“Oh, very nice, Pimmerston," Rowan complimented his lordship's taste in a bored voice.
Lord Pimmerston ignored Charlotte, glowering in the alcove, and touched his elegant neckwear caressingly. “I had left the one I wanted in Sheffield," he rumbled in a regretful tone. “I’ve a mind to cane Crouch for his oversight in leaving it."
A picture of slender elegant Pimmerston caning Crouch, his lordship’s burly valet, fleetingly crossed Rowan’s mind. If Crouch took a notion to, he might turn on his employer and break his effete lordship in half.
“Your betrothed looks lonely across the room, Pimmerston,’’ he commented. “Now that the music’s started, d’you object if I claim the first dance with her?"
“For all of me, you may claim the first dance and all the others. I’ve no intention of leading her out."
Rowan Keynes quirked an expressive eyebrow at Lord Pimmerston. “Don’t tell me you have fallen out of love already?"
“Love?" Lord Pimmerston snorted and snapped open his green-enameled gold snuffbox and took a delicate pinch of snuff. “There’s no question of love here, as well you know. ’’
Rowan’s gaze passed over Charlotte, with perhaps a trace of pity, as she leaned against the wall of the alcove.
“Favor, then? Don’t tell me such a beauty could fall out of favor?" he rallied.
Lord Pimmerston had been simmering under Charlotte’s slights ever since he had met her this afternoon. At the moment he was in no mood even to concede that she was beautiful.
“Beauty? I hadn’t noticed. Headstrong, yes." Across his ancestral hall he gave the recalcitrant Charlotte a lowering look. “Yes, dance attendance on her, by all means, Keynes. Keep her out of trouble. " There was a vicious note in his lordship’s rumbling voice. “I’ll tame her at my leisure. After the ceremony."
“I don’t doubt you will," agreed Rowan Keynes easily. His smiling gaze rested on Lord Pimmerston almost with fondness.
In the alcove, the pain in Charlotte’s arm had lessened now, and she stirred. Hovering almost over her, Semple seemed to tense.
“Well, come along, Semple.” Charlotte cast an angry look up at Semple’s iron jawline. “Make yourself useful. See if you can find me a fan—I forgot to bring mine. ”
Semple stood fixed in place, towering over the shorter Charlotte. “I can’t leave you,” she stated flatly. “Except in the company of one of the four men who brought me here.”
“Well, leave me with this one then!” Charlotte indicated Rowan Keynes, who was walking purposefully toward them. “And go find me a fan. ”
In the minstrel’s gallery above—for this had once been a medieval fortress—a trio of musicians began to play stringed instruments. As their music floated down, Rowan Keynes asked Charlotte if he might lead her out for the first measure.
“I do not know the new steps,” Charlotte warned him. Now that Semple was temporarily out of the way, she was looking about for an escape route.
“Then I will have the pleasure of teaching you,” was Rowan’s firm rejoinder as he led her out upon the floor.
Charlotte cared not a whit that everyone was watching her and indeed whispering about this hurried betrothal. Nor did she care whether she trod upon her partner’s foot or indeed collided with him. Her whole being was concentrated on escape—oh, surely Wend had been able to overtake Tom! If not . . .
“You don’t want to marry Pimmerston, do you?” asked Rowan quietly. “He’s very rich, you know.” He watched her face to see how this latter piece of news would affect her, for it was possible that she did not understand what a great lady she would become by virtue of this marriage.
For answer Charlotte deliberately trod on his foot and flashed a resentful look up at his dark smiling face. “I don’t intend to marry him!”
“Indeed?” He deftly avoided being trodden upon again, although it took some fast footwork. “And how will you avoid it, when your uncle seems so determined?”
Charlotte s violet eyes narrowed. They were approaching the door.
“In the wedding ceremony, when I am asked if I take this man, I will shout, ‘No, I do not take him, and I will not ever take him!’—and run at once from the room.” “That will be an invigorating spectacle,” he said politely. “I shall make sure to attend your nuptials!”
“Oh, do not mock me!” She tried to wrest free of his grasp. It was but a short sprint to the door.
But he kept his hold on her. “I would advise you not to tell your uncle in advance of the ceremony of your intention to refuse your bridegroom in the church,” was his cool admonition. There was a glint in his dark eyes—though whether of humor or sympathy, she could not tell.
“Why not?” she demanded truculently.
“Because there are potions that make one more pliable, even biddable.”
She stared up at him. “You think he would be able to . . . ?” “Oh, I’ve no doubt of it,” was his calm rejoinder.
“He’s a monster!” she burst out. “Sitting down there in Sheffield making all these terrible plans for me!”
“Hush, not so loud,” Rowan cautioned. “Nobody can quite hear your words from where we are, but the expression on your face is creating interest.”
Charlotte promptly turned her head away from the other couples dancing sedately about the floor.
“You know that I am a prisoner,” she accused. “Bodine and my uncle have brought that awful woman here to guard me until the ceremony is over—although why Bodine should be interested. I’m sure I don’t know. ”
“Bodine is doubtless getting a percentage of what your uncle will receive from Pimmerston for arranging the match,” suggested Rowan. And when Charlotte shot a surprised look at him, “Young virgins possessed of such beauty as yours command a high price. ”
“It’s terribly warm in here,” she complained.
“You’re right,” he agreed equably. “Shall we step outside into the garden and cause a scandal? It may be that you will not have to marry Pimmerston after all!”
Incensed that he should adopt a bantering tone over something so desperately important as her future, Charlotte nevertheless let Rowan lead her outside into the cool night air of the terraced gardens that led down toward the lake. The gardens were overgrown—Lord Pimmerston’s servants had been able to do nothing about that in the short time they had been here!—and the grassy paths were soft and sparkled with dew beneath her feet, so that she lifted up her skirts to keep them from getting wet. Around them was the heady scent from the tangled vines of the moss roses that spilled over a nearby wall. A mist had risen from the lake and obscured the shoreline. All the world seemed very still.
Then suddenly she saw Tom as a swirl of mist broke away to reveal him standing motionless by a tree at the lakeshore. He must have been studying the castle and determining how best to effect an entry without attracting attention.
She cast a quick glance up at the dark face etched above her in the moonlight, but if Rowan had glimpsed that shadowy figure, he gave no sign.
“Would you mind very much going inside and bringing me a shawl?” she asked with a sudden shiver. “It’s so damp out here that it’s giving me a chill. ”
Rowan seemed not to think it odd that from declaring herself too hot she was now declaring herself too cold.
“Are you sure you would not like to return inside with me?” he asked.
“No, the roses smell so nice, and . . . and I don’t think I could face all those people right now, babbling about how wonderful it is that I’m about to marry Lord Pimmerston!”
He chuckled. “I can sympathize with that,” he said. And indeed he could, for he had just recently been jilted by a young lady of fashion and splendid good looks and had ridden fuming out of London hoping to cool his hot temper in the north country. When in Sheffield he had been invited to accompany Lord Pimmerston, a recent acquaintance, to his nuptials with a wench on whom he had never laid eyes, the situation had intrigued him and he had ridden along to see what would
happen. Besides, it was on his way to the coast, for he was involved in affairs about which his host knew nothing—though he would have been stunned indeed to learn of them.
But Rowan had eyes even sharper than Charlotte’s; he had not missed that silent figure lurking by the tree. He moved obediently to the garden door, which was conveniently out of sight behind some tall overgrown shrubs, then opened it and closed it loudly—but remained outside to watch through the shrubbery.
The minute Charlotte heard the garden door close, she picked up her skirts and fled across the dewy grass paths to Tom. In the swirling mist Rowan saw her almost throw herself into a pair of arms that closed about her reassuringly.
From the shadows Rowan watched this reunion. A lover, no doubt—he remembered her bland remark earlier about grass stains on the back of her gown and felt a surprising stab of jealousy. He wished he could hear what they were saying.
“Oh, Tom, thank God Wend found you,’’ Charlotte breathed. “We must get away from here!”
“So Wend told me. I’ve no horse, so—”
“There are plenty of horses here! Take your choice!” And that would make him a horse thief and subject to hanging. He hesitated, but only for a moment. “The stables will be full of grooms,” he said. “We'll have to take the best mount we can find of those horses that guests who do not mean to stay the night have left tethered outside.” He led her to them, realizing grimly that he had already staked out the place where they were tethered for just this purpose. “Put your foot in my hands,” he instructed Charlotte. “I’ll give you a boost up. ”
“But I do not ride,” Charlotte protested in panic.
“Then we will ride double,” he decided, and swung her up behind him. “Hang on,” he told her, “and duck when I do, for I’ll be taking us into the woods and you mustn’t be swept off by a low branch. ”
Rowan, who had followed silently through the shadows, had watched it all. There was a strange brooding expression on his face, but he stayed rooted where he was until the “borrowed” horse carrying double had pounded away over the wet grass and disappeared into the darkness.
A number of seemingly unrelated things were passing through his mind. This girl, even with her hair unfashion-ably done and only passable clothes, was even more striking than Katherine Olney had been—and was the toast of London. Clawing memories rubbed his lacerated feelings raw as he saw the dark beauty rise up before him— lovely Katherine with her dark cloud of hair and her mocking eyes and her soft winning manner. Katherine, who had betrayed him, not even bothering to return his betrothal ring before she ran off with young Talybont to Wales. Rowan’s handsome face darkened at the affront, and the cruel lines of his mouth deepened. He’d been of a mind to follow and make her a widow—but other matters too important to ignore had intervened, sending him north.
His thoughts returned to Charlotte. It was not just her beauty. What was there about her? Some quality . . . He could not quite put his finger on it, but it was there. A spirit like a Toledo blade—yes, that was it, a fine resistance to destruction. He smiled at the aptness of the thought.
For a moment he let his mind imagine Charlotte stunningly gowned, making her bow to London society, being presented at court. . . . And then his mind veered back to his own circumstances. He was due in Portugal soon. This surprise visit to Sheffield and the subsequent journey to Cumberland should surely have convinced the dark, furtive fellow who had been dogging his heels ever since he left London—and who was beyond doubt an agent of the Spanish king sent to defeat his mission—that he was merely off on holiday. He could not afford to stay here long, and yet . . . this girl of the blue lake country was beautiful indeed. His mind kept returning to her.
Where would a runaway couple go from Castle Stroud? Carlisle perhaps, or into the wilds of Northumberland, but more likely Scotland . . . over the border, where marriage ceremonies could be performed by anyone in the presence of witnesses. The swift instinctive way Charlotte had gone into that fellow’s arms had not escaped him.
He stood, pensive now, in the cool damp air and imagined himself strolling through St. James’s Park with Charlotte dangling on his arm, and meeting dark lovely Katherine Olney—Talybont now. He imagined Katherine’s face, startled, affronted, if she were to meet him so, for he had had a message from Katherine before he left, delivered even while she was on her way to wed young Talybont, and that message had enraged him most of all. Because of her father’s penury and her meager dowry, Katherine had written with sweetness dripping from her goose-quill pen, she had been obliged to wed Eustace Talybont, who was enormously wealthy, but they would be coming back to London soon—oh, he could count upon it, she would see to that—and dear Rowan must be there when she returned. This sudden marriage of convenience need make no difference between them, they could still enjoy good times together just as they had before. Damn Katherine! he thought violently, his fingers clenching until the knuckles were white. She imagined she could have them both! Oh, how he would like to strike back at her!
He was staring into the darkness at the exact spot where Charlotte and Tom had disappeared when he thought that. His eyes narrowed and he pulled out his gold pocket watch and noted the time in the moonlight. He would give them twenty minutes’ head start. . . .
When the twenty minutes were up he strolled back into the house to find the place in an uproar, with everybody looking for Charlotte.
“Where is she?’’ demanded Lord Pimmerston, gone almost purple with rage. “You were seen to leave with her!” And if you have damaged the goods . . . ! was the unspoken threat behind the words.
“I have been looking for her too,” was Rowan’s bored response. “She asked me to fetch her a shawl. I started to do so before I realized that I should not leave her alone. I turned about and found that she had disappeared. I have been searching the gardens for her, thinking that she might have fainted and fallen into the shrubbery—or possibly had a seizure.” He turned blandly to Russ, who looked choleric. “Is your niece given to seizures, by any chance?”
Russ was breathing hard. “Charlotte is not given to seizures of any kind. We . . . had a disagreement tonight. ”
“Yes, I noticed that she seemed upset.’’ Rowan was enjoying himself. “She was standing by the lake when I left her. You don’t think she could have thrown herself into the lake, do you?”
Russ paled. “Of course not! Neither thrown herself in nor tumbled in—she is far too sensible a girl. Nor was our disagreement that important. It was merely a discussion of her dowry—”
“She wanted one?” cut in Rowan sympathetically.
Russ almost choked. “We disagreed upon the matter!” he roared. “And I’ll not discuss it with you, Keynes!” He turned anxiously to their host. “It is possible she may have gone back to Aldershot Grange to sulk.”
“Yes, I would not put it past her,” snapped Lord Pimmerston, almost beside himself with rage at being thus humiliated in public by the sudden disappearance of his betrothed. “I’ll send someone to the Grange at once to check on that.”
“My horse is missing!” One of the guests bustled up at that moment to report his loss to his host. “Norah and I rode over and left our horses tethered outside, since we didn’t plan to stay long, and when I went out just now, my horse was gone! I was asking about among the servants, and one of them thought she had seen a man and a woman riding away on a horse that fit the description of mine. ” “There’s your answer, then.” Rowan turned cheerfully to his host. “Pimmerston, I do believe your bird has flown.”
9
The Scottish Border, Forty-eight Hours Later
Night had closed down again over the border country. From behind low-hanging clouds the moon scudded in and out, gilding a magical countryside of high peaks and rushing streams and cataracts and gorse and bracken. When they had started out from Castle Stroud, Tom had been tinglingly aware of Charlotte’s arms about his waist as they rode, and he had had to fight off the sudden urge to find some lik
ely place, dismount, and take her on the spot.
Now, some forty-eight hours later, he still felt his blood surge whenever the rhythm of the horse's gait over this uneven terrain brought her firm young breasts into contact with his back. She was tired now and she lay with her weight sagging against him so that those soft mounds were crushed trustingly against his hard body. And tired as he was after two days of dodging the relentless pursuit that had dogged them almost from the beginning, his back still tensed as his muscles responded to her nearness.
In the woodlands in that first dash from Castle Stroud, they had considered where to go. Tom had been all for heading directly north along the lakeshore, passing south of Keswick and making directly for the coast, where they could find some skiff and work their way south. But Charlotte had pointed out that they could be married in Scotland without a license—indeed Wend had told her that Maisey, on whom they had stumbled that day with Tom at Fox Elve, had deserted her James and run away to Scotland with a sailor. She'd been wed at a smithy in Gretna Green, with a blacksmith performing the ceremony, strangers for witnesses, and an anvil serving for the altar. Such marriages were perfectly legal, she argued, and once she and Tom were legally wed, her uncle would have no choice but to accept it.
Tom voiced the opinion that her uncle, arriving in force, would promptly try to make her a widow.
“Not if we already have ..." Charlotte was about to say “slept together," but she blushed and let her voice trail off. “I mean, Lord Pimmerston wouldn’t want me then," she said softly.
Tom had smiled but remained unconvinced. “Revenge is always sweet," he countered. Revenge was a pleasure he had seen men die for.
“I don’t think Uncle Russ would care about revenge— he’d just consider us a lost cause." She sighed. “I think he’s gambled his fortune away, and my mother’s too, and the only reason he is trying to force Lord Pimmerston upon me is that he’s desperate for money. He told me he’d be ruined if I didn’t go through with this marriage." He had told her quite a bit more, but she chose not to say so. “And if our marriage was already ..."
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