Marrying Mischief

by Lyn Stone

  “Relax,” he advised. “You can’t mean to sit on the edge of the seat all the way to London.”

  “No, no, of course not,” she answered, laughing nervously. Where should she put her hands? The one next to him was wedged between her thigh and his, captured there by the weight of her skirts and his thigh-length coat. Through the fabrics and her glove, she could feel the hard muscle of his leg. Her other hand had lost its purchase on the seat and was now fisted uselessly in the folds of her attire.

  “Lean back,” he suggested when the carriage rocked side to side. “You’ll feel more secure anchored against me.”

  Emily doubted that. Already her head was reeling and not entirely from the motion of the carriage. Still, she did as he asked, feeling very daring and adventurous to willingly place herself in the niche he had created for her.

  He had braced his boots against the floorboard and the base of the opposite seat. Emily abandoned her long-held propriety and propped the soles of her own sturdy half boots against the seat edge of the expensive leather cushion. “Yes, better,” she agreed, though she wondered how she would maintain this position for the better part of a day.

  “We shall stop for luncheon and a rest at Browley,” he told her. “The inn there was once an adequate place to dine. I wonder if it has changed over the years.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she replied absently. She had never been over ten miles in any direction from Bournesea village. Today’s adventure took on a small element of fear. Fear of the unknown and of her own inadequacy.

  With her thumb, she rubbed her wedding ring and thought of Lady Elizabeth who had worn it before her. It had seemed to take on the role of talisman for her somehow without her even realizing it. Through her glove, the little gesture she now made imbued her with the courage to face what she must.

  A mile or so later, they reached the main road. Either their way had become smoother or Emily reckoned she had grown used to the motion and Nick’s nearness. She abandoned herself to the gentle rocking motion, not much minding the creak of the carriage springs and the wet clacking of the horses’ hooves against the muddy road.

  “You see?” he said, a smile in his voice. “This is not so bad, is it?”

  Emily looked up at him. His strong arm surrounded her. His body radiated heat against hers. His face was mere inches from her own. Her gaze settled on his mouth, then crept slowly up to his eyes. The hooded look of blatant desire in them almost frightened her.

  Silly to be afraid, she thought, swallowing hard. This was Nick, her friend, whose arms had held her every bit this closely last evening as they danced. She had not been afraid then, had she?

  And their lips had been much closer than this at one time. The memory of their one passionate kiss suffused her thinking then and must have communicated itself to him. His mouth lowered to hers and pressed against it.

  The carriage bumped once, jarring them apart. Instead of backing away, Nick cradled her face with his hand and reclaimed her. Emily’s mind blanked beneath the onslaught, her entire body shivering in anticipation as he drew her closer, turning her so that her breasts pressed against the front of his coat.

  With her free hand, she reached between them and tugged the unbuttoned coat aside, mindlessly cursing his stiff brocade waistcoat and shirt that lay between them. Her corset bit into her ribs as she twisted her torso for a closer meld.

  He burned kisses across her cheek, her brow and then her ear, exposed beneath the simple black hat she wore to services each Sunday to cover her pinned-up curls. She groaned low in her throat, unmindful of the fact that she encouraged what he was doing.

  “Emily,” he whispered, the sound of her name tangled with the fervent caresses of his breath and tongue. She swiftly turned her head so that her mouth caught his and took what she had dreamed of for seven long years.

  His hand trailed from her face down her neck, briefly cupped her shoulder, then settled on one breast. Her indrawn breath of surprise only fueled the conflagration. Nick’s kiss grew wild and urgent, his hold tighter as she responded in kind to him.

  She loved the sounds he made, sounds pulled from deep inside him by the way she made him feel. The ability to move him so drugged her with a heady sense of power she had never thought to know. It begged increasing. Emily slid one hand beneath his vest and caressed the muscles that encased his rapidly beating heart.

  On and on he kissed her, driving her to distraction with hands that roamed her body, claimed it without any of the protective hesitancy she recalled in the boy he had been.

  Cool air reached her legs as her skirts crept up above her calves. Long, strong fingers smoothed their way past the garters that held her silken hose above her knees. At last, the subtle slide of skin against skin as his hand moved higher, gradually smoothing its way closer, closer still…

  “Nicky,” she breathed against his mouth between kisses.

  Suddenly he removed his hand and hastily replaced her skirts. “What am I thinking?” he asked, his voice gravelly and full of frustration. “We can’t do this here.”

  “W-why not?” The words had slipped out unbidden.

  She knew as well as he how woefully inappropriate this was. “No, no, you’re right,” she agreed, pushing against his chest to put distance between them so she could think.

  His self-deprecating laugh sounded as woeful as she felt. For a brief second he drew her close again, held her rather fiercely, then let her go. “Forgive me, Emily. This was not what I intended.”

  He grabbed his cane and gave a knock on the roof, a signal to halt, Emily supposed. The carriage began to slow down, then rocked to a stop. “I had better ride outside for a while,” he told her with a guilty glance.

  Emily said nothing. What was there to say? Embarrassed, she avoided looking at him. With shaking hands, she put her bonnet to rights and retied the bow beneath her chin.

  By the time she had finished, Nick had climbed down and closed the door. He didn’t even pause to excuse himself and say he would meet her at the inn. He just left her there.

  She risked a peek out the window and saw him round the back of the carriage. The saddled mount he had brought along was tied there, so she supposed he would be riding horseback instead of up top with Wrecker and Sam Herring. The carriage felt cavernous without him in it. Cold and uncomfortable to the extreme.

  Emily noticed he had forgotten his cloak and knew she should remind him and hand it out. She scooped it up just as Sam Herring snapped the reins and called “Get up!” Too late for that, she thought. They were on their way.

  It would probably be hours before they reached the inn. Snuggling herself into a corner, Nick’s cloak covering her, she buried her face in the wide collar of the light woolen garment, closed her eyes and breathed in his enticing scent and tried to pass the time with sleep.

  Emily came awake to a horrendous jolt that bounced her right off the seat and onto the floor. Horses screamed. The carriage lurched, tossing her this way and that. She grasped for something—anything—to secure herself against the hurtling conveyance.

  Herring shouted madly, his high-pitched voice unintelligible except for the tone of fear.

  “Nick!” Emily screamed, rattling about like a bean shaken in a jar. She sucked in a breath and held it, too scared to scream again.

  The coach pitched sideways, rolled upside down, came right, then rolled again.

  Emily scrambled madly, grasping at any and every thing to brace herself against the wild tumbling, but found no purchase. At last, the entire assemblage came to rest with a final bounce. On its side.

  “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, afraid to move.

  Then she squeaked in her throat, her lips tight against a terrified cry. Wide-eyed, she looked around, hardly able to see in the low light. Though both windows had broken out, only one was upward toward the sky. All she could see was fog.

  “Nicky?” she screamed, and burst into tears. Shaking and sobbing wildly, dashing at her face with the back of one forearm, Em
ily fought hard for control.

  Shivering, moving as carefully as she could, she tried to stand and failed. Glass crunched beneath her and the carriage rocked.

  Nick would get her out of here, she thought, repeating the thought until he could make it come true.

  “Nick! Wrecker! Sam?” she shouted as loudly as she could. One glance at the broken window above her head revealed no husband, no curious driver or seaman-turned-footman peeping down. Only the heavy fog swirled in, adding moisture to her face already wet with tears of terror. Had all three men been injured?

  No, Nick had been riding the mare, hadn’t he? She had not actually seen him mount. He could have been on the coach with Wrecker and Sam. She prayed he hadn’t been.

  It appeared she was on her own. But first, she had to get out of this silk-and leather-lined cage.

  Sniffing hard, she took several deep breaths and tried to stand up. The carriage shifted, rocking dangerously like a teeterboard, and her legs buckled beneath her.

  What if the thing tipped and began to roll again?

  Chapter Eight

  Emily remained still for some time, terrified that another shift of the coach might send her crashing to her death.

  She brushed a trembling hand over her brow and winced. Unable to locate her reticule which contained a handkerchief, she wiped the trickle of blood away with the back of her glove. There was a cut at the edge of her hairline, probably caused by flying glass when the windows shattered.

  Tentatively she checked for other injuries. Bruises began to ache, but no bones seemed broken.

  She waited a few moments for someone to come to see about her. By chance, her hand brushed against the small reticule she’d brought with her. She took out her handkerchief, wiped her face and patted her brow. At least her head had stopped bleeding.

  She tucked away her handkerchief and looped the drawstring of her reticule around one wrist so she would not lose it again. Nick’s leather case was lying in one corner. She picked it up and held it to her chest, resting her chin on the edge. He would need this in London. If they ever reached there, she thought.

  How far had they traveled from Bournesea? Too far to walk back for assistance, she knew that much. And that inn Nick had spoken of must surely be too far away, since it was nowhere near noon. Or was it? She fiddled for her time piece pinned to her lapel. Unfortunately, there wasn’t sufficient light to see the hands of it.

  She huffed out a breath of frustration, drew in another and shouted at the top of her voice, “Nicholas! Wrecker? Herring? Can you hear me?”

  In the stillness that followed, she thought she heard a scrambling in the brush outside.

  “Emily!”

  It was Nick! “Here!” she called.

  Immediately, the outline of his head and shoulders appeared in the window, silhouetted against the meager light. He was prone, looking down at her.

  “Are you hurt?” He sounded breathless, as if he had run a long way.

  “Only a scratch on my head and a few bumps. Are you all right? What of Wrecker and Sam?” They had surely been thrown off or crushed beneath the coach as it tumbled.

  “I haven’t found them yet. I’ve been trying to get to you. Damn this fog! Can’t see past the end of your arm.”

  “Get me out of here,” she pleaded.

  “In a moment. Listen to me carefully, Em. Don’t panic, but you should know the coach is resting on the edge of a precipice,” Nick told her. “Very carefully, you must try to stand. No sudden movements, now.”

  Emily got her feet under her and rose slowly, inches at the time, until she was upright.

  She heard Nick release a tortured breath and draw in another. “Come now, grasp my wrist with both hands,” he commanded. “At the slightest movement of the carriage, you must freeze.”

  “Yes,” she said with a jerky nod. “Yes, that is what I must do. I can do it.” Somehow, his making the decisions for her felt comforting. Strange, when she usually hated for anyone to do such a thing.

  “Are you certain you’re able, Emily? I will come inside there and lift you out if need be, but since our balance seems precarious, you’d do better to let me lift you out. Are you too afraid?”

  “Certainly not!” she declared, frowning up at him. She was scared to death, but not about to admit it.

  Gingerly, Emily straightened her legs and stood on tiptoe. She tried to ignore the stiffness and painful bruises she had acquired. The top of her head remained well below the opening of the window.

  “I wish I weren’t so short,” she remarked unnecessarily.

  Nick grunted in agreement, then cleared his throat. “This is the difficult part, Em. You must not struggle or try to help when I lift you.”

  She looked up at him, wishing she could see his features, judge the extent of his fear. “There’s a danger we will fall, isn’t there?” she cried. “Plummet like rocks thrown down a well!”

  “Let’s not dwell on that, shall we? Just do as I say.”

  She swallowed hard, then held up his leather case. “You might want this.”

  “Leave anything else,” he ordered as he took it from her. “Let’s get you out of there. Nothing else matters at the moment.”

  As soon as both her hands closed around his wrist, he began to lift. Soon her feet were dangling. Nick now crouched above the open window and slowly pulled her up. She could hear his labored breathing. Or was that her own?

  Her skirts caught on the fragmented glass around the window frame. The coach groaned and she felt as if it slid a few feet beneath them.

  “Don’t struggle!” he warned. “I’m going to release your hands now if you will bend at the waist and rest your upper half outside the window. You’re almost free.”

  She felt him tug gently but persistently on the folds of her skirts and petticoats until he had them billowed outside, bunched around her waist. Her lower half, bare except for her pantalets, stocking and half boots, remained inside.

  “Emily, don’t move,” he advised. He worked his gloved hand beneath her, obviously feeling for any remnants of the jagged glass. He broke off several and she heard them clink as they dropped back inside.

  “When I stand up,” he said, his voice tight with apprehension, “I shall lift you out the rest of the way. We must be quick. It might be necessary to leap for it if the coach slips again. Leap that way,” he instructed, tossing his case off one side. “Cling to me and I’ll try to break your fall. Once you hit the ground, grab anything to anchor yourself. Ready?”

  She made a strangled sound of agreement. He grasped her beneath her arms and yanked her free of the window. With that effort, the very earth seemed to shift beneath them.

  Nick shouted as he tumbled backward. Emily heard a high-pitched wail of terror and realized it was hers as they landed with a thud and began to slide.

  The thunder of the coach crashing downward drowned out any other sound they might have made. Emily realized she had one arm locked around Nick’s neck and the other around a spindly tree. Half its roots had been torn out of the ground. She craned her neck to see where they were.

  The fog had lifted a bit, but not much. Again her legs were suspended, this time over the rocky edge of the cliff.

  “Hold on,” Nick ordered in a grated whisper. His arm tightened around her back. “Give me a moment to catch my breath.”

  Emily pushed her face into the curve of his neck, her nose pressed against his stiff collar and neckcloth, and prayed for them. And for the small, damaged tree that was their anchor.

  Nick recovered soon, convinced her to let go of the sapling and began inching his body and hers a few feet up the slope toward better purchase.

  “There now,” he said finally, rising to a sitting position and assisting her in doing the same. “We should assess our damage,” he suggested, his voice tense. “Let me see that scratch of yours.”

  He leaned close and brushed the hair away from her brow. His hand shook. Suddenly his eyes clenched and his arms enfolded her
. “Oh, God,” he said, grasping her so tightly she could scarcely breathe.

  “It’s nothing,” she assured him as she clung to him. “Really, I’m all right.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. But for a long time, he held her without gentling his grip at all. Emily smiled, infinitely glad to be alive and in his arms, no matter how she got there.

  Eventually he released her. “We must see about the men,” he said, looking back up the slope. “Are you up to the climb?”

  Emily nodded and stood, balancing carefully so that she wouldn’t go rolling back down the way they had come.

  “Thank you for saving me,” she said sincerely. “I should be dead if not for you.”

  “Try not to think about it,” he advised. “Concentrate on getting up to the road.” He spied his case, which had landed nearby, and walked over to pick it up. “We’d best hurry. Take my hand.”

  Halfway up, they discovered Wrecker lying facedown, unconscious. Nick knelt and rolled the man over to check for injuries. “He’s just knocked cold, I think.” Nick began chafing Wrecker’s face with his hands and calling his name to bring him around.

  The giant opened his eyes and squinted up at them. “W-what happened?” He ran a hand through his hair and sucked in a deep breath. “We o’erturned,” he growled, answering his own question. His worried gaze flew to Emily, then melted to one of relief.

  She patted his shoulder. “Are you injured?”

  Wrecker stretched, shaking each arm and leg to see whether they worked. “Banged up, but I’ll do,” he assured her.

  Nick got to his feet and offered Wrecker a hand. “Can you stand?”

  “Aye. Naught wrong wi’ me but I lost my wind.” He grunted as he stood and sucked in several noisy breaths.

  “I was riding behind the carriage. Did you see what happened to Herring?” Nick asked, looking around them while Wrecker raked mud and leaves off his clothes.