The Road to Ruin

by Bronwyn Stuart

  James snorted and tossed back the last of the ale in his mug and then gestured to the serving girl for just one more.

  His own father had talked about phases and moods and the makings of a man when James had announced he was joining the war effort. Never one to assert his authority, and only newly ascended to the title his cousin had held until his untimely death, his father had purchased him a commission and wished him well. They all had new lives to lead and their mark to make on the world and in society. So James had said goodbye to his father, his brother John, his sister Amelia and his mother and left for parts unknown.

  He was excited to fight for his country and put Bonaparte back in his cage but had he known what he would miss, the price of his leaving, or what he’d eventually come home to and come home as, he would have done without the excitement. He would have burned that commission and settled into being the spare. And, in hindsight, carousing with women, horse races and taunting the watch with his ton peers had to be better than being trained as a killing machine in His Majesty’s Army. At least if he’d played the part of a womanizing brat, he might have saved two people he loved rather than killing hundreds of strangers.

  He reached for the new tankard and gulped the entire contents without taking a breath. To be drunk was better than entertaining those thoughts.

  “You look like a man who has the weight of the world on his shoulders,” a deep voice with more than a hint of the Highlands to it commented from his right.

  James squinted at the stranger, worried for a moment that they had indeed been followed, but then dismissed the notion. They’d had a good head start and no one knew which way they travelled. He’d told his staff they were heading up the North Road but he’d lied. It was too obvious and he wanted to travel closer to the coast.

  “Nothing another ale won’t fix,” James replied, with another gesture to the serving girl. This would definitely be his last. Traveling the next morning after a hard night would add to his discomfort.

  “May I join you?” the newcomer asked even as he pulled up the stool next to James.

  “Why not?” Drinking really was a lonely business and Hobson was sleeping upstairs in the room next to Daniella’s, still slightly green from the bad pie.

  He groaned when he thought of Daniella. He hoped she didn’t get it into her head to pick the lock. He straightened and put his mug down. Could the chit pick locks? He wouldn’t put it past her. Just where in the hell had she found out about virgin auctions anyway?

  “So are you heading to London or away?” the stranger asked. He had his own tankard now and gulped almost as much as James did.

  “Away.” His answer was curt. He knew more than a thing or two about discretion.

  “Do you have an estate up the coast?”

  “You ask too many questions,” James commented while looking down his nose at the lad. Any more than one was too many.

  The boy couldn’t yet be two-and-twenty but he spoke with the voice of a man. His blond hair and striking blue eyes were at odds with that heathen accent. Most Scots looked more like Daniella, with flaming hair and green eyes the colour of spring pastures.

  James groaned again and took another swig of ale.

  “That look can only be associated with a woman,” the Scot commented with a sympathetic chuckle.

  “Bloody chit is going to be the death of me.”

  He laughed again. “But worth the trouble I’m sure.”

  “Not this one.”

  “Your wife?”

  James shook his head. He realized he liked this nosy stranger. The man had an air of friendship about him. James was a very good judge of character. The war had done that to him.

  Playing the Butcher had done that to him.

  “It can’t be that bad, friend.”

  It was. If only the man knew where he’d been, what he’d seen and done. Even now after leaving the Butcher well behind in France, he sat there, a kidnapper of defenceless women.

  He snorted again. Daniella was a lot of things but defenceless was not one of them.

  “Your sister then? I have seven of the creatures and they are certainly pushing my poor da into an early grave.”

  “Seven?” James had thought being one of three children growing up tedious but seven? “How many of you are there in all?”

  “Eleven children my ma and da can lay claim to. Seven lasses, four lads.”

  “No wonder you are heading to London. How do you stand to be in a house with that many siblings?”

  The stranger chuckled as he took another drink. “We don’t have houses in the Highlands. We have castles. Big ones. A boy can get lost if he wants not to be found. And then there’s the riding and swimming and exploring. It’s a brave life.”

  “I’m Trelissick.” He offered his hand in greeting. They hadn’t left a crumb at this inn yet and if the talkative lad was traveling back towards London, he might come in useful. James had to put his plan back together and quickly.

  “Patrick McDonald.”

  “So is it business or pleasure that takes you to the capital, Patrick?”

  “I’ve been and I’m returning home now, in fact, Trelissick. It was business. I was to find a bride in London and bring her back to the Highlands.”

  “A bride? Good God, why would you want to do that, man?”

  “Good lasses are scarce in our parts.”

  “Unless you count your sisters.”

  “It is frowned upon to marry your own sister.”

  A bark of laughter slipped through his lips and went a long way to raising his spirits. “So you went to London to find a wife. Drastic. Are you in need of an heir?”

  “One day, yes, but not yet. I promised my mother I would attempt to settle down. She suggested I take a trip to London. Who was I to decline her generous offer of a lazy tarriance?”

  “So what’s next?” James liked that he could take his mind off his own worries and empathize with someone else’s misfortune for a change. It had been six months since his mother and sister had disappeared. Six long months of worry and getting nowhere. He wished she’d been there to nag him to settle down.

  “Now I go home,” Patrick said with a nod.

  “You didn’t find a wife then?” James wished he wasn’t on his way to being foxed. A strange emotion passed over the other man’s eyes but then was gone. James was too slow this evening to attempt to read what was there.

  “I did.”

  “What happened? You can’t just begin the story at the end and not tell the rest.”

  “I’m afraid I was a horse’s arse and didn’t recognize love when it was crying all over my shirtfront. By the time I did, the lass didn’t want me anymore.”

  “Cocked it up well and good by the sounds.”

  Patrick nodded.

  “Why didn’t you stay and fight for her?” God, he sounded like a romanticist. He was drunk.

  “I tried. But it was too late. Now it is all a huge mess. Distance might help me see what my next move should be.”

  He was right. James knew why his plan had fallen apart. He was too involved. Too close to it all, and since he had the most to lose, he was blinded. What was he missing?

  “I don’t suppose you are in need of company for the road?” James asked as he eyed the young man’s dirty clothing and muddy boots. From the cut of his cloth, the boy was in need of funds and James was in need of an outrider.

  “I wouldn’t say no but I don’t sit well in a fancy carriage. I assume that one in the stables is yours?”

  “It is. My man has taken ill and I require someone reliable to lag behind. Someone who will ride like the devil to warn me if there is pursuit.”

  “Are you running from someone? The girl? Don’t tell me you were to be leg-shackled too?”

  “It is a very long and a very complicated story,” James said with a sigh. Already the ale had prompted him to do something he normally would not. The lad was a stranger. What if he lied about the girl in London and followed them fo
r the captain or Sir Anthony?

  James took another look at Patrick but the ale was beginning to make the lad look as though he was about thirty-five, with four eyes and two heads. He’d had more than was wise. “Sleep first and we can decide in the morning. If we’re all going the same way anyway, we may as well make a traveling party.” He sounded like a fop or a dandy. Damn it all to hell. Two days with Miss Germaine and he was not himself at all. What would more than twelve do to him, he wondered…

  Chapter Eight

  When Daniella awoke the next morning, Mrs McDougal snored softly in her pallet but none of her previous colour had returned. In fact, the woman still looked more than a little green and her skin was coated with a slick sheen of sweat.

  Good, thought Daniella, breathing only through her mouth to escape the God-awful smell. It was uncharitable but between pounding the feather stuffing from her pillow, and tossing and turning for half the night, she had come to the conclusion that being alone with Trelissick might be the very thing to push her to her limits of patience but it would do wonders to the gossip. If even one person saw them alone, either alighting the carriage or taking lunch together, word would travel and the closer they got to the border, the better chances her father would have of hearing it.

  If she’d only known she could have provoked the marquess to kidnap her a lot sooner.

  She rolled from the bed and began to put on the ridiculous dress from the day before. She knew it was fruitless to think she could manage on her own but she tried anyway.

  Before long, the lock turned and the door opened a fraction. “Are you awake?”

  “You can come in.” He really wasn’t a very good kidnapper. He hadn’t even checked to see if the window opened (it did) or how far the drop was to the ground (she could have made it without breaking bones). She could have escaped, stolen one of his horses, and been halfway back to London or off to Scotland before anyone knew she had left.

  Daniella wanted to smugly point out his shortcomings but wisely refrained by biting down on her bottom lip. She still hadn’t decided in her own mind how much control he actually had and how much he thought he did.

  “You will need to help me with my dress.” She gave him her back and stood completely still as he did the buttons. This time she ignored the warmth of his fingers and his breath on her neck. “Did you bring any other gowns for me?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t wear this one for the whole journey. And what of the cold as we approach Scotland? I thought you said you were a great schemer.”

  “I have been to war, madam, not Scotland. Men do not complain about the cold when their very lives are in danger.”

  She smiled at his tone, at his outrage that she could doubt his skills. “Well?” she prompted.

  He finished with her buttons and went to lean over Mrs McDougal where she still lay. “The innkeeper says there is a village ahead with a celebrated dressmaker. We will stop there for whatever you need.”

  “We don’t have the time to wait around.”

  “Then you had better hope the proprietor has something already made.”

  She hoped the dressmaker had trousers already made.

  “Come, we will break fast and then be on our way.”

  He was very abrupt this morning, not at all the man who had chuckled the night before and left her room in fear of his reputation. He was more the army major facing a day of bloodshed with a dark shadow on his jaw and red rims around his eyes. He actually looked half ferocious in the dawn light. No, not ferocious. Boiling with frustration.

  Daniella shivered and cold fingers of foreboding squeezed at her nape.

  They weren’t anywhere near far enough from London to breathe easy over pursuit. The pie sickness and today’s gown shopping were going to put them behind but she couldn’t face Scotland without warm clothing. She couldn’t keep facing Trelissick with her borrowed dress sagging either.

  They left Mrs McDougal and Hobson upstairs and headed down to a small dining room, Daniella hidden in the cloak from the day before. Her stomach growled despite the fact she had received an overflowing tray of supper delivered the previous night.

  When they entered the room, flooded with morning light and smelling divinely like tea and toast, Daniella stopped so abruptly Trelissick bumped into her.

  “This room seems to be occupied.”

  Trelissick pushed her farther into the room with a hand at the small of her back and then closed the door. “This is Patrick. He is going to take Hobson’s place for a few days.”

  “Hello, Patrick, I am—Oomph.” She whirled and glared at Trelissick, who had shoved her. Hard.

  “Well, my lord?” She would do his bidding but she didn’t have to like it or comply with grace.

  “Patrick, this is Daniella.” He left off her surname and the newcomer didn’t ask for it, although his brows were high as he looked between Trelissick and her.

  “The events of the last few days have been taxing on her,” the marquess offered by way of explanation.

  Patrick inclined his head and went back to eating his breakfast without question. Daniella huffed and glared again at Trelissick before sitting at the table where her breakfast had already been placed. Ham, eggs and toast. Simple, but it smelled heavenly. She was even prepared to risk food poisoning, so great was her returning hunger.

  No one tarried. Tea was gulped rather than sipped, every last scrap eaten as though it was their last meal and not another word was spoken.

  Before they left the room, Trelissick pulled her hood so far forwards she almost couldn’t see where she was going and had to follow his shining boots out into the yard, where the carriage already waited.

  Hobson waited with it.

  “You are staying here,” Trelissick told him in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Except Hobson must have been used to arguing with Mr I’m In Charge Of The Universe. “You need me to come along. I’ll sit alongside Willie and rest for a spell.”

  “And what of Mrs McDougal? How will she return home?”

  “I’m not going back to the city with her. She’s a big gel and can make it without a nanny. I gave her money enough to hire a sparkling new carriage and riders to accompany her if that is her wish.”

  “You have it all sorted, haven’t you?”

  Hobson grinned but his pale face gave truth to the lie that he felt better.

  “Very well, but if you’re going to be sick, you’ll have to carry the bucket.”

  “Already up there.”

  “I will ride with Miss—” he stopped himself “—with Daniella, Patrick will ride behind and you will go with Willie.”

  Hobson shuffled forwards a few steps until he was close enough to talk into Trelissick’s ear. Daniella leaned in to hear what was said.

  “Are you sure this boy can be trusted?”

  “No more than the girl can be.”

  Daniella gasped in outrage but the answer seemed suitable to Hobson. He climbed the carriage and dropped down next to the driver’s seat, his mussed hair blowing in the wind, his booted feet crossed at the ankles.

  Trelissick opened the carriage door and bowed to her in his first real public show of chivalry. “After you, m’dear.”

  Her chin rose as she stepped up without taking the hand he offered and settled herself against the squabs in the farthest corner from the door. When she could no longer stand the silence, she snapped, “What of this Patrick? How do you know he isn’t an agent for my father sent to check up on me?”

  “Is he?”

  James lifted his head and stared at Daniella for a moment too long. He had resolved not to let her draw his temper out today but resisting that was an almost impossible feat.

  She shook her head after a few moments. “I don’t know. He isn’t one of my brother’s cronies nor one of my father’s regular sailors.”

  “I think he’s just an ordinary lad in need of a few guineas and company for the road.” If he disappeared without word, then Jam
es would know he’d wrongly placed his trust in the boy.

  “I hope not.”

  “If he is a spy for your father, why not steal you away in the dead of night?”

  Daniella smiled that knowing smile that made him itch to shake her. “My father would know I don’t require his assistance to escape you if he’d been watching so far.”

  “Wrong. I sat outside your door last night so no such attempt by you or he would have worked.”

  She rolled her eyes and he had to curl his fingers into his palms. She really needed a good shake. It might rattle her common sense loose from wherever it had fallen.

  “You don’t think much like a military man. Were you very good at it?” She gaped with more theatrics than a Vauxhall actress. “Don’t tell me you were an officer? One of those who stayed in a tent while the others risked their necks for king and country?”

  “You show your youth when you mock something you know nothing about.”

  “And you show your ineptitude when you leave me in a room with an unlocked window and an unconscious chaperone. My father is probably rolling on the floor with laughter waiting for me to tire of you and make my own way.” The next emotion to cross her big green eyes was a thoughtfulness that worried him.

  “You are not going anywhere on your own. I wouldn’t even give you one day until you were molested or worse.”

  Her cheeks tinged with pink and James settled back, confident he’d won the argument.

  For now.

  *

  The stranger who was no longer quite a stranger rode at the rear of the carriage for a few miles and overheard the heated conversation drifting from inside. He wondered for a brief moment if he should have warned the marquess that the countryside knew everything he and the girl spoke of.