by Tarah Scott
“So I came back to the kitchen.” Sally began ringing a corner of her apron.
“Miss Crenshaw was angry with me?” he asked.
Sally’s eyes widened and she gave a tiny nod.
“And rightfully so,” Erroll said. “I was a cad.” Though Miss Crenshaw had yet to discover just how much of a cad he could be. “Nothing else happened?” he asked.
Sally began to cry, but before Erroll could say anything, Mrs. Childs said, “Sally, girl, I will beat you myself. Now speak up.”
Sally took a step backwards, then swung her gaze onto Erroll and said, “Just gossip, m’lord, nothing more. You know how people talk.”
He knew well enough. “Go on.”
“Rumor is, she left with Lord Halifax.”
Minutes later, Erroll halted on the sidewalk outside the mansion, Somerset alongside him. Erroll scanned the crowded side street for Tolland’s coach. Only thirty minutes had passed since Oscar and David had dropped him back at the mansion, and the street was so clogged with vehicles trying to maneuver along the street that he felt certain they couldn’t have gotten far. Erroll sighted the carriage at the end of the street as it inched its way through the intersection with David and Oscar in the driver's seat.
“Come along, Somerset." Erroll started at a brisk walk down the sidewalk.
Moments later, they reached the carriage, which had halted behind a hired cab, waiting in a long line of vehicles trying to escape the congestion.
"Gentlemen," Erroll called to Oscar and David. Their heads turned. "Oscar, if you would join us." Erroll pulled open the door and stepped inside with Somerset close behind.
The viscount settled on the seat beside Erroll as the carriage listed to one side. A second later, the brute jumped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.
"We have a bit of a dilemma," Erroll said.
"Dilemma?" Oscar repeated in a low voice that told Erroll he would plunge his knife into Erroll's heart with the same ease in which he'd spoken the words if anything had happened to his mistress. The coachman was unusually attached to the lady.
"Indeed. Miss Crenshaw is missing."
"What do you mean missing?” Oscar said.
"I mean her mamma has not seen her since our, er, meeting in the gardens. I spoke with the maid you said happened upon you two. She directed Miss Crenshaw to the rear gate and that is the last she saw of her.”
“We would have been only a minute or two apart,” Oscar said. “There was no one else in the gardens. I wouldn’t have left her if there had been.”
“I am sure,” Erroll said. “But despite your chivalry, rumor has it, she left with Lord Halifax.”
"Halifax?" Somerset burst out. “Eve would never willingly leave with that reprobate.”
Erroll had to agree. And didn’t like it one bit.
The last five hours in the saddle had been no better than the five-hour ride Erroll made three days ago, and this time he developed a headache—and the damned revolver he’d stuffed into his waistband was digging into his belly. He shifted the weapon and urged his horse into a gallop as he and his companions had done as often as possible in the darkness. The compelling need to paddle Miss Crenshaw’s bare arse rose with ferocity for the hundredth time since they’d set out after her. The vision only frustrated him all the more—for more reasons than one. This time, however, he would satiate his need. After he shot Halifax.
Erroll wasn’t naïve enough to believe the earl intended to marry her. He intended to ruin Miss Crenshaw once and for all and embarrass his enemy in the bargain, in recompense for the set down Erroll had given him in the garden. The fact she hadn’t consented to go with Halifax—and Erroll knew she hadn’t—wouldn’t be believed by the ton. The race toward Gretna Green in the privacy of Halifax’s covered carriage would leave no doubt that she wasn’t a lady, but Erroll doubted that Halifax had any intention of going all the way to Scotland.
So why hadn’t they encountered the two on the road yet?
Erroll was reasonably sure Halifax wouldn’t harm her. The man was lazy at heart, which meant he preyed on women who were easy victims to sweet words. Miss Eve Crenshaw was anything but a victim. Erroll recalled the gun she had pressed into his belly when he’d sneaked into her room. He also recalled her saying she wasn’t carrying a gun tonight and regretted that fact. Neville deserved a bullet in the belly.
Either way, Halifax would likely try to seduce her, which meant Erroll would have to kill him just for trying. He dug his heels into his horse’s belly. The animal lunged past Somerset and Oscar’s horses. Seconds later, the two men came up alongside him.
Half an hour passed, and they were forced to slow. Erroll considered turning back. Surely Halifax wouldn’t have gone this far? Erroll had expected to overtake them within four hours at the most. Had he miscalculated? Maybe they’d turned off on one of the side roads? The faint rattle of a fast moving carriage brought his mind to attention. He glanced to the right at Oscar, but couldn’t see the man’s face.
“I heard it,” Oscar said in a low voice.
“As did I,” Somerset confirmed.
Without another word, the three shot forward. A minute later, a shout went up from the carriage.
“Halt!” Somerset ordered, but the squeak of wheels said the carriage had picked up speed.
“Bloody bastard,” Oscar growled. “He’ll kill Miss Crenshaw.”
The brute was right. The moon, hidden by thick clouds, left them in dense blackness that made fast travel treacherous. Erroll loosened the reins, allowing his horse to gallop unencumbered on sure feet. Seconds later, he discerned the carriage fifty feet ahead and yanked free the revolver from his waistband. Erroll pointed the weapon skyward and fired.
A woman inside the vehicle screamed and the driver’s “Whoa,” preceded the squeak of slowing wheels.
“Drive on,” a man shouted from inside the coach, but the driver didn’t obey.
Erroll slowed his panting horse, with Oscar and Somerset alongside, but Somerset was off his mount first and lunged for the carriage door.
“Somerset,” Erroll began, but was cut off by Oscar’s “Stop, you fool.”
The carriage door swung open, and a tall, young man of about twenty years of age stepped to the ground, a revolver pointed at them. Somerset took a step back.
The young man looked from one to the other of them, then said, “Who the devil are you?”
“Not the father chasing you,” Erroll said. “Forgive us. We are pursuing a different couple.”
The young man hesitated.
“It is no trick,” Erroll assured him. “Somerset, get back on your horse.”
The viscount complied, but the young man wasn’t taking any chances, and backed into the carriage. Before he closed the door, he said, “Sykes, drive on.”
The carriage rolled into motion. Erroll urged his horse into a trot and, followed by his companions, passed the carriage.
When they were out of earshot, Somerset said, “How did you know?”
“The woman in the carriage screamed,” Erroll said. “Miss Crenshaw does not scream.”
For the last hour, Erroll told himself to keep riding, but, like wildfire, his worry jumped from one possibility to another, and now he wondered if he’d erred in taking the main road. How far would Halifax ride in order to ensure his story was believed? He would know the gossipmongers needed only the slightest prodding to accept and spread such a juicy story as the one he hoped to inspire. The purest in Society thrived upon the worst rumors. Erroll knew that truth firsthand, as he’d been the subject of many a vicious tidbit.
He had to admit, though, the scandal with Miss Eve Crenshaw topped even the time he’d made the rounds of half a dozen balls accompanied by London’s most notorious courtesan, Lily Thackery, who had been allied with Lord Belmont at the time. The marquess had a violent temper and met Erroll for a dawn appointment. They both missed, but Belmont, dissatisfied, had produced another pistol from his waistband and tried a second ti
me to shoot Erroll. Erroll’s second shot him before he got off the round, but Erroll was credited with shooting the marquess.
The man had lived, and didn’t want to recount the story, which Erroll knew was the only reason the magistrate hadn’t been called. Erroll’s father had banished him to Scotland the remainder of that year and through the bitter Highland winter. But the incident with Miss Crenshaw was worse. Far worse. And here he was, chasing her to Gretna Green.
*****
Eve couldn’t believe it. Lord Fairfax had changed horses and driven them through the night as if she and he were truly lovers making a run for Gretna Green. During the first two stops, she’d remained silent. But every subsequent stop thereafter, she had protested that he spent too much money on what was supposed to be a jest. He’d answered that no one could possibly dispute what had happened with so many witnesses along the way. His manner had darkened, however, at their last stop, when Eve announced with a laugh that they’d gone far enough. His “I will tell you when we have gone far enough,” was devoid of humor, and Eve was at a loss to understand what he truly intended.
Morning was fast slipping away and she calculated they would reach the border within two hours. What were the chances they would reach Scotland in time to witness Grace and Lord Rushton pronounced man and wife?
Eve jolted awake. She blinked, and another hard jolt reminded her that she rode in a carriage with Lord Halifax. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but she’d grown unnerved staring at him through the morning hours, and had closed her eyes in an effort to blot out his face. The carriage slowed, and Eve pulled aside the curtain. Five years had passed since she’d been on this road, but she hadn’t forgotten the green hills that marked the approach to the Scottish border.
She released the curtain and shifted her gaze to Lord Halifax. “Sir, we have gone far enough. We need not cross the border.”
For the dozenth time, a chill crept up her spine when his gaze dropped from her face to her breasts, then returned to her face.
“You are not particularly rich,” he said. “Three thousand pounds a year. Not nearly as rich as Lady Hancock, but she has a dozen young bucks at her feet.”
“I am sure she will marry the man she loves,” Eve said.
He gave a condescending laugh. “Such alliances aren’t based on affection.”
“If she has the pick of the lot, why not choose a man she cares for?”
“Females are not capable of soft emotion.”
“On the contrary, we are known for our tender emotion.” Though Eve knew he was more right than she. Many women were, in fact, incapable of any emotion other than jealousy and pride.
Lord Halifax studied her. “Are you saying you could love a man?”
“I would marry for no other reason.” A fact that had her well on the way to a lonely spinsterhood.
“I would not object if my wife loved me.”
Her heart jumped more with anger than fear. He spoke nothing of loving his wife, but she kept her voice genial and said, “Of course. You should insist that your wife love you.”
“I am speaking of you.”
Eve laughed. “You need not take the joke so far, my lord. The world will believe I ran away with you. That is all we need.”
“Though loathe to admit it, I need more.”
She had no idea what that meant, and didn’t want to know. “Forgive me, but I do not love you and, as you say, you want a wife who loves you.”
“You don’t really know me,” he said. “You could learn.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you love Rushton.”
“I do not know him. How can I possibly love him?” But she hadn’t been able to forget the play of muscle beneath her hand while her fingers were wrapped around his arm, the moist warmth of his mouth on hers, the hard planes of his body when she’d been mashed up against him…and the deceptively lazy way he’d warned Lord Halifax away from Lady Gallagher in the garden.
“I will make you forget him.”
Eve startled at the wonder of how Lord Halifax had read her mind, then realized he hadn’t. “This is a joke, sir, a way to embarrass Lord Rushton. You know I have no wish to marry.”
“I hadn’t given it any thought, but the carriage ride has given me time to reflect. Three thousand pounds will sustain my property. You will live as well as you always have.”
“I am sorry, but I will not marry you any more than I will marry Lord Rushton.”
“We have spent the night alone in my carriage while racing to Gretna Green. There’s no turning back.” His mouth twisted into a smile. “Particularly if we consummated the wedding before the ceremony.”
*****
“You say they passed through two hours ago?” Erroll asked the farmer in Shap.
“Aye,” he replied. “We was having breakfast when he stopped and demanded new horses.”
“You are sure it was Halifax?” Somerset asked.
“The crest was a silver shield with three red inescutcheons like his lordship here said,” the farmer replied.
“That’s the one,” Erroll said. “We will need horses.”
“I only have his horses and one chestnut,” the farmer replied. “He promised to send my horses back in exchange for them.”
“Those are his horses?” Erroll nodded at the two bays grazing in the corral alongside the barn.
“Aye.”
Erroll nodded. “They will do.”
“They ain’t my horses to rent,” the man said.
“Nevertheless, we will take them. When we see the earl, we will make sure he gets them back.” With interest, Erroll silently added.
“What about me getting back my horses?”
“You will have our mounts as collateral. We will need the chestnut, as well.”
“He is my favorite. I can’t sell him.”
“Name a price,” Erroll snapped. “Otherwise, I will simply take all three.”
“I’ll have the sheriff on your arse in ten minutes,” the man retorted.
“I know Halifax’s taste in horses. With a ten minute head start, the sheriff will likely not catch us. If he does, my companions and I will testify that you sold us the horses.”
The man glanced at Oscar, who folded his arms across his massive chest and glared.
“Twenty pounds each,” the man said through tight lips.
“I will leave my note,” Erroll agreed.
“A piece of paper means nothing here,” the man said.
Erroll pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket, and said, “I feel certain you are not implying I would cheat you,” as he withdrew the five notes he had on hand.
“You said you would take the horse if I didn’t sell them,” the man replied.
“If you insist on being an ass, I will make good the threat just on principle.” Erroll handed him the money, then called for paper and pen. He left the money and note, along with an assurance that he would have the funds sent once he reached home. The farmer grumbled, but fresh horses were saddled twenty minutes later.
“If we pace ourselves properly, we might catch them in two hours,” Erroll said as the three of them turned the horses toward the road.
“Why is he traveling so fast?” Somerset said. “Does he truly plan to marry her?”
That question had puzzled Erroll more with each passing mile. “One would think he expected Miss Crenshaw’s father to give chase.”
“Lord Tolland will shoot him, once he learns what the bastard has done,” Oscar said.
Erroll shifted his gaze onto the big man. “Will he, now?”
Oscar shrugged without looking at him. “If there is anything left after I get through with him.”
“As formidable as you are, dear Oscar, the earl will not expect you to be hot on his trail.”
“He ain’t all that smart,” Oscar said.
“I agree,” Erroll replied.
But he might be smart enough to have deduced that the lady’s father would, as Oscar said, kill him—or, even more pressing, that Erroll
would kill him—which would mean he had concluded that he had no choice but to marry her.
Chapter Eight
“There is no turning back.”
Fury swept through Eve. Lord Blane had said much the same thing when they’d made their mad dash for Gretna Green. She’d believed him and had accepted the logic that consummating their union before the vows were taken was the only way to ensure that no one could stop their marriage.
In truth, while her father had paid Lord Blane to disappear, it had been his father who caught up with them. The earl planned for his son to marry a rich heiress, not a baron’s daughter with a meager income. She’d often wondered if Blane had hoped that the accusation she was pregnant would force their fathers to allow them to marry after they’d returned to England. The fact was, however, his father had done her a great service by forbidding the marriage because Blane would have made a terrible husband—far worse than Lord Rushton.
Lord Halifax would be worse than the two put together.
“Lord Halifax, I will not marry you.”
He shrugged. “I can bribe someone to marry us. These Scots allow anyone to claim they are married as long as there’s a witness.”
“I do not understand,” she said. “You expressed no wish to marry. In fact, you have vigorously avoided marriage for thirty-eight years.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I admit that I have no love for the institution, but—” The carriage slowed and he lifted the curtain and looked outside. “Damn, I see the church spire in the distance.” He dropped the curtain. “We had better get this over with.”
“This?” Eve repeated, but needed no explanation when he shifted onto the cushion beside her. She scooted closer to the door. “This has gone far enough.”
“We both know this isn’t the first time you’ve spread your legs for a man in a carriage. Everyone knows Blane took your maidenhead during your last trip to Gretna Green and there is no telling how many other men you have accommodated since.”
Eve slapped him. His eyes widened, then narrowed, not with anger, but with a shrewd glint that frightened her.
