Regency Rakes 02 - Rescued By A Viscount

by Wendy Vella

  She gave him one jerky nod, then came across the room and took his hand. He led them silently down the stairs to the small parlor the landlord had prepared.

  They ate the bland meal of potatoes and beef in a thin gravy. He talked, and she listened but offered only the occasional reply.

  Merlin arrived as they finished. The coachman bowed stiffly to Claire before speaking. “There are a few shady characters at present in the public rooms, my lord. Ben and I thought to alert you to that fact,” Merlin said, shooting Claire a quick, worried look.

  “Thank you, Merlin. I shall take Miss Belmont upstairs now, and I would ask that you and Ben also retire soon. We shall be safe until morning with you beside us.”

  Merlin didn’t question that Claire would stay in the same room as Simon because Simon had informed his men that for her safety, this would be the case. If they thought it odd, neither said so; he paid them handsomely for that loyalty.

  “I’ll get Ben to finish his ale, my lord, and we’ll be up shortly.”

  “Excellent. Come now, Claire. We shall retire,” Simon said when Merlin had left. She didn’t argue, just took his hand and let him lead her out of the dining parlor.

  “Evening, my lord, my lady. Fine night, ain’t it?”

  The man who had spoken appeared before them, a foolish, drunken smile displaying two yellow teeth on his face. His clothes were dirty, and his breath smelt of many hours’ drinking.

  “Good evening. Please step aside, as you are blocking our way.” Simon kept Claire behind him while he held his eyes steady on the man. “I have no qualms about making you step aside if that is the problem, sir, however I would rather not do so with my wife watching.”

  The man looked at him, and something in Simon’s face alerted him that it would be in his best interests to move, so he did, muttering something as he shuffled away.

  Simon urged Claire up the stairs and into their room, where he closed the door behind him. Looking in the lock, he found no key and cursed soundly. Pulling the pistol from his belt, he handed it to Claire.

  “Hold this until I come back with the key. If anyone enters, shoot him…unless it’s me or one of my coachman,” he added with a smile she failed to return. “I’ll keep you safe, Claire–trust me.”

  “But who will keep you safe, Simon? Must you go downstairs with that man there?” She was pale again, and he wondered if she was thinking that all of this could have been happening to her alone, with no one to look after her. The thought did not sit well in his stomach so it must have been terrifying to her.

  “I have two of my men at present down there. They will keep me safe whilst I get the key from the proprietor. I will be five minutes at the most, Claire, I promise.”

  She nodded, and Simon left and made his way downstairs. The proprietor was behind the bar. Merlin and Ben were nowhere in sight, which he guessed meant they were checking the horses before retiring.

  “I wish for the key to my room, please, sir. I do not want to sleep the night with the door unlocked.”

  “Lookee here, Neb. It’s the toff what I found in the hallway. Right shame he don’t have the sweet filly with the nice titties with him.”

  Simon ignored the voice over his right shoulder and the sudden need to plant his fist in the man’s face and continued to look at the proprietor. He needed to get back to Claire, and starting a fight was not the way to achieve that. “I believe I asked you for something, sir. Perhaps now would be the time for you to retrieve it?”

  “Thinks he’s too grand for us, he does, Neb. One of them toffs with full pockets that would fall if a body blew on him.”

  “Now,” Simon said with deadly calm to the proprietor. The man saw the threat in his eyes and quickly hurried away to retrieve the key. Only then did Simon turn to see what he was to face.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Where are you, Simon?

  Opening the door minutes later, Claire put her head outside and listened. She heard lots of noise, but she didn’t think any of it came from Simon. Holding the gun in one hand, she thought about taking the candle with her to light the way, but that would leave her with no hands free, so instead, she made her way to the stairs and slowly down until she could hear the noise coming from the rear of the building. It was loud and sounded as though glass was being smashed. Then she heard the sickening thud of a fist hitting flesh. Simon would be furious with her for coming down here. However if he was in trouble, she needed to help him, because the trouble he was in was her fault. Edging closer, Claire saw the door had a glass panel in it, so she looked through. Men were fighting–lots of men. Searching the group, she managed to find Simon, Merlin and Ben. It appeared they were being set upon by all the rest of the men in the room. While she watched, Simon took a blow to the face that rocked him back on his heels.

  “Best you go up to your room, my lady.”

  Claire spun to face the proprietor, who spoke behind her.

  “Get in there!” she shrieked, making him wince. “Stop this at once–they are killing my husband and coachman!”

  The proprietor chuckled. “Won’t be any death, my lady, just a good milling. And your man seems to have a way of handling himself you don’t often see in a nobleman.”

  “Give me that key, you bloody coward!” Snatching what she hoped was her room key out of his hand, she opened the door and lifted the gun.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  No one took any notice of her as she yelled loudly while waving the gun about. Her eyes fell on a chair, so she stepped up onto it and then onto the table beside. She picked up the glass tumbler at her feet, then dropped it on ground as hard as she could. The men did not stop. A few turned to look at her, but then carried on fighting, so she lifted another glass and threw it as hard as she could at all the bottles lined up behind the bar. Several smashed and this time the loud noise drew plenty of attention. Slowly every man in the room stopped what they were doing and turned to look at her.

  Raising the pistol, she then pointed it at the man who had punched Simon. “You will all leave this establishment at once,” Claire said. Bracing her legs, she locked her trembling knees and held the gun with both hands once more. “I asked you to do something, gentlemen,” she added when no one moved. “Now I insist you do it, or I will fire, and as I watched you plant your fist in my husband’s face, you will be the first to receive my bullet…between the legs,” Claire added slowly. She watched the man’s color recede as he looked at where she was aiming.

  “Christ!”

  This was from Simon, but she didn’t look his way. Instead, she held the man’s gaze. It was he that lowered his first.

  “Everyone out now!”

  Behind her, the proprietor had finally made his way inside and was starting to order people from his establishment.

  “Give me the gun now, my lady.”

  Claire looked down at Merlin, who appeared at her feet, holding out one hand. She placed the gun gently in his palm. She noticed his lip was split and his nose bloodied. This was her fault. These three men had been hurt protecting her. Guilt sat like a heavy weight on her shoulders.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking from him to Ben, and then lastly, Simon, because she knew seeing his beautiful face bruised and bloodied would hurt her the most. “This is my f-fault.” She watched Simon walk towards her, his eyes never leaving her face. There was blood on his cheek, and one of his eyes was slowly darkening. “Dear god, Simon, I’m sorry,” she choked out.

  He didn’t speak, just placed his hand on her waist and lifted her to the ground, pulling her into his chest briefly before taking her hand. She heard him speak to his men, and then he led her from the room. Simon pushed her back up the stairs and into their room.

  “I…uh, I have the key, Simon.”

  He took it from her silently and then locked the door. She moved to the window while he slowly pulled off his jacket, wincing as he did so.

  “There is water. I will wash the…the blood from you, Simon
.”

  He removed his boots and shirt. Only then did he look at her. Rage had darkened his eyes to the color of a stormy night. “I told you to stay in here, Claire. Merlin told you there were unsavory men about the place, yet still you came downstairs. Do you know what could have happened?” His words were clipped and cold.

  “I had your gun.”

  “And that is supposed to make me feel better, is it? A woman with a gun in a room full of men who have had too much to drink!”

  “I know how to shoot a gun!” Claire defended herself.

  He closed his eyes briefly. “You know how to shoot at targets, not men, Claire. Believe me, there is a difference.”

  “I’m sorry you believe what I did was foolish, yet I would do it again, Simon. You were in that room taking a beating because of me. Had I not coerced you into this, then you would be sipping lemonade at Almack’s tonight.”

  “I was not taking a beating,” he said slowly, and this, Claire suspected, was because it hurt his jaw to talk. “In fact, we fared quite well. Nor did I say your actions were foolish. They were brave. Unnecessary, however. And were I to choose between Almack’s insipid lemonade and a good mill, I would choose the latter any day.”

  Claire did not speak again because she knew he was lying and trying to make her feel better. She got the water and a piece of cloth and carried it to where he now sat on the bed. She then gently cleaned his bruised and bloodied face. There was swelling around one eye, and bruises were starting to form elsewhere. He did not move and gave only the occasional wince or grunt. When she was finished, he laid on the bed with a sigh.

  “Should I tend your men, Simon?”

  “They will tend themselves or find someone to do it, Claire. Lie down now and we shall try to get some sleep. We are to leave early.”

  There was knock on the door, so Claire asked who it was and then opened it when the landlord answered. He handed her a small tray, which held a bottle, glass, and some ointment he said his wife had given him. He looked contrite, but Claire didn’t thank him because she was still angry, and the truth was, he was probably more worried about receiving payment for their night’s accommodation than fretting over Simon’s wounds. Instead, she nodded and told him to make sure their men received the proper care.

  “Here, Simon. This will help you sleep,” she said, pouring him a large glass of whatever was in the bottle. Lifting his head, he took it, swallowed the contents in one gulp, and then lay back down. “I’ll just put this ointment on your scrapes now.” His eyes stayed on hers as she smoothed it over his cheek and the small cut under his eye. Then, taking a deep breath, she rubbed it into the bruising over his ribs. His skin felt warm beneath her fingers, and the only reaction he gave to her touch was the occasional twitch. However, he kept his steady gaze on her face until she finished.

  “Now lie down so I can sleep, Claire. I can’t do so with you standing there.”

  “I’ll take the chair.”

  Claire was suddenly lifted off her feet. “Simon, you’re hurt!” He rested her beside him, one of his hands on her wrist, anchoring her to his side.

  “Sleep, woman.”

  She didn’t point out that she still had all her clothes on, nor that she had no hope of sleeping this night. She just lay still until she was sure he slept. Only then did Claire rise and go to the chair. The candle had burnt low, but still there was enough light to see the bruises forming on his body. She couldn’t do this to him, not to any of them. She had to leave here, alone, before Simon got hurt again. He would let himself get hurt to protect her. She knew this about him, but she could not allow it to continue. This was her problem, not his.

  Slowly, Claire opened the larger of her bags and pulled out the old black cape and bonnet she’d used when she had gone to Tuttle Lane. Taking Simon’s gun, she tucked it into the inside pocket of the cape. Picking up both bags, she threw him one last look before leaving the room.

  He would come after her–she knew that–but if she could reach Liverpool before him and collect the child, then hopefully she could able to make it back to London before him. It was a risk leaving him but one she was willing to take. If he caught her, she would face the consequences, but Claire hoped she did not have to face him again until she was safely back in London.

  The proprietor was busy picking up broken bottles when she approached him, and she suspected it was his wife helping him. Claire was pleased to hear the woman censuring him loudly and at length about the night’s events.

  “Can we help you, my lady?” The man looked relieved to see her standing before him and Claire suspected that was because his wife had stopped haranguing him.

  “I have need of a carriage and a driver at once. I have no wish to explain further. I will give you a hefty purse if you simply see to this immediately for me.” She lifted the pouch from her bodice and shook it.

  “Will your man be angered with me in the morning if I do this?” The proprietor had a calculating look in his eyes as he studied the pouch.

  “He will not,” she lied, “and the money in here should make up for any difficulties that should arise.”

  “I have only a cart to take you.”

  “That will suffice,” Claire said, shooting a worried look at the door behind her that led upstairs. If Simon walked through it now, she would be in large amounts of trouble.

  “And where are you wanting to be taken?”

  “I wish to either hire a carriage to take me all the way to Liverpool, or one that will take me to where I can catch the stage.”

  The man nodded. “Very well. I’ll have you taken to the next village where you can catch the stage, but it will cost you.”

  Claire opened the purse and began to count out the money until the man said stop. Looking at what she had left, her heart sank. How was she to pay for a carriage to Liverpool and back to London with this? And what if whoever held the child demanded money before handing it to her? Tucking the considerably lighter purse back into her bodice, she realized she would have to catch the stage to Liverpool and then think about her next move. Looking at the door, which led back upstairs once more, she thought about returning to the safety of Simon’s side, but instead she drew back her shoulders and followed the proprietor out into the night. This was her problem not his. Not once did she look behind her again, although the urge to do so did not leave her until she was seated beside the proprietor’s son on the small, hard seat of his cart.

  His name was Henry and he was sixteen. She apologized for his lack of sleep, and he shrugged. “Taint no mind to me, my lady. I enjoys getting away from there, and I won’t be back until tomorrow, so someone else has to do me chores now.”

  He didn’t say much of anything else. However she discovered during the long night they spent together that he did like to sing. Often when Claire was nervous or unsettled, she hummed, and as she did, Henry had started to sing. He had the voice of an angel, and as the little cart rumbled slowly along the rutted roads, they sang every song they knew and many Claire didn’t.

  Simon remained steady in her thoughts, and every now and again she would turn to look behind her into the dark, but the road stayed empty.

  The moon was low, but Henry seemed to know where he was going, so she tucked the blanket he had given her around her body and sang along with him until, just as dawn had started to break, they rolled into a village.

  “If you go over there,” Henry said, pointing to a tall white building that had a large black sign with a goat on it, “you can book for the next stage at The Goat.”

  Claire felt a bit weepy to be leaving Henry. She had just spent hours in his company singing, and now he and his angelic voice would be leaving her alone to fend for herself. Which, of course, was what she had wanted.

  “Well, thank you, Henry, for the ride and for the singing. I’m sure I will remember this night and your lovely voice for many years to come.”

  He blushed to his ears when she kissed his cheek, then he handed her the bags he’d pulled
out of the back of his cart. Bobbing his head, he led his cart back up the road and disappeared. Claire hoped he and his pony would have a rest and something to eat before attempting the return journey.

  Squaring her shoulders, she fought the sudden urge to call him back and turned, making her way toward The Goat. As it was still early, there were only a few people on the streets, and none were bothering to look at her, she was pleased to see. The stench of ale hit her as she entered the inn minutes later, and visions of last night filled her head. Simon would wake sore and bruised today, and when he found her missing, he would also be furious. Claire had seen him angry last night, but she knew his anger towards her today would be far worse.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I wish to purchase a seat on the stage to Liverpool, please.” Claire smiled at the woman. “When are you expecting it to arrive?” Her heart sank when the woman said not until late afternoon.

  “May I stay here and wait for it?” Claire asked.

  “You can take a chair, but you have to buy a meal.”

  The woman took Claire’s money and then pointed her to a room that, surprisingly, had people sleeping on the floor. Clutching her bags, she walked over slumbering bodies to a chair that was beside a window facing the street. The air was thick with body odors–none of them pleasant. She could only imagine the noise when these people woke up. Placing her bags at her feet, she clutched her hands together. At least if she sat there, she could see if Simon appeared and have time to hide. Looking around the room, Claire suddenly realized that, should something go wrong, there would be no one to turn to. Her brother would not come to her aid, nor her friends, because they had no idea where she was. Suddenly, her flight from Simon did not seem such a wise idea, and the folly of her impulsive actions now weighed heavily on her shoulders. Shivering, Claire knew the next few hours would be the longest and most challenging of her life.

  Simon woke with a groan. His eye was swollen shut, and his face hurt like hell. Moving slowly so as not to wake Claire, he turned onto his side and eased himself upright to sit on the edge of the bed. He pressed his ribs and concluded they were bruised more than broken. His nose did not make any crunching noises upon being tweaked, so he suspected that was good, too. Rising, he moved like an old man to the water, and then, cupping it in his hand, he washed his face. The water felt blissful. Simon wondered how his coachmen were faring. They had arrived minutes after the fight started and waded in with smiles on their faces. Drying his own face, he looked briefly to the window. It was just getting light. He would need to wake Claire so they could leave as soon as they’d eaten. One more night and they should reach Liverpool. Hopefully, tonight would not be quite so eventful.