Reaching the stalled farm wagon, Theo threw his gelding’s reins to the helpless farmer clinging to his own frightened cattle. Searching for the team’s leathers in the tangle of frantic animals, he leaped off his horse and ran for the carriage traces.
Theo didn’t know the two younger women well enough to distinguish one’s screams from the other’s, but he recognized Lady Azenor’s curt commands over the crash of the carriage against rocks. He prayed that meant they hadn’t all broken their necks yet.
With the overturned carriage a dead weight and its giant wheels dragging the ditch, the team couldn’t escape. They had just reached the frightened rearing stage when Theo dodged between their hooves to cut the traces. “Jack, where are you?” He shouted for his driver.
“Over here, milord,” he heard Jack call. “M’leg seems out of order, but throw me them reins.”
“The beasts know where to run. I’ll let them loose,” Theo called back. “Don’t move until we find someone to look at you.” He cut the last unbroken strap and set the team free. The berlin finally stopped bouncing. Thank all the heavens the ditch wasn’t deep. The roof of the carriage rested against the hedge.
“Lady Azenor!” he called, trying not to imagine the condition of the ladies inside but fearing every disaster his overactive brain could summon. “Have everyone hold still. I don’t think I can right the carriage. I’ll have to lift you out.”
He took his gelding’s reins from the farmer and motioned the cart on. “No point in blocking the road,” he said. “We’ll have help shortly.”
Even as the wagon rumbled away, the berlin’s wheel shifted deeper into the ditch. “Don’t move!” he shouted again. “I need to prop it or you’ll just tumble more.”
“I believe it’s quite firmly wedged now,” the intrepid Lady Azenor called. “We need help opening the door.”
Theo could hear the faint panic behind her calm assertions. This was disaster beyond skinny-dipping and goat-racing. He could have killed all three ladies! If they were still in one piece, they’d be demanding to be returned to the safe environs of the city, and all hope would be lost. Once again, Iveston would be abandoned.
Wondering if he could take them as captives, Theo stoically climbed up on the wheel to open the door. The berlin was a wide-bodied vehicle. Petite Lady Azenor’s head just brushed the side he was sitting on. She was standing on the far side of the carriage, near the front seat, leaving more room for her stunned relations to right themselves.
She’d lost her hat, and her glorious copper curls sprang from her pins in a sunset halo. She turned midnight eyes glazed with fear up to him, but without a word, she bent to help the blond lady to rise.
“The driver?” she asked in a low voice of concern—far better than the hysterics he’d expected.
“Thrown into the hedge. We’ll pry you out of here and see to him next.” Theo frowned and tried to work out the dynamics of hauling three ladies out a door that was now a ceiling. “Any broken bones here?”
The two young women were dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs and sniffing, but they shook their heads in reply. Still no hysterics. Maybe they were saving them until he’d hauled them out.
“Deirdre is the tallest of us and might climb out with a little help,” Lady Azenor said, studying the situation. “Briana and I will need something to stand on. Deirdre, take Lord Theo’s hand and see if you can lift yourself out.”
The lady’s voice was shaky, but she persuaded her companions into moving. The brunette caught the edge of the seat she should have been sitting on and pulled herself upright. She brushed off her skirts and righted her hat. She glanced dubiously at Theo’s gloved hands.
To hell with propriety. Theo dropped into the center of the broken vehicle and was engulfed in sweet scents, petticoats, and other feminine frippery. Grabbing the tallest one first, he used brute force to lift her. She squealed in surprise, but scrambled to sit on the edge of the doorway and work her way down.
He kept waiting for the wailing to explode. His next victim grabbed her skirts so they did not rise as he swung her out. To his relief, she did not faint and roll off the side of the carriage into the muddy ditch but slid decorously down to the road. That left him with the ominously silent Lady Azenor.
The baggage wagon finally rolled up, much to Theo’s mixed relief and despair. The maids starting crying in horror at sight of the overturned berlin, but the cart driver and two burly footmen leaped down to help.
The lady accepted the hands of the footmen, but muttered impolite imprecations when Theo caught her rump in his hands and lifted her from below. Having the meticulous lady at his mercy for that brief moment was almost worth his panic. Had he not been fretting about abandonment, he’d be laughing.
In minutes, the ladies were on their feet, and the housekeeper they’d brought with them was tending to Jack the Coachman. Theo waited stoically for demands to be returned to the city.
Instead, Azenor pointed her companions to the cart. “You must ride up to the house and fetch help. I’ll be along shortly.”
“I can ride for help,” Theo corrected her. “You need to ride with the others. There’s no need for you to linger on the road.”
The other two women sensibly climbed into the cart, making room for her.
Lady Azenor merely lifted her deep blue eyes in stubborn refusal. “You have seen the disaster I can bring to my family. I will not repeat this mistake again.”
She limped over to the stile and lifted her skirt to climb it.
Limped. The bedeviled female was injured and still prepared to walk all the way to the manor?
There was the hysteria he was expecting. Damn.
Nine
A strong arm caught Aster’s waist and hauled her from the stile. She shrieked in surprise, then pummeled the muscular limb imprisoning her. “Put me down, you oaf! You cannot keep manhandling me like this!”
The man had already had his hand on . . . on her bottom. That had been the outside of enough but—
His lordship swung her sideways into the saddle of his massive horse. Forgetting her outrage over his crude handling, Aster screamed her fear. It was a terrifyingly long way down, and the animal did not stand still. She had only Lord Theo’s encroaching hold preventing her from a nasty tumble—and she really didn’t need more bruises.
“I do not ride, sir! I’m not attired for this! Put me down at once.”
Instead of listening, he stuck his boot in the stirrup and swung up behind her. His big hand nearly enveloped her abdomen. The strong thighs she’d admired earlier brushed her skirts—and her hip. She stiffened but she could not pull away without risking a fall.
“We will ride together to fetch help,” he said in a tight-lipped command.
The horse jolted into motion with the urging of his knees. Azenor grabbed for its mane and tried not to sound like a hysterical female. “I’d rather walk. Put me down, now.”
“No.” He kneed the stallion into a canter, holding her in place although she was quite convinced she would slide off at any moment.
“Do you not think I’m bruised enough?” she asked, attempting to fight fear and maintain decorum at the same time. His hand just below her breasts created an unwanted agitation that she fought equally hard. “This is an unseemly familiarity, sir!”
When the uncivilized oaf didn’t reply, she attempted to elbow him, but that meant releasing the mane. She did it anyway, and encountered a solid wall of muscle that hurt her elbow more than him, apparently. At least anger was starting to replace fear.
“I won’t have more hysterical females fainting on my doorstep,” he grumbled in response to her struggles.
“I am not hysterical! Although I very well could learn to be if you don’t let me off this monster.” Hysterical—the very idea was laughable.
“Walking with an injured limb when you can ride is either hysterical or stupid. Take your choice.” His tone was unrelenting.
“I am not a cripple! I can walk. I
cannot ride. That is not stupid. That is logical,” she argued, wishing she could squirm around to see his expression but not daring to move given her current position between his thighs.
“You won’t ride with the others because you think you caused the accident!” he shouted. “If you’re not hysterical, you have maggots for brains. Did you not see Montfort’s phaeton? I intend to horsewhip the lackwit the moment I see him.”
“By all means, beat the stuffing out of him,” she agreed through clenched teeth, wrapping her glove tighter in the horse’s sumptuous mane. “But you cannot beat my planets into submission. I bring harm to those I love.”
“Planets have no effect on anything!” he shouted in frustration as they cantered up the long drive to the manor. “You had no effect on the phaeton or the carriage or the damned Earth’s movement. It was an accident.”
“Language, sir,” she scolded. “Besides, even Sir Isaac Newton believed in the effects of the sun. He studied calculus so as to better chart the planets, just as I do.”
“He bloody well did not,” he said, ignoring her objection to his language. “One cannot mathematically chart the fates.” He hauled his horse to a halt at the portico.
She could point out that, among a number of other things, she had accurately predicted his brother’s injury. But she was too breathless to state the obvious.
The massive sprawling mansion looming above her may once have been a medieval hall. It had been added on to so often that Azenor could not quite discern all its dimensions. It was all gray stone blocks, blunt square towers, and row upon row of windows. She assumed from this angle that it formed a giant U or perhaps a square. Not a single rose bush adorned the walls. No pretty shutters or ivy lightened the heavy stone. The portico was slate and marble without a single potted tree or flower to welcome guests.
A groom came running. At least they had not misplaced all their servants.
“Send for a physician,” his lordship snapped. “Jack is hurt. We’ll need horses to haul the carriage out of the ditch and a blacksmith for the wheel. I’ll send whichever of the layabouts I can find to help push it.”
“Aye, milord.” The groom tugged his forelock. “The team just ran in. I have fresh cattle saddled and ready.”
Aster struggled to free herself, but the ground was a long way down.
Lord Theo effortlessly swung off, holding her in the saddle until his boots were on the stairs. He lifted her down as if she were a sack of flour and carried her up to the door. She was being helplessly hauled about in a man’s arms! He might not be the size of an ox like some of his family, but surely he had the strength of two men. His hand was on her knee! Her heart pounded surely more than was good for it.
“Stop it!” she cried, beating at his shoulders. “Put me down! I am not one of your lightskirts.”
He ignored her, shouldering open the front door as if he were a battering ram. “Jacques! Will! Anyone in the sound of my voice—get your posteriors down here now or I’ll toss you out the windows.”
A dog howled from the depths of the house. The billiard table still adorned the foyer, apparently serving as a convenient receptacle for outer garments, books, and assorted paraphernalia.
“Honestly, this is how you order your household?” she asked in amazement, almost forgetting that she was riding in his arms. “Do they actually listen?”
“Only when they’re bored and not up to mischief,” he admitted. Carrying her up the stairs, he bellowed in her ear, “There are ladies in dire need of help down the lane.” The cacophony of barking dogs obliterated most of his command.
Aster covered her ears. Two spaniels and a beagle puppy raced up the stairs after them, yapping happily.
“I am perfectly capable of walking,” she insisted, wriggling as they reached the stop of the stairs. “I will start screaming if you don’t put me down.”
“I might actually enjoy that,” he retorted, “so don’t tempt me.”
But he let her feet drop while continuing to hold her waist. Aster winced at the pressure on her twisted ankle but straightened and marched out of his hold. She glanced around at this heretofore unseen part of the house. She’d not put a great deal of thought into where they’d actually be staying in this monstrous mansion.
The first floor corridor was long and wide, the carpet as threadbare as the ones she’d seen downstairs. Gas sconces sputtered on the dark paneled walls, illuminating marble statues decorated in various forms of male outerwear apparently tossed at them in passing. She limped past the long line of carved, oak-paneled doors, admiring what she could see of the paintings hung on the wall.
“Are any of these rooms prepared for my family and our companions?” she asked, not daring to open any of the doors.
“I asked our housekeeper to open a few in the wing we don’t use. You can station an army battalion in between to prevent forays by my family into your territory, but I make no guarantees. The place is riddled with staircases and bolt holes.” He offered his arm.
Reluctantly, she took it. “I need to be placed in the attic or somewhere as far from my family as possible,” she said. “I cannot risk more accidents.”
“That’s preposterous. We need a physician to look at your injuries, and you’re not stomping up any stairs until he does. Mrs. Smith doesn’t have time to clean up any more chambers for you.” He steered her down a side corridor.
“I must insist—”
A shout and loud crash, followed by a litany of creative obscenities, buried the rest of her sentence. She thought the clamor echoed from the far end of the corridor they’d just departed. Lord Theo ignored it.
When no one responded to the uproar, Aster straightened her shoulders and pretended she hadn’t heard quailing puling fester of an ass shouted down the hall.
“I am perfectly capable of putting linen on a bed—or sleeping in the stable if you don’t show me to a suitable room,” she continued without quivering. “Do you, or do you not, want us to help you stage a party for your potential wives?”
Lord Theo muttered irascibly and flung open doors, revealing beds without mattresses, parlors stacked with riding gear or telescope parts, and the general detritus of decades of neglect. Finally, he found one near the end of the hall with a dusty counterpane covering a narrow bed that might once have belonged to a lady’s maid or a valet.
“And where will my family sleep?” she asked, limping over to test that no mice ran from the mattress.
“Far end of the west corridor. Take a left and limp clear to the end,” he said with sarcasm, gesturing to indicate the direction. “I can’t place you any further away without kicking Ashford from his chambers.”
Ah, that explained the crash and obscene roars. The marquess had the rooms at the back of the main corridor. These intersecting rooms between the two wings were probably intended for bachelor guests and their servants. The housekeeper had installed Aster’s family in the ladies’ wing. That placed Aster between his lordship’s family and her own.
She glanced out the tall, narrow window into a partial courtyard between the two enormous branches of the U at the rear of the house. What had once probably been an elegant parterre garden was now a jumble of kennels, carriage parts, and rusting unidentifiable bits.
“This should suit,” she acknowledged. “Just leave me here while you find help and look after the carriage and driver. I’m sure your housekeeper will show everyone to their proper places.”
“I daresay she’s tippling from the cooking sherry about now.” He opened a brass circle on the wall and shouted into it. “Everyone, front and center! We have guests. You have five seconds before I start flinging you out windows.”
Aster studied the round contraption. “What does that do?”
“Speaking tube. With luck, the sound carries further than my voice. Except that means they know I’m not near enough to catch them and they’re free to slip out the back.”
“I see.” She lifted the brass lid and examined the dark tube before
speaking into it. “I will see that you’re fed fried worms and turnips for dinner unless you help my sister and cousin to their rooms. They’ve been badly shaken by a carriage accident,” she said sweetly into the hole.
Heavy boots clattered into the main corridor and whoops rattled the rafters as they raced down the front steps.
Lord Theo scowled. “Threaten their rations, good thinking. Were you a soldier in a former life?”
“I am the eldest of six siblings.” Six surviving siblings, but she did not bring up that painful subject. “Go lead your pack. I’ll be fine here.” Aster wished she had her trunks so she could begin dusting, but she’d find a cleaning closet once she drove this maddening gentleman away. His proximity muddled her mind, and she needed time to deal with the stimulating sensations created by an astronomer’s strength in carrying her.
“The layabouts know how to find the road without my help.” Without warning, Lord Theo arrogantly scooped her up again and proceeded down the corridor and toward the ladies’ wing. “They can take care of the servants. I’ll take care of you.”
“That’s the very last thing I need!” she cried in all honesty. “You have no idea how dangerous the part of catastrophe is in my chart or how wide the effect might be. You must stay as far from me as my family!”
***
With his arms full of curvaceous female, Theo wasn’t inclined to be reasonable, particularly when she wasn’t exactly rational either. “I thought it was only friends and family who die in your proximity?” he asked, dodging an excited spaniel to fling open the door to the bathing room. “Just call me your worst enemy and we should be fine.”
“If you don’t put me down, I’ll call you worse than that!”
Maliciously, Theo decided he couldn’t go wrong there. He could do whatever he liked, and she’d hate him. Then she couldn’t tell him to go away—because she apparently only assassinated friends and family, not enemies. That was a plan he could get behind.
He deposited her on the marble floor and let her stare. He’d made certain the housekeeper had thoroughly cleaned this room before she did anything else. This was Iveston’s one claim to fame—a tub that filled with hot water any time it was needed.
Magic in the Stars Page 8
