BRIGHTON BEAUTY

by Clay, Marilyn

  "Alayna, darling, it is I. Rutherford."

  "Oh!" Horror-struck, Chelsea sprang from him.

  The gentleman's lips pressed tightly together. "Well," his tone became brusque, "I am pleased to see you, as well, Cousin." He turned to call over his shoulder. "Miss Marchmont is safe. I need a driver here. We are off for Castle Rathbone."

  With that, the powerful man climbed into the coach and settled his large frame on the seat next to Chelsea. She snatched up her bonnet from the floor and hurriedly secured the ribbons beneath her chin. Though she felt vastly indebted to this man for saving her life, discovering that he was the real Lord Rathbone suddenly made the idea of being set upon by highwaymen a less frightening prospect than she'd first thought it would be.

  Chapter Four

  “A Most Startling Encounter”

  Feeling exhaustion about to overtake him, Rutherford Campbell fell back against the squabs. Three days of chasing Sully's tail had left him bone-weary and irritable. He hadn't wanted to come to England, hadn't even planned to be here for his own wedding, but after learning of his former overseer's plot to steal his inheritance, he'd had no choice but to drop everything and make the arduous journey to England at once.

  The sea voyage from Honduras had been long and treacherous. High winds and stormy conditions had plagued the passengers and crew the entire way. But, at last they reached shore, and once near Bristol, Lord Rathbone came near to overtaking Sully and his men, only to lose them again when another storm blew up and dashed all hopes of capture.

  Feeling certain that Sully was on his way to the castle, Lord Rathbone had sent a message to the authorities in Chester asking that the constable there alert his mother and betrothed to the danger they were in, but either the warning had come too late or word had never reached them.

  Exhaling a weary sigh, Lord Rathbone turned a sidelong gaze on his cousin. Thank God, he had arrived when he did. He had no doubt that before Sully was done, he would have ruined her.

  "Are you certain you are all right, Alayna?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

  By the dim moonlight engulfing the carriage, he watched the young lady at his side lower her golden head, her still-frightened eyes refusing to meet his. An odd tightness caught in Lord Rathbone's chest. Alayna was more delicate and fragile than he remembered. In fact . . . a sweeping gaze took in her flushed cheeks, the small tilted nose and trembling full lips, she was as near to perfection as any woman could be. Suddenly, the memory of her throwing herself into his arms a moment ago beset him. With it came an unwelcome longing that the steel-hearted Rathbone had not been prepared to feel. Not for Alayna. Not for any woman.

  Swallowing tightly, he turned away.

  Theirs was to be a marriage of convenience, a contract between two agreeable parties that would benefit them both. After the ceremony, Alayna would join him in Honduras, of course. She was to be his wife, but even that arrangement was calculated merely to fulfill the second part of the agreement, to beget him an heir. Beyond that, he expected nothing from her, that is, not in the way of sentiment. As a planter's wife, she would have certain duties, but Rathbone was rather looking forward to the fact that neither of them would be bothered with the complication of falling in love with one another.

  Rathbone was perfectly content with the life he had carved out for himself across the sea. Ten years ago, he had left England and, completely on his own, had created a mahogany empire that was second to none. The release of his inheritance now would enable him to increase his already vast holdings, to build better homes for his workers, and schools for their children. Rathbone took pride in what he had accomplished and in the fact that he was a man of vision, whose noble thoughts and honest deeds placed him head and shoulders above many Englishmen of his time. For the most part, he did not miss his homeland. He was a self-sufficient and self-contained man, and beyond the satisfying of his own normal sexual appetites with women who were more than willing to accommodate him, he had wasted no time in pandering to the fairer sex.

  He glanced again at his cousin. Having a wife would not change that, he vowed. Not even a wife as beautiful as Alayna.

  "Are you quite certain you are unharmed?" he asked again, finding it somewhat difficult to speak around the odd tightness in his throat.

  When she refused still to look at him, he knew a prick of disappointment, but with decision, thrust it aside.

  Finally, the young lady said, "I am fine," but her gaze remained fixed on her lap.

  "And Mother?" Rathbone persisted. "Was she as fortunate as you? Sully did not harm her, I trust?"

  Watching his companion closely, he noted her eyes, beneath unbelievably long lashes, cut round to the corners, but still she did not look at him.

  What had happened? Five minutes ago she had flung herself into his arms!

  "Good God, Alayna!" he exploded. "Can you not even look at me?"

  When she at last directed a tremulous gaze upward, the abject fright Rathbone perceived in the depths of her dark eyes caused him to regret his outburst. "Forgive me, Alayna. I should not have shouted. I have not slept in days and I admit I am exhausted from sheer lack of rest." He paused. "I should merely like to know if Mother is well, or not. Surely you can put my mind at ease on that score."

  A pause followed, then, "She is . . . well enough, sir, or, at least, she was when last I saw her."

  The young lady had deigned to lift her chin, and for the space of a second, their gazes locked. Suddenly, Rathbone was near to overcome by a compelling urge to gather his betrothed into his arms again and hold her close.

  He swallowed. "I expect this ordeal has overset you beyond endurance, Alayna," he murmured. Unable to quell the unsettling urge completely, he did stretch an arm across the back of the seat and gently laid a hand on his cousin's shoulder to urge her toward him. But, at once, he felt her stiffen beneath his touch.

  His jaws pressed together with disgust. "It was not my intent to molest you, Alayna. I merely sought to offer comfort."

  With that, he withdrew his arm, and folding them both across his chest, he slid down on the bench in order to rest his own head against the squabs. "I should like to sleep a bit. I've been days, nay weeks, chasing Sully's tail and I am near fagged to death."

  He closed his eyes, but was startled into awareness a second later when Alayna said, "You are . . . acquainted with the man?"

  Rathbone opened one eye. "Sully? Of course I am acquainted with him! He has been my overseer these past eight years, until he grew so lazy and insolent I was obliged to release him. Surely you recall my writing to you about it. At length, as I recall."

  Another pause followed. When it became apparent that no response was forthcoming, Lord Rathbone lifted his head to look at his cousin. "Am I to infer from this that you have not been reading my letters, Alayna?"

  He watched her twist her small hands together in her lap. "O-of course, I have been reading your letters, sir, it's just that . . . h-how was I to know that he was Sully?"

  "He had no trouble identifying you."

  He noted she seemed to experience some difficulty drawing breath. Finally, she said, "But . . . he carries m-my miniature in his waistcoat pocket. The . . . the portrait I sent to you following our . . . b-betrothal."

  "Hummph." Rathbone slid down onto the bench. "I never saw it."

  "You . . . never saw it?"

  Rathbone's eyes closed again. "Sully has been intercepting my letters. Must have been in the last packet. The man is an unprincipled scoundrel with no regard for anything decent. I shall see him hanged for this treachery."

  "Hanged?"

  Lord Rathbone's head jerked up. "Surely you can have no objection to that, Alayna?"

  "But . . . sir.” Her eyes were especially large and round. "No harm was done. Lady, I-I mean, Aunt Millicent was unharmed, and, as you can see, I am . . . I am . . ."

  "What are you babbling about, Alayna?" Rathbone snorted his impatience. "Sully is vile and contemptible. Despite the fact that he ha
s not yet killed a man, I would still insist he hang. Apparently you have forgotten that deception is the one thing I cannot forgive!" With that, he pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes, the action signaling the end of the discussion.

  Beside him, Chelsea tried to still the rapid pounding of her heart. Deception! Hanged! Oh! she had never felt so distressed in all her life! If she were to divulge her true identity to Lord Rathbone now, he would think her one of Sully's accomplices and have her hanged, as well! Most especially when neither of them could produce the real Miss Marchmont! Oh! This horrid coil was becoming far too complicated to bear, let alone unravel. If only she could think what to do.

  After spending what seemed like hours reviewing her options, which weren't many, she decided that whether she liked it or not, she had no choice but to continue playing her part in the taradiddle. When Alayna returned to the castle, she could explain the whole silly business to her aunt and cousin. In the meantime, it was to Chelsea's advantage that Lord Rathbone had not seen the portrait of Alayna, and that, thus far, he seemed to accept that she was, indeed, his betrothed. But, what would happen when the incriminating miniature turned up? She dared not think about that.

  * * * *

  Russet fingers of light had begun to stretch across the early morning sky when the dusty black Marchmont coach lumbered onto the rickety-wooden bridge spanning the castle moat. The jostling of the heavy carriage awakened Lord Rathbone from a deep slumber.

  "Bridge is frightfully bumpy," he muttered, his voice sleep-heavy. "Must have fallen into disrepair."

  Beside him, Chelsea had been wide-awake most of the journey. "Much about the castle needs attention," she returned quietly.

  Lord Rathbone was glancing from one side of the coach to the other. "Bailey's overgrown. Why haven't the groundskeepers kept the brush under control?"

  Chelsea saw no need to respond. There was such a lot to be done at the castle. She wondered if perhaps Lord Rathbone would see to the repairs now that he was here.

  "Well, I can see my work's cut out for me," he mumbled.

  Chelsea cast a glance his way. "Will you be staying long, sir?" she managed to ask evenly.

  He snorted. "Hadn't planned to."

  At that, Chelsea's spirits rose the veriest mite. If the gentleman did not mean to stay, she might indeed be safe.

  When the carriage drew up in front of the castle, Chelsea was grateful when Lord Rathbone insisted she retire to her bedchamber at once, saying he would explain matters to his mother once she was up and about.

  "Thank you, sir," Chelsea murmured, striving to keep her head down as she spoke. With daylight fast upon them, Lord Rathbone might still be inclined to question her identity. There remained the matter of her eyes being brown, instead of the clear blue Alayna's were.

  Indeed, as he reached for her hand to assist her to the ground, Chelsea was acutely aware of Lord Rathbone studying her. Without looking at the tall gentleman, she moved quickly to the stone steps when, with a single word, his voice halted her.

  "Alayna."

  Her breath in her throat, Chelsea waited as determined strides brought him forward.

  "Alayna," he said in a low tone, "we are betrothed, consequently it is perfectly acceptable for you to address me by my Christian name. 'Sir' has a far too formal ring to it."

  "Yes, si . . . I mean . . . as you wish, Rutherford."

  His lips pursed and after turning to fling hasty instructions to the coach driver and a sleepy footman, he stepped into the darkened foyer alongside Chelsea.

  Alone with her indoors, he continued, "I must also ask that you look at me when you address me, Alayna. As a planter's wife, a certain authoritative air about you will be expected. I find your habit of ducking your head when you speak quite lowering, to say nothing of being dashed annoying. You are an . . ." his authoritative tone suddenly took on a raspy quality, "an attractive young lady." With that, he abruptly ceased speaking altogether.

  Chelsea could not think what her looks had to say to anything, but she obliged the gentleman by tilting her chin upward. Suddenly, the deafening silence surrounding them grew excessively loud. That there were no servants about at this early hour was not unusual. What was unusual, Chelsea noted, was the fact that she had traveled an entire night in the presence of this gentleman and had not noticed how very attractive he was.

  Quite tall and powerfully built, his aristocratic features . . . well-shaped nose, square jaw, and thick, dark hair . . . closely resembled a number of other Campbells whose portraits hung in the picture gallery just beyond the foyer. Recalling with some embarrassment the unrestrained manner in which she had flung herself into this gentleman's arms when he bravely rescued her from Sully's clutches, she felt the colour in her cheeks deepen and her eyelids involuntarily dropped again. The memory, she realized, was not altogether unpleasant.

  In truth, she was deeply indebted to this man, but because she had been so preoccupied with worry about what would happen once he uncovered her subterfuge, she feared she had not properly thanked him for saving her life, not really. "I am very grateful to you . . . Rutherford," she began, "for rescuing me as you did." She struggled to lift her eyes. "You were . . . very brave. I was so awfully frightened. I have always had a fear of . . . perishing in a carriage accident."

  She found Lord Rathbone's gaze still fixed upon her face, the expression in his dark eyes unreadable. "I did not know that about you, Alayna," he murmured.

  Listening to him, Chelsea suddenly realized she had been speaking from her own heart. If she were to successfully carry on the pretense with Lord Rathbone, she must remember to play her part in a manner more befitting Alayna. With renewed decision, she lifted her chin and inhaled deeply.

  "Well, I expect there are a good many things we do not know about one another, Rutherford. It has been such a very long time since we were together. Why, I was not above ten when last I saw you." She sighed loudly. "But now I am feeling quite tired. I did not spend the entire night sleeping as you did, Ford." She put great emphasis on the shortened form of his name as Alayna often used it. "I should like to rest now," she added.

  Her sudden flippant tone seemed to shatter Lord Rathbone's thoughtful one. "Of course, you must be exhausted, Alayna. Well then, sleep well, my dear."

  Cocking her head in a saucy manner, Chelsea pranced across the room, leaving Lord Rathbone to stare at her backside as she sashayed the length of the corridor away from him.

  Upstairs, she hurriedly undressed, climbed into bed and fell at once into a sound slumber. Upon awakening, however, she was once again sharply aware of the hard knot of foreboding that sat like a rock in the pit of her stomach. Last evening, she may have convinced Lord Rathbone that she was indeed his cousin Alayna, but when she left the castle the previous morning in Sully's company, Lady Rathbone had appeared none too sure.

  Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, she saw that it was already half past noon. Not bothering to call for Dulcie, she dressed quickly, wondering all the while what had transpired this morning while she slept.

  Upon setting foot in the dining chamber a few moments later, she was vastly surprised when Lady Rathbone greeted her quite cheerfully.

  "Good morning, Alayna, or should I say, 'good afternoon'." She laughed, her gnarled hands wrapped around a warm teacup. "I hope you had a good sleep, my dear." She glanced toward the sideboard where Rutherford was heaping his plate with the delicious smelling meal of roast beef and steamed vegetables that had been laid out for them.

  "Rutherford has been telling me all about the frightful episode you suffered with that reprehensible man, Sully," Lady Rathbone continued. "I declare, I was never so shocked in my life! Although I was equally as shocked when this young man appeared at table this morning, declaring that he was my son! Do sit down, dear," she admonished Chelsea, "I shall have a servant bring you a plate."

  Chelsea obeyed without a word, aware that Rutherford was now headed for his place at the head of the table.

  T
aking his seat, Lord Rathbone greeted Chelsea in a warm tone, then said, "I had not realized your sight had so suffered, Mother, that you would be hoodwinked by that reprobate, Sully."

  Lady Rathbone sighed. "I was thankful when spectacles let me read again, but I would exchange that gladly for the ability to see a face clearly when it is more than six inches from my own. And I thought you had acquired the roughest way of speaking while you were away."

  Chelsea squirmed. "We were all taken in," she said quietly, suddenly realizing that in spite of the fact that she had hardly eaten in two days, she was still too nervous to eat.

  "That Alayna was taken in is understandable. You two have not seen one another since you were children. But, I feel quite bird-witted for not recognizing the man as an impostor. Still, Alayna," Lady Rathbone gazed expectantly at Chelsea, her tone making her words a question, "you fell in so quickly with the man's plan."

  Chelsea struggled to calm herself. "I wished only to remove that horrid creature from your presence as quickly as possible, Aunt Millie. I was quite frightened, actually. For all of us."

  "And well you should have been," Rathbone put in gravely. "When provoked, Sully can be a dangerous man. To say truth, I would never have hired such scum had I not been hard put for another Englishman on the plantation. As it was, Sully proved untrustworthy from the start. I once learned he had diverted funds intended for cutting to his own pocket. I should have dismissed him then."

  "I wonder that you did not," Lady Rathbone mused.

  Rutherford glanced up from his plate. "I expect I was trying to be a generous and forgiving employer, Mother. I recall he put on quite a show of remorse. But I have since learned my lesson. Once a traitor, always a traitor."

  Chelsea winced.

  After a pause, Lady Rathbone said, "Rutherford tells me the man absconded with your portrait, Alayna. How thoughtful you were to send Ford such a lovely betrothal present. I wish I could have seen it myself. I'm sure it must have been quite beautiful."