade peeking between the bed curtains. “M’lady. M’lady! Wake up. Do you need help?”

“Wh-what?” Diana sat and rubbed at her eyes, trying to dispel the cobwebs fogging her brain.

“Are you needing help?” The woman cast a hasty glance over her shoulder. “It is all right. His lordship has gone in to sleep, and the other one went out to the privy. Abby has your little ones safe in the parlor.” She reached out and quickly touched Diana’s face. “Did he beat you?”

“What? Oh. Oh, no. It was not his lordship.”

“We’ll help you.” The older woman’s face wrinkled with concern. “We know that one from before. Cruel, he is, and wicked. Do you need help to get away from him?”

“I—I don’t know.”

And, to her horror, she didn’t. Here she was, racing away from everything she had known with a man of whom she had only casual acquaintance. Racing from what and to what? Suddenly a sound from the doorway to the parlor caught her attention. Mrs. Biggleswade whirled, scowling defiantly.

Vincent stood there, gazing at them soberly. He didn’t speak, and Diana, having no idea what to say, didn’t, either. The landlady folded her arms and stood, stalwart, between him and Diana.

Diana drew a deep breath. “Thank you, Mrs. Biggleswade. I appreciate your concern, but I require no further assistance.”

“Well, you just sing out if you do.” The tall woman brushed by Vincent and went into the parlor.

Vincent watched her retreat with something in his eyes that Diana could not quite identify. Sadness? Certainly something of the sort. Strange. He turned back to her. “I just came to tell you that I am going to sleep for a while. Throckmorton will keep watch. If you wish to go outside, he will accompany you. I do not believe anyone will expect to find me—and therefore you—at Ashwell.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Diana, suddenly bethinking herself of her state of undress, pulled the covers up to her chin. “I feel quite rested now. I may go for a stroll myself.”

He stood gazing at her for several moments. Then, in a perfectly even voice he said, “If you do not wish to continue, Lady Diana, we will, of course, turn back.”

Silence ensued for several more moments. And Diana made her decision. “Back to what?”

He nodded. “Just so.”

And with that, he turned and went back through the parlor to his room across the hall.

Vincent disciplined himself to fall asleep because he knew he must if he were to be as alert as the situation demanded. But it was not easy. Diana’s answer to the landlady echoed in his mind. Do you need help? I don’t know. She did not trust him. Which was hardly to be wondered at. He did not trust her, either. She knew something she would not tell.

But there was another pain in his heart. He knew all too well how he had earned Mrs. Biggleswade’s enmity. He had made his peace with her husband as best he could this morning, paying for certain damages to the inn and adding a large gratuity by way of apology for his behavior on his last visit. But it would be many a day before the landlord’s wife forgave his past treatment of her daughter.

Vincent wondered if he would ever forgive himself.

He had worked so hard in the last four years to overcome his richly deserved reputation—trying to correct every obligation, going into the service of his country, risking his life—but it never seemed enough. Time and time again a new set of circumstances forced him to confront it. He feared he would never live it down, never regain his self-respect. And now it had touched Diana.

And she didn’t know if she needed help against him.

The image of her in the bed, thick fair hair pouring over her soft bare shoulders grew behind his closed eyelids. He had not intended to intrude—until he’d heard the stealthy conversation. Then he had stood immobile, captured by her uncertainty and the curve, just visible above the shift, at the top of her breasts.

Vincent’s body began to grow hard. How could Wyn Corby have neglected such an enchanting woman? How had he missed the glowing spirit beneath the tranquil exterior? Had she been his, Vincent would have sheltered her from every hardship, protected himself and her from the forces that had left her a widow and threatened her still. If he made her his own…

But he could not do that now. He was in too deep.

He was as much threat to her as Wyn had been.

He woke as the fading light and the rattle of pots and pans from below stairs proclaimed the dinner hour. Vincent rang for hot water, and washed and shaved. Throckmorton had brought up his trunk. Vincent selected a fresh shirt, but decided against a cravat. It hardly seemed necessary on a secretive flight across the country in the dead of night. If they met someone, he could always put on his coachman’s garb.

He sauntered across the hall to Diana’s parlor, nodding to Throckmorton at his post by the door. In the parlor he found a freshly washed and brushed Selena, and sounds from the adjoining bedchamber indicated that Bytham would soon join them.

Or perhaps not.

He heard Diana’s calm voice firmly announce, “Bytham, if you do not allow me to finish washing you, you will have to eat your dinner alone in here.”

An unintelligible response from Bytham was lost in Selena’s giggle. “Bytham does not like to have his face washed.”

“I see.” Vincent did his best to remember what having his face washed as a small boy had been like. Probably he had not cared for it, either. He smiled at the girl. “Did you have a pleasant day, Miss Selena?”

“Oh, yes! We had two walks today—one with Mrs. Biggleswade and you this morning, and one with Mama and Throckmorton this afternoon. Throckmorton picked flowers for me, and Abby showed me how to make a wreath for my hair.” She darted across the room and retrieved a rather wilted offering. “See?”

Vincent turned the flowers over in his hands. So this is what little girls did on an afternoon walk.

“I like being in the country.” Selena took the wreath and plopped it over her fair curls. “Outdoors is much more fun than indoors.”

At that moment a small form came speeding across the room and launched itself at Vincent’s knees, grasping them with wiry, young arms. “Whoa!” Vincent staggered and reached down to dislodge his young admirer, lifting him into his arms. “Who is this very clean fellow? I haven’t seen him before.”

“It’s me! Bytham! Can we go outside again?”

“May we go outside.” Diana followed her son into the parlor. “And no, you may not. It is time for dinner. Good evening, Lord Lonsdale.” She held out a welcoming hand.

She had changed her black dress for one of lavender, and smoothed the wild mane of hair into a demure knot on the nape of her neck. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit, but the bruise on her cheek stood out clearly against her white skin. Vincent set Bytham on the floor and took the hand she extended. When his fingers closed over it, she winced.

Vincent quickly loosened his grip and examined the back of the hand. It was also bruised and the knuckles were scraped. He looked at her questioningly.

She withdrew the hand. “Yesterday. The man kicked me.”

Rage roared up in Vincent. He waited until he could master it before answering, “Forgive me, Lady Diana. Had I been but a little sooner…”

She looked at him in surprise. “It is not your fault. If you had not come—” She broke off and sighed. “Was it only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime.”

“A great deal has certainly happened in the last two days.” Vincent held a chair for her to be seated. “I would like for you to be able to rest tonight, but I dare not stay. It will be dark as soon as we have finished eating, and I want to be on the road again.”

“Whatever you think best. Oh, dear!” She made a futile grab for Bytham’s fork. “Oh, Bytham! You are dripping sauce on your shirt. Oh! No…don’t…wait…” Bytham looked down ruefully and smeared the drips around liberally with his napkin. His mother sighed and smiled at Vincent. “Too late.”

Vincent laughed out loud. “I never realized how hazardous parenthood can be.”

“Well, it is if one is obliged to provide all the care one’s self. Never mind, Bytham. We will change your shirt.” She turned a serious gaze on Vincent. “But never think that I begrudge it. These two are the joy of my life.”

“I can see that.” Vincent wondered for a second if she would ever have room in her heart for anyone else. Was it filled to capacity with love for her little ones and grief for Wyn? He had not seen her weep, except when Bytham and Selena had. But she was not a tearful sort of woman. Thank God.

He could not have borne watching her weep for another man.

So… They had joined forces. Excellent! He had begun to fear that his investment in her had been wasted. What need to extract confidences from the wife of a man who talked of everything he knew? A pity, in a way. It would have been so much more entertaining to extort them from her.

But Lonsdale was much more important to him than her fool of a husband had ever been. He needed all the information he could garner about that gentleman’s activities. And the woman would now provide it. He had watched her, had seen the terror he had so carefully cultivated in her grow. She dared not refuse.

No, having control of a beautiful woman was never a waste. He would have his opportunity to enjoy her yet.