by Carola Dunn
Teresa and Muriel looked up as the door crashed back against the wall, shaking the wretched hut. Then Muriel rose with a wordless cry and flung herself into Lord Danville's arms.
Teresa smiled a wavering smile. "Thank heaven you are come in time," she said. "Now we shall not have to force that unfortunate horse to carry us."
Once again she had saved herself—and this time Muriel, too. Her face was sallow with exhaustion, bruised, dirty. Her hair was tangled, her clothes torn and filthy. Yet to Andrew she was beautiful. He saw only a gallant woman strained to the breaking point, beautiful simply because she was alive.
Their eyes met and held for a long moment.
He could not resent that once again his heroic intentions had been foiled. If Teresa had waited to be rescued, he might have arrived too late, to find only her and Muriel’s dead bodies.
Muriel—she had run to Thomas Danville!
Andrew was turning to make sure his eyes had not deceived him when he caught sight of a movement on the floor. The scrawny villain had escaped his half-tied bonds and seized the horse-pistol. The barrel that pointed at Teresa wavered, but she was too close to escape even the most uncertain shot.
The man’s dirty finger tightened on the trigger, and Andrew threw himself across the room. A red-hot flash exploded in his side.
The flood of darkness that overwhelmed him was suffused with joy. He had saved Teresa—and Muriel had run to Lord Danville!
Through dimming eyes Andrew saw Teresa kneeling beside him. He must explain to her that all was well.
“Muriel…,” he murmured, and passed out.
Chapter 20
Teresa gazed down blankly at Andrew’s limp form. Her mind refused to work. The look they had exchanged had warmed and supported her weary spirits. Then a single whispered word shattered her hopes. She had rushed to succour him and he had called for Muriel.
Blood was seeping through his torn, charred coat. With clumsy fingers she tugged at his neckcloth. How convenient that the essential article of male apparel made a perfect bandage, she thought with a giggle that was half a sob.
John lifted her to her feet. “We’ll take care of that,” he said gently. “Sit down, Teresa. You are burnt to the socket.”
She glanced around. Mr. Wishart was efficiently binding Scrawny Sid’s wrists. Muriel was still in Cousin Tom’s arms, her wide, horrified eyes fixed upon her wounded betrothed. Lord Jordan had taken off his own cravat and was staunching the flow of blood from Andrew’s side.
Suddenly Teresa could bear no more. “Marco, take me home," she said.
Her brother put his arm round her shoulders and they went out into the snow.
John followed them out of the cottage. "The sooner you get on home and into bed the better," he said sympathetically, walking with them to the horses. "You were deuced brave and deuced clever, cousin, but we shall take care of things now. I'll set you on your way, then I'll get back to lend a hand with the villains."
Marco mounted his horse and Lord John lifted Teresa up behind him. She clung to him, her cheek pressed against the rough cloth of his greatcoat. She had not said a word since asking him to take her home.
Lord John led the horse back to the clearing and pointed out another track going off to one side. "You'll come to a lane," he said. "Turn left, then take the right fork and you'll be in Bucks Green in no time. You know the way from there? We've ridden it often enough. You’d better send a carriage for Miss Parr and another for Graylin, Marco. Right, then, off you go and don't worry your head about a thing, Teresa."
The pampered thoroughbred hunter bore both of them with ease, and in spite of the snow the hedged lanes were easy to follow. They made good speed, but even so dusk was falling when they reached Five Oaks.
Only one ancient groom remained in the stables, the rest being out still scouring the countryside. He took their mounts with the incuriosity of the aged and merely nodded when Teresa asked him to saddle her mare and have her ready in half an hour.
Marco gaped at her, stupefied. "What maggot's got into your head now?" he demanded. "You're in no fit state to go out again."
She bit her lip, fighting back tears. "I cannot bear it, Marco. If he dies…if he dies, I do not want to know it. I am going to pack up a few things and fetch Gayo, and I'm going home."
"Home! You mean to the hacienda? Home?"
"Yes. I have completed Papa's business and I have an excellent contract to take him. There is nothing to keep me here now."
"Then I shall come with you," her brother assured her stoutly. "Shall we go to Portsmouth?"
"Yes...No... I mean, yes I go to Portsmouth, but you must stay and complete your education. That is what Papa sent you for, it is your duty."
"He sent you to find a husband."
"I never shall," she said wearily. "The gentlemen of the Haut Ton are different indeed from our Costa Ricans, but I find them no more interesting. You must stay at least until you have spent a term at the university, or you cannot know whether it is to your taste."
Unconvinced, Marco protested, "You cannot go without an escort. You cannot ride to Portsmouth tonight."
"No, I mean to spend the night at an inn. I shall be long gone before anyone asks to see me in the morning. Then you may tell my uncle where I am gone; I shall write a letter at the inn and send it to him.”
“And one to Andrew.”
“Yes. I must thank him for saving my life.” Even though it was still Muriel he loved. “Now, I cannot stand here brangling any longer. It is growing dark already. You must go and tell everyone that Muriel and I are safe, and send help for Andrew. Say that I have retired to bed and Annie will do what is needful for me. I am by far too tired to see anyone tonight. Oh Marco, I shall miss you. You have been the greatest comfort to me."
“I shall go with you at least to Portsmouth. Do not argue, Teresa. I’ll do as you say and tell everyone you have retired, then I’ll come and join you. We can decide later whether I shall return here or go home with you.”
They hugged each other hard, then slipped quietly into the house.
"Wait till morning," begged Marco in a whisper as she started trudging up the back stairs. "You are too tired to think straight."
With a look of despair, she shook her head, and went on. The only thing she knew for certain was that never again could she face Andrew.
She found Annie in her dressing room, huddled in a chair weeping. The maid raised a tearstained black face as she entered and leaped to her feet.
Gayo flapped his wings with a bright "Hello."
"Miss Teresa! I made sure you was dead. Gracious heavens, you're worn to the bone. Let me undress you and it's straight into your bed you go."
Teresa shook her head. "No, I'm leaving, Annie. Please pack a few of my simplest dresses and some linen in a couple of small portmanteaux. Hurry, I must go at once."
"You're never going out at this time of night!"
"It is not five yet, it grows dark early these days. Please Annie, I am by far too tired to argue."
The abigail pulled a couple of bags out of a cupboard and began to pack, but she said firmly, "You're not going anywhere without me, miss, that I can tell you."
"I am going home to Costa Rica." Teresa took two small leather sacks of sovereigns from a drawer. "And I shall ride the first few miles so you cannot come."
"I'll hold on behind, miss, but you shan't leave without me."
Too exhausted to argue, Teresa emptied the guineas onto the bed, and sat down to count them.
* * * *
Andrew recovered consciousness to find himself the target of four pairs of worried eyes. Every breath felt like a dagger in his side.
“Where is Teresa?” he demanded, ignoring the pain.
“She is on her way back to Five Oaks,” said Lord Danville soothingly. “She is quite exhausted.”
The look of hurt reproach in Andrew’s eyes was meant for the woman he loved, who had deserted him in his hour of need, but Muriel intercepted it.
“I…I must explain,” she stammered.
Lord Danville realised he still had his arms about the injured hero’s betrothed. Hurriedly he let her go.
Lord Jordan and Mr Wishart, not knowing what was going on but sensing deep waters, glanced at each other, shrugged and went to check the captives' bonds.
Muriel knelt beside Andrew. “I’m sorry, Andrew. I ought not to have run to Tom—Lord Danville—like that.”
Andrew shook his head, wordless, then moaned as the unconsidered action lit a fire beneath his ribs. Mr. Wishart caught Lord Jordan’s eye and they hurried upstairs to explore the rest of the cottage.
“It is difficult to explain,” Muriel went on bravely, dismayed at Andrew’s silence. “I have behaved very wickedly, I know. Somehow I could not help myself.”
Painfully he reached for her hand. “Little goose,” he said affectionately, “I believe some of Teresa’s courage has rubbed off on you. I must tell you that I have accepted that assignment in China. I know you cannot like it and I shall quite understand if you feel you do not wish to marry me after all.”
Lord Danville moved forward to stand with his hands on Muriel’s shoulders. “I, too, must apologise, Graylin, and thank you for releasing Miss Parr so graciously. Believe me, it was never my intention to fall in love with another man’s wife.”
“If you love each other, what more can I have to say?”
The way they smiled at each other assured him of their mutual regard. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight as a spasm of envy shot through him. “Why did Teresa leave?”
“She was exhausted,” repeated Lord Danville. “You saved her life, Graylin, and I know she will express her gratitude when she is a little recovered from her ordeal. He went on to express his own gratitude in somewhat flowery periods.
“It’s not her gratitude I want,” Andrew muttered fretfully under cover of the viscount’s words.
“How are you doing, Graylin?” asked Lord John, coming in. “I must say I’ve lost my faith in the Diplomatic Corps, seeing you resort to physical measures like that. Dashed heroic thing to do, all the same.”
Unwisely, Andrew shook his head. He groaned.
“Don’t move, man!” said John in alarm. “Just how badly did you come off?”
“Wishart thinks the bullet glanced off his ribs,” his brother told him. “Probably broke one or two, but it is not serious. Deuced painful, though, and he has lost considerable blood. He certainly can’t ride home.”
“I told Marco to send a couple of carriages.”
“Good man.”
Meanwhile Muriel had been pondering Andrew’s muttered words and had come to a conclusion as welcome as it was unflattering. With newfound self-confidence, she said to Andrew, “Does she know you love her? You are so often at odds that I never guessed till now, and I know you are too much a gentleman to have spoken to her while you were engaged to me. You do love her, do you not, Andrew?"
"Who?" asked Lord Danville, bewildered.
"Teresa," said his brother and his beloved together. The former went on, "Never say, Tom, that you had not noticed the pair of them smelling of April and May. Too busy doing the same yourself, I daresay."
"I love her to distraction," groaned Andrew.
"A deuced appropriate word," said Lord John with a grin. "What the devil is going on up there?"
The stairs were shrieking a protest as Lord Jordan and Mr Wishart descended with a heavy burden. They dumped the third kidnapper on the floor, where he continued to snore stertorously.
Muriel, back in Lord Danville's arms, looked down at him in distaste. "That's Brawny Bert," she announced.
"Brawny Bert?"
"His name is Bert, and the little man is Sid. Teresa called them Brawny Bert and Scrawny Sid."
"If that ain't like my cousin!" said Lord John with a crack of laughter. "Joking in the midst of deadly peril. How the devil—begging your pardon, Miss Parr—did the two of you overcome this great oaf?"
Muriel told the story, her listeners all agog. Lord Jordan was the only one startled to hear that Teresa had been wearing pistols and had used them to such good effect. The others were admiring but unsurprised by her ingenuity, bravery and capability.
"Poured a bottle of gin down his throat!" said Lord John, grinning. "Dashed if she ain't just what you need with you in China, Graylin. Better tell her you love her soon as may be, if you ask me.”
“I am so happy,” said Muriel with a long, quavering sigh.
John looked at her happy but worn face. “And fagged half to death. Tom, why don’t you take her up on your horse instead of waiting for a carriage? We’ll manage here between us.”
“Not at all the thing,” Danville protested.
John, Wishart, Jordan, Andrew and, after a moment, Muriel all laughed. “My dear brother-in-law,” Lord Jordan observed, “can you imagine anything less proper than the current situation?”
“I will go with you, Tom,” said Muriel, then glanced anxiously at the wounded hero. “But Andrew…”
“Go on,” he said wryly. “I’ll do. I daresay these fellows will not let me bleed to death.”
“Teresa would know what to do to make you more comfortable, but I confess, I do not,” she responded. “I shall make sure there are plenty of cushions and rugs and hot bricks in the carriage that comes for you.”
“I’ll send for the sawbones,” promised Lord Danville. “Again, my thanks, Graylin.”
Andrew smiled ruefully as he watched the duke’s heir pick up his quondam beloved and carry her out. It was good to have matters settled between them, but the long conversation had tired him and the ache in his side spread throughout his body. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe shallowly.
As the pain eased a little, he tormented himself with wondering why Teresa had left him so abruptly when he had risked his life to save her. Had she really not guessed that he adored her? Even if not, it was most unlike her not to have stayed to nurse him, however tired she was.
So perhaps she had guessed his love but did not return it. Seeing him freed by Muriel, she had fled for fear that he would demand more than she was able to give.
In either case, it seemed she did not return his love. Yet John spoke of the two of them as “smelling of April and May.” Try as he might, Andrew could not quite crush a tiny seed of hope.
Despite his agony, despite her exhaustion, he would talk to her this very evening and discover his fate.
Chapter 21
The carriage ride back to Five Oaks severely tested Andrew’s endurance and made him doubt Wishart’s diagnosis of his injury as not serious. However, the doctor from Billingshurst concurred. So cheerful was his report that the duchess recovered from her hysterics and the duke ventured to repair to Andrew’s chamber. Marco followed his uncle.
“My dear fellow!” cried his Grace, approaching the invalid’s bed. “I shall never be able to thank you enough for saving my niece’s life.”
“It was nothing,” mumbled Andrew, embarrassed. “I beg you will not refine upon it.” He sent a beseeching look at Marco, hovering by the door.
Always considerate, the duke stayed only a few minutes. When he left, Marco remained at Andrew’s bedside, his face troubled.
“I must see your sister. Has she retired already?”
“She don’t want to see you. Or anyone else,” Marco added fairly.
“I must see her. I shall go to her chamber.” Andrew winced as he tried to throw off the bedcovers. “Ouch!”
Marco gripped his shoulder and held him down. When he had followed his sister to her room, prepared to escort her to Portsmouth, he had found Annie philosophically unpacking again and Teresa fast asleep on top of her bed.
He had grinned and said to the maid, “Good! I daresay she will have more sense in the morning.”
But though he could see that his friend’s anguish was as much mental as physical, he did not understand what was going on between Teresa and Andrew. He didn’t want to make
things worse by saying the wrong thing.
“She’s fast asleep,” he said gruffly. “I cannot let you wake her. Besides, the doctor said you are not to move for at least three days, lest your ribs pierce your lungs.”
Andrew subsided. The laudanum the doctor had given him had not yet taken effect, but he said, “To the devil with my ribs! I cannot wait so long. Marco, tell her in the morning that I must see her. I love her.”
“Love her? Then why is she carrying on as if the world is coming to an end? No, it’s all right, don’t try to explain.” He grinned. “I ain’t likely to join the petticoat line for a few years yet. You really love her? What about Miss Parr?”
“I’m happy to be able to inform you that Miss Parr is going to be the next Duchess of Stafford. Will you ask Teresa to come and see me?”
“Yes, but I ought to warn you that she is planning on going home to Costa Rica.”
“To Costa Rica! Does your uncle know?”
“No, not yet. She was going to leave tonight, and to stay at an inn on the way to Portsmouth. She was going to write to Uncle Stafford from the inn, and to you.”
“To me?”
“To thank you for…”
“Damnation, am I never to be allowed to forget that I saved her life? You say ‘she was going to.’ She has not left?”
“She fell asleep, and I was not about to wake her, I promise you.” Marco eyed Andrew thoughtfully. “You really love her?” he asked again.
“I adore her. I want to marry her, but if she cannot bear the sight of me I shall leave in the morning—or as soon as I am allowed to travel—and she need never set eyes on me again. I will not let her flee the country because of me.”
“Good. Then I will not let her flee the country before you have spoken to her.”
Andrew relaxed with a sigh of relief. Suddenly drowsy, he smiled sleepily at the thought of Teresa dashing off to Portsmouth, a navel dockyard, when what she really wanted was Bristol. The courageous woman was also a green girl, in need of someone to guide and protect her. Who better than himself?
