“At last,” said Lady Withcote as the carriage entered the courtyard.
“I’m perishing for a cup of tea,” said Lady Cooper. She knocked on the roof with her umbrella. “I know we mustn’t dawdle, dear. We won’t be but a minute.”
Olivia doubted that. She’d have to hurry them along. “I’ll go with you,” she said. “It’s dead dark, the yard’s poorly lit, and it’s raining.” She could hear it now, a patter on the carriage roof.
“Lud, child, we don’t need a nursemaid to walk a few steps,” Lady Cooper said indignantly. “I hope I’m not so decrepit as that.”
“Certainly not,” Olivia said. “But—”
“If we’ve been here once we’ve been here a thousand times,” said Lady Withcote.
“I could find my way blindfolded and drunk,” said Lady Cooper.
“You’ve done that,” said Lady Withcote. “Coming home from one of Lady Jersey’s breakfasts, as I recollect.”
During this exchange, a servant opened the carriage door and put down the step. Unsteadily, the ladies descended.
“That was a party,” said Lady Cooper. “Nothing like it nowadays. Only one paltry, dull affair after another.”
“Nobody ever gets killed anymore.”
The coach door closed, cutting off their voices. Watching from the window, Olivia soon lost sight of them. The rain turned them into a pair of dark shapes, Lady Cooper a trifle shorter and plumper than her friend, before the gloom absorbed them completely.
Olivia sank back into her seat.
Though, according to Mr. Paterson, they’d traveled only eleven and a half miles, it had taken nearly three hours. The bustle and excitement of their hasty departure was long behind them. With that distraction gone, the storm of anger and hurt returned.
That stupid, obstinate, ungrateful man.
She wished she’d pushed him harder. She wished she’d had her umbrella with her. She’d have enjoyed knocking it against his thick skull.
Well, she’d teach him to try those high-handed tactics with her. She’d thought he understood her—but no, he’d turned into a man, and he behaved the way they all did.
Minutes passed. Rain drummed on the roof and on the cobblestones, dulling the clatter of wheels and the clop of hooves. Even in the small hours of morning, on a dark, wet night, travelers came and went. Coaching inns never slept.
In spite of her temper—or perhaps worn out by it—she must have dozed, because her head jerked upright at the sound of voices outside the carriage.
The door opened. There stood the coachman and several other men, including two of her great-grandmother’s footmen, all holding umbrellas.
“If you please, miss,” said the coachman. “A bad storm blowing in.”
“It’s very bad, miss,” said the other man—the innkeeper, apparently. “And getting worse by the minute. I urged the other ladies to wait until it blows over. I judge it won’t be more than an hour or two.”
A gust of wind wailed through the courtyard, trying to take the umbrellas with it. The drumming had swelled to a thunderous pounding.
Olivia was impatient to be off again. It was better to be far from London by the time Lisle caught up. All the same, whatever he thought of her judgment, she wasn’t a reckless fool who’d risk the servants or the horses.
She and Bailey climbed down from the carriage and hurried into the inn.
Though the dowager seemed to think he’d easily catch up with Olivia, and though he’d spent a wearying day, Lisle did not go to bed and take a few hours to rest, like the sensible gentleman he was.
Instead, as soon as he returned home, he speedily bathed, changed his clothes, and ordered his valet to pack. Nichols being accustomed to hasty departures, they were able to set out from London by half-past two o’clock in the morning.
A carriage followed, bearing trunks and valises and whatever household goods Nichols thought they’d need and could be collected on short notice.
That was how Lisle and his manservant came to be riding on the Old North Road, ten miles from London, when the wind gusted up, tearing over the countryside, and the great black clouds massing over his head gave way, and the rain went from drizzle to downpour to deluge in three and a half minutes.
Chapter 5
Olivia found her traveling companions already comfortably settled at a large table in a corner of the public dining room, food and drink before them. Other stranded travelers had gathered here as well. Some were drying off in front of the fire, others were at table, and still others were using the respite for a shave or boot cleaning.
She’d always liked stopping for a meal at a coaching inn. There one encountered so many different kinds of people, of all classes, unlike the beau monde, where they were all the same, and most of them were related.
Since her usual stops were never long enough, she would have happily joined the company here, if the short nap in the carriage had not made her aware of how deeply tired she was.
It usually wanted a week or more to prepare for a long journey like this one. She’d organized everything—for herself as well as the two ladies—in less than forty-eight hours. That left almost no time for sleep.
That was why, instead of joining the company, she hired what the innkeeper claimed was the best bedchamber in the house. She sank into the large, comfortable armchair placed before the fire.
Despite the warmth and quiet, her mind wouldn’t still. It was a long time before the whirl of thoughts and feelings began to blur and she sank into forgetfulness. A moment later, it seemed, she felt the light touch of a hand on her arm, and jolted awake.
“I’m sorry to startle you, miss,” said Bailey.
Her mind still thick, Olivia looked up. A crease had appeared between Bailey’s sleek eyebrows. Not a good sign. Bailey didn’t worry easily.
“The ladies,” said Olivia. She stood up so abruptly that her head spun.
“Yes, miss. A row about a card game. I’m sorry to trouble you, but they’ve upset the local squire’s son. He’s making an ugly scene and calling for constables and magistrates, and nobody’s putting him in his place. The innkeeper’s afraid of him, it looks like. I thought you’d wish to take the ladies safe away.”
While she spoke, Bailey was tidying Olivia’s hair and shaking the wrinkles out of her skirts and otherwise concealing evidence of her mistress having slept in her clothes.
Aware they’d probably need to make a speedy exit from the inn, she contrived to get Olivia into most of her outer garments while they hurried along the corridor. At the top of the stairs, the raised voices were plainly audible. Olivia raced down and into the public dining room.
That was when she realized she’d spent more time with her unquiet mind than she’d supposed. Not only had the rain stopped but grey daylight illuminated the scene outside of the windows. The dining room was a-bustle. The rain must have delayed a number of travelers, and they were all hungry. Those eager to be on their way hastily swallowed their food and departed. Even so, the room was more crowded than it had been a few hours earlier. Busy servants rushed in and out, carrying trays.
Meanwhile, one male voice continued shouting, and the mood of the room was growing ugly. The innkeeper having failed to take charge, a fracas was brewing.
Normally Olivia wouldn’t have minded. A melee could be exciting. The trouble was, it usually led to authorities being summoned. That would mean a long delay, which she preferred to avoid.
All this went through her mind while she sized up the source of the disturbance.
A stout sandy-haired young man, who must have been drinking all night, was pounding on the table where Olivia had last left the ladies. By the looks of the table, they’d emptied mine host’s wine cellar as well as his larder and his guests’ pockets.
“You cheated!” the drunkard shouted. �
�I saw you do it!”
Lady Cooper rose from her chair. “If there’s anything I can’t abide,” she said, “it’s a sore loser. Cheating, indeed.”
“Now, now, Mr. Flood, sir,” said the innkeeper. “It’s only a little game—”
“Little game! This pair robbed me of fifty pounds!”
“Robbed you, indeed,” said Lady Withcote. “It’s not our fault you can’t hold your liquor.”
“And can’t see straight,” said Lady Cooper. “And can’t tell a knave from a king.”
“Not our doing,” said Lady Withcote, “if your mind’s too muddled to remember the cards in your own hand.”
“I saw well enough to see you cheat, you thieving old hags!”
“Hags?” shrieked Lady Withcote.
“I’ll hag you, you sotted moron,” said Lady Cooper. “Why, was I a man—”
“Was you a man, I’d knock you down!” the young man shouted.
Olivia pushed her way through the crowd.
“Ladies, come away,” she said. “The man is obviously out of his senses, else he wouldn’t behave in this ungentlemanly manner, threatening harmless women.”
Face red, the young drunkard whirled round toward her. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Olivia often had this effect on men seeing her for the first time. He was very drunk but not blind.
Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she tried to herd the ladies out of the room.
To her annoyance, he recovered quickly.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” he shouted. “They got me drunk and took advantage and robbed me, and they won’t get away with it! I’m taking them to magistrate and I’ll see them carted and flogged for it!” He picked up a chair and threw it at a wall. “I want my money!”
The threat did not alarm her. Any Dreadful DeLucey could make a magistrate putty in her hands. But Olivia was in no mood to beguile magistrates or waste time calming obstinate, obnoxious men.
She’d spent the last two days in a frenzy of preparation—all for the sake of a stubborn, rude, idiot male. She’d scarcely fallen asleep before being wakened on account of yet another obstinate, rude, idiot male.
She was tired and hungry and the man she’d considered her best friend had turned out to be exactly like every other thickheaded man.
“You, sir,” she said, in the cold, clipped accents her stepfather used to crush upstarts and ignoramuses. “You have insulted these ladies. You will apologize.”
He paused in the act of picking up another chair. He set it down and stared at her. “What?”
The onlookers’ grumbling and muttering subsided.
“Apologize,” she said.
He laughed. “To them battle-axes?” He jerked a dirty thumb at her companions. “Are you daft?”
“Then choose your weapon,” she said.
“What?”
“Choose,” she said. “Pistols or swords.”
He looked about the room. “Is this a joke? Because I won’t be made a fool of.”
She stripped off her gloves, walked up to him, and slapped him with one of them. “Coward,” she said.
A collective gasp.
She stepped back a pace while surreptitiously taking note of her surroundings: escape routes, obstacles, and possible weapons.
“Your behavior is despicable,” she said. “You are contemptible.”
“Why you—”
He lunged at her. She grabbed a coffeepot from the table at her right and swung it against his head.
Then matters grew lively, indeed.
While the storm raged, Lisle had had to take shelter at an inn in Enfield, more than a mile down the road.
By the time he rode into the courtyard of the Falcon Inn, the sun was well up. He expected the inn yard to be bustling with stranded travelers eager to be on their way. What he found was a lot of people milling about near the door to the dining room, all of them straining, apparently, to see what was going on inside.
He dismounted, leaving Nichols to deal with the horses, and started toward the door.
“What is it?” he heard somebody say.
“Squire’s son, drunk again, and raging about something,” someone answered.
“Nothing new in that.”
“This time a redheaded female’s raking him over the coals.”
Lisle hurried into the dining room in time to hear Olivia insult somebody. He thrust through the crowd, but he wasn’t quick enough. He saw—and heard—her slap an obviously drunk young man with her glove.
Thanks to a gawking onlooker getting in the way, Lisle hadn’t time to tackle the drunkard before the man went for her. Olivia hit him with a coffeepot, and he went down. A servant carrying a tray tripped over him and knocked over a guest in the process. Some people ran to the doors, and a few climbed onto chairs and tables, but the majority crowded close to the center of the fray.
While Lisle was clearing a path to Olivia, he caught sight of Bailey. Unlike everyone else, the maid kept her head, calmly gathering the two old ladies and shooing them toward the courtyard.
Olivia’s voice called his attention back.
“You are a disgrace to your entire benighted sex,” he heard her say in the icy tones she must have learned from Rathbourne.
The dazed drunkard lay where he’d fallen, blinking up at her.
Now was the time for her to make herself scarce.
But no.
“A gentleman takes his lumps and learns from them,” she raged on. “But you—picking on women. You ought to be ashamed, you great, drunken bully. It’s a pity there’s no one about man enough to give you a proper thrashing.”
“You tell ’im, miss!” someone shouted from the safety of the back of the room.
“Always throwin’ his weight around.”
“No one touches him ’cuz he’s squire’s son.”
They were eager for a brawl. Normally, Lisle would enjoy joining in. He’d take great pleasure in giving this jackass a thrashing he wouldn’t forget.
But brawls were unpredictable things, and Olivia in one of her temper fits was unpredictable, too. He couldn’t trust her not to get killed.
He tapped her on the shoulder. She threw an impatient glance back at him—a furious flash of blue—before reverting to her tirade.
Lisle couldn’t be sure—given the state she was in—that she’d even recognized him. And given the state she was in, there was only one thing to do.
He came up close behind her, looped his arm over her right shoulder and across and down under her left arm, thrust his hip into the small of her back to take her off balance, and dragged her away. She struggled, but the awkward angle of her body left her no leverage at all. She could only stumble back whither he towed her, cursing him all the while.
“I’m not done with him, devil take you! I’m not going! Let me go!”
“Stifle it,” he said. “We have to get out of here before the village constable comes and people find out who you are and you end up in the newspapers again.”
“Lisle?”
“Who else?”
An instant’s silence, then, “No!” she shrieked. “Take your hands off me! I’m not done with him, the great, drunken thickhead!” She tried to kick backward, but he kept his legs out of danger as he pulled her over the cobblestones toward the coach.
“If you don’t settle down, I vow, I’ll knock you unconscious, tie and gag you, and take you straight to Derbyshire,” he said.
“Oooh, you’re so big and strong. I’m so afraid.”
“Or maybe I’ll leave you trussed by the side of the road.”
The innkeeper, who’d followed them out, ran ahead to open the coach door before the footman could do it. Lisle pushed her up the step. She st
umbled into the vehicle, and her maid caught her. He slammed the door shut.
“Away,” he told the coachman. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He watched the carriage rattle out of the courtyard.
“Thank ’ee, sir,” said the innkeeper. “Best to have the ladies out of the way in a case like this. Out of sight, out of mind, I always say.”
Lisle thrust a bag of coins into his hand. “Sorry about the mess,” he said.
He quickly found his horse and Nichols. A few minutes later, he was upon the Old North Road once again.
She was going to kill him.
Unless he killed her first.
Ware, Hertfordshire
Twenty-one miles from London
Declaring themselves famished, the ladies Cooper and Withcote disembarked and hurried into the Saracen’s Head for breakfast.
Olivia sent Bailey in with them, but remained in the carriage, trying to collect herself. She needed a cool head to think, to deal with Lisle.
Between the exhaustion and the annoyance of realizing she’d miscalculated, cool thinking was difficult. It hadn’t helped to hear the two ladies, dear as they were, prattling on. They’d seen Lisle throw somebody out of his way, and that was the most thrilling thing they’d seen in years. They wouldn’t stop talking about it and speculating in their usual bawdy way about his muscles and stamina and such.
Their comments brought back the warm pressure of his powerful arm across her body. She could practically feel it still, as though he’d left an imprint, curse him.
Never mind. He was a man being excessively manly, and it was thrilling, but she’d recover.
And being Lisle, naturally, he had to be aggravating and turn up more quickly than she’d expected.
She’d known he’d follow. He saw himself as her big brother, and he was protective by nature. Furthermore, like every other male, he believed he was infinitely more rational and capable than any woman. No man could trust a woman to take charge of anything except a household and children—and among the upper orders, women were barely trusted with those departments.
Even her mother, who was not at all blind to her faults, would know Olivia was more than qualified to undertake both a long journey and the restoration of a property. Not that she’d intended to do it alone—but she could.
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