“I will find him and make him act like a man of honour.”
The doctor shook his head. “But why, if you do not intend to kill him anyway? I know it is not my place, but what did Lord de Coucy do that made you want to teach him a lesson at all costs? You do not strike me as a man who recklessly challenges another, my Lord, especially one whose existence clearly has no impact on your own.”
What the hell was the doctor trying to say to him? The sentence echoed in Gabriel’s mind, but he forgot about it in an instant. Was that a carriage approaching? It was still no more than a dark spot in the dawn, but Gabriel thought the little dot was moving. “Believe me, based on what de Coucy is guilty of, a shot in the air, or, at most a graze, is only a slight punishment,” Gabriel finally said through clenched teeth. He averted his eyes from the dark spot that was getting closer and closer. Yes, it was definitely a coach. He felt that the prospect of seeing de Coucy’s pale face as he aimed at him, awakened a savage, barbaric joy within. “He has to learn to be accountable for his conduct.”
The doctor put a hand on his arm. “My Lord, you have been in London for four days. You are the last of the Cavanaughs. Your sister needs you. What if your opponent does not decide to shoot past you?”
“I took precautions. Neither my sister nor Lady Catherine will be left without means.”
The doctor took his hand off his arm and sighed. “I understand.” They looked over at the carriage, which was now clearly recognisable as such.
De Coucy had opted for a hired carriage. This was not a stupid move, because if someone witnessed their duel and reported it to the authorities, he could not be identified by the family crest on his vehicle. Gabriel had thought of the same, but unlike de Coucy, he did not intend to deny responsibility, even if that meant being sent to the Tower.
Both he and his second man were silent as the coach approached and finally came to a stop next to theirs. The young man driving the carriage jumped from the driver’s seat and opened the door.
Even before she stepped out, Gabriel knew that something was wrong.
But what he saw with his own eyes caused almost a physical shock in him. Before him stood Lady Rose, dressed in an inconspicuous brown dress, with an apprehensive smile on her face.
“My Lord.” She nodded to him and then to his second man. “Sir.”
Hollingsworth bowed. “Doctor Hollingsworth, at your service, my Lady.”
At last, Gabriel broke loose from the stiffness that the sight of her had caused him. “What the dickens are you doing here? Did de Coucy send you? “
“Nobody has sent me, my Lord,” she replied, reserved. A strand of her blond hair peeked out from under the tan-coloured bonnet, spurring Gabriel’s desire to put it back in place, solely so he did not have to see the warm, gold tone glow in the morning sunshine. She raised her head and walked fearlessly towards him. “It is my conscience that has brought me here. You must not duel with him.” She glanced around and seemed to notice that de Coucy was not anywhere to be seen. “Where is my fiancé?”
“That is what I want to know,” Gabriel managed to squeeze out, his reluctant words passing his lips as thoughts flickered around in his mind. Looking inside the coach revealed what he had feared – to crown it all, she had come alone without a chaperon and even without a family servant. “Are you aware of the risks you are taking, coming here alone and solitary? What on earth was Lord de Coucy thinking, sending you in his place?”
“I will say it again – I am here of my own volition.” Her blue eyes held his gaze. “I see that Lord de Coucy, unlike you, has come to his senses and has decided not to appear. Duels are obsolescent and barbaric.” A deep blush coloured her cheeks, and when she spoke of de Coucy, her soft voice trembled, barely perceptible.
“And … what,” he stepped up to her, “is the reason for your presence?” The scent of her lilies of the valley reached his nostrils, dispelling the stench of the Thames nearby.
“I wanted …” she hesitated and swallowed. “I just wanted to prevent anyone from dying, just because you …” She fell silent.
“Because I what?” The anger coursing through his veins was not because of her, but she did not know that. Gabriel took a deep breath and quelled his emotions until he regained self-control. Could it really be that she had come of her own free will? What in God’s name had Rose been thinking?
“Because you are prepared to accept someone else’s death by reason of something futile.”
Was she calling the seduction of his sister a trifle? But then he looked into her blue eyes glaring back at him angrily, and he knew that they were talking at cross purposes. The temptation to tell her the horrible truth about the real reason for the duel was immense. But before he said something that he would regret afterwards, he would first take her home. He turned to the young man in the driver’s seat, who was listening intently. “Drive back to town. I will take the lady home.” Gabriel heard her surprised intake of breath and ignored it, then reached into his pocket and tossed a coin to the coachman. The boy caught it skilfully.
“Thank you, but I do not need you to escort me,” she said in a raised voice.
For the first time, the doctor intervened, having hitherto kept a discreet distance. He cleared his throat and approached them. “My Lady, with all due respect, it is safer if you allow us to accompany you.”
“With all due respect, Sir, I am perfectly capable of making my own way home.”
“I do not doubt that, but …”
“Stop the banter.” Gabriel interrupted them. “Lady Rose, you are coming with me. Doctor, thank you for your presence. I will make sure that the young lady arrives home safely.” To lessen his harsh tone, he added, “Please come to dinner with me and my sister tonight. Then, we can discuss everything else in a slightly more pleasant atmosphere.”
Hollingsworth gave him a sceptical look but relented and climbed into the hired carriage.
“Are you coming?” Gabriel pointed to his waiting carriage. Lady Rose opened her mouth and closed it again, giving him a look he recognised from his sister. It meant that she had submitted – for the time being.
Chapter 13
Rose did not know which was the strongest feeling raging inside her: anger at the arrogant marquess and his presumptuous behaviour, or concern for Richard, who had not come on the scene. Her legs trembled and she was glad, but not grateful, when Cavanaugh offered her a hand as she climbed the folding steps into the interior of his carriage. For the first few minutes, she busied herself with straightening her coat and bonnet and finding a comfortable place as far away from him as possible. Although Rose had no doubt that she had done the right thing, she felt unusually self-conscious without the presence of Mrs. Prisson. In her imagination, Rose had felt footloose and fancy-free without her chaperone, but the reality was quite different. In truth, the longer she was alone with the Marquess of Cavanaugh, the greater her nervousness became. He was not a relative, and additionally, he intervened in a very stoic manner. She kept looking at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to read something in his face. It was a futile undertaking. His features were a stone mask, and even his body was perfectly motionless. Had it not been for the slight rising and sinking of his chest, she would have doubted that he was human at all.
It was he who broke the silence between them when her fingers had nothing left to do.
“May I suggest that we start all over again, Lady Rose.” His voice filled the cramped space in a way that she preferred not to think about.
“And that surely means that I apologise for my inadmissible, unreasonable, and, as you would see it, entirely inappropriate interfering,” she replied with much more courage than she felt.
“Firstly, it was only an attempt to interfere,” he replied, “and secondly, I did not speak of apologies, but of a fresh start.”
“You make it sound as if we were monarchs from two hostile countries entering into diplomatic relations. Of course, you cannot help but to demean me with your first sentence. It
would have been more than just an attempt if my fiancé had not been prevented from coming.”
“All right, I apologise for my presumption.”
Rose bit her lip to keep herself from interrupting him and telling him that he was a bad actor, whose half-hearted apology she did not accept.
“But reveal to me, what was your plan? Did you intend to throw yourself between us? “
That came pretty close to her intention. “Why not? If I had prevented Richard from being killed, I would not care if I made a fool of myself in your eyes.”
“It is not a matter of making a fool of yourself, Lady Rose.”
That was not the answer she wanted to hear, but if she waited for something of a friendly nature or, God forbid, even flattering to emerge from Cavanaugh’s mouth, Rose would have to wait until she was old and grey, living with thirteen cats instead of a husband.
“If your betrothed was not the one who told you about the duel, and, conveniently the venue, as well, so you could turn up in his place, then who did disclose it? Nobody but de Coucy, my second and I, knew about it.” The contempt in his voice was cold as ice. Was it directed to her or to Richard?
“It was an unfortunate coincidence, nothing more. A fortunate coincidence, I mean, of course.” She would not show any weakness and admit that she began to have the tiniest doubt about the reason for her actions.
The Marquess of Cavanaugh gave her a sceptical look but let her answer pass. Rose wanted to sit back, relieved, but he kept talking. The interrogation was not over yet. He leaned forward and relieved her of every opportunity to avoid his gaze. “It is about whether your safety was worth the risk you took. On the way here, anything could have happened to you, and who knows what awaits you at home when your parents notice that you are gone? They will be worried about you, Lady Rose. Your parents love you, just like one can only love someone who …” He broke off and cleared his throat.
“I know,” Rose admitted, feeling her defiance dissolve into nothing at the mention of her parents. “But I simply saw no other way to prevent this duel from happening than by sneaking out of the house. At least I had to try. But you do not understand that.”
“Then explain it to me,” Cavanaugh said, without interrupting the unsettling eye contact between them.
Rose straightened. “I did it for love,” she said, trying to sound proud and fearless. For some reason, that explanation hit him, for he abruptly leaned back as if she had insulted him personally. “I know, for you, love does not count as a reason for doing something quite so rash. I suppose your motivations for the duel are clearly more important than something so insignificant. Tell me, why did you challenge Lord de Coucy? “
“Out of love,” he replied firmly, looking at her steadfast.
“I … do not understand,” Rose stammered, thoroughly surprised by his confession. “How can that be? Richard is engaged to me … he does not love another woman. No, he certainly does not. I mean, why else would he have proposed to me? I …” She stopped.
“I did not call him out because we love the same woman, at least not in that sense. You can love someone without desiring them. I am talking about my sister and the unwanted affection he has imposed on her, with a more than unpleasant outcome that will ruin my sister’s reputation.”
What was he talking about? He seemed to be completely serious about his words. Then she understood. “Oh, no,” she protested, instinctively raising her hands. “You say Richard and Lady Henrietta …?” Then the realisation hit Rose with full force. Henrietta’s paleness, her discomfort … The sister of the marquess was expecting a child, and Cavanaugh believed that Richard was responsible. Not only that, he also claimed that Richard was a hideous monster without a spark of honour! She shook her head, again and again. “He is engaged to me,” she repeated, as if the words were a charm. A useless charm, because she felt her tears rising. She would not cry. Not in the presence of a man who took every effort to make her unhappy. “What have I done to you?” she whispered. In the semi-darkness of the coach, she saw his face drain of all colour. “Is this about the letter you gave Richard on my behalf? Do you despise me so much that you are doing anything possible to punish me? “
“I do not despise you,” he replied just as softly. “Your misfortune is certainly not my intention.” She did not want to believe him, not a single word. “But I cannot let de Coucy get away for what he did to my sister.”
“You want him to marry Lady Henrietta?” Rose had not thought that the morning could get any worse, but she was wrong. With every passing minute she spent in Cavanaugh’s presence, her world was growing darker and darker.
Rose knew he was wrong, but it was no wonder that the marquess was beside himself with rage towards Richard. “I … I am so sorry for your sister,” she said, and for the first time in two years, she felt something like understanding for the man. “This is not a bit about me. I am sorry.” The thoughts in Rose’s mind were racing. His face was half in shadow, and she could not tell if he had even heard her words. “Is there anything I can do other than assure you that Richard would never force himself on a woman? I know him,” she continued as Cavanaugh still remained silent. “He kissed me once and never again, even though I … would not have minded,” she bravely finished her sentence with a confession that she would have liked to take back. But if she could convince the Marquess of Cavanaugh that he was wrong, embarrassment was a price that Rose gladly paid. Rose closed her eyes. Why was he not saying anything? Had she made everything worse with her confession? Strictly speaking, she did not truly believe that. His opinion of her was already bad enough, and she could not sink even lower in his respect. Presumably, she represented everything he loathed: too rash, too demanding, too purposeful. “Please say something,” she whispered, no longer able to stand the silence, her eyes still closed.
“I do not know where to begin.”
Rose almost opened her eyes, so surprised by his statement. She heard the horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestones. How long had they been on the road? Surely, she would be home soon.
“I deeply regret destroying the image you have of your fiancé.”
Then do not do it, a voice inside her whispered, but Rose could not say the words aloud. She bit the inside of her cheeks to prevent herself from giving a nervous sob as a strange feeling spread through her chest. It was not fear, at least not only fear, but something much more powerful. Rose dreaded his next words even more than his anger – it was as if she already knew what he was going to say before he said it.
“There is no doubt, my Lady. My sister named him as the man who misled her.”
“There has to be a misunderstanding. Richard … no, I cannot believe it. Are you sure that you heard it correctly?” Had Henrietta lied? But why would she name Richard, of all people? It made no sense, at least not to Rose. Nor could she imagine that the young woman was lying. Rose straightened up and finally opened her eyes. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“Which question?”
She noticed that he was scrunching his hat in his hands and crumpled it. She felt like removing the battered headpiece from his fingers, but instead Rose folded her hands in her lap. “You have not answered any of my questions. For example, what I have done to you. Or whether you expect my fiancé to marry your sister.”
“We are just arriving at your parents’ house,” he said absently. If she were a man, she would have called him out to a duel there and then, barbaric as it was. This man brought her to a white heat by not letting her in on his thoughts!
“Very well, then.” He seemed to have come to a decision. “Lady Rose,” he began, “I wish you all the luck in the world with the man you love, but since de Coucy is responsible for my sister’s misfortune, he should marry Henrietta.”
“If he were responsible,” Rose corrected him, folding her arms across her chest. “Why not ask him ourselves?”
“I have already done that,” said Gabriel. She followed his gaze and saw that he was
right. Her parents’ house was just one junction away. “I was not satisfied with his answer.”
“I want to hear him admit it,” Rose insisted stubbornly. “From his own mouth, in his own words. I understand from what you have said that he did not flatly deny it. You are accusing an innocent man of lying, my Lord.” He seemed surprised, either by her persistence or her nitpick.
“Then I suggest that you and I pay him a call and confront him. Today.” Was there a dare in Cavanaugh’s gaze, or did she imagine that?
“I understand your haste, but can we not wait a day?” Thoughts were turning over in her mind. She had managed to sneak out of the house this morning, but Rose doubted that she could escape Miss Prisson and her mother for a second time in a day.
“His failure to appear this morning does not shed much light on your betrothed,” the marquess retorted sharply. “I will not run the risk of him evading his responsibilities by fleeing the country. Your presence, my Lady, is not necessary.”
“I will not be prevented from hearing the words from his own mouth.” Not giving in nearly cost her more strength than she had left. “Please have your coachman halt here.”
When the carriage came to a stop, she hesitated for a moment. “I shall try my best to be with you this afternoon. Perhaps I can convince my mother that your sister wishes for my visit. Therefore, expect me at teatime,” Rose concluded with more confidence in her voice than she felt.
“If you are not caught right away and banned from going out for the rest of the season, or even sent to the countryside,” he stated.
Did he have to remind her that she had to expect a royal dressing down from Mrs Prisson and her mother, unless her chaperone, surprisingly, kept it quiet from the duchess? “Unlike you, I shall try to remain optimistic.”
Rose opened the door herself, not waiting for Gabriel to help her out of the carriage. She gave him her most majestic smile before making her way to the garden gate she had gone through a few hours earlier. Her departure would have been perfect, had he not had the last word, and had he not cat-called at her with a quote from her favourite poet.
An Unkissed Lady: A Historical Regency Romance (The Evesham Series) Page 8
