The baron openly recoiled from the news. “And Cashémere? Where is she?”
“Perhaps I might answer your questions, Your Lordship,” Lady Worthing spoke from the landing. “Please join me in Viscount Lexford’s room. I prefer not to leave His Lordship unattended for long.” Very royally, Eleanor turned and ascended the steps as if she were the house’s mistress.”
Although a bit surprised at seeing the viscountess in his home, Ashton followed Lady Worthing to Lexford’s room. Closing the door behind him, Ashton shot a worried glance at Lexford’s body. “I assumed His Lordship would have recovered by now,” he said softly. “It has been nearly four days since Cashémere sent word of Lexford’s injury.”
“I have hopes of His Lordship’s recovery. Lord Lexford spent four and twenty hours in extreme agitation, but he has been calm for some time. Come.” Eleanor gestured to nearby chairs. “Let us confer before the hearth.”
Ashton remained on edge, but he allowed the daughter of his late wife’s dearest friend to take the lead. “I beg you, Lady Worthing, to tell me everything. Where is Cashémere?”
Eleanor took her seat. “Let me start with Satiné’s removal and Lord Lexford’s attack.” For the next hour, Eleanor provided details of her husband’s search, of the identity of Satiné’s abductor, of Cashé’s impetuous actions, and of Jamot’s invasion of the baron’s manor.
“I should never have gone to London,” Ashton murmured.
Eleanor recognized his regret, but she offered little sympathy. “You have kept secrets, Lord Ashton, which have compounded Satiné’s kidnapping. Cashémere has discovered your manipulations and has shared them with my husband. I fear Jamot has also found some of your confidential papers for he thoroughly searched your study. While recovering Satiné shall be difficult, I have no doubt of the mission’s success; however, I must chastise you for your handling of this matter. My husband and his friends are riding into a situation that should have been resolved long ago if you had trusted the Realm and the government to discover the truth. You allowed Cashé to live with that vile man because you wished to bring down Viscount Averette personally. Now, Cashémere returns to claim the truth.” She handed the baron Cashé’s letters. “Cashémere believes she can claim it was she who Charters kidnapped and, therefore, save Satiné’s reputation. She shall sacrifice herself to that man to protect your family.”
“I will not allow it,” Ashton declared. He was on his feet immediately. “I must leave for Averette’s manor as soon as possible.”
“Darkness has claimed the day, my Lord.” Eleanor moved to change Lexford’s compress. “Is that the best choice?”
Ashton glanced toward the window. “I have no other options,” he sighed. “I must be there when Satiné’s and Cashémere’s lives intersect with Averette’s perfidy. Cashé will confront Aldridge. I have no doubt of that, and I fear for her safety if she does so. Plus, Jamot might recruit Aldridge to bring down the Realm. Averette will want his revenge.”
*
Cashé did not like the suggestive looks that the young man had given her as she had registered at the second-class inn between Darlington and Newcastle. Clutching her cape closer, she pointedly looked away when he had caught her eye. “Anything else, Miss?” The innkeeper seemed to disapprove of her presence.
“If you would send a meal to my room,” she said flatly, counting out the necessary fee.
“Yes, Miss.”
Exhausted, Cashé climbed the stairs. Two more days, she had said the words in her mind, calculating how soon she could arrange Satiné’s release. She knew there was a strong possibility that when she reached Scotland that her sister might not be there. Then what will I do? Would Uncle Samuel and Mr. Charters allow her to return to Cheshire? Cashé imagined that might not meet with their approval. Likely, to free Satiné, she would have to stay with Mr. Charters. Cashé did not think the man would permit both her and her twin their freedoms. She leaned heavily against the room’s door. “At least, Satiné will be permitted to leave. Uncle Charles can claim they had come to Edinburgh for my wedding.”
Saying the words brought her a new pain. She might never see Lord Yardley again. “How will I be able to tolerate Mr. Charters now that I have known Marcus Wellston?”
*
Kerrington and Hill had discovered in the most peculiar way news of the carriage they had sought. They had watered their horses and had taken a stretch along a shallow creek in mid afternoon. However, a rustle behind them brought each of them to alert.
“Runt, come back!” a child’s voice called, and both Kerrington and Hill lowered their guns just as a scraggly-looking boy of ten or eleven chased a mongrel dog from the underbrush. “Runt!” The child froze when he saw them.
Kerrington smiled as Lucifer caught the dog’s nape. “Do not worry, Boy,” he said softly. “We will not hurt you.”
The child’s eyes grew, taking in Lucifer’s size. “He be a big one.”
Kerrington laughed lightly. “He is at that.”
The boy edged forward to catch a rope around the dog’s neck. “Thank ye for catchin’ Runt.”
“No thanks necessary.” Lucifer released the animal.
“How big do ye be?” The child asked out of nowhere.
Lucifer ruffled the dog’s fur. “Big enough.”
“I thought the other man be big, but ye be bigger.”
“What other man?” Kerrington asked anxiously.
“The one who paid me pa to leave his horses in arn barn.”
Kerrington took a deep breath. “Could you show me the barn?” He offered the child a coin.
“For that coin I shows ye two barns.”
Kerrington caught his horse’s bridle. “Just the one in which the big man kept his horses.”
*
Breeson’s horse had thrown a shoe, and now he sipped weak ale in a stinking inn. He had spent less than two days at his mother’s home. Unfortunately, his family had once again treated him as an invalid, and Breeson had hated every moment of it. He knew they meant well, but he needed nothing to remind him of his injury. He had lived with it every day since a bullet ripped apart the nerves and the tendons of his arm just above the elbow.
With Lord Yardley’s insistence and care, he had taught himself to eat and to shoot and to live without his dominant hand. In fact, Yardley’s refusal to accept him as less than a whole man had saved Breeson’s life. The earl had never offered him sympathy, which had created more than one argument between them during Richard’s recovery, but which had been the medicine he had required to survive and to set his feet on the straight and narrow. Many of his fellow soldiers had turned to drink and even to drugs to kill the pain of what they had seen in battle and what they had experienced before returning to civilian life. Breeson owed Wellston his life, and he was anxious to return to the estate that he called home, the place where he had carved out a life of his own. Yardley had allowed him to apprentice with the estate’s steward, and he hoped one day to take over the position. Plus, he hoped to claim Faith Molson as his wife. The girl was the village doctor’s only daughter, and Breeson had wanted her the moment he had laid eyes on her.
“I tell you she is alone.” Breeson heard two young bucks talking at the table behind him. “She will welcome us with open arms.”
Breeson shifted his position so he could observe the men in profile. Over the years, he had heard similar posturing among the enlisted men and even a few of the minor officers–young men trying to prove themselves.
“How can you be certain?” the tow-headed youth asked, shooting a quick glance about the crowded room. “Should we not just entertain Meddy instead?”
The dark-haired youth turned his nose up in disgust. “I do not want another turn with Meddy. Every man in this place has found himself between Meddy’s legs at one time or another. I want to feel clean for a change.”
The before-mentioned Meddy appeared at Breeson’s table with his evening meal; the barmaid gladly gave him a full view of her am
ple bosom. He had thought the youths would have to service a woman of such boldness many times before they could bring her to pleasure. “Thank you,” he mumbled and diverted his gaze from the tempting globes and forced himself to think of the fair-eyed Faith, the type of woman a man never forgets, not even for a moment.
*
Marcus had spent the evening playing chess with Jeremy, but his mind had never engaged in the game. He had spent most of the day thinking how his house needed a female’s touch. Despite bits of lace and fringe heavily displayed in several drawing rooms, the rooms seemed too masculine. He and Jeremy and Trevor had existed in a male dominated atmosphere, and he had found he hated every minute of it. He ached for Cashé so intensely that there were moments that he thought he might explode. Marcus had never felt such a void in his life–not even with Maggie’s death. How had Cashé taken control of his every thought so easily–he, who had considered himself above love, had found himself wallowing in it? “Cashé,” he moaned as he closed the door to his chambers. “I need you more than you will ever know.”
*
She had collapsed across the bed to cry away her fears. The maid had left a simple meal on the table, but Cashé had eaten but a few spoonfuls before giving in to her despair. Now, the night sky filled her window. She had wiped away the traces of her tears and made herself undress for the evening. Her day dress held enough wrinkles from her journey without adding those from her misery. Making her way to the window, she had leaned her head against the cool pane. “Marcus,” she had whispered to the stars peppering the darkness. “Where are you, my Love?”
*
Eleanor had nodded off after the baron had ridden out. She could no longer recall when she had slept in a bed for an entire night. With the pregnancy, she could feel the exhaustion setting in quicker than usual, but Ella would not leave Lexford’s side. She would not allow the viscount to wake in an unfamiliar bed and with an unfamiliar servant tending him.
As she had done every night since she had met him, she had dreamed of her husband. James Kerrington had given her what she always needed: a family who loved and respected her. Tonight’s dream included the baby and Daniel, and they had sat together on the floor of James’s bedroom watching Daniel blowing soft bubbles on his sibling’s stomach. Eleanor had wished she could see the baby’s face clearly; she wanted to know whether it was a boy or a girl. Daniel’s lips vibrated a moan as the baby cooed a welcome gurgle. Eleanor thought it was a sorrowful moan. Moan? Daniel should not moan. Then she realized it was not Daniel. Eleanor’s eyes shot open, and she was on her feet immediately. “Lord Lexford,” she placed her hand lightly on his arm. “Aidan, I am here.”
The viscount turned his head toward the sound of her voice and slowly opened his eyes.
“Aidan.” She lowered her face closer to his. “Do not move too quickly. You have experienced a head injury. Let me send someone for the surgeon.” His eyes followed her, but Eleanor thought them vacant in their clarity. She rushed to the door and summoned a footman to fetch the physician; then Eleanor returned to his side. “Would you like some water?” She leaned over him to maintain his gaze.
“Y...yes,” he rasped.
Eleanor lifted a spoon from the bedside table and showed it to him. “I will not lift your head from the pillow so I will spoon in the water.”
He did not answer, but Eleanor was certain he understood. Slowly and methodically, she fed him six spoonfuls of the clear liquid before he gave a slight shake of his head to indicate that he had had enough.
Eleanor straightened his blanket. “Everyone will be so happy to have you back with us. You have been unconscious for four days. We have been so worried for you.” She took the wet cloth and wiped his face. “When the physician agrees, I will have the cook send up some clear broth.”
Lexford’s eyes continued to follow her every movement, but as Eleanor prepared to step away to refresh the water, his hand caught her arm, holding her tightly in his grasp. “Who...who are...who are you?”
*
When the door to her room burst open, it had taken Cashé a split second to react to the intrusion, and in that amount of time, the first man through the door had caught her about the waist and had dragged her into his body. One hand cupped her breast as he pressed her into his chest. He reeked of alcohol, and the smell nauseated her, but she fought him–kicking his legs and clawing at his hands.
“Catch her feet,” her intruder ordered his partner as he struggled to bring Cashé under control.
Realizing she had only seconds to free herself before these men violated her, Cashé inhaled a deep breath to expand the man’s grasp and then expelled it quickly before dropping to a squat. She, instinctively, slammed her head backwards into his groin, momentarily stunning her attacker. A guttural grunt signaled her release, and Cashé was on the run, skirting around the second intruder and exploding into the dimly lit hallway.
She nearly made it to the stairs before the first man, cursing every foul word he knew and cradling his private parts, overtook her, catching Cashé’s plait and jerking her physically backwards by her hair. “Move, Bitch, and I will slit your throat,” he growled. He plastered her body to the wall with his and theatrically threatened her with a long knife.
Cashé’s heart pounded with dread, but she defiantly raised her chin and looked the man squarely in the eye. “Then you will have to kill me,” she declared. “Are you man enough to kill an innocent woman in cold blood?”
“You Bloody Bitch!” he growled.
His moment hesitation was Cashé’s invitation to scream, and scream, she did–loud and long–at the top of her lungs.
Somewhere over the roar of her own vocal caterwaul, she heard her attacker’s partner say, “Come, Jordan, she is not worth it.” Cashé’s assailant suddenly released her, but she did not stop her shrieks of alarm. The two intruders ran toward the back of the inn as an onslaught of rescuers scrambled up the stairs toward her. Seeing them, Cashé ceased her cries.
“What goes on here?” the innkeeper demanded, assuming a single female without a chaperone brought only trouble.
“Two men broke into my room,” Cashé accused, pointing in the direction her assailants had fled.
The innkeeper loomed over her. “Are ye sure you did not invite them in and then changed yer mind?” Those who followed the man to her calls snickered.
Cashé flushed, but she refused to allow anyone to lord over her. “How dare you?” she charged, but before she could continue, a rustling of bodies on the stairs caught her attention, and Cashé turned to see a familiar face coming towards her. “Mr. Breeson!” she exclaimed.
Richard purposely bowed low, indicating his deference to her position. “Miss Aldridge.” He glanced quickly at those standing about, stepping purposely before Cashé to block others’ views of her disheveled appearance. “I know this lady.” He eyed the innkeeper disdainfully. “If she claims an attack in this establishment, as a proper businessman, I suggest that you contact the authorities.”
“Why does she have no attendant if she be a lady?” the innkeeper charged.
“Miss Aldridge was to travel to Berwick to meet her intended’s family; I was sent to escort her north, but I did not expect her arrival until tomorrow.” Breeson, obviously, enjoyed the tale he wove. “If the lady is without a companion, it must be for a good reason.”
Cashé lightly touched Breeson’s back, silently accepting his protection.
“Who be her affianced?” The innkeeper tried once more to prove his point.
Breeson did not blink from the intended insult. “My master, the Earl of Berwick.” A buzz of recognition spread among the onlookers. “And if you know His Lordship, you realize that he will not look kindly on your slighting the woman he intends to marry.”
The innkeeper cleared his throat. “Anyone know who might be to blame?”
“The two young men sitting behind me in the open room spoke of a girl, but I had no idea they spoke of Baron Ashton’s niece.” Bre
eson seemed to enjoy interjecting names of the peerage into the conversation. “Ask Meddy. They spoke of her also.”
Everyone turned to the bar maid, who was hanging on the arm of a hulking-looking farmer. “It be Jordan and Shayne.”
“Those two be more trouble than they be worth,” one of the locals observed.
The innkeeper herded everyone except Cashé and Breeson toward the common room. “I will send someone for the magistrate.”
Cashé groaned her disapproval, but she voiced no objections.
“I suspect you might wish to dress, Miss Aldridge,” Breeson whispered as he led her to her room. “I will stand guard outside so no one disturbs you. When you finish, we should talk before the local law arrives.”
“Thank you, Mr. Breeson,” she said softly before entering her room and closing the door. “Well, so much for not permitting anyone to know I am traveling alone to Scotland.” Cashé sighed deeply. “I will just have to see it through.”
Some twenty minutes later, she and Mr. Breeson sat at the table in her rented room–the door propped open for propriety. “I will see you to Tweed Hall,” Breeson stated the obvious.
Biting back her frustration, Cashé rolled her eyes. “I did not wish to involve His Lordship in my family’s trouble.” She had not disclosed the real reason for her solitary journey. She had simply said that Baron Ashton had been called away to London and that she had received word of her immediate presence needed in Leith.
“Despite your qualms, Miss Aldridge, the earl would take the skin from my hide if I allowed you to continue this journey alone. Tonight was typical of the dangers for a woman traveling unaccompanied.”
Cashé sighed a groan. As much as she wanted to see Marcus again, she knew she could not give herself to Charters if Wellston took over her mission. And Cashé had no doubt that the earl would take it on even without their relationship. “What do I do now?” she asked herself.
*
With Breeson’s suggestion, the local magistrate ordered the two offending youths to serve as stable hands on the earl’s estate for three weeks. They would work under Breeson’s direction. Cashé was not convinced that the punishment fit the crime, but Breeson privately assured her that any punishment more than a verbal reprimand was a victory. Mr. Jordan was the son of Sir William Jordan, who had been knighted for his handling of a smuggling ring, while Mr. Shayne was the son of the local baronet, Sir Gavin. Although neither family possessed peerage titles, they still held local prestige. Breeson had secured the baronet’s agreement that his son would be treated with a dose of humility for the baronet was at the end of his rope in disciplining the youth. Sir William was less enthusiastic, but he acquiesced to the others. Both young men were to report to Tweed Hall in one week’s time or face charges for their attempted assault.
Realm 03 - A Touch of Cashemere Page 25
