by Tarah Scott
“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.
“Had I known of your predilection for violence, we would have done this long ago.”
“I will not agree to be your wife,” she snapped. “Nor will I...do anything else.”
He gave her a malicious smile. “But you will, for your father won’t believe you didn’t beg me to fuck you in order to ensure I married you.”
Eve’s shock at his crude language was shoved aside by the chilling realization that Lord Halifax had concluded what she should have deduced the moment he kidnapped her: her father would kill him.
Panic sent her heart pounding. My lord, you need not concern yourself about my father. He will not take to heart this jest.”
“Do you think I am a fool?” Lord Halifax yanked her against him. “We have little time, so you will forgive me for not savoring you this first time.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Eve tried to twist free, but his arms tightened painfully around her. “I will have you thrown into Newgate.”
“A husband can do with his wife what he chooses.” His hot breath washed over her face.
“You will never be my husband.” She drew a breath to scream and he gave her a rough kiss to the mouth.
Eve jerked her head aside, but he grabbed the side of her head and forced her still as he shoved his tongue into her mouth. She half screamed, half gagged, and he groaned in response. He yanked her across his lap and pinned her against his body with one arm while he jammed his free hand between her legs. Eve instinctively clamped her legs together, but his fingers were like iron and rammed between her clenched thighs.
She bucked and became aware of his hard length beneath her buttocks. Her stomach roiled. She yanked her knee up and, in the instant before her knee made contact with his cheek, felt the cruel, hard probe of his fingers in her tender folds. Pain radiated up her leg when her kneecap made contact with his cheekbone. He cried out and his hold loosened. Eve shoved away from him and thudded to the floor onto her backside.
“Damn you.” He seized her arm.
“Re-lease me!”
A cry went up from the driver. Eve thought he’d heard the commotion. She knew a sudden urge to cry in relief—then the carriage sped up. Lord Halifax tumbled from the seat onto her. His weight knocked the breath from her and she gasped for air. He grabbed her shoulders and pinned her to the floor. Eve had the fleeting thought that he couldn’t possibly lay between her legs on the small space of the floor and she thought she heard another shout, this one some distance off.
“I will beat you,” Lord Halifax hissed.
Eve clawed at his face. He screamed like a schoolgirl as she raked her nails down his left cheek. Another shout outside, this one louder, and the carriage listed hard to the right, then rocked to a stop. The door flew open. Lord Halifax blocked her view, but Eve saw large fingers seize his coat at the shoulder, then he was up and off her as he tumbled backwards out of the coach.
Eve scrambled to her knees, then grabbed the handle near the door and shoved through the opening, nearly falling out and onto the ground. She righted herself and took in the few thatched roofs, clay cottages, an inn, and church that surrounded them. She gave a small cry when Oscar and Lord Somerset jumped from their horses while Lord Rushton yanked Lord Halifax off the ground by his collar.
Two men rushed from the nearest cottage as the earl drove a fist into Lord Halifax’s stomach. Halifax doubled over with a groan. He retreated and Lord Rushton matched him step for step, throwing a punch to his chin, then another to his stomach. More men emerged from cottages, but no one tried to stop the fight and Eve realized with growing horror that they were accustomed to the sight of brawls in their square when an angry parent or brother caught up with a would-be groom.
Lord Halifax held up one hand, palm facing Lord Rushton. “Enough,” he wheezed.
“Not hardly.” The earl pulled a pistol from his waistband and Eve’s heart jumped into her throat.
“There are witnesses,” Lord Halifax cried—and there were, a dozen more than before. “You can’t murder me in plain sight of the entire town.”
Lord Rushton swung his gaze onto the carriage driver, who remained motionless atop the vehicle. “Get down here. You will act as Halifax’s second.”
The man didn’t move.
Eve’s heart thundered. “My lord,” she began, but Lord Halifax cut her off.
“This is outrageous. We cannot conduct a duel in the town square. Dueling is against the law.”
Lord Rushton didn’t take his eyes off his pistol, which he was inspecting. “You will count your paces and do your damnedest to shoot me, Halifax, or I will shoot you outright.”
The lack of emotion in his voice sent a chill through Eve. Lord Halifax must have heard it too, for he shouted, “Someone call the sheriff!”
“I have no doubt he is already on his way,” Lord Rushton said.
“We dinna’ allow dueling in Scotland any more than you do in England,” a man in the forefront of the crowd said.
Lord Rushton lowered the weapon and looked at the man. “Do you allow men to kidnap another man’s fiancé, then try to rape her?”
Startlement flashed across the man’s face. He looked at Lord Halifax, eyes fixed on the scratches down his cheek, then shifted his gaze to Eve. She kept her eyes level with his and prayed the churning in her stomach didn’t reflect in her expression, but his gaze dropped from her face and she glanced down and gasped at sight of her dress’ torn sleeve.
The man took a step forward and stopped beside Lord Rushton. “I will act as his second.”
“You said yoursel
f, dueling is forbidden,” the earl replied. “Halifax’s driver can stand in.”
“If you kill his lordship I will swear it was a fair fight,” the man said. “I will be believed. The driver will no’.”
“I accept,” Lord Rushton said.
Eve took a step forward. “Lord Rushton, there will be no duel.” For the first time, he looked at her. “I am all right, sir.”
“You call being kidnapped and accosted all right?”
“I am none the worse.”
“Your dress and his face say otherwise.” His mouth thinned and she had the terrible feeling he sensed the tremble working its way through her body. “I assume the scream we heard was when you wounded him?” he asked.
For an instant she didn’t understand his question, then recalled Lord Halifax’s scream when she scratched him. “Yes.”
“You were right, Oscar,” Lord Rushton said, then added, “Please escort Miss Crenshaw into the nearest cottage.”
Oscar didn’t move.
“Oscar.”
Oscar glanced at her, but still didn’t move.
“You threaten to put a knife through my heart and shoot Halifax, but that slip of a girl frightens you?” Rushton demanded.
“Oscar,” she cried. “Say you did not make such threats.”
He glanced at the ground like a schoolboy. “I did, Miss.”
“Shame on you,” she said, then to Lord Rushton, “As for you, I am no slip of a girl.”
“No, madam, you are not.” He turned to Lord Somerset. “Somerset, if you have the bollocks, see to Miss Crenshaw. As for you, Halifax, have you a weapon?”
“I do not,” he snapped.
“I have one.” Another man stepped from the crowd as Lord Somerset reached Eve’s side and grasped her arm. The first man stopped beside Lord Rushton and withdrew the pistol stuffed into his belt.
“That’s a Scottish pistol,” Halifax said in obvious horror. “It must be twenty years old.”
“Thirty-two to be exact,” the man said.
“You have an advantage with that new French pistol of yours, Rushton,” Lord Halifax said. “It isn’t a fair match.”
Lord Rushton handed his weapon to the man. “The earl will use my pistol. I will take yours.”
The man’s brows rose, but he said nothing and handed his gun to Lord Rushton while Rushton his newer pistol to Lord Halifax’s second.
“I will act as your second,” Lord Somerset said to Lord Rushton.
“You have enough to deal with.” He frowned. “You should be inside, Miss Crenshaw.”
Anger shot through her. “Lord Somerset may have the bollocks to grasp my arm, but I doubt he can manhandle me into a cottage.”
His frown turned reproachful. “Madam, we are going to have a talk about your language.” He flicked a glance at Lord Somerset, then said, “I doubt it is worth him fighting to get you into the carriage. You will, however, remain quiet.”
“Sir,” she began, but he turned his back and addressed the owner of the pistol.
“I trust your weapon works properly?”
“As good as the day I bought it.”
He nodded, then said to Halifax’s second, “What is your name, sir?”
“Graham.”
“Graham, have you a doctor nearby?”
“Duncan.” The man nodded toward the crowd.
Lord Rushton looked over his shoulder as a short, stout man emerged from the crowd. “If you would be so good as to stand ready,” he said.
“I will,” Duncan replied.
Lord Rushton faced Graham. “Please check my pistol, then hand it over to his lordship, so we can be done with this business and be on our way.”
“Ye have at least twenty minutes before you have to be on your way—if anyone bothered to sound the alarm,” the man said.
Twenty minutes? Fear brought the sting of tears to Eve’s eyes.
“Then we have no worries,” Lord Rushton said.
The man examined the pistol, then walked to Lord Halifax and handed it to him.
“How do I know I can trust you?” the earl demanded.
The man gave him a cold smile. “Because I am hoping your friend misses.”
Lord Halifax’s mouth parted in surprise.
“Don’t misunderstand,” the man said. “I want you to miss him, too. Then, I will shoot ye myself.
“A duel?” wailed a familiar female voice. The crowed turned as Grace pushed past two men and said, “Eve Crenshaw, what have you done?”
*****
Memory of that same high-pitched cry caused Erroll to whirl toward the female who had uttered the sound. Miss Grace Crenshaw stood in front of the crowd, those perfect breasts heaving as they had… How many days ago had it been?
“A duel?” she cried. “He is fighting a duel over you?”
Erroll shifted his gaze onto Miss Eve Crenshaw. “Your handiwork, madam?”
She had the good grace to blush and he satisfied himself that her reaction was a good beginning for the retribution he had in mind. Erroll turned his attention to the brute. “Oscar, I beg you, please tell me you have the nerve to deal with the younger Miss Crenshaw.”
Oscar didn’t hesitate, but strode to the girl and grasped her arm.
“Take your hands off me,” she ordered.
“For pity’s sake, Grace,” her sister said, “be quiet.”
“How dare you?” the girl seethed.
“I warn you, Grace, I will take you over my knee myself.”
The younger sister’s eyes widened while the elder sister’s eyes narrowed.
Miss Eve Crenshaw hadn’t lied. She was none the worse for wear, but that was due to the unbelievable good luck that Halifax had waited until they reached Gretna Green to yank from her the last vestiges of her honor.
“Halifax, there are too many people in the square and we cannot chance a bullet going through one of the cottages,” Erroll said. “We will settle this in the field yonder.”
Halifax tossed his pistol to the ground. “I will not duel.”
The click of hammers being pulled back on several guns resounded in the quiet. “We think ye will, laddie,” said one man.
Halifax glanced wildly about at half a dozen guns pointed at him. “Y-you cannot do this. Do you know who I am?”
“You are the man who kidnapped another man’s fiancé, then tried to rape her in order to force her into marriage,” Erroll said.
“Rape?” Grace Crenshaw repeated.
Halifax shook his head. “No, it is a mistake. That is not what happened.” He jerked to the left where the elder sister stood beside Somerset. Somerset drew her aside as if to shield her with his body. Halifax’s eyes widened. “Miss Crenshaw—Eve—tell them. It was a jest. Nothing more.”
“A jest?” Erroll repeated. “I found you on top of her.” In one fluid action, Erroll yanked up his pistol and drew back the hammer as he leveled the gun on him.
“No!” Halifax cried. “Tell him, Miss Crenshaw. It was a jest and when you found us, we had fallen on the floor.”
Erroll kept his pistol steady. “Was it a jest, Miss Crenshaw?”
She hesitated and anger stabbed through him.
“It started out innocently enough,” she said.
“Innocent?” Erroll took a step toward Halifax, his pistol aimed at the man’s heart.
“He deserves to be shot,” said the man acting as Halifax’s second. “But a jury will be more compassionate with a fair fight than an unarmed man who is gunned down while the whole town looks on.”
Yes, there was that, and Erroll’s military rank—along with the fact that it would be a Scot—even a wealthy Scot whose mother was the daughter of an English duke—who had gunned down an English nobleman. All of which would guarantee a conviction. He might still receive the conviction even in a fair duel.
“My lord,” Miss Eve Crenshaw pleaded. He glanced at her. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Please.”
“You know very well he intended to
embarrass me by ruining you.” Erroll pointed his pistol heavenward and released the hammer. “I would have survived. But you…have you no concern for your reputation—or your honor?”
Her expression darkened. “Honor, you say?”
Too late, Erroll realized his mistake.
“You are a fine one to talk about my honor, when you sneaked into my room in the dead of night and accosted me.”
Laughter erupted in the crowd.
“I did not accost you.” Memory of the pleasurable discomfort as his face was mashed between her lush breasts followed with startling—and potentially embarrassing—intensity, and he said in irritation, “It was you who pointed a gun at me.”
“Christ,” Graham muttered, “and you English call us barbarians.”
She snorted. “If you had not barged into my bedchambers, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“That was not my fault,” Erroll said. “Neither is this. I am not the one who plotted to have a man kidnapped.”
This time she didn’t blush. “Lord Halifax did not kidnap me because of that.”
“You are correct, madam. Your kidnapping is entirely my fault, but I plan to rectify that.” Erroll turned his attention to Halifax. “If the dear earl does not take up his pistol, I will publish in the London Times that he kidnapped and raped you. Then I will visit every club and hell in London and repeat the accusation.”
Halifax’s mouth twisted in rage. “That is a damned lie.”
Erroll shrugged. “Not for lack of trying on your part. I feel certain the tarnish to your reputation will never quite disappear, particularly if I avail myself of every opportunity to recount the story.”
“All right you Scottish bastard,” Halifax snarled. “You will have your duel, but instruct your kinsmen to let me go once I put a bullet through your heart.”
A collective gasp went up in the crowd.
“Wait,” Halifax’s second said. “Rushton—Erroll MacLean, your father is the Marquess of Rushton?”
“At your service,” Erroll said.
“It would seem we Scots are barbarians after all,” he said.
“But not barbarians who rape women.”
“Aye.” The man looked at Halifax. “His lordship is right. We cannot conduct a duel in the square. Move along.”
