Helena repressed her shudder and risked another glance out of the window. They were undoubtedly to take the Great North Road, which she considered very foolish for a man trying to escape London. It was the first place Julius would look.
Then the import of what he had just said struck her hard. “Rome?”
“We are doubling back and going to the coast. I have a vessel waiting for me. And you, as it turns out.” He patted his pocket. “We have a fortune here, my dear. We will have a merry time of it.” He bestowed a roguish smile on her. “With any luck, I’ll have given you a bellyful of my heir by the time we see your family again.” He frowned. “Do you not wish to speak at all? Do I have to take all the burden of conversation?”
“What about Northumberland?”
He paused. “I will write to my mother and inform her of our change in plans.”
“Do you not wish to show me your home?” At least it would not involve leaving the country if she agreed to go to Northumberland.
“Indeed I do, but Italy is as dear to me as England.”
Wait—from the research Julius had done, Everslade had never left the country. He had not even been on the Grand Tour, because his mother had insisted on him not leaving her alone. She remembered that distinctly, because she had considered the fact another mark against him. A clinging mother she could do without.
“Tell me about your home.”
“Have you ever been to Northumberland?”
Yes. “No. If I am to live there, I’d like to know more.” Her mouth stung every time she spoke, but she fought not to show it.
“Ah.” He pressed his fingertips together. “It is a lovely county. The best, of course. The lakes are beautiful, and the mountains provide the frame for them. My house is nestled between two of the highest, sheltered from the winds. A perfect love nest, one might say.”
She remembered the lakes and mountains, but the last time she’d visited the Lake District, it had been in Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lancashire. Most definitely not in Northumberland, which was the other side of the country.
“I have never been that far north,” she said, further perjuring herself. “I know shamefully little about that part of the country.” Just in case he recalled that he was talking about the wrong county, she could feign ignorance, too. Was he testing her? No, she decided, he was not, because he appeared in perfect harmony, leaning back, smiling as if he’d won.
His volatility alarmed Helena. She had only ever met one other person with moods that could flash from high to low in an instant, combined with a shocking lack of awareness of doing so, and that was Caroline, Julius’s first wife. Caroline had also shown a similar lack of understanding of other people, even of her husband.
She could not get on that boat with him. If she did, she was lost. She must do everything in her power to get away. By this time, Helena had worked out an approach. Sullen but accepting with a side dish of fear would work best. He would find the fear flattering, in all likelihood. If she had a better weapon she wouldn’t hesitate in trying to kill him, but even the holsters that usually contained carriage pistols were empty. “I must relieve myself.”
“I have provided the means.” He nodded to the small blue-and-white bourdaloue that sat on the floor of the carriage.
“I cannot.” She wouldn’t say why. Let him work it out for himself.
He groaned. “We are due to change carriages after we cross the Heath. I will allow you to stop then, but be warned. I will send a servant with you, and he will watch you.”
That was almost worse, but she’d take the indignity of relieving herself in someone’s presence for the chance to leave a note or a message. Oh, yes! She had her visiting cards with her. If she could drop a few, she could leave a trail of clues. Her propensity for privacy would have some benefits.
Swallowing her bile and her desire to tear his eyes out with her bare hands, Helena tried the meek feminine response. He would want that, and if she added a strong streak of shyness, she might delay the inevitable until someone came for her.
They reached Hampstead Heath. That was a blow. She had hoped her brother would have caught up with her before that time. Since three carriages were already waiting at the inn, they set forth in a train. The Heath was notorious for bold highwaymen, and footpads abounded there. Carriages would frequently wait at the Spaniards Inn until a few had gathered.
They negotiated the Heath, while Everslade tried to initiate conversation and Helena answered with softly spoken responses. “You will enjoy my house,” he said, “and I mean to treat you carefully. I do not wish to wed you merely for your fortune, but your sweet self.”
“Are you, then, short of funds, sir?” She’d pay him all she owned to get out of this mess. Before she killed him.
“Not at all. But any man of means must be delighted that his wife brings sufficient funds with her. You will no doubt wish me to dispose of your fortune for you. Indeed, many have come to me for advice.”
How could she have not noticed how utterly pompous the man was? With every sentence he spoke, her hackles rose a bit more. For two pins she’d be backing into a corner and growling at the back of her throat, like the poor unfortunate cur that her father’s gamekeeper caught on the estate last year. The beast now lived amiably with the other dogs in the kennel, so maybe it had just been hungry.
She was not hungry. Not for the man sitting opposite her, at any rate.
She almost wished for a highwayman, but they crossed the heath without incident. Nobody hid behind the trees or braved the rain that was pattering down on the coach roof. Outside all was bleak, the green of summer gone, the trees bedraggled, dripping soggy dead leaves.
The sight of a building ahead should have comforted Helena, but it did precisely the opposite. The light was dimming, preparing for full nightfall.
As if reading her mind, Everslade glanced out the window. “We have time to change horses and make a little headway before dark. At least, enough to confound our pursuers. I fear your brother is bound to send people in pursuit. A dead bore, but we need to at least make a show of confounding him.”
“My father may not be pleased.”
“Your excellent mother assures me that she will see that he causes no trouble.”
He was altogether too complacent. In her experience, when her father wished to do something, he did it. The fact that he rarely troubled to do so fooled a lot of people, but not his family. Witness his determination to abide by the pact he’d made with his sisters to call the children outlandish names. He had stood firm on that resolve. However, now was not the time to voice her disagreement. Instead, she shifted in her seat and faced the window, gloomily watching the rush of the road under the wheels. At the end of the heath, the carriages which had traveled in a bunch steadily spaced themselves out once more.
Their coach halted at an inn. They did not stop at the usual place at the end of the heath, but another close by. This was her chance.
Before she could gather her resolve and humbly request that she be excused, he put a hand on the door, halting the footman who waited, head down, outside. The man probably expected to see terrible debauchery unfolding inside and averted his eyes.
“My dear,” Everslade said, “please hand over your pocket.”
She blinked in an attempt to mask her dismay. Her pocket held her little knife, her card case, even the tablet she used for making notes. Without it she would have little chance to leave a meaningful message. But he would not let her down without it.
What else was she carrying?
Helena had to lift her skirts to loosen the tape that fastened the pocket around her waist. She fumbled, trying to get the pocket undone and rescue something from inside, but before she could do so, he shoved his hand under her petticoats and grabbed it from her hand. Their faces were close enough for her to feel his breath and smell the onions he must have had with his breakfast.
He remained close and pressed his lips agai
nst hers, lover-like. “Here we are a married couple, traveling out of London. The coach has no crest, so nobody will be any the wiser. At the next stage, we will be leaving the coach behind and hiring a chaise. I am afraid we will be forced to do that a number of times before we eventually arrive at the coast, but better to make sure of our journey than to rush at it, eh, my love?”
She wished he would not call her that. When he kissed her again, she closed her eyes.
“That’s better.” After dropping the pocket on the floor, he spread his hand over her thigh and groaned. His fingers inched closer to her private parts. “I will not wait. I have to make you mine. I am sorry, my love, but a man has needs, and spending a week with you in this space will be the undoing of me unless I have you.”
Helena summoned up all the curse words she could think of and said them to herself, in her mind. It did not help.
He withdrew his hand with a gentle smile. “I cannot wait for your return." The footman outside will escort you. Opening the door without attempting to straighten her gown, he addressed the footman. “Do not let her out of your sight for one moment. She is precious to me.”
The footman touched his hat, which seemed a little large for him. “Yes, my lord.”
The hint of an accent sounded familiar, but before Helena could demand that he show his face, he turned and led the way to the inn, pausing to usher her in front of him. “Private room for the lady!” he called to the landlord and tossed him a coin. “Only for her to freshen up!”
The landlord nodded to a boy standing at the side of the hall, who opened a door for her. She went inside to see one window and little else. Just a door, a window, an unpadded bench and a long table.
This was the best chance she would have. Her heart beating like a drum, Helena curled her fingers into claws and spun around, ready to go for the footman’s eyes. She could not allow that pig of a lord anywhere near her. She’d kill him first, and then she’d be hanged for murder, because the law would be bound to take his side. A footman? If she could scramble out of that window, she’d take her chances. This inn was busy.
But the man stepped back and lifted his head. That gave her enough pause to take his features in. “Don’t I know you?”
“Parlez-vous francais, madame?”
“Oui.”
He spoke French without an accent, and fluidly. He continued in rapid French. “My name is Lamaire, and I am in the employ of Lord Alconbury.”
“Then what were you doing in our livery? And how are you now in Everslade’s livery?” Had the man sent him to spy on her? Then it was as well she had not clawed his eyes out, because he was probably ready for her.
“He sent me to Lord Winterton’s house to ensure your safety. Lord Alconbury is a careful man. When Lord Everslade took you, I jumped on to the back of the coach.” He twitched the ill-fitting rust-colored coat. “This I acquired when the carriage stopped to join the group at the Heath. Its owner is lying in the road there, or if he has recovered, he may have raised the alarm. I’m afraid I left Lord Winterton’s coat with him.”
Was it true? Helena frowned. “Why are we speaking French?”
“Spies,” he said succinctly. “Doors and windows have ears. Did you think I would be the only footman Everslade would send? He would love you to try to escape. Then he may tie you down.”
Helena swallowed.
“Come, my lady. Either you believe me or you do not.” He thrust the bourdaloue at her. “I will turn my back, but for God’s sake do not use the window. If I am correct, he will have stationed another man outside. We will find another way.”
“He took my pocket. I was planning to leave a card here.”
“I will take care of leaving messages for our pursuers. Count on it. They are arriving.”
Was this a trap? “How can I believe you?”
“You either do or you do not. Think, madame.”
She did. “Lamaire? Did my brother not have a valet of that name?”
He nodded. “I was an emissary from my master. Well, madame?”
“He plans to divert from the usual journey.”
Lamaire nodded. “I thought as much. We will, I assure you, escape as soon as we may do it with relative safety. Can you ride?” He gave a tight smile at her astonished stare. “Very good. Then we will run tonight. You may have to please him. I am sorry, and I would spare you if I could, but he means to harm you if you do not.” He paused. “He has a reputation among his servants, that man. He is not gentle.”
“You heard that already?”
He nodded. “They think I am a new employ. The fact that they are not surprised tells me much. He does not keep servants for long.” He turned his back. “I will give you what privacy I can.”
That was just as well, because she was almost in pain from holding back. Quickly, she did what she needed to and shamefacedly put the vessel down on the floor. Lamaire did not even look at it. “I swear I will try to get you away before he takes you. Now back to English.” He raised his voice and switched languages. “You have finished, ma’am?”
“Indeed.” As she spoke, a man knocked and entered, bearing a bowl of water, a cake of soap, and a fresh towel. After her tears, the blow Everslade had dealt her, and her recent activity, Helena was delighted to have the opportunity to clean herself.
“Give him a vail,” Helena said, putting on her best aristocratic tone. “I have no money on my person.”
“Very well, ma’am.” Lamaire handed the man a coin.
Helena also caught a curl of paper changing hands. No, card. She was not the only person to have calling cards. Had he found time to add a message? Please God, he had, but she could not even say anything, for fear the man standing outside the window and the one she glimpsed outside the door would hear her. When she had finished washing, he sent her a terse nod. “If you would come with me, ma’am.”
Without a word, Helena stuck her hat back on her head and followed Lamaire. The man outside the door fell in behind, and like a little procession they trooped across the cobbled yard to the coach. Twilight had settled in now. It would be full dark in half an hour. Her reputation would be gone. If she did not marry Everslade, her mother would use her status as an excuse to call her back home, this time for good.
Except she was already married. One faint hope remained—that Tom would claim her. At least he had sent someone to watch her. He must still care for her, surely. Her poor shattered heart began to mend, like a destroyed iron statue being drawn together again by a powerful magnet.
She had fought her obsession for five years, and she was tired of it. One way or another they would reconcile their feelings and talk. She had to know why he would come nowhere near her, why he refused to speak to her, yet watched her. Oh, yes, she knew he watched her. She’d caught him and seen the way he turned away abruptly when he realized she’d seen him.
They had fallen so quickly for each other she had assumed what they shared was feverish infatuation, but she could not forget him.
Back to meek and obedient Lady Helena. Nobody would recognize her from that description. Only Lord Everslade, who appeared to believe he’d seen something in her that nobody else had.
Would she have to share a bed with him tonight? Would he try to take her in the carriage?
Helena swallowed and let Everslade help her into a new traveling chaise. In this one they would have to sit side by side.
“It was all they had,” he said by way of explanation. “However, it will travel faster, and since we will be traveling ten miles in the dark, we will be better for speed. So come here, my beautiful bride, and kiss me.”
* * * *
Tom traveled with two assistants, men who would send the messages to Winterton via runners, men who raced through the streets, faster than a vehicle could negotiate the congested center of the city. Farther out, he would have to use riders, but if he did not keep Winterton informed, the man would follow.
Although they had
been at least nominal enemies for many years, Tom had never underestimated Winterton. More than any other man, he had harassed Tom’s father and his brothers, infiltrating their networks and preventing them achieving their aims.
At the Spaniards Inn, Tom sent his man to inquire about the carriage. “Aye, sir,” came the response. “We’ve had a busy day. People who come into London for the weekend travel out on Mondays. Must have had twelve coaches.”
The innkeeper had come out to speak to him himself, despite Tom’s relatively plain appearance. But gold coins spoke louder than silver, and he’d been generous.
The landlord rubbed his beard scruff, the bristles rasping against his grubby palm. “I can’t say for sure, sir, but I did see a coach come down this way ‘round about four o’clock with two people in it. The lady looked in a bad way, what I saw of her. The gen’leman had a satisfied look. He ’ad a lot of footmen, but no outriders. At least four big ’uns up, and two drivers.”
Tom pulled out his half hunter and checked the time. He cursed. They were hours behind. If they stopped at a good inn and changed the horses before they tired significantly, they could gain even more ground. Would they hire a coach with lights and risk driving in the dark? The roads around London were probably in better heart than elsewhere, but that was not saying much.
Tom’s heart leaped into his mouth when he saw the time. “Open the gates,” he snapped to the toll-man, who had strolled over, probably to discover what the fuss might be.
“That poor young lady?” he murmured. “Saw ’er, I did. Bleedin’ from ’er marf.”
The accent was somewhat thick, but Tom had no problem understanding him. She’d been hurt. That bastard Everslade was going to die for this.
“Was she awake?” He tossed the man a half guinea.
The ruffian caught it deftly, bit it and pocketed it in one smooth movement. He’d probably had a misspent youth picking pockets in the city.
“Yes, and not ’appy at all.”
“Open those gates,” Tom repeated, and this time the man obliged.
“Shouldn’t we wait for company?”
Wild Lavender Page 15
