Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  Stilling her startled heart with a hand to her chest, she slid over to make room, and he sat beside her on the seat. “You frightened me.”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t want to take time to stop. We are on the main pike. It would be better to stay to the back roads, but I fear we would still be on them this time next month if we did. We should be in Leicestershire by morning. Is all well with you?”

  His angular profile, barely visible against the window, turned toward her. She could feel his breath against her cheek where they were crowded together on the seat, and suddenly Diana became aware of the warmth of his thigh pressed against hers. She drew in a sharp breath and his smoky, masculine scent welled up in her nostrils. Oh, my!

  “I—I…” For a moment she could not remember what he had asked. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine. I only find it a little tiresome to be riding alone in the dark.”

  She tried to move away from him a little, but a lurch of the coach rocked her back against him. He slipped a hand behind her, gripping her shoulder to steady her. “Damn these ruts!”

  A deeper hole rolled them back the other way. Vincent grasped the handhold and pulled her against him to prevent her falling onto Bytham. In the next heartbeat it became very quiet in the carriage. Both of them had stopped breathing. The road leveled out and Diana found herself looking up into the shadows of his face. They sat thus for several heartbeats, his face coming nearer and nearer. At last she heard a strangled whisper.

  “No.”

  And he hastily left the coach by the same means he had used to enter it.

  As they passed through the crossroads, the hair on the back of Vincent’s neck lifted. He signaled Throckmorton to pause and considered his choices. Which way would a pursuer expect him to go?

  If the pursuer did not already know.

  The certainty that he was being watched grew in Vincent. Had he been on the watch for someone, he would pay close attention to the crossroads. Very close attention.

  “Which way, me lord?” Throckmorton peered into the darkness uneasily.

  “I don’t think it matters. Don’t look about too hard. Just drive on for a bit.”

  Throckmorton flicked the reins and headed down the westernmost lane. Vincent climbed onto the roof of the coach and stretched his long frame out between the trunks, watching their back road for several minutes. The moon having set, he saw nothing in the faint starlight. Nor did he hear anything.

  But the prickles along the nape of his neck refused to abate.

  He returned to the box. “Pull over to the edge of the road.”

  Throckmorton complied and Vincent descended and opened the door. “Diana, I want you three to get out of the carriage for a little while. Can you manage?”

  “I suppose so.” He could hear the puzzlement in her voice. “But what about the children? They are both asleep.”

  “We will carry them.” He beckoned to Throckmorton. “Take Selena. I’ll carry Bytham.”

  “But…why?” Diana clasped his shoulder to anchor herself as she climbed out. “Won’t it seem odd if someone sees the coach sitting here empty?”

  “If their intentions are innocent, they will think no more of it than that the driver is answering a call of nature. If their intentions are otherwise, we will be ready for them.” Vincent ushered her away from the road, up the bank and through the smaller trees, gripping her arm to help her up the slope. Throckmorton scrambled after them easily, Selena’s weight appearing to bother him not at all.

  When he found a huge oak tree, Vincent pulled Diana behind it. He kicked away what debris he could and looked about for unfriendly residents. A futile exercise. How would he see any small creature, friendly or otherwise, in the shadows of the woods? He had no choice but to lay Bytham on the ground and hope that nothing bit him. Throckmorton followed suit, propping Selena against the tree.

  The boy muttered groggily and then subsided, but Selena rubbed her eyes, mumbling a querulous, “Where are we?”

  “Shh!” Diana quickly knelt beside her daughter. “We mustn’t make a sound. Can you be still as a mouse?”

  “Uh-huh.” The girl leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder, already dozing again.

  “Good.” Vincent patted Diana’s back encouragingly. “We won’t be here long. Stay behind the tree. If you hear gunfire, get down on the ground.”

  “Gunfire! Where…where are you going? You will not leave us here alone?” The anxiety in her voice was clear. Little wonder.

  “Only for a few minutes. Here…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his second pistol. Fumbling in the dark, he found her hand and pressed the gun into it. “Only use this if you must.” He smiled wryly in the dark. “And for God’s sake, try not to shoot me or Throckmorton.”

  She caught his arm. “This is not necessary, my lord. I have one of my own in my pocket.”

  He took the pistol back, startled. “You know how to use it?”

  He sensed her nod rather than saw it. Good. An extra weapon might make all the difference. He drifted silently back down the bank. Beside him the big man moved with surprising stealth. They put out the lamps and took up positions a little distance apart not far from the carriage, concealed in the shadows.

  They had not long to wait. As soon as they had hidden themselves, the muffled throb of distant hooves floated toward them on the wind. In a matter of minutes three dark silhouettes could be seen outlined against the stars. The trio approached the carriage cautiously and dismounted.

  One of them peered inside while the others cast around for signs of life. “Ain’t here. Where do you reckon they’re at?”

  “In the bushes, like as not. Spread out and ’ave a look.” The three of them edged carefully into the woods.

  Vincent waited, every muscle tense, his ears straining. One of them was almost within arm’s reach. Closer. Just a little closer. Vincent sprang, bringing the butt of his pistol down on the searcher’s head with a resounding crack. The man crumpled to the ground.

  Silence ensued. All sounds of motion ceased. Even the breeze stilled. Vincent held his breath. At last a whisper came through the darkness. “Jake?”

  Throckmorton moved. The second man shrieked as the big hand came out of nowhere and spun him around. The boxer’s sledgehammer fist connected with the pursuer’s jaw, and the man toppled backward full-length on the ground. And didn’t move.

  Diana crouched behind the tree listening to the confusing sounds coming from nearer the road. And to the rustling in the undergrowth moving toward her up the hill. Wiping damp palms on her skirt, she peeked cautiously around her tree. She could not see from her hiding place who had ridden up, but she had heard several voices—voices that were not those of Vincent or Throckmorton. Then something had happened. She had heard a pair of thuds and a cry.

  But who had cried out? Had it been one of her protectors? Were she and the children alone, stranded in the woods? God forbid! She held Selena closer.

  The disturbance in the brush moved closer. Diana grasped the pistol in one hand and placed her other one firmly over Selena’s mouth. The girl squirmed, but subsided when Diana tightened her grip. Just then a dark form rose up on the other side of her oak.

  Who was it?

  He was not as big as Throckmorton. Broader than Vincent?

  The indistinct shape leaned one shoulder against the side of the tree, breathing heavily. He was not twelve inches away! In spite of herself, Diana uttered a strangled gasp.

  The shape jerked back violently. “Gorblimey!”

  Diana pulled the trigger.

  Suddenly the woods were full of commotion. Selena pulled away and screamed. Diana grabbed frantically for her daughter’s arm. “Get down!” She shoved her to the earth.

  Stumbling footsteps crashed away through the underbrush.

  Other footsteps pelted up the hill.

  “Diana!” Vincent burst around the trees. “Are you all right? Where is he? What happened?”

  “I have him, me lord.” Throckmorto
n’s voice rumbled through the dark.

  Diana dropped the pistol and threw herself into Vincent’s arms, sobbing hysterically.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t—”

  A considerable time had elapsed before Vincent was able to quiet Diana’s sobs and convince her that the man was not dead—a fact that seemed to make little difference to her uncharacteristic panic. By that time Selena was crying, too, and even Bytham had waked, clamoring loudly about something Vincent could not interpret. It was not until he had managed to calm both ladies that he recognized in the boy’s complaint the demands of a genuine call of nature.

  Vincent’s unmarried state began to seem more desirable by the minute.

  He put Diana and Selena in the carriage and carried the boy to a spot of relative privacy. In spite of his tension—or perhaps because of it—Vincent could not stop chuckling. It was so damned anticlimactic!

  By the time he had dealt with Bytham’s situation, Throckmorton had stanched the brigand’s wounded arm and tied him and the still-unconscious others, seated, against various trees. The wounded man complained bitterly all the while.

  “I say, mate, you can’t leave us ’ere like this!”

  “Oh, aye. I can.” Throckmorton straightened from his task. “Someone will be along in the morning.”

  He looked questioningly at Vincent who hesitated for an instant. By rights he should shoot them. Very likely one of them had been the surviving ruffian who had hurt Diana, and he had promised himself… But Vincent could not envision killing three men in cold blood in the presence of Diana and the children. There were some things even he would not do.

  “Correct. Any brass on them?” He put Bytham in the coach where a still-trembling Diana sat, clutching her daughter to her breast.

  Throckmorton held up a small purse. “A bit.”

  “Take the coins and leave the purse. That should slow them down.” Vincent gathered up the reins of the horses their adversaries had ridden. “You drive. I’ll ride one of these and lead the others. They might prove useful later.”

  In fact, he intended to dispose of the mounts at his first opportunity. They would provide bright flags to their pursuers, proclaiming the party’s whereabouts. But perhaps if the bastards thought he had kept the mounts, they would waste time looking for them for just that reason. He could not afford to let them get so close again. The thought of one of their number getting close enough to Diana for her to shoot him made Vincent weak in the knees.

  After passing several lanes leading off the main road, he had Throckmorton turn east on one of the narrowest. Sure enough, a mile or two down the path, a farm was just becoming visible in the first rays of sunlight. The farmer, a provident soul, was already making his way to the byre. It took the negotiations of only a few minutes for Vincent, muffled in his coachman’s wig and coat, to establish that his master had suffered an accident on the road. Money changed hands and Vincent was assured that the horses would receive the best of care in the barn—out of sight—until Vincent returned for them.

  Which would be never.

  When they went to earth, the sun had climbed well above the trees. Vincent had owned the house for two years, but had stayed there only a few times. Not even his associates knew of its existence. What no one knew, they could betray under no amount of duress, nor even inadvertently. The small manor lay at the end of a long curving drive surrounded by trees and approached by narrow lanes. One would have to know where it was to find it.

  He had never been so glad to see it.

  “As long as we are at Eldritch Manor, we are the Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Greenleigh,” he informed Diana as the carriage pulled up to the door. “The staff knows me only as an eccentric gentleman who prefers buying houses to staying in inns. Which, come to think of it, I am.”

  The solidly built, fair-haired caretaker appeared on the steps hastily buttoning his coat. His wife, a pleasantly plump woman with salt-and-pepper braids wound around her head, bustled out to meet them while a half-grown boy hurried forward from the stable to take the horses. Diana climbed down wearily, but predictably Selena and Bytham jumped out and gazed eagerly about at their new surroundings.

  “Look, Mama. We are still in the country.” Selena clapped her hands in approval. “May we go for a walk?”

  Diana sighed. “Not now, dear. We must have breakfast.”

  “After breakfast? May we?” The girl bounced on her toes. “May we? Please? Please?”

  Diana had long since lost the energy to deal with importuning. She said shortly, “Selena, do not beg. It is not ladylike. Later we will see.”

  The housekeeper stepped in to her rescue, patting Selena kindly on the back. “You will have a walk, my dear, as soon as you’ve eaten your porridge. My daughter, Fanny, will take you so your poor mama can rest, and you may visit the stables with Aidan. We have kittens, don’t you know.” She turned to Vincent. “You never said you had a family, Mr. Greenleigh.”

  Vincent nodded cooly. “No, Mrs. Cobbs. It is a recent event.”

  Mrs. Cobbs turned to Diana. “Ah! So good to meet you, Mrs. Greenleigh. Had you let us know you were coming, we would have made ready, but no harm done. I’ve still time to bake and I can get another girl from the village to help out. You look quite done up, ma’am.” She spared a reproachful glance for Vincent. “And little wonder, traveling through the night this way. But I’ll send Fanny up to air your room right now so that you may nap later. You come straight into the breakfast parlor.”

  Vincent took Diana’s arm and steered her toward the house, past a well-tended flower bed and up well-scrubbed stone steps. Mrs. Cobbs gathered the children in and took them off for a quick meal, chattering to them amiably. Vincent led Diana to a comfortable room with a breakfast table and windows overlooking rolling green pastures dotted with white sheep and a pair of brindle cows.

  “What a charming place!” Diana removed her black pelisse and tossed it onto a chair. “You own it?”

  Vincent nodded. “As Mr. Greenleigh, do not forget,” he added softly. “Though I did not buy it for its charm. It affords me privacy when I require it, and the land pays for the staff and makes a few pounds a year. I may someday use it as a hunting box.”

  He held a chair for her as Cobbs came in bearing a coffeepot and the necessary accoutrements. They waited until he had poured them each a cup and departed, assuring them that there were bacon and eggs on the grill and scones in the oven.

  Diana stared out the window in silence as she sipped her coffee, her mind busy sorting what she knew and did not know of the Earl of Lonsdale. She had just enough in the former category to make her even more aware of how large the second category loomed. Why did he require such a degree of privacy as to purchase land under an assumed name?

  Vincent looked at her in concern. “How are you, Diana? You haven’t much to say.”

  She tried to smile. “I’m tired, I suppose. It has been a rather difficult night.”

  “It was that, in fact.” Vincent returned a ghost of a smile, then sobered. “You did well, Diana.”

  Well? She had done well? She had shot a man—and she had intended to do so. And that was good? In what had she become involved? Were their pursuers her enemies alone, or were they also Vincent Ingleton’s? Surely nothing she knew justified anyone searching for her the length and breadth of England. Not even the wretch who called himself Deimos.

  Her heart all but stopped when she considered what she might have revealed to his lordship by falling into strong hysterics last night.

  She must be more careful. But at the moment she most wanted to regain control of her life and discover from whom her danger lay—some shadowy stranger, the hated Deimos, or the man sitting across the table from her.

  She decided to start with him.

  “My lord, may I ask you some questions?”

  He paused long enough for Diana to fear his answer would be no. But at last he nodded cautiously. �
��I will be as frank as I may.”

  And how frank might that be? Diana felt the sting of annoyance. She pushed it aside. Perhaps she would be able to evaluate his honesty accurately. If not, she would be no worse off than she now was.

  “The people at the inn in Ashwell reacted to you very strangely. They should have been happy for the custom, but obviously they were not. And then Mrs. Biggleswade said she knew you. Offered to help me escape you—even thought that you had beaten me. Why?”

  Vincent pushed his chair back from the table and stared, frowning, out the window for several minutes while Cobbs and a pretty, brown-haired girl who must have been the ubiquitous Fanny, set covered dishes on the sideboard. When they had gone, he turned back to Diana.

  “Because on my last visit there, I behaved very badly.” He rose and stepped to the buffet. “Would you like eggs?”

  Diana nodded and he began to fill a plate for her. She waited, until she decided that no further response would be forthcoming. This would not do. She would not be intimidated by his scowl and his silence. “Vincent, I would greatly appreciate a bit more explanation than that. What could you possibly have done that was so dreadful? I cannot imagine such conduct in you.”

  He favored her with his one-sided smile. “That is only because our acquaintance does not extend back as far as four years.”

  A diversion. She raised her eyebrows and gave him the look that inevitably induced compliance in small children and occasionally in husbands.

  Apparently it worked almost as well with taciturn bachelors for, as he set her plate before her and began to fill his own, he offered one more sentence. “Before that time, I assure you, I was the greatest beast in nature.” Diana picked up her fork, but left her eyebrows firmly in position. He glanced at her, his own brows drawn together. “You are determined to have the whole wretched tale, are you not?”

  Diana did not deign to reply. Vincent set his own plate on the table, sat and spread out his napkin. “Very well, although it reflects very little wisdom—or even intelligence—on my part. And absolutely no honor. Another scone?”