‘Continue...? Oh, no. You are not coming with me. You are to go home. Right now. You have seen how dangerous it is on the roads. I cannot allow—’
‘One: as I said before, it is not your place either to give or to withhold permission. Two: it is now dark and I am not so foolish as to ride all the way home, on my own, at night. Who knows what scoundrels I might meet? Not to mention Mr Deadly and his bloodthirsty band. Three: I cannot wait meekly at home, waiting for news of Daniel. I have had five days of that. Five days of doing nothing other than hoping for the best, as you yourself said. I need to be doing something. Please. Allow me to help.’
‘But—’
‘No one will find out I’m not a youth, I promise.’ He was wavering, she could tell. She pressed home her advantage. ‘Tell me what gave me away and I’ll make sure it does not happen again. Besides...’ she stepped closer ‘...you need someone to watch your back. I proved that, earlier.’
Vernon huffed a sigh.
‘What gave me away?’
‘Your voice. Specifically...’ he tilted her chin up until their eyes met ‘...the irritatingly hoity tone in which you said your thanks when I gave you that coin.’
Thea bit back a grin. She had taken offence at that typically aristocratic gesture towards a lesser mortal who has done them a service. She had not met many as high-ranked as Vernon, but she recognised the type.
‘Then I shall ensure I am suitably humble in the days ahead.’
‘And,’ he continued, ‘I have yet to come across a youth who smells quite as...enticing...as you.’ His voice lowered. ‘You smell of flowers—like a garden in midsummer.’
His deep tone did peculiar things to her insides.
‘Then I shall neglect to wash myself for a few days,’ Thea said. ‘We cannot have you too...er...enticed, now, can we?’
A muffled snort of laughter gave her encouragement.
‘What say you?’ she said. ‘Are we partners?’
‘Partners? Hmmm.’ He shook his head. ‘I just know I am going to regret this, but...very well.’
‘Yes!’
‘I insist on one condition, though.’
‘Which is?’
‘You remain in disguise, every minute of every day. You must think of yourself as a youth—no missish airs and graces, no maidenly protestations and most definitely no tears or swooning. You will be my nephew.’ Thea caught a flash of white as he grinned. ‘I shall be your Uncle Vernon Boyton.’
‘Boyton?’
‘One of my brother’s minor titles. We use it occasionally when he doesn’t want to travel as a duke, with all the pomp that can entail. So, Master Boyton, what name shall we—?’
‘Theo,’ Thea said, before he could come up with some totally unacceptable name. ‘Daniel calls me Thea, so—’
‘Not Dotty? I am disappointed.’
‘So,’ she went on, through gritted teeth, ‘Theo will be perfect.’
‘I shall endeavour not to forget. Now, I don’t know about you, Dot—Theo! I do beg your pardon—but I am starving. Shall we return to...what was that village? Harborne, that is it...and have something to eat?’
* * *
When they reached the Bell they rode around the back to the stable yard where an ostler scurried out of the stables to take the horses. Vernon tossed him a coin in that careless, aristocratic manner that had so irritated Thea earlier. If he had ever known the fear of losing everything, he would not be so unthinking in tossing a coin.
‘Take care,’ Vernon murmured, as they returned to the front of the inn. ‘We must not discuss your brother yet. Wait for when we are alone.’
Those words prompted a flutter deep inside Thea’s stomach. When we are alone... For a few glorious moments she savoured those words, until common sense intervened. They were taking part in a masquerade. He was of a completely different world to her and, besides, had she not sworn to herself that she would never again look twice at any man?
She sneaked a sideways peek at Vernon as they arrived at the front door.
He seems trustworthy.
But, then, so had Jasper: handsome and smooth-talking on the outside, concealing deceit and greed and downright cruelty.
The innkeeper greeted them and passed them on to the care of his wife when Vernon requested bedchambers for himself and his nephew.
‘I’ve got joining chambers available, sir, but that’ll be no problem for you and the young sir there,’ Mrs Topping said as she led them up the stairs.
She showed them into a large room and lit two lamps with a tinderbox from her apron pocket. A huge bed dominated the centre of the room. Mrs Topping held one lamp aloft and ushered Thea to a door in the corner, through which there was a box room with a tiny window and a narrow single bed. There was no outer door, she noted uneasily, just the door into the main chamber.
‘These will suit us very well, Mrs Topping,’ Vernon said. ‘I shall be able to keep close tabs on young Theo here.’
He reached out and, before Thea realised his intention, he tweaked her ear.
‘Ouch,’ she squealed, rubbing at her ear.
‘Oh, dear. That voice of yours will not behave, will it, nevvy?’ Vernon said, with a wide grin. ‘One minute low, the next squeaking like a girl. You’ll be relieved when it’s finally broken for good, I dare say. At least then you will sound like a man.’
Thea glared at him, still rubbing her ear. He was relishing this, the wretch, and she wondered how many more jokes he would enjoy at her expense.
‘Dinner will be ready in half an hour, sirs, if you care to come down to the parlour then,’ Mrs Topping said. ‘The maid will be up directly with warm water for you.’
After she had gone, Vernon sat on the edge of the double bed in the outer chamber and bounced a couple of times.
‘Hmmm, yes, perfectly adequate,’ he said, before swinging his legs up and stretching out full length upon the mattress.
Thea averted her eyes and hurried into the smaller room, feeling her cheeks heat as a devilish chuckle followed her.
‘Be so good as to send the girl in with the water when she comes,’ she snapped, before slamming the connecting door.
She sat on the bed, slumping despondently as she registered quite how sparse and unforgiving the mattress felt under her buttocks. She had not anticipated being at quite such close quarters with Vernon. Neither had she envisaged being stuck in a tiny hole of a bedchamber with the only way out through his bedchamber. She must endure for tonight—to demand better accommodation would only risk revealing her disguise—but if Lord Vernon Beauchamp imagined she would accept such arrangements in any of the nights to come, he might think again.
Tomorrow morning, she would be laying down some rules.
She lay back upon the bed, wriggling to try to get comfortable. Then the murmur of voices and the click of a door closing catapulted her to her feet, to wait for the maid to bring her water through. There was silence from the adjoining room. Thea crept over to the door and put her ear to the wood. There was no sound for the longest time and then...a grunt, followed by a gasp and then the splash of water being poured. She waited, but all she could hear was the slosh of water in a basin and the occasional hiss, as of air being inhaled sharply through gritted teeth.
Impatient to know what was happening and when she, too, might expect some water, Thea tapped on the door. Lifting the latch, she inched it open.
‘Are you decent, my lord? Is it safe to come in?’
‘Decent and safe?’ He chuckled, setting her teeth on edge. ‘Now there’s a question. Yes, you’re safe enough, Theo, my lad. My tastes never did run to boys.’
Thea thrust the door wide and stalked into the other room. ‘Where is my...oh!’
A wide expanse of hair-dusted chest met her gaze. A ripple of...something...undulated
through her, stealing her breath, and she wrenched her gaze from Vernon, mentally scolding herself. She had seen Daniel’s bare chest numerous times, as well as the workers in the fields at harvest time, so why did his chest affect her so?
‘I wondered what had happened to my water,’ she said.
‘The maid only brought the one jug. She said she was bringing another for the young master straight away. She would think it strange if I allowed you to have the first jugful.’
He was right, but that did not soothe Thea’s ruffled feelings. She faked indifference as she scanned the room although all she wanted to do was to feast her eyes once more on Vernon’s magnificent torso, with its sculpted muscles, wide shoulders and the tantalising trail of hair that narrowed as it disappeared into his breeches...
Her thoughts stuttered to a halt.
Vernon had dropped his shirt and, as her gaze alighted on it, Thea gasped and swooped on the garment, snatching it from the floor. She shook it out and held it up to the light of the lamp.
‘You’re bleeding! Why did you not say?’
Vernon—one arm raised above his head as he dabbed at his side with a washcloth—snorted.
‘What would’ve been the point of that? There was nothing could be done about it before and I am dealing with it now. Besides, I did tell you.’
‘You said it was a scratch.’ Thea hurried over to him. ‘Let me help.’
She ducked under his raised arm and took the washcloth from his unresisting hand. She wrung it out in the water and turned her attention to the gash across his ribs.
‘It is a scratch. The knife must have glanced off a rib,’ Vernon said. ‘Look—’
He indicated one end of the gash, at the front of his torso, about three inches below his left nipple. Thea’s mouth went dry at that fascinating flat disc, so different to her own.
‘It started here and then glanced away, and around my side. Bit of luck it didn’t go in deep.’
He twisted from the waist and Thea saw the long gash became shallower as it followed the curve of his ribcage. Vernon’s arm was still raised and, when Thea glanced up, she had to batten down a peculiar compulsion to stroke the soft chestnut-coloured hair that grew underneath. Her heart hammered in her chest as his musky scent surrounded her, but the realisation that Vernon was entirely unmoved by their proximity—concentrating solely on his wound—gave her the strength she needed to ignore her erratic reactions. She began to cleanse the wound, which had stopped bleeding, aware that infection could be a problem.
As if he’d read her mind, Vernon said, ‘I asked the maid to bring up a length of bandage and a glass of brandy.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘It will sting, of course, but that is preferable to an infection of the blood.’
‘Sting?’ That one word was infused with horror. ‘My dear Dotty, the brandy is to drink. I am in dire need of a tonic.’
Thea pursed her lips, aware he was deliberately provoking her by calling her Dotty. She could only hope he would soon tire of the sport if she did not react.
At that moment there was a tap on the door and the maid came in, carrying a jug, a glass containing amber liquid and a strip of cloth. Thea reacted quickly, reaching the maid before Vernon had even turned around.
‘Thank you.’ She took the glass and bandage from the maid. ‘If you could put the jug in the other room, please?’
Vernon had tilted his head and was watching Thea closely, his eyes narrowed. She held his gaze. He needn’t think he could intimidate her so very easily. She needed him fit and well if they were to find Daniel, and that meant—like it or not—the brandy was going on his wound. The maid emerged from the inner room.
‘Thank you...er...?’
The maid bobbed a curtsy. ‘Janey, sir.’
Vernon smiled at her, bringing a rosy blush to her cheeks. ‘Thank you, Janey.’
Hmmph. Flirting with the maid in front of me. He’s only doing it to annoy me.
Vernon’s smile widened as he caught Thea’s eye. The maid left the room, closing the door behind her, and Vernon held out one hand.
‘I’ll have that, thank you,’ he said.
Thea wrapped both hands around the glass, holding it tight against her chest, and shook her head. ‘You can drink brandy any time. This is needed for medicinal purposes.’
He prowled across the room towards her. Her pulse quickened, and she retreated to the far side of the bed.
‘Precisely,’ he said. ‘And it will fulfil its medicinal function from the inside. In my belly.’ He rounded the end of the bed.
‘No. Listen...’
She was trapped. There was nowhere to go other than across the bed itself—impossible while holding a glass of brandy. Why hadn’t she thought this through before challenging him? He neared her with every step, that bare chest of his filling her vision and turning her insides into a mass of jelly.
‘Well?’ he queried, silky smooth. ‘You asked me to listen.’
‘If there is any left, you may drink that,’ she said.
‘After a cloth has been dipped in and out of it?’ He shook his head. ‘I think not. Try again.’
He halted in front of her, but made no move to take the glass. Her legs trembled—and not with fear—as she searched her mind desperately for something...anything...to say to persuade him. Her gaze, she realised, was still locked on to his chest—so close, so tempting—and she forced herself to look up at his face. Where she caught, and recognised, the roguish glint in his eyes and the twitch of his lips. She frowned.
Vernon threw his head back and laughed uproariously. ‘Your expression,’ he gasped. ‘It was a delight. You did not really believe I would wrestle the glass from you by force?’
He spun round and crossed the room to stand by the lamp. Thea remained still.
‘But...’ she said. ‘You...’
‘Come.’ He beckoned her. ‘Come and do your worst. Of course I ordered the brandy to cleanse the gash, foolish girl.’
Fuming silently, Thea walked over to him. Before she could say anything, though, he reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her face to his.
‘You are entirely too gullible, my dear Dotty.’ He pinched her chin gently before releasing it. ‘We are going to have to toughen you up, if you are to pass muster as a youth. Teasing and ribaldry are all part of the disguise.’
He lifted his arm again, and passed Thea a handkerchief. ‘Here. Use this. It is clean.’
Thea moistened the handkerchief and dabbed at the cut, repeating the process until the entire length had been treated. Throughout, Vernon remained silent, only the occasional flinch betraying the sting of the spirit.
‘There. It is all done,’ Thea said.
She fetched the bandage from the bed, where she had thrown it when Vernon began stalking her. Vernon raised both arms and challenged her silently with a raised brow. Thea narrowed her eyes. He was entirely too cocky. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how rattled she was by being here with him half-naked. She moved closer and reached around him to pass the bandage behind his back. Heat scorched her skin as she momentarily pressed her cheek to his chest. She forced herself not to react, but calmly brought the bandage around and tied a half-knot to hold it in place. Then she walked around him several times, wrapping his torso—and those fascinating slabs of muscle that caught her eye every time she passed in front of him—until the gash was covered and she could tie off the bandage.
‘There. Now I must go and have a wash and put on some clean clothes, or we shall be late for our supper.’
‘Wait.’
A hand grasped her shoulder before she had taken two steps towards the door in the corner. She faced him, raising her brows in enquiry. He reached out and ruffled her hair.
‘What have you done?’
His soft query
, the underlying sadness in his voice, brought a lump to her throat as she recalled her hurried shearing of her locks. She tried to smooth her hair, knowing the attempt was futile.
‘It is nothing. It will grow again.’
His lips tightened momentarily. ‘It is a mess.’
He then captured her gaze and a teasing glint lit his eyes. ‘I refuse to be seen in the company of a youth with such a dreadful haircut,’ he said, ‘particularly when that youth claims to be a relative of mine.’
He strode to his saddlebag, rummaged around inside, and then turned to reveal a pair of scissors in his hand.
‘Oh, no.’ Thea backed towards the interconnecting door, shaking her head. ‘No, no, no. I refuse to allow you near me with those.’
Vernon followed her, gaining on her. ‘I cannot possibly make a worse fist of it than you already have,’ he said. ‘Joking aside, Dotty...it looks utterly appalling. Come... I shall only tidy up the ends a little. They are so ragged anybody could guess you have cut your hair yourself. Do you really want to draw such attention to yourself?’
Put like that, what could she say? With a silent sigh, Thea stalked across to a wooden chair and sat down. She closed her eyes and folded her hands tightly in her lap.
A comb began to tug through her curls, snagging on tangles. She kept her eyes screwed shut as Vernon worked quietly and methodically. Then there was a pause and he lifted one curl, raising a shiver that raced across the surface of her scalp. She clamped her lips together as she heard the metallic snick of the scissors. Each time he fingered another curl her skin grew increasingly sensitised and the heat rose from deep inside her to flush her chest, neck and face as she battled to remain motionless on the chair.
By the time he murmured, ‘There. All done’, she was a quivering wreck.
She did not look into the mirror. Nor did she pause to look at the hair on the floor. She sped through the door between their bedchambers and closed it softly behind her, leaning back against it as she fought to calm her breathing.
Chapter Seven
‘You were in the taproom of the Nag’s Head when I came in,’ Vernon said.
Scandal and Miss Markham (The Beauchamp Betrothals) Page 7
