She yanked her cloak from the chair and draped it around her shoulders, not looking at him as she pulled it across her chest. “You will be fine, my lord, and I will reimburse you for the mon—”
“Damn the money!” Alasdair slammed his fist down on the table. “I made a mistake. I am well aware. But you cannot go off on your own. Your half brother is still out there, did you forget? And my cousin, if he finds you, how kind will he be to the woman who tied him to a bed?”
She finally met his eyes. He knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth. “I have to leave. You know that.” She held her hands out as if the gesture would explain what her words couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.
He didn’t understand. Not at all. He knew he’d tried to save her, tried to protect her from what would hurt her, only it had turned out what she needed protecting from was him. Just like Judith.
“Go, then.” He turned back to the bed and sat down. “Just go.”
He heard the soft swish of fabric, the turn of the lock, and the door as it swung shut behind her.
He dropped onto the bed and covered his eyes with his hands.
Chapter 15
She closed the door softly behind her. She hated herself for pausing to see if he would come after her.
Nothing but silence.
For at least a mile, she couldn’t stop asking herself “Will he be all right?” She should be wondering if she would be all right: Did she have enough money; could she make her way to the mail coach safely; what would her mother say when she finally arrived in London?
But Mary couldn’t rid herself of the image of his face, his stricken expression, so different from the arrogant aristocrat she’d come to know. And … she had to forget about all that now. She dug into her pockets and found the roll of bills she’d taken from his pocket. She pulled them out, glancing around to make sure no one was around. Not a soul in sight.
There was enough here to take the mail coach to London, feed her along the way, and leave her with some emergency money.
That should relieve some of her anxiety. She wished it did.
It was just past nine o’clock. Early in the day for your life to irrevocably change. Again. The sunlight filtered through the trees overhanging the dirt track she was on. She heard birds chirping, and water running, a bit more distantly.
The sun was heating her back, and she stopped to remove her cloak, looping it over her arm. “I will be fine,” she announced. She flung her head back and squinted at the sun. “I will be fine!” she yelled, and heard the clamor of startled birds.
“Sorry,” she muttered, then chuckled. She didn’t have to apologize to anyone, not anymore.
She was free—on her own, with notes stolen from a lord, newly bought shoes, her father’s Donne book, and her mother’s name. On the way to London.
“Free!” she yelled into the trees. She didn’t sound as joyous now. She frowned. It was the right thing to do, leaving him.
She enumerated the reasons in her head, wishing she were as ruthless as he was, so she could walk away and be done with it.
He breaks his promises. Frequently.
He is addicted to something that makes him behave as if he were mad—so mad he would deign to marry an illegitimate vicar’s daughter and not ravish her when he had the chance.
Her walk slowed. He is arrogant, high-handed, irascible. And charming, intelligent, and witty.
And she wanted him. Was that the real reason she’d run from him? Because she couldn’t trust him—or herself?
She stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t trust his actions. She had to remember that every time she thought about his green eyes, or how he teased her about using her book as a weapon, or how he’d sounded when he told her about his family.
She began walking, more slowly now, humming one of her father’s favorite hymns. One of the innkeeper’s stable boys had pointed her toward the place where the mail coach stopped, at another inn just a few miles down the road. She hoped she’d be there by lunchtime, and she could rest and wait for the next coach to take her to London.
It wasn’t the best plan, but it was, indeed, a plan.
Three hours later, her plan didn’t seem quite as plannish as it had before—she was perspiring, her left foot had a blister from her new shoes, and her stomach was clamoring to be fed. “Soon, soon,” she muttered, peering up ahead at the road to see if she could catch sight of her destination. She spied a curl of smoke—from a chimney, she hoped, not a fire—and quickened her pace, trying to ignore her various aches and pains.
“Welcome, miss,” a man said as she approached the inn. “Can I help you?” Mary was grateful he didn’t seem to think it odd a woman was walking on her own up to his establishment.
“I would like a meal, and can you tell me when the next mail coach arrives?”
He glanced at the sky, where the merciless sun was still beating down. “Coach will come in about two hours,” he said. “Plenty of time for my missus to feed you. You look like you could use a good meal.”
Mary almost looked behind her to see who he was talking to. She’d never been accused of being too thin before.
She followed the man into the inn, allowing him to take her cloak, and sat down with a grateful sigh at one of the long wooden tables in the common area.
“Here’s my wife, she’ll set you up,” the innkeeper said, hanging her cloak on a hook near the bar.
A woman bustled up, wiping her hands on her apron. “Can I get you something, miss?” Her face was round, very round, and Mary could see why the innkeeper thought Mary was too thin. This woman was large all over, with a wide, friendly smile. “I’ve got a nice meat pie just fresh out of the oven.”
Mary’s stomach growled in response. “Yes, thank you, that would be lovely,” Mary said, feeling her cheeks get flushed. The woman nodded in satisfaction and headed back toward the kitchen.
“You’re a bit—should you be traveling by yourself, miss?” The innkeeper’s voice was so kindly and caring Mary was tempted to burst into tears and tell him everything. He was a definite change after the ill-tempered proprietors she and Alasdair—her throat closed over.
She had to stop thinking about him. She was on her own now and she’d be fine, hadn’t she told the birds that?
“I am meeting friends in London, and my maid has had an unexpected illness.” The lie rolled off her tongue so suddenly she was surprised at herself. The man nodded as if he believed her.
The woman came out again, bearing a steaming plate of something. The odor reached Mary’s nose, and she was hard-pressed not to jump up and grab the plate from the woman before she could set it down on the table. “Here you go, dear,” the woman said, placing the food in front of Mary.
Mary settled her napkin on her lap, picked up her fork, and lifted a bite to her mouth. It was delicious, and as Mary chewed, she thought again how proud she was of herself. She’d made it here, on her own, and would be on her way to London, to her mother, before long. She didn’t need anybody, did she?
While she ate, she glanced around at her surroundings. The inn was clean and cozy, with wooden beams overhead, matching the long tables in the dining area. She was the only patron, but still, the innkeeper had built up the fire—even though the day was warm—and various servants bustled to and fro, carrying enormous piles of vegetables and, once, a half-dozen chickens.
If Alasdair were here, Mary would have to point out her choice of inn was much better than his. If he were here, he’d be sitting facing her, his long, elegant fingers holding his fork, poking about in his food.
He’d admit, grudgingly, that the meal was tolerable, and would most likely engage her in conversation about literature, or science, or something that would draw her out so she would get all flustered. As she never had been before in her life.
If Alasdair were here, she’d tell him just why she had left.
“Mary?”
Mary jumped, dropping her fork to her plate, where it landed wit
h a clatter. She looked up, eyes wide. There he was. Like he’d walked out of her mind and into her life. Again.
Only he looked worse than in her memory—he was unshaven, his eyes were bleary, and he had obviously been running his fingers through his hair many, many times. It was sticking straight up in spots. Not at all the picture of the flawless aristocrat.
Of course, he was still so handsome it made her lose her breath, but she couldn’t think about that.
“What are you doing here?”
He sat down on the bench opposite her and rested one hand on his knee. “Isn’t it obvious? I am here to find you, to keep you out of trouble.” His eyes traveled around the room, a dissatisfied expression on his face. “Lord knows what mess you’d get yourself into on your own.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed, and she glanced around to make sure no one could overhear. “Look, my lord,” she said, leaning toward him and speaking in a fierce whisper, “of the two of us, you are the only one who is likely to get in trouble.” She picked up her ale and drank half the glass, just so she didn’t throw it in his face.
“Mary.” His tone made her hand still as she was lowering the glass. “I—I didn’t just come here to keep you out of trouble.”
He lowered his eyes to the table, his lashes long against his face. “I came here to apologize. To beg you to forgive me.”
Mary opened her mouth to tell him it was fine, the way the old Mary would have, that she did forgive him, and then she clamped it shut again. She wasn’t going to be so soft, not anymore. He had shown her how wrong that was. “Yes?” She straightened her spine.
“I thought I was stronger than that,” he finished, shaking his head in apparent despair.
Mary’s chest tightened. Not so fast, a voice said inside her. Remember how many promises he’s broken? Remember that he is so deeply in that drug’s thrall that he would put himself and you in jeopardy just to have it. Remember he is erratic, and dangerous, and—
“I need you,” he said in a broken voice.
Remember he needs you.
“I know I promised.” He gave a dry laugh. “And you already know how well I keep my promises.” He drew a deep breath. “But I promise, Mary, that I will not do that again. Please.”
He swallowed. “Please come with me, let me take care of you. I want to take care of you.”
Another pause. “I need to take care of you.”
Mary lifted her eyes to meet his. She’d never seen him look so fragile, not even when he was in the throes of his illness. And having seen him suffer, she believed it was an illness, not just something he did because he could. He did it because he had to.
She just had to make sure he didn’t have to. At least until they were safely to London. Her thoughts stopped short as she realized she’d already made up her mind.
“Yes,” she replied in a quiet voice. “I will return with you.” He smiled then, a grateful, open smile that just about melted her heart. “But,” she said, holding her hand up, “there are conditions.”
His smile turned a little crooked. Which only melted her heart further. “Of course there are, Madame Schoolteacher.”
“One,” she said, ticking the point off on her index finger, “absolutely no more opium. Two, you will let me handle the money from now on.” His smile dimmed. “Three, you will take proper care of yourself. Four, we will work on a plan to make sure your cousin can’t harm you anymore.”
Now he was staring blankly at her.
“And five,” she finished, “you will have to trust me.”
His mouth tightened, and it looked as though he was going to argue, until finally he nodded.
“You agree?” she prodded.
His eyes flashed green sparks. “Yes, I agree.” His words were said through a clenched jaw.
“Good. We can shake on it.” Mary stretched her hand out across the table to meet his. His hand was warm, and his handshake was firm. Not clammy, at least.
“And in exchange,” he said, holding her hand so she couldn’t let go, “I expect you to tell me the truth, to allow me to take care of you, and not to leave me. Do you agree?”
He was looking at her so intently she worried he could see the secrets she held in her heart. “I agree.”
When she spoke, he released her hand. She pulled it back and cradled it in her lap, rubbing it where he had gripped it so tightly.
“Is everything all right, miss?” The landlord came up and gave Alasdair a searching look. He turned to look at Mary, who gave him a reassuring smile.
“Fine, thank you. Tell your wife the food was delicious.”
“Yes, bring me food as well,” Alasdair said in his most autocratic manner. Mary winced.
“Yes, my lord,” the man replied. He headed back toward the kitchen.
“Do you have to do that?” Mary said.
He gave her a look of surprise.
“Do what?”
She shook her head in annoyance. “Act like the lord of the manor. These people are being very kind, and you are treating them like servants.”
His brow furrowed. “That’s what they are, aren’t they?”
“Be kinder. That is my first order.”
He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
They glared at each other for another minute until the landlord returned bearing Alasdair’s meal. “Here you go, my lord.”
Alasdair met Mary’s eyes. “Thank you very much, sir,” he said in a mild tone of voice.
“You are most welcome,” the man said. “And may I say my wife and I are very happy to have such fine people as you in our establishment. Some of the gentry treat you like you don’t exist.” He nodded in enthusiastic outrage.
“Imagine that,” Alasdair said dryly. Mary kicked him under the table.
As the landlord walked away, Alasdair raised an eyebrow at Mary. “Am I not allowed to comment, then?” he asked. He chuckled.
“Speaking of ill-tempered gentry,” Mary said, “what are we going to do about your cousin?”
“Let me take care of him,” Alasdair said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Mary’s throat constricted.
“No, let us take care of him. We are partners now,” she said firmly.
“Partners.” The glint hadn’t receded, and Mary had an uneasy moment wondering what he was thinking.
Welcome to hell, Mary.
Chapter 16
I have to leave. You know that.
After she’d left Alasdair had lain there, just lain there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he’d come to be like this, feel this way. He, who had sworn never to care about anyone again was in agony over a vicar’s daughter, a schoolmistress, no less, leaving him just because he’d slipped up.
It was a mistake. Anyone could have made it.
Anyone who was addicted to opium and scared of what he’d done, what he’d allowed himself to feel.
“Damn her.” He flung his hand over his eyes.
***
An hour ticked by, then two.
And he was still lying there, still filled with self-loathing, as he realized she had been right all along; not that she’d said anything. She didn’t need to. When he’d bought that opium he had realized he was disappointing her and himself and breaking all of the promises he hadn’t broken already.
“Damn me.”
He couldn’t rest until he told her. He had to ask for her forgiveness. And if she wouldn’t give it? He would get down on his knees and beg her. She had to relent.
He knew she liked him, he’d seen the warmth in her blue eyes, heard the crackle of humor in her voice as he baited her. And the past few nights—how he felt about her—well, that wasn’t important, what was important was that she was safe.
Breakfast was a stale piece of bread he grabbed from the landlord as he shrugged his coat on. He stalked outside to get Primrose; Mary couldn’t have made it too far yet, as long as she hadn’t gotten a lift. His throat tightened as he thought of her
traveling alone on the road. The landlord had told him she had asked directions to the nearest mail coach. Unless Mary had lied to the landlord—which he doubted; she didn’t have the eyes for it—he would find her soon enough.
He had to find her.
After an hour of hard riding, he reached the inn. He was sore, anxious, and sick. His fingers were stiff and achy from gripping the reins so tightly, and he knew Primrose was worn out also.
“Is a Miss Smith here?” he demanded as he leapt off the horse’s back. The stable boy shrugged his shoulders, taking Primrose’s bridle and nodding toward the main inn. Alasdair scowled, and walked inside.
The abrupt change from the sunlight to the dark inn blinded him, and he had to blink to refocus.
And then he spotted her. She had her back to him, and he could see the soft, delicate nape of her neck below her severe bun.
“Mary?” he said, sitting down on the bench opposite. Her eyes widened and for a minute he thought he saw a look of relief. It was replaced quickly with a guarded expression. The light in her eyes dimmed as she regarded him.
***
“What is your plan, my lord?” she asked, looking up at him with a challenge in her eyes. She folded her hands in her lap, her eyes still fixed on him. He swallowed a sip of tea and wished, desperately, it was brandy.
“My plan,” he said. “Well, my plan is—”
He was saved by a commotion at the front. The door burst open, and a group of men came, or rather rolled, in. At first glance, the group appeared to be fused together, they were so entangled.
Alasdair watched as the biggest man pulled his fist back and clocked the man in the middle of the tussle in the jaw. The man’s head snapped back and then bounced forward, like a child’s jack-in-the-box. Alasdair squinted as he looked at the man’s face; was that Richa—
He half-rose, and opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it closed when the man met his eyes and shook his head decisively.
Alasdair sat back down slowly, returning his eyes to Mary, who was watching the fracas in horror.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” she asked, gesturing toward the group. Another of the combatants had the man Alasdair seemed to have recognized in a headlock, and was punching him repeatedly in the stomach.
Megan Frampton Page 14
