More Than A Mistress

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘I am not acting insulted,’ she said, her voice deadly calm. ‘Angry, yes, but since we are almost at the Muddy Duck, I suggest we make our enquiries and then return to Draycott House. You may continue your journey to Durn immediately.’

  He frowned. ‘You will wait in the carriage. I will make enquiries.’

  ‘Certainly not. If someone is out to harm me, I want to know who it is.’

  The curricle pulled under the arch and into the small courtyard. An ostler ran out to take the horses’ heads.

  ‘If we are to carry off this betrothal,’ he spat the word, ‘in the eyes of the world, you will remain in the carriage. Any inn laying claim to the sobriquet of the Muddy Duck is no fit place for a respectable woman.’

  ‘I thought we had already agreed I am not the slightest bit respectable,’ she said. Blast. That sounded bitter when she had intended it to be simply sarcasm.

  Tonbridge frowned at her. ‘If you are my fiancee, then you are respectable. Do as I bid, Merry, or I promise I will go right back to Broadoaks, swear it was all a hum, a lie, so that you could get your own way, and leave you to face him and his friends.’

  She gasped at his perfidy. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Would you care to test that assumption?’

  She stared at the granite line of his jaw and into the dark of his eyes. No laughter. No yielding. They’d won the day with regard to the house because of him, because Broadoaks wouldn’t risk the enmity of one of the most powerful landowners in England. One word and Tonbridge would ruin it all. It was blackmail.

  She would not be blackmailed.

  Caro had been right to caution her about involving him in her problems. And now there was no going back without losing all the ground she’d gained on Caro’s behalf. She gritted her teeth. There were other ways to show him he wasn’t going to push her around. She awarded him a tight smile. ‘As you wish.’

  ‘Good.’ Charlie jumped down. ‘Turn them around,’ he called out to the ostler. ‘I won’t be more than a minute or two.’

  Merry watched him disappear inside the inn in a swirl of black coat. A three-storey building built in Tudor times, the inn looked tired, its roofs sagging and covered in moss. The curricle lurched as the man manoeuvred the horses in the tight space.

  A hollow feeling filled her chest. Hurt because he assumed the worst.

  Drat him. Why would she, a Draycott, wish to marry him, just because he was heir to a dukedom? He was judging her by his own standards.

  A pang of realisation turned her stomach over. Naturally it would make him look bad if the betrothal became public. If she cried off, people would wonder why a low-class woman hadn’t found him worthy. Was that why he’d been so angry? Or was it because people would believe he had actually asked for her hand?

  Her. Common as muck, Merry Draycott.

  The latter. Definitely the latter. The emptiness seemed to grow.

  The carriage ceased moving and Merry watched the door through which he had entered. Would he find out who had damaged her carriage? Lord, she hoped so, then he would go and leave her in peace. She winced. The locals were unlikely to tell tales to a stranger. Perhaps Prentice would have been a better choice for this task. She’d speak to him the moment he arrived tomorrow with his report on the mill.

  He couldn’t have done anything with Mr Broadoaks, though. Clearly only a duke or his blasted heir could persuade the wily old mill owner to go against the indomitable Maria Broadoaks.

  Minutes had passed. Where was he?

  She hated waiting. Hated not knowing what was going on. She grabbed the side of the carriage and jumped down. ‘Back in a moment,’ she said to the ostler.

  The courtyard needed a good sweep. If it was her yard, she’d see it done, too. She glared at the ostler, who appeared not to notice, and picked her way around the dung. The door opened before she could put her hand on the latch.

  A frowning Charlie took in her presence. ‘I told you to wait in the carriage.’

  ‘You’ve been gone half an hour.’

  He grabbed her elbow. ‘That’s because it takes time to get questions answered.’

  She didn’t like the grim note in his voice. ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘I’ll tell you once we are on the road, as I promised.’

  She glared at him.

  ‘Someone ought to have taken a birch twig to you as a child,’ he muttered.

  Her lip curled. ‘What makes you think they didn’t?’

  His eyes widened. ‘Damn it, Merry.’

  Now what did that mean?

  Back in the curricle and heading back for Draycott House, Charlie couldn’t stop wondering who could possibly have beaten Merry. While she was utterly infuriating, and had put him in an impossible position with regard to her family, he really couldn’t bear the thought.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  The anger simmering beneath the surface of his skin would have to wait. The current problem required all his attention. He formulated what he had learned into some sort of order.

  ‘Don’t sweeten the medicine,’ she said.

  He huffed out a breath. ‘The landlord said someone got the men stirred up the night of the fire. A small group of them in the corner were muttering about jobs being lost. Men who haven’t worked for a very long time. They blame it on the changes in the mills, the new machines. One moment it was the usual complaints and the next a mob ready for mischief.’

  ‘Did he recognise the ringleader?’

  ‘He said not.’

  ‘Did you believe him?’

  Charlie made a wry face. ‘I offered him a pony to tell me who led the charge.’

  She gasped. ‘Twenty-five pounds is a great deal of money,’ she said, then she shook her head. ‘But Yorkshiremen have their pride. And very stiff necks. I will ask Mr Prentice to talk to him when he comes in the morning.’

  Damn. Couldn’t she give him any credit? ‘He won’t get any more information than I did. The man swore he didn’t know and looked me straight in the eye. I believed him.’

  She pressed her lips together as if to stop herself from saying more. He didn’t like that. He preferred her open and honest.

  His stomach fell away. He couldn’t seem to reconcile the woman he thought she was with the person who had emerged in that meeting. She hadn’t been the slightest bit open and honest with him. She’d hidden her noble connections, when most people would have trotted them out to impress. How could he not suspect her motives? And of all people, her uncle had to be Chepstow. The duke’s friend. And the father of Charlie’s intended betrothed. What a mess.

  ‘I don’t think there is any more to be done,’ she said. ‘Mr Broadoaks will see there is no more trouble and you can be on your way to Durn in the morning.’

  ‘Eager to be rid of me.’

  ‘As eager as you are to be gone.’

  He damned well ought to be eager. ‘There is the little problem of our publically announced engagement.’

  Her mouth fell open. She snapped it shut. ‘We agreed. You will cry off as soon as we sorted this out.’

  ‘And what will your relatives have to say about that?’

  ‘They have nothing to say. I am not answerable to them.’

  But he was answerable to his father. And he’d gambled Robert’s future on a roll in the hay—something Robert would no doubt find humorous and ironic, if he were here to enjoy the joke. It wasn’t the slightest bit funny. ‘If your family learn of this we will be in the soup.’ Especially since he’d proposed to the wrong cousin.

  ‘I can stand the heat.’

  Damn her, now she made him sound like a coward. He cursed under his breath. ‘I wish you’d told me you were related to an earl. I was blind-sided by Broadoaks back there. And we still don’t know who is responsible for the attacks on your person. Until we do, our betrothal must stand.’ And the longer it stood, the harder it would be to keep it a secret. As she must have known.

  She flashed him a glance of dislike. ‘Th
e mill owners have agreed to support the house so there is no reason to continue the pretence. No reason for you to stay.’

  He could think of another reason. Not that it was very noble minded. He widened his legs, touching her thighs with his, a simple shift of position that could be interpreted as innocent. ‘Perhaps I can convince you otherwise later this evening?’

  A low blow. But anger still rode him hard.

  She edged away from him, but the narrowness of the seat kept her pinned against his side. ‘You, sir, are a blackguard and a scoundrel.’

  ‘So it seems.’ They passed beneath the old medieval gate and beyond the cobbled streets of the town. It was colder out here on the moors, the wind fresher. It would have been kinder to bring the closed carriage. And more fun.

  The thought of being closed up in such a confined space made his blood run cold. He reached down and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. ‘Warm enough?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Thank you.’

  Perhaps it was as well she disliked him. It would make it easier to resist her temptation, make it easier to depart once he discovered who had sawed through that axle. What if the bastard tried again? A woman alone, unprotected, would not stand a chance.

  She ought to be married.

  His gut twisted at the thought of Merry in another man’s arms, even though it was quite clear he was not her first encounter. Why did he give a damn about this aggravating, infuriating woman?

  Was it her apparent honesty that had somehow pierced a hole in his wrought armour and continued to do so, even knowing the open gaze hid a devious streak? Or was it her odd blend of strength and vulnerability, which caught him in strangely soft places inside that others had never touched?

  ‘I’m not leaving until I find out who tried to kill you and bring them to justice and that is final.’

  A gasp made him smile.

  He looked down into her outraged expression, took in the parted lips, and the urge to protect her rose up stronger than ever.

  The woman only had to look at him with those bright sapphire eyes and smile, and his blood ran hot. One thing was clear. He needed to get her out of his blood. And soon. He should have accepted her offer and made her his mistress. Used her desire to impose his will. His body tightened. It wasn’t too late.

  ‘The more our engagement becomes common knowledge, the more of an idiot you will look when it is called off,’ she said with the attitude of a magician who had conjured a rabbit from a hat.

  Quick-witted Merry, fighting a rearguard action. She brought her guns to bear without hesitation. ‘I will stand the reckoning,’ he said.

  Father wouldn’t like it, of course, but well…too bad. The heir to a dukedom would never be cast off the way Robert had. Not for the triviality of breaking off an engagement to a nobody. People might assume that the duke’s pockets were to let for a while, given Merry’s fortune, or assume he couldn’t hold his nose and bring the marriage off, which would be all about vilifying Merry, but since she didn’t move in London circles, either way the damage would be minimal.

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ she said.

  ‘I’m staying.’

  ‘Not at my house.’

  He laughed at the snap in her voice. ‘Are you saying you will throw me out in the snow? Now that doesn’t sound like true Yorkshire hospitality.’

  ‘Impossible,’ she muttered. She hunched beneath the blanket, glowering at the road, clearly brooding on her next line of attack.

  A crack sounded off to the right. A shot.

  Instinctively Charlie ducked, flicked his whip and set the horses into a gallop.

  Merry grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Damn it,’ he yelled. ‘Let go.’ It was already hard enough to manage the careening team.

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. Some boulders. Scrubby bush and a flock of sheep streaming across the meadow towards the road in fear.

  ‘What is happening?’ Merry yelled, looking around her.

  ‘Someone fired at us.’ He steadied his horses and they shot over the brow of the hill out of the shooter’s line of fire.

  He’d recogised the sound. A Baker rifle. Deadly from a distance in the right hands.

  Off to his right, the fleeing sheep veered, climbing on each other’s backs in their panic. They’d seen something. Charlie pulled the pistol from under the seat. He scanned the roadside. A man rose to his feet on the other side of the wall.

  Charlie fired. A wild shot.

  The blackguard staggered, then adjusted his aim.

  ‘Get down,’ Charlie shouted, shoving her head down into his lap.

  Another crack. A stinging pain in his right arm. Right where her head had been a moment before. He flinched. The offside horse stumbled. He regained control, let the team have their heads and prayed whoever had fired hadn’t yet reloaded.

  The horses galloped at breakneck speed. With no hope of halting them until they exhausted themselves, all he could do was try to keep them straight on the road. Fear-induced foam flew from their mouths. They ran blindly while Merry clutched the side of the carriage, white-lipped and wide-eyed.

  His head floated above his shoulders, while the world moved by at a snail’s pace. Loss of blood.

  Feeling stunned, Merry looked back over her shoulder. ‘I can’t see anyone.’

  ‘Good,’ he said grimly. ‘Hang on, the gates are up ahead.’

  Somehow he made the turn into the drive. The winded horses slowed. The carriage ceased to sway.

  ‘I don’t think they followed us,’ she said.

  ‘Let us hope not,’ Charlie said between gritted teeth. He looked terribly pale. He drew the carriage up outside the front door. ‘Get inside as quickly as you can.’

  Merry saw the blood on his hand. ‘You are hurt.’

  ‘Do as I say and get down.’ He stumbled out of his seat while she scrambled down on her side.

  Jed appeared as Merry climbed down.

  Leaning against the side of the carriage, clutching his arm, Charlie called out to the coachman. ‘Get the horses inside the stables and bar the door, then bring everyone into the house.’

  Startled, Jed nodded. He led the horses away at a run.

  ‘Good man that,’ Charlie said. He leaned on her and she helped him up the steps.

  Gribble swung the door wide. ‘Lock the door behind us,’ Charlie ordered. The butler slammed it shut and shot the bolt.

  Relieved to be inside, Merry collapsed against the banister.

  Caro ran out of the drawing room. ‘Merry, what is the matter?’

  Merry took a deep breath and gathered her scattered wits. ‘We were attacked on the road. We need bandages and basilica powder. His lordship has been shot.’ Caro paled.

  Gribble frowned. ‘What we need is the constable.’

  ‘Not tonight,’ Charlie said. ‘No one is going outside the gates before daylight.’ Charlie looked at Merry. ‘And even then it isn’t safe. Who are these men?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘Luddites?’ Caro hazarded.

  ‘Criminals, that’s what they are,’ Gribble muttered, hurrying off.

  Merry turned to Charlie. ‘Let me see your wound.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Charlie muttered. ‘Give me a brandy and I’ll be as right as a trivet in a moment or two.’

  She ushered him into the drawing room. He didn’t look anywhere near as right as a trivet. Caro rushed to the console and poured a brandy.

  He swallowed the glassful in one gulp.

  ‘Let’s get you out of that coat,’ Merry said.

  ‘Don’t fuss. Brian will take care of it.’

  Typical male. She hadn’t lived with an irascible old gentleman without learning a thing or two. One was to act rather than argue. She attacked the buttons on his greatcoat. First, she pulled it down the uninjured arm. The other side posed more of a problem. It was damp and sticky. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood.’

 
‘It’s a scratch,’ he said. ‘I’ve had worse falling off a horse.’

  His lips were blue, his face pale.

  ‘Caro, lend me a hand,’ Merry said. ‘Pull on the cuff while I ease it over the wound.’

  Thin-lipped, Caro did as requested. She grabbed the heavy greatcoat as it slipped to the floor and flung it over the chair.

  ‘Now this one,’ Merry said, undoing the buttons on his morning coat. She gazed at the sleeve. ‘I think it is ruined.’

  ‘I have more,’ he said. The coat was so blasted tight she had to pull it over his elbow. His face turned to stone. A hiss of pain escaped his lips.

  Her stomach rolled sickeningly as she parted the bloody tear in his shirt. The wound oozed blood.

  Caro’s face blanched.

  ‘I can’t see for all the blood,’ Merry said. ‘Caro, please request hot water from the kitchen.’

  Looking grateful, Caro hurried off.

  Merry backed Charlie towards the sofa. ‘Sit down.’

  He fought her off. ‘We don’t have time for this. We need weapons. I need to set your men to watch at the windows, front and back.’

  She couldn’t draw a breath, her chest felt so tight, her stomach roiling at the thought of those men storming her house. ‘You think they would dare?’

  ‘I don’t know. I am not prepared to take the risk.’

  The thought froze her blood. ‘Perhaps they want money.’

  Charlie stared at her, his eyes dark, his mouth flat and the creases either side deep with pain and with worry. ‘Merry, who stands to benefit from your death?’

  The breath left her body in a rush. She sank on to the sofa beside him. ‘W-what?’

  He took her hand in his good one. ‘I know this isn’t something you want to think about, but we don’t have a choice. If you die, who benefits? Do you have a will?’

  Her stomach clenched. She shook her head. ‘It isn’t possible. The townspeople have to be behind this.’

  His eyes narrowed, as his grip tightened. ‘Tell me, Merry. I need to know.’

  ‘I changed my will in favour of Caro,’ she whispered.

  ‘When? What do you know about her?’

  ‘She changed the will the day before the attack on the house in Skepton.’ Caro’s voice, as cold as ice, came from the doorway. In her hands she had rolls of bandages and a bottle of powders. Her face was as white as the bandages.