by Ella Quinn
“We have at least another two hours or more.”
With luck, that would be enough time for them to be too far for her abductors to catch them, even if they did give chase.
“Here.” He passed her a metal object. “When I tell you to, blow into the small end.”
She turned the thing over. It had a large open part at one end and it narrowed to a tiny hole at the other end. “What is it?”
“You’ll know when you blow on it. Now.”
Chapter Four
Taking a deep breath, Lady Charlotte blew through the small end. “This is what our coachman uses.” She sounded astonished at the discovery. “And to think I had never even seen one before.”
“It’s called a horn,” he added.
“Yes, I know.” She studied the horn some more. “What is it made of?”
“Mostly tin.”
He had slowed the pair, and waited as the toll keeper, dressed in breeches, nightshirt, and night cap came out of a small house. Con tossed him a coin, and started the horses again.
“How did you know how much the toll was?” Lady Charlotte asked.
“There is a fee schedule,” he explained. “Once one has traveled outside of Town often enough, one learns it.”
“I have not traveled much at all. Only from home to Town once. Although, I would like to travel much more.”
Despite himself and his expectations, Con was having a pleasant time. Lady Charlotte really was a remarkable young lady. Even after all she had been through, she hadn’t given a hint that she would dissolve into vapors. In fact, the only sign of tension she had exhibited was the grip of her hand on the basket in her lap.
He let the conversation lag until they had traveled another mile or so before asking, “You mentioned Miss Betsy. I have not heard that name in a few months. I thought she was in Newgate.”
“You know about Miss Betsy?” Lady Charlotte turned to face him, her eyes widening.
“Er, yes. Some of what happened got around.” He should not have asked at all. He wouldn’t have, except she seemed to know about the bawd.
“From what Worthington told me, she escaped,” Charlotte said. “However, I know he never expected her to attempt revenge on him. That is all this could be.”
Con knew of the former brothel owner from snippets of conversation he’d overheard from his mistress and a few of her friends. “She is not a woman to cross.”
“So I have been told. However, I do not have any personal knowledge of her. My brother, cousin, and friend helped in destroying her.” The lady pulled a face, causing her nose, which turned up a bit at the end, to wrinkle. “At least, that is what I was told. She would have been more sensible to leave the country. However, it appears that she is still causing problems.”
With her golden beauty and innocence, Lady Charlotte would have made Miss Betsy a great deal of money in an auction. If that was her intent, she’d probably not try to abduct her ladyship again. But if Lady Charlotte was correct and the woman wanted revenge or ransom, Worthington would be better off removing his family from Town at once.
For some reason Con wanted to know more about his charge. “Do you always carry a pistol with you?”
“No.” Her voice was full of suppressed laughter. “I was going to Worthington House to practice shooting and have another session of teaching my kitten to walk on a lead. She has been doing quite well, but she can become distracted.”
Con had been going to ask what Worthington’s neighbors thought of the noise, but . . . No, it wasn’t possible. “Don’t tell me you have a cat in that basket as well.”
Now Lady Charlotte did laugh. The sound was light, and tinkling, and completely enthralling. “I do, indeed.”
“Every cat I know would have been screeching by now.”
She opened the lid of the basket and stuck her hand inside. “She is a silent cat. The only noise she makes is a chirp.” Turning her head slightly toward him, she grimaced. “It is not a very pretty sound.”
“You said something about a breed.” Con wanted to encourage the lady to continue talking. Not only did he like the sound of her voice, but sooner or later, despite the courage she had displayed thus far, shock could set in, and talking might keep her from thinking about all that had occurred and could have occurred.
“She is a Chartreux. They are an old French breed. My friend Lady Merton rescued them from some boys who were trying to drown the litter. I was fortunate enough to be given one. Collette doesn’t like strangers. I think that is the reason she has not even tried to climb out of the basket.” They fell quiet, and a few minutes later she covered her mouth and yawned. “Thank you for all your trouble.”
“It was my pleasure to be able to assist you.” He turned his head toward her, bending it, and her lips touched his.
Lady Charlotte had probably only meant to change positions or to make another comment. Yet once their mouths met, he could not seem to stop himself from moving his lips over her soft plump ones. He quickly trailed his tongue over the seam of her mouth, tasting what little of her he dared. Still pursed together, her lips softened, and he moved to encourage her to open to him.
The ribbons jerked, causing him to break the kiss. Damnation!
When he glanced at her she was gazing at him as if confused. A few moments later she yawned again. Her long, dark blond lashes lowered and she slumped against him, her soft breast brushing his arm.
Immediately, his body hardened as if it had received an invitation to play.
Bloody hell!
This was not happening to him. It was simply that he had missed last evening with his mistress, and he was used to having conjugal relations whenever he desired them. He had heard that many men sought conjugal relief after a battle. He had had a battle of sorts. Those were the only possible explanations for his sudden lust. Innocents did not arouse him in the least. Not mentally or physically. He applied his attention to the road, willing his cock to stand down.
* * *
Sometime later, Con’s stomach growled. He’d not eaten much of his dinner last night as he’d had the distinct impression someone had spit in the soup.
He remembered Lady Charlotte wrapping cheese and bread into a napkin and putting it into the basket. Not wishing to wake her, he stretched his arm across her body, carefully opened the basket lid, and stuck his hand in.
“Ow! What the devil!” He snatched his hand back. Blood welled on one of his fingers.
Lady Charlotte jerked up with a start. “What happened? Have they caught us?”
“No, your cat scratched me.”
“I’m sorry.” Blinking, she looked down at his finger. “I did tell you she does not like strangers.”
“That doesn’t mean she had to attack me.” He glared at the basket.
“Of course, it was very bad of her. Generally, she just hides. I must say that I dreamed she had left the basket, and we had to chase after her.”
“She did not,” he grumbled. A good thing too, as he was not stopping for a cat. “I reached in for the foodstuffs you packed.”
“That accounts for it then.” Lady Charlotte stuck her hand into the basket and pulled out the small bundle of food. Next she withdrew a handkerchief. “I’ll bind your wound so that you do not bleed all over everything.” Before he could protest, she had torn a strip off the handkerchief and tied it round his finger. “There.” She patted it. “It will be better soon.”
“Thank you.” He hadn’t meant to apologize, but she had behaved so sensibly that he . . . had to get away from her as soon as possible. “I should not have made such a fuss.”
“I am sure it was a shock.” She placed a hunk of cheese in a piece of bread and folded it over. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells. The cheese that is.”
Not as good as her lips had, but he would not be tasting them again. Ever.
Con devoured the sandwich as she neatly broke off another piece of cheese and held it down into the basket. A few moments later, she handed him a
nother piece of bread and cheese and took some for herself.
She swallowed. “It is good. I wish I could ask where the cook got it.”
He turned to her and smiled. “I do not think we shall be returning.”
“Nor do I wish to. Once was quite enough, thank you.” Her tone, as dry as dust, surprised him.
Remarkable. He’d never met a young lady or many older ones with such sangfroid. She hadn’t even mentioned the kiss. “Is this your first Season?”
“It is.” He could almost feel her smiling. “Until yesterday, I had been having such a good time.”
“Truly?” Even though she would not be able to see his expression, he had raised a brow.
“Yes, truly. I do not understand why ladies, especially those just out, pretend to be bored. It’s ridiculous.”
“What a refreshing point of view.” Some gentleman was going to be lucky enough to marry her. When that happened, Con hoped her husband did not try to snuff out Lady Charlotte’s sense of joy. “I think I agree with you.”
“You mean you do not know if you agree?” An inflection of incredulity colored her voice. “I thought all men knew exactly what they wanted and did not want.”
Ahh. She was dangerous. He had no doubt she could quickly wrap any man she chose around her little finger. It was a good thing he was not in the market for a wife and didn’t like innocents. “I suppose you are looking for a husband.”
“Only if I meet a gentleman who believes in the same things I do and whom I can love.”
“If you do so, would you always agree with your husband?” He found he enjoyed prodding her.
“I? Not unless he was right.”
Perhaps not any gentleman. The man would have to like being managed at times, and challenged. She should not be allowed to wed anyone who would ignore her or make her unhappy.
“We have not met, have we?” she asked.
He glanced at Lady Charlotte; her brow was slightly pleated, as if she were trying to place him.
Con was not going to explain to her that there was another part of London society that she knew nothing about. “No.”
“I didn’t think we had.” Her brow cleared and her tone was lighter. “I would have recognized your voice. Are you not in Town for the Season?”
“I have been busy with other ventures.” It wasn’t much of an answer, but it would have to satisfy her.
The path ahead of them darkened and he glanced at the sky. The moon had set and in the distance the sky was the color of sapphires. Dawn was coming before he thought it would. They had an hour at the most. Con wished he could urge his team a bit faster, but without the light he had to slow them to a walk.
It must have taken longer than he’d thought to take care of the maid and leave the inn. And the one thing he did not want to have happen was for him to be seen with Lady Charlotte. That would be disastrous for them both.
God’s teeth! Without more light, he’d never get her to Town in time. If only he was familiar with this road he could travel faster.
Thinking back to yesterday’s journey, he realized that the scoundrels had taken several back roads which had the effect of avoiding the larger posting inns. Clearly he had somehow missed one and got lost. Now, what the devil was he going to do?
They passed a road sign to a village only a mile from the estate where his mother lived. How had he not realized how close he was to Hillstone Manor? Well, that settled his problem. He’d take Lady Charlotte to his mother. After which, Con would continue his journey to Town.
And have Mama planning my wedding.
Perdition! That is exactly what his mother would do. She’d been after him for the past few years to take a wife.
The sky was becoming lighter. Even if he did take Lady Charlotte to Hillstone, they would not arrive for another hour or two at the earliest.
“No,” she said to the basket as she closed the lid.
“The kitten?”
“Yes.” She smiled.
He looked at Lady Charlotte for a moment. Her eyes the color of the now lightened sky grew wide, and her lush rose lips formed a perfect O.
“I have never seen such green eyes.”
He had heard the same thing all his life, but coming from her it seemed . . . special. “My father’s family is littered with eyes this color.”
Pulling her full lower lip between her teeth, she suddenly lapsed into thought. A few moments later, she said, “Is it proper for you to know my name when I do not know yours?” Her cheeks flushed with color. “I mean, I know we should be properly introduced, but”—she held her palms up and glanced around—“I do not see anyone who could perform the duty.”
He grinned. “Kenilworth, at your service, my lady.”
“Kenilworth?” Her lovely smile was suddenly replaced by a scowl, and her light tone became as cold as his ice house in the dead of winter. “You are the Marquis of Kenilworth?”
“I am indeed.” Con wondered what he had done to deserve such a negative reaction.
A golden blond curl slipped loose, and she tucked it back under the bonnet, muttering something about courtesans and poor women. Something he was not going to ask her to repeat.
But when had she seen him? The only public place he’d been to recently was . . . Damnation. The theater. That hair.
How could he have forgotten? She was the young lady in Worthington’s box who had been glaring at him when he had attended with Aimée and one of her friends. The lights in the Worthington box had been raised, as most were. Yet, Con had lowered the lights in his box because his mistress did not like to call attention to herself. Her friend, however, had practically hung over the rail, gathering all the notice she could. The woman had even had the temerity to ask to be escorted to Worthington’s box because the Duke of Rothwell—now married to another of Worthington’s sisters—was there.
Yet, surely Lady Charlotte did not know . . . Young, unmarried, gently born ladies did not know of mistresses. On the other hand, she knew of Miss Betsy and had mentioned courtesans—but even if she had been told, why would she care? It was no bread and butter of Lady Charlotte’s if he had a mistress. Most men did.
“I appreciate you going to such lengths to rescue me,” Lady Charlotte said in a tight voice. “However, I would prefer that we find an inn where I may take the mail coach back to Town.”
The devil she would. Worthington would kill him if Con put his sister on a common stage. He would take her home. She was, after all, wearing a carriage gown. It was a bit wrinkled, but no one would know that they had not been out for an early ride. As long as he got her back without anyone seeing them before they reached the Park, all would be well.
Rot. He, of all people, knew better than to believe such a faradiddle. If anyone saw them he was done for.
Hours had passed since they had left the inn. The sun was rising in the sky more quickly with each minute. If only he had not got misdirected they could have been in Town long before now.
They entered what appeared to be a market town. Shopkeepers were sweeping their walks, and women, old and young, dashed about with large baskets hanging on their arms. Fortunately, he did not see any carriages or people he recognized, and drove straight through. So far, so good.
“Why did you not stop there?”
“It is not serviced by a mail coach,” he lied. No doubt she would jump out of his carriage if she knew it was most likely a primary stop. Market towns were.
“Oh.” She lapsed into a tense silence again.
A purring sound emanated from the basket. At least the cat was having a good time.
Chapter Five
A half hour later, the only thing about Con’s situation that had improved was that he had seen another sign to the market town near his mother’s estate. At least now he knew where he was. Holding his breath as they passed through a village, he prayed no one would notice them.
Since learning his name, Lady Charlotte had moved as far away as possible from him—which was not that fa
r considering her skirts still brushed his thigh—and refused to even glance in his direction. “Please halt the carriage.”
Without thinking Con pulled the horses up. Before he could ask what she needed or grab her arm, the woman had climbed down from the phaeton and started off down the road toward the village.
Aggravating chit. “Just where do you think you are going, my lady?”
“Back to Town,” she threw over her shoulder. “We should have been there long before now.”
Bloody, bloody, hell. “I got . . . misdirected. We will be at my mother’s house soon.” She mumbled something he could not make out. “Do you even know the way?”
“No.” She raised the nicely rounded chin he had admired earlier. “But there was an inn about a mile or so back. They might not be serviced by a mail coach, but I am sure they will help me arrange transportation to Mayfair.”
Make that ignorant, aggravating chit. Leave it to Worthington to keep his sister so close she did not even suspect the scandal she was courting.
He jumped down from his carriage, turned the rig around, and followed her as she marched her way toward the village, inn, and certain ruin. “Do you have any money?”
“Of course not,” she shot back in an irritated tone. “Why, pray tell, would I need my reticule to walk across the square to Worthington House?”
Con wanted to turn her over his knee. “Then please explain to me,” he said with excruciating calm, “how you plan to pay for your passage to Town.”
This time she stopped, her back as straight as a poker. “I do not know how that is any business of yours, my lord.” He could practically hear her teeth grinding. “I shall merely hand them my card, and explain that I have been stranded. Surely they will understand that my family will reimburse them for any of my expenses. If they will not assist me, I shall apply to the local vicar.”
