Finally she could fight her exhaustion no longer. Telling herself she must be rested by the time she reached Dover and truly began her adventure, she gave herself to sleep.
The carriage slowed. Half asleep, Vanessa noted the change in the tempo of the horses’ iron shoes upon the road. Not a dirt road, but cobbles, for the noise was sharp. With a smile, she nestled more deeply into the comfort of the seat and thought about the comfortable bed she would hire when Scoville halted the carriage in the yard of a fine inn here in Chatham.
Another sound intruded on her. A low thud resounded near her ear. She considered opening her eyes, but she was too enmeshed in sleep to let the curious sound draw her back into the world.
Rain, she told herself. It must be the patter of raindrops into puddles in the street. Instead of waking, she would as lief stay in the satisfying sweetness of her dreamworld. She did not want to escape the dream where her brother stood nearby as she was warm in Ross’s embrace. That could be just a dream. She would find Corey, but she must never let her heart be betrayed again.
When the pattern of the storm’s thunder never changed, her curiosity refused to be ignored. She opened her eyes to discover that, although the sky was gray, night’s darkness had not yet arrived. But, if it was not dark, they could not have reached Chatham yet. What—?
Her unuttered question vanished from her head as warm lips covered hers. As her dream came to life, she slid her hands up a worsted coat to encircle broad shoulders. The lips became more demanding, and she surrendered to them, wanting to give every bit of herself to the ecstasy.
Suddenly Vanessa pulled away. She stared in disbelief at Ross, who was grinning at her like a fool. “You should not be here!” she cried, not caring how silly her words sounded.
“True.” His hand cupped her chin and brought her lips to his again. When she drew back, he laughed. “It appears I have compromised you, Vanessa, by my unchaperoned company in your carriage. I am afraid I shall have no choice but to buckle myself to you.”
“No!” Her mind was clearing from the tendrils of sleep. “I do not want to marry you. Not now. Not ever.”
His smile dropped into a forbidding frown. Folding his arms over the front of his double-breasted, black wool redingote, he set one Hessian on the opposite knee. Not fooled by his easygoing pose, she regarded him with an expression as uncompromising.
“This is, indeed, a surprising announcement,” he said in a tone so calm she could have almost believed he was indifferent. A single glance at his eyes, which blazed with rage, warned her to caution. “Surprising in lieu of the fact we announced our plans to our friends last night.”
“So we did, but I fear I have distressed my bosom-bows with our announcement. In light of that, I have reconsidered your offer of marriage.”
“Without so much as a reasonable explanation?” When she hesitated, he added sharply, “You owe me that much, Vanessa.”
Knowing he was right, but fearing if she said much more her tears would fall to add to her humiliation, Vanessa turned to look out the window and gasped when she realized the beau-traps she had heard beneath the horses’ hoofs belonged to Bond Street. “What are we doing in London? I was going to—”
“Meet me at Madame deBerg’s shop, so it is somehow just that you would open your eyes just as we are passing it.”
“But I cannot be in London. I was going—”
Ross grasped her shoulders and brought her to look at him. His eyes narrowed with the fury that tightened his lips until he nearly spat each word at her. “Imagine my surprise and consternation when I arrived at Madame deBerg’s shop to discover the modiste was to come to your aunt’s house before tea. It took me only a short time to convince Quigley to blow the gab of where I might find Lady Mansfield. She shared my astonishment at your subterfuge, and I left her in a pool of tears while I chased you.” His face became as hard as sculptured stone and his voice as unfeeling. “You need to be cut for the simples. What in blazes did you think you were doing?”
Easing out of his grip, Vanessa clasped her fingers to keep him from seeing how they trembled as she met his gaze without flinching. “Me? I would venture you are the one suffering from hey-go-mad humors if you have ridden after me only to ask such a question.”
“You’re correct. I am twice over a thick to come chasing after you to prevent your fool’s quest.”
“Quest? I fear you are mistaken, my lord. I was enjoying a ride in the country.”
“Your man says you are on your way to Dover, as I suspected when no one knew where you might be. You are a poor liar. You bite off each word as if it was distasteful, which it should be.” He caught her hand and held it when she tried to pull away. “Good fortune offered me her favor when I discovered you so soundly asleep that you did not know I had joined you on your return journey to London.”
“I have no wish to return to Town.”
“You would as lief go to France. Blast it, Vanessa! You must be a paper-skull to trot blithely into that maelstrom. What could you do in France beyond ending up in circumstances as dire as those of Lord Wulfric’s?”
Her voice broke. “You learned something else about Corey from Lord Liverpool?”
Instead of answering, Ross asked, “Did you think I would let you flee like this? Your aunt is waiting—no doubt, having a crise de nerfs for you while her abigail gets the burnt feathers—at her house.”
“Aunt Carolyn never has a crise de nerfs. We Wolfe women would not—”
“Ever show an ounce of sense,” he interrupted yet again. “I am taking you back home where you belong.”
“Where I belong is with my brother.”
“Have you lost every bit of wits you ever possessed?” Sorrow clamped around each word he spoke in a near whisper. “Why didn’t you come to me? I am your fiancé.” He laughed with raw pain. “At least, I thought I was when I set out to halt you.”
Vanessa sat in glum silence. Her grand plan had ended in the bitter ashes of the ruin of her dreams, but she could not give up. As the carriage came to a stop before her aunt’s house, she swallowed her tears as she recalled her vow never to come back here until she returned with her brother.
Ross opened the door. Getting out, he held up his hand. Vanessa saw—from the edge of her eye—the furious expression on her coachman’s face as he jumped down from the box. Scoville did not want a Wolfe to submerge her will to another’s commands.
“Are you going to sit forever in the carriage, Vanessa?”
“If you would step aside and close the door, I could continue on my journey.”
To Scoville, Ross asked with an adder’s tongue, “What say you, coachee? Do you wish to see your lady a guest of Napoleon’s soldiers?”
The coachman dug his toe between the cobbles as he mumbled, “’Tweren’t right for her to go in the first place, but—”
Ross snapped, “Listen to him if you will not listen to me.”
She recognized defeat, but it would not be her companion for long. Somehow—she had no idea how—she would obtain her brother his freedom. Yet her urgency to find out what Ross might have learned about Corey overmastered every other consideration.
With regal disdain, Vanessa allowed Ross to assist her to the walkway. She watched as Scoville untied Ross’s horse’s reins from the back of the carriage, but she did not pause as she walked to the door. Ross would not leave until he was sure she was fully acquainted with her folly.
Quigley opened the door. Aunt Carolyn burst through to throw her arms around Vanessa. Her sobs sliced into Vanessa as her aunt begged her to forgive her the harsh comments earlier.
“I forgive you,” she said to assuage her aunt’s grief. “Your words did not hurt me. I knew how anxious you were for this wedding.”
“Finally you are speaking sense,” Ross interjected. He took Vanessa’s arm in his strong hand. When she stared at him in disbelief at his cavalier behavior, he said to her aunt, “Lady Mansfield, I beg your indulgence and ask you to allow me a moment
to speak to your headstrong niece in private. Perhaps I might convince her to explain why she took this maggot in her head to go to France.”
Amazement and horror widened Aunt Carolyn’s eyes. “France? She was going to France?”
“Need the two of you ignore me as if I were a naughty child?” Vanessa demanded.
“When you have acted the limb, you should expect to be treated as one,” returned Ross. When she flinched at the insult, he looked back to Aunt Carolyn, “My lady?”
Wringing her hands, Aunt Carolyn said, “You may use my sitting room, my lord.”
Quigley took Vanessa’s damp cloak. “There is wine in there, my lady. If you would like something warm, I can have Cook heat some rum for you.”
“That is not necessary,” she answered in a choked voice as she saw how he avoided her eyes.
“My lord?” Quigley asked Ross. “Would you like—?”
“I said it wasn’t necessary!” she said with rare heat.
The butler arched his brows, but said nothing. He gave a half bow in her direction and, taking her cloak and Ross’s coat, backed out of the foyer. Aunt Carolyn rushed after him.
Vanessa considered balking at Ross’s assumption that she would go meekly with him up the stairs. A single glance at the hard line of his jaw warned her that, if she hesitated, he would toss her over his shoulder like a farmer carrying a calf.
He closed the door of the sitting room. A lone lamp lit the shadowed room. When she heard the latch click, she shivered, knowing he would not let her leave until he had wrested from her every answer he wanted. Indignation straightened her back as she sat primly on the rosewood settee. He had no cause to be infuriated when he had blown upon her at every turn. That he expected honesty from her when he had lathered her with swackups was the ultimate conceit.
Ross crossed the room to the sideboard where a decanter and glasses waited. Mud, that was splattered on his breeches and had ruined the sheen of his boots, told of his wild ride to catch her carriage. His coattails snapped on every step, accenting his unspoken fury.
“I think I am due an explanation,” he said with the feigned equanimity he had used in the carriage.
“I fail to understand why any is necessary.” Splaying her hands across the lap of her wrinkled gown, she continued to regard him with her most severe expression. If her composure faltered, even for a moment, she feared it would forever. “You clearly knew my destination. Can there be any question of my purpose in going to Dover and on to France?”
“Only that you are determined to suffuse yourself in arrant nonsense.” He put his hands on the back of a chair as he tried to pin her in place with a glare. “I should anoint you thoroughly, but I have never raised my hand to a woman. Maybe I am a goosecap for not letting you fry in your own grease.”
“My lord, I—”
His eyes became dusky slits. “‘My lord’? Can I believe that you have brought not only our betrothal to an end, but have spiflicated our friendship as well?”
“My lord,” she repeated more forcefully, “I left you a message to let you know that I would not be going for a ride with you in the Park. As I have told you that our betrothal is over, that was all that needed concern you. My destination was not your bread and butter.”
“You left me lies apurpose.”
“You are an odd one to be accusing another of being false.” All her grief focused in her voice as she cried, “I thought I could trust you!”
“You can.”
“No, for you have used your fascinating arts to convince me to let you play booty with my heart. I shall never believe another word you speak.”
Ross straightened, and she resisted recoiling from the wrath tightening his face. “So you have said before. I have lied to you? I would like you to illuminate me on that statement, if nothing else.”
“I know of your wager with those sons of a sow you call your friends.” Vanessa raised her chin in a weak pose of defiance. “What you did not wager on, my lord, is that I would discover the truth of your abhorrent game.”
He went back to the sideboard. She closed her eyes as she was filled with renewed pain. Even to the moment she had confronted him with the truth, she had prayed Ross would disavow her accusations, telling her that her eavesdropping ears had been mistaken. Now she knew the truth. The wager had been real.
Pouring a glass of wine, he brought it to her. With an icy smile, he said, “I have not lied to you before, Vanessa, and I shall not now. Yes, I wagered with Franklin and Swinton that I would win your heart and your hand before the Season came to an end.”
Her fingers tightened around the stem of the glass until its jeweled facets cut into her palm. Standing, she put the glass on a table and took a steadying breath. “I appreciate your honesty, my lord, no matter how belated it might be. I trust you will find mine as welcome. I ask you to please leave my aunt’s house and not return.”
“If that is your wish.”
“It is.”
He tipped her face toward him. When she quivered at the luscious warmth of his touch, he said softly, “Speak the truth, Vanessa, for I tire of the huffs and puffs of your half-truths. Do you truthfully wish me to leave and never return? Do you wish to return to your hopeless, empty life? I have seen the fires burning in your eyes and tasted the heat on your honeyed lips. Can you forget—can you truthfully forget what we have savored?”
Vanessa turned away. Her face was sure to expose the truth that her heart had not changed. It cherished the love that she wished to give only to Ross, but she could not ignore the question that thudded through her on every beat. She loved Ross, but not once had he spoken of love.
“What we have had is over, for it was based on balms.” Still not looking at him, she said, “It is in the air, my lord, that you are mucked out.”
“What does the state of my pockets matter to you?”
Taken aback by his calm question, she whirled to face him. “Could you have forgotten that, if Corey fails to return alive, I shall be one of England’s richest women? A woman with a title that shall bring honor and prestige to your children?”
“Damn, Vanessa,” he snapped, coming around the chair, so there was only open floor between them, “no matter what nonsense you have had your head filled with, I never intended to marry the mixen for the sake of the muck. Forget your father’s blasted title and to perdition with that blunt!”
She recoiled from his fury. Even the Wolfe temper was dimmed by the rage burning in his eyes. Quietly, she said, struggling to keep her voice even, “You are the one who forgets yourself with such cant, my lord.”
He gave a mocking bow in her direction. “Then I beg your pardon. And may I say that you have become blind to the truth? You discount what I say to you, so why should I tell you that you have listened unwisely to those who have reason to hurt you?”
“Eveline would never hurt me.” She pressed her hands to her mouth when she saw how her answer stunned him. Her hand started to reach for him, but she pulled it back. Longing to ease his pain was want-witted when he was the source of hers.
“Miss Clarke has been carrying these bangers to you?” He locked his hands behind his coat and walked to the window. “I suppose that she heard these stories from her lover. Odd, that Edward would think—” He sighed, and she could not mistake the genuine regret in his voice. “You have had your revenge, Vanessa, if you yearned for me to suffer as you have, because I have in truth been wounded by one I believed to be a bosom-bow.” Fury blazed again in his eyes as he faced her. “However, I have not betrayed you. I have just been aboveboard with you about that witless wager. Would I have been so forthright if I had wished to continue to bronze you?”
Slowly she sat and rubbed her numb fingers together. No matter how he might be twisting his words, she must be honest with him. “I do not know. I have no idea which of your words are on the square any longer.”
He swore so viciously her face burned. Having no pity on her delicacy of mind, he crossed the room to tak
e her hands and bring her back to her feet. “You have been seeking what you want for so long that you cannot see what you need is here in front of you.”
“And you are what I need, my lord?” She lifted her chin again, so the tears in her eyes did not course along her cheeks. “Do I need a rogue who risks my heart on the turn of a card?”
“You need me.”
Vanessa was astonished when he added nothing more. Then she realized there was nothing more to be said. This was the truth. Picking up her glass, she sipped slowly, but the wine’s warmth could not lessen the chill within her. She could not make her dreams come true by wistful thinking.
“Lord Brickendon,” she said, finding it ever more difficult to keep her voice from quivering, “I bid you good day.”
As she walked toward the door, he said to her back, “Perhaps before you have me ejected as you did Franklin, you might wish to hear what I learned from the Prime Minister.”
She turned. “I wish to hear it all.”
“All? There is no all.” He took a deep drink of his wine and leaned his elbow on the back of her aunt’s favorite chair. “There is only the same. The government fears making any bargains with Napoleon at this juncture. They believe the war will come to an end before the year does, although I think they are being optimistic. If they were to strike a deal with Boney, the English people would be furious.”
“Even to rescue a fellow Englishman?”
He sniffed with disdain. “My dear Vanessa, there is nothing the English love better than a martyr. No one denies Nelson was a hero at Trafalgar, but how much more acclaim he received because he died while protecting English interests! Becoming a dead hero will enshrine your brother in history along with Nelson and Richard the Third’s nephews in the Tower. Alive, he is only a bother to this government. I have pestered and exasperated every man I know in the government, but they seem as obdurate as you.”
The Wolfe Wager Page 19
