The imposing cream-painted door slammed in Victoria’s face. The lady of the house had taken one scathing look at her husband’s leer as Victoria stood in the entrance hall and announced the position of governess was filled.
Victoria glanced at the paper in her hand and back at the grimly silent front door. Now what was she to do?
Disappointment weighed heavy on her shoulders. She turned her back on the gray stone house and began the trudge to the nearest village. It lay six miles along the road she had traveled full of high hopes, having been given a ride by a carter from Wrexford. With most of her money gone—used to pay for her four-day journey—and no position, her circumstances had changed for the worst.
Beautiful Shropshire stretched before her, green in the valleys, smoky gray and purple on the surrounding hills and peaceful in the afternoon sun. The road ahead undulated into the distance. And when she got to the village? What then? Her stomach rumbled an answer. Food. She would buy some bread then seek employment. Someone must need her services.
She hefted her valise into her other hand, squared her shoulders and lengthened her stride. She did not want to be out on the road after dark.
More than an hour later a small, irritating pebble found its way into her shoe. The road was rough and rutted enough without added torture. Victoria sat down on the verge, unfastened her sandal and shook out the offending stone. Bother that. It had shredded her stocking and she only had one other pair.
She rubbed her aching sole. Finding it soothing, she removed her other shoe and wiggled her toes. Overcome by a sense of exhaustion, she leaned back against the wall. She’d barely slept a wink the past four nights. Unable to afford the cost of a room, she’d traveled day and night to get here, with only the odd nap in the stagecoach. The sun was so warm... her eyes drifted closed.
Victoria jerked awake with a horrid sense of falling. She stared at the grass inches from her face. What? Heavens, she must have drifted off and slept for an hour or more judging by the position of the sun. Foolish indeed. She could have been robbed, or worse.
In short order, she buckled her shoes then rose. She would need to hurry if she was going to reach the village before dark.
The sound of a vehicle caused her heart to lift. Only to dash it down when she realized it was trundling towards her. If it had been going her way, she would have been hopeful of obtaining another ride. She retreated to the edge of the verge near the wall. The road was narrow and she did not want to frighten the horses. A gentleman’s sky-blue phaeton pulled by two chestnut horses came around the corner. Something about the vehicle seemed familiar.
The shabby, ill-dressed driver, on the other hand, was a stranger and did not fit the elegance of his equipage. Likely he was a servant on an errand for his master. He drew up his horses when he came abreast of her.
“Miss?”
Surprised, she nodded. “May I help you?”
“Does you know if there is a turn off to Shrewsbury further up this road?”
Her nape prickled with a strange premonition, but she had no reason to be rude. It was a fair question, since from his accent he was not from these parts.
She gave him a regretful smile. “I’m not terribly familiar with the roads in this area, but I believe Shrewsbury is in the other direction.”
He gazed at her intently, as if he somehow recognized her. A shiver went down her spine. “Good day to you, sir.” She began walking.
Behind her, she heard the carriage turning around. Well he would—she had told him he was heading in the wrong direction for Shrewsbury. But she really didn’t like the look of him, or the way he had looked at her. Something felt wrong.
He drove slowly alongside her.
Victoria kept walking as if she hadn’t noticed. He did not pass her. Why would he not take the hint and continue on his way?
“Can I give you a lift, miss?”
A few moments ago she would have been delighted at the offer. Now, she had the feeling it would be a very bad idea. She kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. “No, thank you.”
He flicked his whip and pulled ahead of her.
A grateful sigh rushed from her body. He was finally giving up. When he stopped the carriage after traveling but few yards and jumped down. Victoria’s heart began to pound uncomfortably. She glanced left and right. Nothing but fields and sheep for miles. She halted and watched him warily, backing away as he got closer.
“Keep your distance, sirrah.”
He peered at her. “Now then, miss. I only want to give you a ride. Can’t leave you out here walking all by yourself.”
“I don’t need a lift. I’m expecting someone.”
His straggly moustache waggled as his lips split in a grin and revealed yellow-stained teeth. “Are you now? Then I needs hurry up.” He lunged for her.
Victoria started to run, back the way she had come. One shoe went flying. Sharp rocks dug into her foot. His footsteps pounded behind her. Getting closer. A shove in the center of her back. She crashed headlong to the ground.
Pain. In her hands. Her knees. Gasping, she rolled over pressing her stinging palms against her ribs. Tears blurred her vision. A shadow blocked the sun. She glared up at her tormentor. “Get away from me.”
He grunted. “Up you come, missy.” His hands gripped her arm painfully as he hauled her to her feet.
She tried to pull free. His grip tightened. Victoria shuddered at the grim expression on his face. “Let go.”
“Sorry about that.” He began brushing the dust off her skirts.
She shoved his hands away. “Do not touch me.”
“Nah, nah. Don’t fret. No need to be ascared. The master won’t be happy if’n I damages you.”
She twisted out of his grip. “What master?”
“’Nuff said. Now why doesn’t you get in that there bone-shaker, all nice like, and everything will be right and dandy.”
Prickles of fear trickled down her back. “Certainly not.” She swung her valise at his head.
He dodged and grinned. The disgusting smell his breath—beer, onions and pipe smoke—turned her stomach. She backed away. “Leave. Go now or find yourself in trouble.”
Reaching out, he grabbed her around the waist and threw her over his shoulder, one hand pressed firmly against her spine, his other arm wrapped around her knees. “Put me down!”
Seemingly oblivious to her flailing hands on his back and her feet kicking his chest, he toted her to the waiting coach.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Simon’s ire had risen with every passing milestone. Even Diablo seemed to sense his dangerous mood and was behaving like a well-bred horse should. None of his usual tricks at all.
Simon wasn’t sure who made him angrier, Julia or Victoria. Julia likely. At first, she’d denied all knowledge of where Victoria had gone, until Philip had threatened to speak to their mother. Upon that threat she had admitted giving Victoria the address of a potential employer.
She wants nothing to do with you or your schemes to marry her off, Travis. Why don’t you just leave her alone? The words echoed in his mind and stuck in his gullet. Fine. Victoria didn’t have to have anything to do with him, but he would not allow her to turn herself into a drudge for some petty member of the gentry in the wilds of nowhere.
Nor was she entitled to leave his house without a word to anyone. Maria had been beside herself with worry about the headstrong, idiotic wench.
When he found her, he was going to... What? The black anger within him was very close to the surface. He resented that she had brought it the fore. He forced it back under control. Losing his temper would not help matters in the least. Rather than gallop hell for leather, he kept Diablo at an easy canter.
She could not be so very far ahead of him now. He had hoped to cut her off before she reached the address Julia had given him. Victoria, damn her, had made much better time than he had expected and he’d been too late. The woman had been exceedingly sharp, too. She’d been lucky he had not given her the
rough edge of his tongue.
He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry the harridan had turned her away. The woman should have seen what an innocent Victoria was and offered help instead of fearing the effect of her beauty on her husband.
The first thing he wanted to do when he caught up to his errant charge was put her over his knee and slap her shapely bottom until she couldn’t sit. Perhaps that would make her think before she disappeared again and worried everyone to death.
Right. As if that would make her behave. It was more likely to send her fleeing to the other ends of the earth. But it might take the edge of the fury boiling within him. He still had the sense that Lady Ju had not told him everything. Between the pair of them they were enough to drive a man mad.
He slowed his mount to a walk. No point in riding the poor creature into exhaustion. They must catch up to her soon, for she was on foot.
A female scream. Faint, but real nonetheless. Ahead of him. Victoria? Was it possible?
“Sorry, old fellow.” He urged the horse forward with his knees. “Seems like we need to hurry after all.”
Simon couldn’t believe his eyes as he came over the rise. A woman, her bottom high on a man’s shoulder, her gown pulled up to expose slender, white-stockinged legs, kicking at the man’s chest who, hearing his approach, swung around to face him.
Victoria. It had to be, given this was Ogden’s hireling, the scar-faced Quigley. The man had his hands all over her. A red haze filled Simon’s vision. He flung himself off Diablo, fists ready.
Quigley dumped Victoria in the road and she cried out as she landed.
Fury blazed through Simon. No one hurt his woman and got away with it.
Simon stopped short when Quigley drew a pistol from his pocket. Curse it! He’d left his own pistol in his saddle holster. Idiot.
“Hold it right there, yer lordship,” Quigley said loudly. A voice Simon recognized. From the attack on his carriage.
Balancing lightly on his feet, Simon took a deep breath isolating everything from his consciousness except the man facing him. The air stilled.
“Simon.” Fear rang in Victoria’s voice.
The air shifted and swirled before stilling again.
“Stay where you are, Victoria,” he said without removing his gaze from his opponent.
Quigley jerked the pistol. “Back off, unless you wants to die.”
Brave in the dark with overwhelming numbers at his back, Quigley seemed ill-at-ease in the light of day, despite his gun. A coward to the core.
Simon kept his voice easy. “Leave the girl and I’ll say no more about this, Quigley.”
The other man flinched at the sound of his name. “Get in the carriage, wench. Or his lordship here gets a bullet in his pretty face.”
The sound of Victoria’s sharply in-drawn breath told Simon she believed the threat. “Stay where you are, Miss Yelverton.” Simon took one step forward. Quigley backed up, licking his lips.
Simon held the other man’s gaze. “You won’t get away with it, you know. Killing is a capital offence. My friends know I’m here, know about you. You’ll be caught.”
Quigley grinned. “I got my own titled gentleman to take care o’ me. He’ll make sure I don’t swing. If I swing, so do ’e.”
Ogden.
Simon flicked a quick glance at Victoria who had backed onto the grass verge, her eyes wide. Good. He wanted a clear field.
He shifted his stance, standing feet apart, crossing his arms over his chest. He curled his lip. “What gentleman in his right mind would employ a gutter rat like you?”
Quigley cursed. “The Viscount don’t see me like that.”
“You mean Ogden.”
“Ogden? It cannot be!” Victoria’s cry of denial slammed into Simon like a blow to the solar plexus. Even when the evidence lay before her eyes, she refused to believe ill of the man. Bitterness filled him as he readied himself to lunge for the gun.
A projectile flew at Quigley’s head. The man ducked, turning his gun towards her. Damn it all! Simon threw himself forward. Jammed his shoulder in Quigley’s gut. Quigley grunted and staggered. Fell. Simon dove on top, smashing a fist into his face. His nose cracked. Blood spurted.
The gun exploded. Simon’s ears rang. Searing pain scorched his shoulder.
A piercing scream. Victoria.
Greay fog swirled in Simon’s brain. He pushed to his knees, shaking his head to clear his sight.
Quigley groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position. Simon swung at his jaw with every ounce of strength he had left and fell to his knees.
Quigley collapsed backwards with a groan.
Victoria ran to Simon’s side, her face pale. “Are you hit?”
“Go,” Simon said, gasping, pushing her away. “Take the carriage and go.”
“Not without you.”
Blackness narrowed his vision. He staggered to his feet. “Do as you are damned well told, for once.”
Victoria ran for the carriage, but the shots had the horses spooked. They would not stand still long enough for her to climb up.
Simon lurched, snatching for the reins with his good arm. The wheeler reared up in the traces. Damn. He’d never control them with one arm. They’d bolt. Cold slid down his back. Again, he grabbed for the reins. The horses took off at a run.
Time was running out. Injured as he was, he’d never hold Quigley off for more than a moment or two. They’d have to double up on Diablo. He whistled and the stallion trotted over.
Bending, he held his good hand ready to boost Victoria up.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
He straightened. The blood had drained from her face and she backed away, shaking her head. Curse it. He’d forgotten. She didn’t ride. “You must. There is no other way.”
“Go without me. Save yourself.”
She thought him that low? “Victoria,” he urged. “Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”
Terror filled her gaze. His heart sank. Of course she would not trust him. She never had. His head spun. His blood hissed in his ears. Any moment now... He grabbed at her shoulder for balance. “Please.”
Quigley moaned.
She shot a look at the man on the ground, bit her lip and nodded. “All right.” She reached for Diablo’s reins.
“Brave girl.”
Diablo shifted. She gasped and clutched at the pommel.
“Steady, boy,” Simon said, stroking Diablo’s flank, knowing the horse sensed her fear.
He put his hand around a small ankle above a foot clad only in a stocking. He blinked. Where the hell were her shoes? Not important. He braced and tossed her up.
Pain burned red hot in his shoulder. He reeled and clutched at the stirrup, fighting the threatening dark.
“Simon. Please. Hurry.” Victoria’s panicked voice pierced the rushing gloom. Simon glanced over his shoulder. Quigley was on his knees, struggling to pull something from his pocket. Another pistol.
Victoria’s hand reached down. The anticipation of a bullet tearing into him had his back muscles twitching. He got his foot in the stirrup and hauled on the saddle.
Too weak. He couldn’t do it. “Go,” he gasped.
Victoria grabbed at his coat collar and heaved.
He was up behind her. Barely. His vision wavered and he threw his arms around her waist. “Take the reins. Set him at the wall and let him go.”
He heard her cry of anguish from far away. She couldn’t do it. He forced his eyes open then Diablo lurched forward. A moment later they were flying.
Wings. The damned horse had wings.
The bone-jarring jolt as they landed threw him sideways. He fought to stay upright. A shot cracked behind them. Victoria flinched but he didn’t think she was hit. He hadn’t felt anything, either. He wasn’t feeling much at all.
Victoria’s rapid heartbeats thrummed through her fine-boned back against his cheek. Diablo’s hooves thudded on the turf.
Simon locked his fingers together in front of
Victoria’s ribs and trusted himself to heaven or hell or whatever the fates had in store. He rubbed his cheek against her slender shoulders. How about that? He was right where he wanted to be, snuggled up against Victoria Yelverton.
“Simon.”
Gentle fingers shaking his shoulder, touching his cheek, his forehead. Nice. When had he last felt such a tender touch? He struggled to remember. Couldn’t—
“Simon.”
“Hmm?”
“Simon, wake up.”
Victoria. He opened his eyes. Victoria’s face loomed over him, her hair falling around her face tickling his bare shoulder above the sheet.
“Hello, poppet,” he said.
Victoria Yelverton. In his bed. Just where he wanted her. He put his hand around her neck and drew her close. Her warm breath whispered across his mouth. He pressed his lips against hers, soft, yielding and parting for him. He swept his tongue in the sweet, hot cavity.
It didn’t feel quite feel quite right. Disappointing.
She pushed him away and his arm dropped to his side, heavy and uncooperative.
“Stop it,” she said. “Wake up.”
He was awake. Awake, rock hard and wanting. Surely she could see that beneath the sheet. How nice of Victoria to come to his bed. Now, if she would just lay lie down alongside him everything would be perfect.
Not his bed. He frowned. His bed had blue hangings with the Travis coat of arms. Not hers either. Hers was definitely pink. This was sort of brown. Ugly. No matter. Any bed would do.
He reached for her again and dull pain throbbed in his shoulder. She’d used her nails on him? His last mistress liked to claw his back to bloody ribbons. He hadn’t thought of Victoria as that sort. He glanced down. He stared at the bandage and back at Victoria. All of her came into focus. Her face, her hair and a god-awful, gray wool gown.
He shifted his gaze and took in a mean-looking chamber with barely room for Victoria to stand upright beneath the sloping ceiling. Daylight from the latticed window revealed whitewashed walls and peeling paint.
Tempting Sin Page 20
