Jo Beverley - [Malloren 01]

by My Lady Notorious

  Horrible Henry was looming over them.

  Cyn gave a shriek and clutched Charles face-down to his bosom. “Adrian! We are discovered! No, dear boy, stay safe in my arms. They shall not hurt you.” He fixed Henry Vernham with what he hoped were tragically intense eyes, and declared, “Only death shall part us, sir!”

  “Zounds, woman. We have no interest in you and your paramour. Did a young woman pass by here? A young woman with very short hair?”

  Cyn assessed his enemy. He was tall and dark, and handsome in a shallow kind of way. His eyes were narrow but not stupid. Cyn was tempted to mislead him, but merely simpered and said, “I’m sure the king could have passed by these last few minutes, sir, and I’d never have seen. Do you speak truly? You are not sent to tear Adrian from my arms?”

  Henry Vernham’s only reply was a sneer of disgust. He turned and stalked off back toward the town. The other man leered at the ‘lovers’ and trailed after. Cyn held onto his damsel until they were gone.

  He allowed the feel of her to wrap around him, to weave into him. He knew with his nerve endings and his soul that he could make beautiful love with this woman. It was in the shape of her against him and beneath his hands, and the memory of the taste of her on his lips. It was in the faint aroma from her body, an aroma more potent than the finest French perfume.

  He thought he could detect the slight swell of her bound breasts against his chest as she breathed. Her thigh had come to rest between his, a source of delightful torture. Driven by need, he slid a hand up between her wig and her head to feel the silky smoothness of her hair.

  A shudder rippled through her.

  He remembered what Henry had said. Walgrave had shaved her and forced her to wear the coarse penitent’s garments, because he’d caught her in some man’s bed. No wonder she preferred men’s clothing. But that meant she was no virgin.

  It didn’t please him. Despite his lust for her, he didn’t want her to be a wanton . . .

  “Are they gone?” she asked quietly.

  Cyn realized he was softly stroking the back of her head, offering comfort, not lust. His instincts at least had found her innocent of the worst. She must have been caught in her first misdemeanor, doubtless swept away by love.

  What, then, had happened to her lover?

  Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he let her go. She scrambled to her feet rather dazedly, not looking at him at all, and straightened her wig and hat.

  “What was all that about?” she asked.

  “I heard them planning to trap you. Vernham had seen you. I decided you’d have a chance in the guise of young Adrian. It appears to have worked.” Not least because they were looking for a female, he thought, but he didn’t say it. Really, he thought, it was becoming necessary to put an end to the masquerade before it endangered them all.

  “We had better collect Verity and leave,” she said.

  “Yes, but carefully. How well does Henry know you?”

  Her face became pinched. “Very well.”

  Cyn almost asked, Has he been in your bed? “If he gets a good look at you, he won’t be fooled then.” Cyn pulled up her modest collar as high as it would go and pulled the hat down a little. The tricorn, however, offered little concealment for the face.

  “Arm in arm, I think,” said Cyn, “and talking. It will hide your features a little.”

  She was skittish but complied. They walked as quickly as they dared back to the inn, plastered against one another, heads bowed as if they were sharing secrets. Cyn saw Henry’s henchman prowling the high street, but no sign of Henry himself. That wasn’t altogether good news. The man could already be searching the inn.

  His heart was beating fast, but not with fear. With excitement. This was what he had missed through these dreary months of convalescence. The edge of danger, the imperative of action.

  They arrived safely back in their parlor, and he laughed for the joy of it.

  “Stop it!” said Charles. “This isn’t a game, you oaf. This is my sister and my nephew’s life!”

  He tried, but he knew he couldn’t sober entirely. “Am I not preserving them? And we wouldn’t be in this pickle,” he pointed out, “if you hadn’t stormed out for no reason.”

  She raised her chin. “Very well, I accept the responsibility. Now we must leave.”

  “Perhaps.” Cyn went to look out the window, but the view of the high street wasn’t particularly enlightening. A view of the coach yard would be more useful. “It might be better to wait until Henry leaves.”

  “He may be making Salisbury his headquarters,” she countered. “And when he doesn’t find me, he’ll go through the inn with a fine-toothed comb.”

  Cyn looked at her with new respect. “I love a clear-headed partner. Rouse Verity. We’ll continue our Adrian-and-his-lover act and pretend to be fleeing in guilt.”

  She colored at that but went toward the bedchamber door. She halted with her hand on the knob. “How could you do it . . . ?” she asked stiffly, not looking at him at all. “A man kissing a man . . .”

  “It was only a kiss, my dear boy,” said Cyn lightly. “On the Continent men kiss more freely than we British. Besides, haven’t you found there is always a certain amount of experimentation in a boys’ school? Don’t worry. I long since decided sodomy isn’t a vice I favor.”

  Her pink cheeks turned red, and she hurried into the bedroom.

  Chapter 7

  Chastity closed the door softly and leaned against it. Verity and the baby were both asleep and she hesitated to waken them. Or perhaps it was just that she needed a moment to think.

  She went to the dressing table, took off her wig and hat, and looked in the cheval mirror. She was not in the habit of looking at herself these days, for it reminded her of the past, and what her father had done to her.

  At first, with her hair a mere stubble, she had shunned mirrors and willingly worn the ugly caps. As it had grown a little, she had taught herself to accept the sight. It had become easier once she had thought of wearing her brother Victor’s old clothes. She did make quite a handsome boy.

  Her father had cleared Walgrave Towers of all Verity’s and Chastity’s garments so she would have no opportunity to use them, but he had not thought of Victor’s and Fort’s. Fort’s clothes were far too large, for her elder brother, Lord Thornhill, was twenty-eight and a big man. Victor, however, was a slim eighteen. His old clothes had needed only the slightest alteration.

  But she hated dressing this way.

  She longed to wear silk gowns again, and hoops, and impractical, pretty satin slippers. She wanted to have long, lustrous curls brushing her shoulders, a kissing patch by her lips, and a fan. She picked up Verity’s comb and imagined it a fan. She extended it shut. Do you love me? She pretended to open and shut it. You are cruel. She touched it to her lips. You may kiss me. She drew it slowly across her cheek. I love you, Lord Cyn.

  She dropped the comb. No, not that! How had she come to feel that way about Cyn Malloren when she’d thought she would never trust a man again? Perhaps it had been the look on his face when he held William. Or his kindness to Verity. Or his kindness to prickly Charles.

  Perhaps it was his joyous spirit, the sheer zest with which he faced life, his delight in challenge . . .

  She turned away from the mirror, fighting the madness. There was no place for fantasy at such a time of danger, and anyway, it would only be the path to heartbreak. If she revealed herself to be a woman, she would be a freak with cropped hair. She would probably have to tell him she was that whore, Chastity Ware. Even if he was interested in her, it would only be for a quick roll in the nearest bed.

  Lud, but she must be a whore at heart, for that impossible notion sent a tingle of longing through her.

  It was all the fault of that fake kiss.

  She had never much cared for kisses. When Henry Vernham had forced a kiss on her, she’d felt like gagging. She’d told her father, expecting to have Vernham punished for it, but Walgrave had told her not to be
missish with her future husband. The next time Vernham had tried it, Chastity had jabbed him with her embroidery scissors.

  That memory brought a grim smile of satisfaction to her face. As punishment, she’d had to endure one of her father’s chilling rages, but Vernham hadn’t tried such an assault again.

  Chastity had to confess, however, that while kissing Cyn Malloren, she’d felt no urge to fight. The very opposite. His kiss had made her feel warm and soft, and she’d wanted to deepen it, to explore him more fully.

  She pressed her hands over her face. And even if by some miracle he cared, and still cared when he knew the truth, she could not let anything come of it, for it would destroy him. They would never find happiness among sneers and scandal, and, worse than that, he would not tolerate any insult to her. Sooner or later it would come to a duel. She would be his death.

  Chastity made her grim resolve. She must put all sentiment aside and concentrate on their purpose, getting Verity and William safe to Maidenhead. Then she would send Cyn Malloren on his merry way unencumbered.

  She gently woke her sister and explained the problem. She soothed Verity’s fears and helped her to prepare the baby. She smiled encouragement. “Ready? Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in a twitch of a cat’s whisker, and Henry will decide he was mistaken in thinking he saw me.”

  Verity made a gallant attempt to smile back, and they went out to join Lord Cyn.

  “Ready?” he asked. When they nodded he said, “The coach is waiting and I’ve primed a gossipy maid with the story of my romantic flight with my young lover.” He fluttered his lashes. “I think she rather envied me—an old hen with such a tender rooster. So, heads down and straight to the coach!”

  They hurried down the stairs. As they crossed the hall toward the coach yard, Cyn said, “Go ahead. I’ll follow in a moment.”

  Chastity wondered frantically what he was up to, but now wasn’t the moment to debate the matter. She steered Verity out to the waiting coach. From within, she watched anxiously for Cyn’s appearance.

  She ducked back when she saw Henry Vernham stalking toward the inn. Through the edge of the window, she saw Cyn emerge and wanted to scream a warning. He stopped. Vernham stopped.

  Cyn did a perfect play of a terrified, guilty female. He shrank back, half-covered his face with the paper in his hands, then scuttled past Vernham and into the coach. Vernham sneered after him and continued into the inn.

  Cyn took his seat, an ostler slammed the door, Hoskins cracked his whip, and the coach pulled out into the high street.

  Verity was pressed into the corner, clutching William far too tightly. “Did he see me?”

  “Of course not,” said Cyn, tossing the crumpled paper onto Chastity’s seat. “And we’re away now.”

  “But he’ll pursue us!”

  “Why? He thinks he saw Charles, and that makes him think you’re in the area. He’ll inquire of every inn in Salisbury and find no Charles, and no one to fit your description.”

  “But,” said Chastity, “what if he thinks to inquire about babies?”

  “Good point,” said Cyn with a sharply appreciative look. “With that tack he’ll soon find that the naughty lady of the meadows had a babe the right age. He just might put the pieces together.” He looked at Verity. “How clever is this man?”

  She bit her lip. “He’s no fool. He’s a self-centered wastrel, but he has a shrewd brain when he cares to use it.”

  Cyn opened the hatch. “Spring ’em, Hoskins.” The carriage bumped and rolled as the team went into a gallop.

  Verity was white as a sheet. “We can’t possibly escape! If they catch us, Lord Cyn, promise you’ll do all in your power to get William away.”

  “Of course we can escape,” he said firmly, “but I promise nothing will happen to your child.” He put a hand over Verity’s and looked into her eyes. “Trust me.”

  Chastity felt a pain in her chest, a real physical pain. If only Cyn would look at her as directly and promise to keep her safe. Oh, she was in a sorry state.

  She remembered him describing his trade as an officer responsible for the lives of many men; she saw he would be good at it. He would be lighthearted in season, keeping spirits high, but underneath there would always be the steel of courage and efficiency.

  She reminded herself of her resolve, but the awareness of her love was too new, and she found herself staring at him, drinking in every detail . . .

  She wrenched her eyes away. They focused on the paper he’d tossed on the seat beside her. Her heart thudded. He had stopped to purchase an up-to-date copy of the Gazette. The front page was crushed back and she could see the headline of an item. BARONET ’S WIDOW AND HEIR MISSING.

  Oh, sweet heavens.

  The names would be disguised in the usual way . . . widow of Sir W***m V****m, of Gloucestershire . . . , but everyone who was anyone would know. Would the paper hint at past scandals in the family? More than likely, she thought with a shudder. What news-sheet could resist such a juicy on dit?

  Cyn hadn’t linked the Earl of Walgrave with Chastity Ware, she reasoned. He had been sick when the full torrent of Chastity’s scandal had burst. He must have heard something, however, during his months in England. Let the name Ware enter into things and he must surely make the connection.

  The gossipmongers and the caricaturists had quickly made the link between Chastity Ware and Haymarket ware, or whores. And what fun they had with her Christian name! As soon as Cyn read the paper, he would know all. He would despise her—or, even worse, he would consider her fair game.

  The newspaper assumed the nature of a cocked pistol, ready to be triggered by the next bump in the road. She tried desperately to think of a plausible excuse to throw it out the window . . .

  “Charles!”

  She jumped at Cyn’s sharp voice and guessed he had been trying to gain her attention.

  “Yes?”

  “Pull yourself together. It’s understandable for Verity to be a little overset, but I expect you to be made of sterner stuff. We are making plans.”

  At least that meant he wasn’t reading the paper. Chastity assumed her apparent maleness like armor. “Good,” she said crisply. “What are we to do?”

  Cyn eyed her keenly for a moment, then nodded. “It is my assessment that even if Vernham does pursue us, he won’t catch us till late afternoon. He’ll have to stop and check each inn in case we’ve halted, and that will slow him. We can relax and make plans.”

  “But what if he alerts others, such as the military?”

  “That is a danger, though even that sort of pursuit should be considerably delayed. I’m sure we have a good head start, but if Vernham does become suspicious we cannot possibly make Maidenhead without being caught. If we try to stop for the night on this road, he will come up with us, and these moonless nights are too dark for traveling.”

  “So what are we to do?” asked Verity with a calm which spoke volumes for Cyn Malloren’s ability to inspire trust.

  “I suggest we leave the London road and go to Winchester.”

  The sisters shared a look of astonishment.

  “Winchester?” echoed Verity. “Why?”

  He settled back. “Because no one will expect you to head in that direction, and I have a friend there who will shelter you. Inns are too chancy with the hunt so widespread.”

  “True,” said Verity, “but if Henry guesses we are his quarry, he’ll still be able to track us, stage by stage.”

  A little smile played on Cyn’s lips. “Yes, but he’ll be looking for an older lady, a youth, and a maid with a baby. He may suspect that Charles is Adrian, but it’s less likely he’ll realize I am male. Therefore, I propose that we transform ourselves into a new party.”

  Chastity’s imagination was caught. Faith, but he was a cunning rogue. “What kind of party?”

  “A military gentleman traveling with his wife.”

  “I am to be your wife?” asked Chastity, a traitorous thrill in her heart at the thou
ght.

  Cyn raised his brows. “You, sir? Why complicate matters like that?”

  Chastity remembered the deception with a bump.

  “Verity can play that role,” he continued. “We are not, after all, trying to hide her from those who know her, just obscure the trail. We will also get rid of the baby.”

  “What?” Chastity and Verity cried in unison.

  “Not really,” he said with a grin. “But if Sir William will cooperate, we’ll put him in my portmanteau when we’re in public. If not, I’m sure it will surprise no one that a military man and his wife should have a child.”

  “And what of me?” asked Chastity, ridiculously hurt at the image of this happy family which excluded her.

  “I suppose you should once more be the groom. The flat-brimmed hat is very concealing.”

  “I am to ride on the box?”

  Cyn frowned. “No. Not just because of Hoskins’ hostility, but because you would be very visible up there.”

  Verity frowned. “But I don’t see how this will get me to Nathaniel. I won’t give up my purpose, my lord.”

  “Of course not, but it’s clear now that the London roads and Maidenhead are the center of the search. If the search is as thorough as it appears, I’m not at all sure we could get you close to your major in any disguise. I’ll visit Frazer and tell him the tale, then he will join you in Winchester.”

  Verity laughed. “It’s wonderful. I really think it will work!”

  “Of course it will,” he said with superb self-confidence. “So, I will assume my uniform—with great relief, I assure you. You will don my other female outfit and be my wife, and Charles will become the groom. We will leave unexplained your presence inside the coach, Charles.”

  Chastity had been thinking over this ingenious plan and had spotted a flaw. “But how are we to effect this change with no one the wiser? If one party enters an inn and another emerges, someone will be bound to notice.”