She didn’t think she could make it right, not for him.
She walked out into the hallway, her eyesight momentarily gone as her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
Now she was back to where she started: alone, nearly penniless, and untouched.
Her future seemed as bleak as that of the man she was leaving behind her.
Chapter 8
“Ah, Alasdair’s mystery lady.” Alasdair’s cousin stepped out of the darkness and stood so close she could smell his elegant odor of smoke, expensive alcohol, and fine cotton. “Done so soon?”
He chuckled, then reached into his pocket pulled a few bills out, which he pressed into her unresisting hand. “For your trouble. Run along now, and don’t speak of this. Not that anyone would believe you.”
It was clear from his dismissive tone that he thought Mary was just a lightskirt, a woman to be bought and paid for. And he wasn’t wrong, was he?
Much as she would have loved to throw the bills back in his face, Mary pocketed the money and walked to the stairs. She couldn’t survive on her pride. She heard the door open, and then the sound of Alasdair’s cousin’s obnoxious tone again.
She wished Alasdair were feeling well enough to pop his cousin in the nose.
Although maybe Alasdair had done something terrible to disgrace the family, and his cousin had needed to hunt him down and return him. Maybe that explained his haste to go to Scotland.
As she reached the last step, the doctor who’d accompanied Alasdair’s cousin trotted up the stairs, shoving her aside with one of his large, fleshy hands. He glared at her as he hustled up to the second floor.
Mary didn’t trust him or Alasdair’s cousin. Not that she trusted Alasdair, either.
Except he hadn’t hurt her. He’d promised not to hurt her, and he hadn’t.
She felt a lump swell in her throat, and drew her cloak tighter around herself. She entered the common area of the inn, and walked up to the innkeeper.
The man’s eyes widened when he saw her, then narrowed as he took in her disheveled appearance. “Look ’ere, you, I dinna care ’oo your lord be. I don’t care for that kind of thing in my establishment.”
Mary snorted and leaned her elbow on the bar. “You did not seem to mind before my lord’s cousin arrived.”
The innkeeper nodded his head in self-righteous indignation. “That’s cuz of how I dinna know your lord was mad.” He cast his eyes down her form, and Mary bristled.
“He is not mad,” she said, and she meant it. He was all sorts of things, many of them nearly as bad, but he was not mad.
And that she knew he was not mad made her itch to discover just what it was about him that was wrong—because something was horribly wrong, whether in his mind or in his body.
But he’d told her to leave. She could head off to London with a clear conscience. Couldn’t she?
She really was proving to be a good vicar’s daughter, wasn’t she?
She sighed at what she was about to do. But she could not live with herself if she didn’t.
“Where is the necessary?” she asked the innkeeper in an abrupt, commanding tone. He jerked his thumb toward the back and walked to the other end of the bar, obviously no longer considering her a worthwhile customer.
Mary yanked her skirts up and walked quickly in the direction he’d pointed. As she’d hoped, the outbuilding was set off a little ways from the inn. She hunkered down onto her heels in the shadows of a large tree overhanging it and waited.
Waited and yelled at herself. Why was she even bothering? It wasn’t as if he’d asked for help. He’d done the opposite, in fact. He’d refused it.
And asked her to touch him, to assuage his agony. That part made her ache the most. What pain must he be in to need human touch to soothe it?
She stopped arguing with herself when she heard a voice. A very familiar voice. Her insides turned to ice.
“So she was here, then?” Matthias asked in a sharp, peremptory voice. “Trying to trick me by saying they were heading to London.” His voice was triumphant.
The doctor replied. “Yes, but she’s gone now. My companion told her to be on her way.” He sounded unimpressed with Matthias’s urgent tone. If he’d bothered to explain, Matthias would know she’d just left.
“She say which way?” Matthias asked, then answered his own question. “She’ll be heading toward London, that’s where her—never mind. I’ll be off, then.”
“But stay,” the doctor said in a lazy voice. “You look like a gambling man.”
Mary sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the doctor had read her brother so easily.
“Why, yes, I am,” Matthias replied, with the arrogance of someone who thinks just his luck has been bad.
Mary waited a few minutes longer after they moved away, then stood, stretching her aching muscles. She looked up at the second-floor windows, locating Alasdair’s room.
A light still flickered inside, and she prayed that Alasdair hadn’t passed out yet. She began to walk around the perimeter of the inn, listening carefully so she wouldn’t encounter anyone. The last thing she needed was to meet Alasdair’s cousin, or the innkeeper. She found a small, wooden door on the other side of the inn and tried the handle.
“Please, please, please,” she whispered as she squeezed.
It didn’t move. If her father were still alive, she’d have a word with him about the efficacy of prayer.
She gave the handle one last fruitless squeeze, and sighed. If she couldn’t get in without being noticed, there was no point to it.
Then the door creaked, and opened, and Mary leapt behind it, pressing her body against the building. “Just dump it o’er there,” a woman’s voice commanded. Mary heard someone shuffling forward and held her breath. “O’er there, idiot!” the voice said, and the footsteps moved faster.
“Hold the door for me, Anna,” the girl outside pleaded. Mary heard a harrumph and saw a gnarled, work-roughened hand grasp the edge.
“Hurry up, then, them customers ain’t goin’ to want to wait fer you, missy.”
“Coming,” the girl replied. Mary squeezed one eye shut, as if it would make her more invisible. The girl hurried back through the doorway, and the door began to close.
Mary followed it and knelt down, jamming her finger on the edge between the door and the frame. The heavy wood bit into her hand, and she swallowed a cry of pain.
One minute, two minutes, five minutes. At last, Mary decided it was safe to enter and eased her hand more firmly onto the wood and began to pull it very gently open. The door creaked, even at the slow pace she was moving it, and Mary tucked her head down into her knees, hoping that would keep anyone from noticing her. A few more agonizing seconds, and she was inside, crouched against the wall. Her breath seemed as loud as a church bell, and her legs wobbled as she waited for someone to discover her.
Finally, she looked around. She was at a landing between two floors; it appeared to be a servants’ stairwell, providing easy access between the kitchens down below and the rooms above on the second floor. There was very little light, for which Mary was thankful, but she was also terrified she would miss a step and tumble down in a heap.
For a moment, she considered just walking out again—leaving Alasdair to his cousin, and his oddities, and the doctor’s care. But if she did, she knew she’d be haunted by the look in his eyes for the rest of her life.
She slid her foot forward, feeling for the first step up. She reached out and found the slim rail and clutched it. Clinging to it like it was her savior, she edged herself up the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could. She hoped the rest of the inn’s staff was as lax as the innkeeper himself was, and no one would be running up and down the stairs soon.
There were more lights at the top of the stairs, and Mary could see she was on the other end of the hallway from where she had descended. Alasdair’s room was the last one on the left; thankfully, light still leaked out from under the door.
Pinning herself to the
wall, she slid past two doors until she arrived at Alasdair’s. She listened for a long moment, but didn’t hear anything—good, that must mean Hugh wasn’t there either. She knew the doctor was still fleecing Matthias.
She grasped the doorknob and twisted, then darted inside the room and shut the door, leaning against it in relief. She was in.
And Alasdair was still in bed. Not asleep, his eyes were open, but it was obvious he wasn’t any better, despite what the doctor had or hadn’t done. The sheets were tangled around his midsection, exposing a long length of muscular thigh, and his arms were cradling his head. He was staring straight up at the ceiling and didn’t seem to notice she was there.
“My lord?” she called. She spoke in a whisper, but the room was so quiet he should have heard her. He continued staring.
She walked over to him and cleared her throat. “My lord,” she repeated.
He frowned, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “Why don’t you ever call me Alasdair?” he asked. He must still think she was this Judith person.
“Alasdair.” Mary didn’t want to argue with him now.
Alasdair smiled and turned his gaze to her. His eyes were unfocused, the pupils large and dark.
“Where is your cousin?” Mary asked. “Is he coming back?”
“You’re not Judith,” he said accusingly. “You’re—blast, what is your name, love? Something very dull, I remember. Although I don’t. Remember,” he explained, giggling a little at his own joke. Wonderful. He had the giggles again, as he’d had the previous night.
“Alasdair. Where is your cousin?” she repeated more urgently.
He pulled himself up to a sitting position. The sheet fell down onto his lap, and Mary had to concentrate to look at his face, not at the flex and motion of muscles rippling under the surface of his skin as he shifted.
“Now I remember. Mary. My betrothed. I thought I told you to leave. It’s no good for you here, no good at all.” He shook his head in a befuddled manner.
“What is wrong?” Mary asked. It was clear he wouldn’t be able to tell her if they were in danger from his cousin now; better to find out why he was acting so strangely.
A sly smile crept across his face. “Nothing, Mary, nothing. Nothing at all. Not anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she scrutinized his face. He was looking at her, yes, but it was almost as though he were seeing something else besides her. His fingers plucked aimlessly at the sheet covering his body.
She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and stilled his hand with hers, sliding her finger onto his wrist to feel his pulse. It was beating rapidly, a steady, strong thump thump that was almost twice as fast as her own.
“Did the doctor treat you with anything, my lord?”
His lips twisted into a grimace. “I thought we agreed you’d call me Alasdair.” He harrumphed, rolling onto his side and almost knocking her off the bed. He slid his left arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’m so tired. Come lie down with me and sleep.” His voice was seductive and caressing. It tugged at Mary’s heart, making her want to do nothing more than settle into his arms and drift off to dream of a place where there were no relatives, no family worries, nothing but them and their—no, she couldn’t allow herself that kind of luxury.
She wiggled her hips further away from him. Someone had to stay in their right mind, and clearly it wasn’t going to be him. “Alasdair, now is not the time for sleep.” His eyes had closed, and she panicked, wondering if he had already nodded off.
“Such a nag. I am not certain I am up to other things,” he replied in a gently mocking tone. She heaved a sigh of relief that he was awake enough to respond to her. Even if he was mentioning what had nearly happened earlier.
She rose and glanced around the room. The far corner held the rest of his clothing. She walked over to it and gathered it up in her arms. She couldn’t resist lifting it to her nose and sniffing it—after all, he wouldn’t notice, not in the state he was in, and he smelled heavenly. Or devilish. Like warmth, and touch, and leather, and spice.
She returned to him and dumped the clothing on his body. “Get up. Get dressed.” She stepped back a few paces and crossed her arms over her chest.
He opened his eyes and then smiled as his eyes grazed her bosom. “You really have the most magnificent—”
Mary jumped back to him and put her hand over his mouth. She could feel her entire face turning pink. “That’s enough of that, my lord,” she said in a stern voice, one she hoped would quash his intended words. The warmth of his lips under her hand made her warm, also, although she told herself it was just the embarrassment.
He clamped his hand over hers and slid her fingers over his cheek, forcing her to touch the rough stubble of his beard, his sharp, elegant cheekbones.
Mary yanked her hand away and gestured toward the clothing. “We must get you out of here. Get dressed!” This time, she accompanied her words with a stamp of her foot, and she saw his eyes twinkle in lazy recognition.
“You are feisty, love,” he said softly. “Usually I despise feisty, but you”—he smiled; a slow, sensual lift of his lips that made her light-headed—“you are spectacular.”
“So you’ll get dressed?” she pleaded in desperation.
“I’d rather get undressed,” he said, yanking her back down to the bed. Before she could react, she was pinned underneath him, pressed into the soft bed by his hard, lean body. She was too shocked to move, until she thought of what would happen when Alasdair’s cousin returned. And if Alasdair was as important to his cousin as it seemed, she was betting that would be soon.
“Get off me, you … you Pharisee!”
He raised his head and laughed, the Adam’s apple in his throat rumbling in pleasure. “You really are a vicar’s daughter, aren’t you?” He rolled over to the side, still clutching her to him. “But since you insist. I wouldn’t want you to call me another dreadful name.”
He rose, and she turned hastily, walking over to the window. She heard a rumble of laughter behind her, and then the blessed sound of him putting his clothes on.
There was a movement outside, and Mary spotted Alasdair’s cousin walking purposefully toward the inn. “Oh dear, oh dear,” she babbled, turning back around in time to see Alasdair tucking his shirt into his trousers.
He lifted his eyebrow at her.
“Your cousin, he’s coming in, he’s probably coming up, and we haven’t left yet because you are too—whatever you are,” she finished, flailing her arms in the air in frustration.
“Hm.” Alasdair’s gaze narrowed, and Mary let herself hope he was returning to normal. He glanced around the room, but then looked as if he had gotten dizzy from the speedy motion. She rolled her eyes and strode over to him, steadying him with her arm.
“Thank you.” His voice was subdued. “All right then. Hugh is returning, we are leaving, and you—do you have a pistol?” He asked the question as if it were perfectly reasonable.
She clenched her jaw. “Do you think, my lord, if I had a pistol, I wouldn’t have used it when that highwayman attacked us?”
He nodded. “Good point. Well, then. Where’s your book of poetry? That’s a wonderful weapon,” he continued, a wicked grin splitting his face.
She let go of him, and he stumbled and almost fell. And glared at her.
“You deserved it.” She hated that she sounded as self-righteous as she did.
“You still haven’t figured out how we’re going to get out of here,” he said. His demeanor was casual, and Mary wondered if she had misread the situation. “What is your plan? You are one for plans, as I know by now. Hugh is returning to escort me to some protected place where he and his doctor can do what they want to me, and you’re knocking me down.”
“Let’s go, then. Without a plan.” She found his coat and draped it over his shoulders.
When he staggered, she lifted his arm and placed it across her shoulders, reaching around his back to clasp his waist.
To
gether, they advanced to the door. She reached out and swung it open.
And stopped short.
Her stomach fell. Hugh stood in the dingy corridor and regarded her with a raised brow.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, a condescending smile spreading over his face.
Chapter 9
If Mary ever swore, which of course as a vicar’s daughter she didn’t, she’d have yelled “Damn!” while she knocked him down.
She was surprised at how quickly she was able to kick him in the knee, and then drop her elbow right in the middle of his back, felling him to the ground. Then she spotted the bed-warming pan, which the lax landlord had never filled. She grabbed it and banged him on the head just as he was beginning to rise.
He dropped flat to the floor, and for a moment she was frightened she’d killed him. She knelt down and felt his pulse—still strong, thank goodness, and now they had a few moments to escape.
“Take his—oh, never mind,” she said in disgust as she saw how Alasdair was clinging to the door frame. He wouldn’t be any help. She grabbed hold of Hugh’s shoulders and began to drag him into the bedroom, grateful that she’d always been the one to fetch the daily water back home.
Alasdair moved to let her aside, but didn’t do anything else. “Can you shut the door?” she asked in a curt voice when she’d managed to get Hugh inside.
He did, then walked over and peered down interestedly at his cousin. “Remind me never to forget to warm the bed,” he said in a casually observant tone. As though they didn’t have to run for their lives.
Mary ground her teeth. “Would it be possible for you to help me get him up, please?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet voice, gesturing toward the bed. He nodded, not seeming to notice her tone, and gathered Hugh up and dropped him, none too gently, on the bed. Even as ill as he seemed to be, he had considerable strength.
“Well, then,” Mary said, impressed in spite of herself. She reached up under her gown and ripped strips of fabric from her chemise. She wrapped the fabric around Hugh’s ankles, securing him to the bedpost. Then she moved to the top of the bed and did the same for his wrists.
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