“Thank you for your help.” She reached for the latch.
“So what will you do now?”
Vanessa owed him no reply, for he had not apologized for the wager nor had he defended himself by speaking of love. Yet she said before she could stop herself, “I have not decided, but I shall not sit on my hands and weep while my brother faces death.”
“What you mean is that you will sneak away again to try to rescue him.” He finished his wine, then put the glass on the sideboard. When he faced her, his expression was as blank as Quigley’s. “You leave me no choice. I shall go to France and dig your brother out of whatever hole that dirty Corsican has imprisoned him in.”
“You are going to France?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I was looking for something to entertain me for the rest of the Season. Fool that I was, I thought I would find the wager and your company diverting. That has come to an end, so why shouldn’t I cross the Channel in your place?”
“But Corey is my brother.”
“A fact no one contests.” He laughed coldly as he closed the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back against the door to look up into his eyes. She was aware of every inch of his strong body, although he did not touch her. “My dear Vanessa, you have been looking for a knight of yore from the moment your aunt fired you off. A dashing air-dreamer who will risk his last breath to obtain you your heart’s desire. So often I have jested with you on that very matter, little perceiving that you would settle for nothing less. Now I stand before you ready to embark on this cockle-brained crusade.”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose in an unspoken contradiction.
“It is my place to get Corey,” she said quietly. “It is right that I risk my life for my brother.”
“You cannot believe that I will allow you to send yourself on a quest that will take you into Napoleon’s domain?”
“I shall not argue with you about the sense of this journey, but the fact remains that I should go.”
He settled his hands on her shoulders. “And the fact remains that I shall not let you go.”
His hands did not imprison her. He would release her if that was her wish. It was not. When he drew her to him, so her head rested over the gentle thump of his heart, two tears edged along her cheeks. She still was unsure of anything about him. She wanted to trust him as she had wanted nothing else in her life. Even her yearning to apologize to her brother was dimmed by her craving to trust Ross.
Softly she said, “If you are going, I must go with you.”
“You?” He stepped back and edged her face with his broad hands. “Are you truly off the hooks? I shall be blowed before I allow you to cross the Channel into the hell of war.”
She put her hands over his. Sorrow stabbed her as she drew them away. “Ross, you have no choice. If you do not take me with you, I shall go alone.”
“You are a blasted stubborn woman.” He strode across the room. Pouring himself another glass of wine, he raised it to his lips. He put it down without taking a drink. Slowly he turned to look at her. “Very well. It is clear I cannot bring you to your bearings on this. Perhaps you are right. We may have a better chance of reaching him and setting him free if we work together. You will have to trust me, Vanessa.”
“I will try.”
The glint returned to his eyes. “I suppose I can ask for nothing more. Meet me at the Appletree Inn on the Dover Road by six tomorrow morning. The Mail coach leaves from there for Dover.” He lifted his glass in her direction. “May good fortune continue to grant both of us her favors.”
Chapter Sixteen
A stable boy ran forward as Vanessa entered the stable yard behind the Appletree Inn. Grinning, he scratched one side of his ragged shirt.
“Take yer ’orse fer ye, milady?” His words whistled through gaps in his teeth.
She gave him the reins, but held her breath. The lad must have been sleeping in droppings, for he stank as much as the stable behind him. Handing him a coin, which she had taken from her purse before she entered the inn’s yard, because she wanted no one to suspect how much money she might be carrying, she motioned for him to take her bag from the back of the horse.
Searching the inn’s yard, Vanessa was startled it was so empty. An upended wagon sat in the thick shadows below the tiers of galleries on the building’s four stories. Stacked next to it were barrels and bundles wrapped in canvas. Something dripped on her head, and Vanessa looked up to see one of the inn’s denizens hanging wet linen over the uppermost railing. She took a step back, but was careful to avoid the trough beside the pump.
She had expected to see dozens of people and packages waiting to board the Mail. Squinting, she tried to determine where the coach could be hidden in the murky stable.
“I am looking for a gentleman,” she said when the stable boy handed her the small bag.
“Anyone in particular?” He eyed her with renewed interest. “The Appletree ain’t no academy, milady, but there be gents who ain’t really no gents. They always be lookin’ fer a bona roba.”
Vanessa drew the length of her blue pelisse closer to her as she said, “Young man, I am no Cyprian! I am looking for a gentleman of my acquaintance.”
“Then why can’t ye see fer yerself if ’e be ’bout the yard?”
Owning to the uselessness of this conversation and the fact the lad was right, Vanessa pointed to a half-open door set beneath the inn’s trademark sign of a blossoming apple tree. “May I wait in there?”
“The master don’t take to naturals usin’ the inn without givin’ ’im a cut.”
“I told you I am not—Oh, cut line!”
The lad laughed as Vanessa hurried to the door. She peeked in, but the room beyond the door was lost even more to shadows than the stable. Ross had said he would meet her at the inn, not inside it, but she took a tentative step inside, although it went against her pluck.
The scent of sour ale mixed with the odors from the stable. Rushes crunched beneath her feet, but she doubted if they had been changed since the beginning of the year. Each step raised more offensive smells until she feared she would gag.
When her eyes adjusted to the stygian bleakness of the room, she noted a keg set on a table at one end. Stained tankards hung from the low rafters, and a quartet of men, who sat near the table, were watching her with a variety of expressions from leering admiration to apathy. The man, with an indifferent expression, wore an apron, and she hoped he was the keeper of the inn. She edged toward him, glad to keep a trestle table between herself and the man with the lustful grin.
“’Elp ye?” grumbled the man in the apron. He glanced at her and away.
“Can you tell me where I should wait for the Mail for Dover?”
“’Ere.”
“Right here?”
He splashed water perfunctorily in a glass and placed it on a dirty shelf behind him. “In the yard be best. But ain’t no use in waitin’ now. It left.”
“The coach has departed?” Vanessa put out a hand to steady herself, but pulled it back from the filthy table. “When?”
“Most of an hour past.” He paused to fill another mug for one of the shadowy creatures. “If’n ye want to stay, ye need to order.”
Vanessa was sure her stomach would rebel if she ate anything on one of these filthy tables. The reek of the dirty room blocked out the odor of the unwashed bodies, but added to the discomfort in her middle.
“How long before the next coach?”
“Midday.”
“But that is too late. I need to get to Dover right away.”
He shrugged with indifference, the sleeves of his shirt clinging to his thick muscles. “The coach leaves at midday. Ye stayin’ or no?”
“Can I rent a carriage?”
“’Ave to talk to them in the stables on that. I don’t tend to carriages.”
More laughter followed Vanessa as she went back out in the morning sunshine. Not just the laughter from the suck-pints inside, but th
e memory of Ross’s deep laugh. The innkeeper’s few words told her that Ross had bleared her eyes with her own trickery and must be in a fair way to Dover by now. By playing—with much more success—the prank she had tried to pull on him yesterday, he had managed to delay her from taking the Mail with him.
By the elevens, she would not let him spend the day chatting to his fellow riders about her gullibility! She had been a widgeon to trust him again, but she would show him that she would not be left behind.
“Boy!” Vanessa called.
“Yes, milady?” The stable boy popped out from behind the pump. “Can I ’elp ye?”
“I must rent a carriage.”
“None to be let.”
Vanessa frowned. “None?”
“It be let, milady.”
“Then bring my horse.”
“’E be gettin’ ’is feed now, milady.”
With a sigh, she pulled another coin from her purse and dropped it into his hand. She had no idea where he hid it among his rags. With a tip of his cap, he urged her to wait while he got her horse.
By now, Aunt Carolyn might have discovered her absence. She could not return to Grosvenor Square for a carriage. There was no choice but to ride to Dover. She winced at the thought of traveling seventy miles on horseback, then smiled. If she galloped hell-for-leather, she would easily catch the Mail, unless some young blood had paid to drive it at a neck-or-nothing speed. Once she overtook the coach, she would insist that she be allowed to ride, even if she must sit in the rear box.
She gasped as her own thoughts scandalized her. No lady of quality rode in the rear box, but her reputation was of little import now. She was too close to finding Corey to turn back.
The lad brought her horse. Giving him her bag, she asked him to tie it in place again behind her saddle.
“Lady Vanessa!”
She whirled at the familiar voice and stared into the triumphant face of her tiger. The lad leapt from his horse and ran toward her.
“What are you doing here, Albert?”
“My lady, you must come back with me to Lady Mansfield’s house. Bang-off!” He grabbed her horse’s halter. “You mustn’t delay.”
“I am riding to Dover.” She climbed onto the mounting block and settled herself into the saddle. Frowning when she saw Albert still held her horse, she said, “If you wish to ride with me, you may. If not, step aside.”
He lowered his voice. “My lady, I urge you to come with me posthaste.”
“I—”
“There are pad-thieves lurking here.” He glanced toward the stable. “They’re eyeing your horse and your purse. My lady, I beg you to come away from this place with me.”
“How did you know to find me here?”
“The note from Lord Brickendon, my lady.” Guilt lengthened his face. “He sent a note asking your aunt to send someone for you at the Appletree Inn by six this morning. Said he would be away from London for a few weeks, but would call when he returned. Thank goodness, Lady Mansfield found his note. Your aunt was ready to search all over Town for you when—”
Furiously, Vanessa said, “By all that’s blue, that man vexes me! He vows to be truthful, then the next word out of his mouth is a lie.”
“This was to be delivered to you, my lady. Lord Brickendon wanted you to have it straightaway.”
Vanessa opened the slip of paper the tiger handed her and read:
My dearest Vanessa,
You have no reason to take heed of these words when you must believe that I have played you false yet again. If you recall, I told you only that the Mail leaves from the Appletree Inn, not that we would travel on it. I go to France alone. Do not follow, for I shall be gone from England before you reach Dover. Put your trust in me. I look forward to the hour when I watch you welcome your brother home. Until that hour, I remain
Your (I pray) trusted servant,
“Ross,” she whispered and folded the page closed. Her gloved fingers lingered on it as she looked south toward the Dover Road. What had her determination to win Corey’s freedom wrought? She should have guessed Ross would not be so easily persuaded by her highhanded demand that she accompany him across the Channel. Now he was facing the danger alone.
Bitter bile tainted her throat as she realized he was trying, by rescuing Corey, to recompense her for the pain he had caused with the wager. Yet, if Eveline was correct, Ross had nothing with which to bribe the French officials to release Corey.
Albert fidgeted, rubbing one foot against the back of his other leg. “My lady, we must return to the Square immediately. Lady Mansfield told me to tell you not to delay a moment.”
Vanessa hesitated. There was no reason not to go to Dover as she had planned except that Ross had asked her to trust him. Did she? She turned her horse toward Grosvenor Square, knowing she must trust Ross completely … for the first and maybe, as he went into the midst of the war, for the last time.
Quigley threw open the door as Vanessa slid from the saddle. He rushed out without his coat. That the normally fastidious butler was so untidy surprised her more than anything else on this astonishing day.
“Is Aunt Carolyn ill?” she asked while they climbed the steps. She could think of nothing else that would send his mouth to jerking as if from a palsy.
“No.” He kept his eyes averted. “Let me take your coat, my lady.” He grabbed her bag from Albert and set it on the floor.
“Quigley!”
The butler’s hands were trembling as he looked at her. She gasped when she saw happiness brightening his usually dour features. “He is here, my lady,” he said in a near whisper.
“He?” Ross must have realized that he was a Tomnoddy to go to France alone. She would tell him in minute detail how furious she was with him for abandoning her in that disgusting inn’s yard. She would chastise him for daring to bronze her with her own trick. She would urge him to tell her—without the harsh words they had spoken yesterday—the truth about the claims against him. She would—
“Nessa!”
Her eyes widened at the name she once had hated, then had despaired of ever hearing again. Only one person living called her that. Not Aunt Carolyn. Not Ross. Only—
“Corey!” she cried as she ran forward to fling her arms around her beloved brother. Sobbing against his neck, she clung to him, sure that if she released him, he would disappear as he had after so many dreams on so many nights.
“Gently, Nessa.” He laughed. “Don’t knock me to the floor and complete what Boney’s lads failed to do.”
She stepped back to see the scars of war etched into him. His healthy color had bleached to a sickly, wan shade, and a patch concealed his right eye. She moaned when she saw that he leaned on a cane.
“Oh, Corey …”
“Have no pity for me,” Corey cautioned her with the same determination she had heard when he argued with her and Papa that every able man had an obligation to fight for England. “Going was my choice, both to France and into battle that day.”
“You could have died!”
“But I did not.” He put his arm around her shoulders, and she gazed up at his beloved face. His smile was unchanged, and she knew that eventually she would learn to ignore the patch. Just to have him back …
“It must have been horrible.”
“It was.” He never had minced words to ease her feelings. “So often, the thought of my contrary sister waiting for me at home was the only thing that kept me alive. I knew you would never forget me. My thoughts went out to you every day. Did you think I would cock up my toes and free you from my funning?”
Vanessa did not wipe away the tears running along her face as they slowly climbed the stairs. She was astonished how well Corey could manage with his cane, but that thought was muted by what she had yearned to say since minutes after he had stormed out of Wolfe Abbey. “Corey, I am so sorry for what I said that last night before you left.”
“You said?” He tweaked her nose as they reached the first floor where Aunt Caroly
n was standing beside Captain Hudson. Their grins were so wide Vanessa wondered if they would leap from their faces. “What did you say, Nessa, that clearly has been plaguing you all these long months?”
“You don’t remember?”
He shook his head, sending his too long black hair falling into his face. Pushing it aside, he said, “I remember only how much I’ve wanted to apologize to you for saying that you were siding with Papa because you were worried about having to manage the Abbey if he died before I returned.”
“You said that?”
Limping into the sitting room, he dropped with a grateful sigh into a chair. “We both said hateful things that night. At least we can apologize to each other. I cannot ever retract the words I made to Papa.”
She took off her bonnet and knelt next to him. “Papa prayed for you to come home alive. Some of his last words were for you.”
“Only some of his words?” His smile returned.
“You know his very last words were demands for the reforms for the poor that he had harangued the Lords for since before we were born.”
He ruffled her hair. “Dear Papa. I am glad he never changed. Nor have you, Nessa. Scaring old Aunt Carolyn that way by piking off like a conveyancer trying to elude the Watch.”
Aunt Carolyn came into the room and sat across from him. “‘Old’, am I, lad? I think you shall find me far younger than you remember.” She rose to kiss him lightly on the forehead before sitting next to Captain Hudson, who still smiled broadly. “Vanessa, if you had not been so cork-brained as to take off as you did, you would have been here when Corey came home. Why you did something so jobbernowl just now when—”
“Corey is home,” Vanessa finished, halting her aunt from continuing the scold.
With a smile, he put his hand over his sister’s. “Not yet truly home. Do you long, as I do, for the draughty hallways of Wolf Abbey?”
“We shall take a walk along the strand below the Abbey before the month is out.”
Again his smile dimmed. “And I shall go to the churchyard and tell Papa that he was right. I was a paper-skull to run off to fight when I had no idea of what awaited me. I thought I would be a grand hero like those whose pictures hang in the gallery, but I was just a blithering block.”
The Wolfe Wager Page 20
