Surrender to the Marquess Page 10

  ‘Take care!’ Lucian jammed the reins into his whip hand, brought his left down to grab what he intended to be the waistband of her trousers and found himself cupping a deliciously rounded buttock. He let go and Sara squirmed back on to the seat, pink-cheeked and clutching Cary’s Great Roads.

  ‘I apologise, I was trying to—’

  ‘You have a case of pistols in your bag,’ she stated, ignoring his inadvertent fondling. ‘Tell me you are not going to call Gregory out.’

  ‘I am not setting out on a journey that could last for days without weapons.’

  ‘That is not what I asked. Lucian, this has gone too far, you are going to have to let them marry. It is obvious from what I saw of his injuries that Gregory could not possibly have returned to her, whether it was an accident or he was set-upon. And she loves him, she has carried his child.’

  He knew it and he knew, too, why admitting the inevitable was so difficult. If Marguerite married Gregory Farnsworth now, then all his opposition, their elopement, her miscarriage and misery—and presumably whatever had ruined Gregory’s face—had been for nothing. If he had handled things differently from the beginning, then he would have spared his sister all that grief.

  Which meant that he had failed in his most basic duty, to protect his family. At home there was a Long Gallery, filled with portraits, the earliest dating back to the reign of Henry VII. His father and grandfather had walked the line of them regularly with him, telling the stories, the history. Men of honour, all of them, building the fortunes of the family until they were placed in his hands to safeguard. It was not Marguerite who had lost her honour, it was he who had lost his. And he was damned if he was going to admit any of that to this woman who held male honour so cheaply.

  ‘Killing Farnsworth is not going to help matters now, I agree.’ But he could still beat the living daylights out of the man, he thought grimly. And Lady Sara was not going to stop that.

  *

  Travel with the Marquess of Cannock was rapid, uncomfortable, occasionally alarming but exceedingly efficient, Sara discovered. Ostlers ran to fetch horses when he stopped for a change and their choices were quality animals. Landlords bustled out with ale and offers of the house specials and stopped to listen sympathetically to the tale of his ward who had run off with an unsuitable chit of a girl and who needed to be rescued for his own good.

  ‘He isn’t quite clear in his thinking since his accident,’ Lucian would explain, neatly building Gregory’s injuries into the narrative. ‘He was easily imposed upon by the little hussy.’

  They picked up the trail in Charminster, just north of Dorchester, where the eloping couple had made their first change of horses at four o’clock, then again at Yeovil.

  Sara had decided she was his lordship’s valet, which meant she could keep her distance from the ostlers and grooms and, as she had predicted, it was her clothing that attracted the attention, not the feminine face beneath the turban.

  *

  It was almost four in the afternoon when they reached Bristol and saw the spire of St Mary Redcliffe church. Lucian reined in his tired pair in the yard of the Greyhound and climbed down.

  ‘How are we going to search?’ Sara joined him and looked around. ‘I have no idea how many posting inns there are in the city.’

  ‘We are not. We are going to eat something, because that packet of bacon sandwiches was a long time ago. And while we eat, the urchins of the city will search for us.’ He snapped his fingers at a hopeful-looking lad hanging around waiting for the chance to carry bags for a tip. ‘You see this?’ He held up two crowns and the boy’s eyes widened.

  ‘Cor, two troopers? Yes, guv’nor, I sees ’em.’

  ‘They’re yours if you and your mates can find out about a post-chaise that came through Bristol earlier today. It had a yellow body, four horses, two postilions. There were two passengers, a young lady and a man with a badly scarred face and an eyepatch. I want to know when they set out again, what road they took and if the carriage or number of horses has changed. Got that? I need the information within two hours. If you can do it in one, there’s another bull’s eye for you.’

  ‘Cove with a shutter on his ogle and a bloss in a yellow bounder with four tits. I got it, guv’nor.’ He took to his heels, whistling a shrill note, and a handful of urchins appeared as he ran out of the gate.

  ‘Two hours?’

  ‘They’ll have it in less than that,’ Lucian said confidently. ‘And now you and I are going to have a civilised meal.’

  She looked down dubiously at her brocade coat. It was one thing pretending to be a valet in exotic dress, quite another eating with Lucian in one of Bristol’s smarter hostelries.

  ‘Don’t worry. This is a port city and you will not be the most exotic thing they have seen, not by a long chalk.’

  Sara resisted the urge to put out her tongue at the broad back in its caped greatcoat as Lucian strode towards the entrance and discovered that she was amused and feeling quite in harmony with him. She doubted it would last.

  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 th
ink 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.’