A Pair of Rogues

by Patricia Wynn

  The horses sensed her nervousness. They plunged and snorted. For once, doubting her ability to hold onto them, Christina was struck with the enormity of what she had done.

  The possibility of being exposed in the street nearly crushed her. What Ned would think when he discovered her playing at groom, she could scarcely bear to think. He would surely consider her as queer as Dick's hatband, like Caroline Lamb who had disguised herself as a page to be near Lord Byron.

  The comparison was not so very far off as to comfort her. Christina promised herself that she would betray none of her embarrassing feelings for Ned. She could accomplish what she intended purely by distracting him. He should think this just another one of her foolish pranks.

  All that mattered, she told herself, was that Ned not hurl himself to the devil, when he could never be happy that way again.

  The sound of his front door opening made her jump. Already frisky, the horses leapt forward. The tiny curricle, which had been built lightly for speed, served as no hindrance to their charge.

  Nearly carried away, Christina hung all her weight on the reins to resist them and managed to bring them to a halt after only a few feet.

  “Hang onto them, Jem! There's a boy.” She heard Ned's voice several yards behind her.

  She tried to keep her head down, for the kerchief around her neck tended to slip.

  “Steady on.” Ned spoke soothingly to his team as he climbed up onto the seat. “Ready to be off, are they? Well"—this last was added under his breath—"they are not half so ready as I.

  “Stand away, Jem!"

  Christina had been so distracted by the phrase Ned had muttered that she forgot who she was supposed to be until he called out impatiently, “Wake up, boy!"

  She dropped her grip on the harness and ran around to the back of the curricle.

  “Step lively now! You're running like a girl!"

  Startled, Christina barely made it onto her perch in time. She had only planted one knee before Ned loosened his reins. The yank of the horses’ forward motion nearly pulled her arms out of their sockets. It took all her strength to drag herself up onto the seat.

  She had never realized how much the cushioning of a well-sprung carriage protected one from a bone-rattling ride. Feeling her eyes wide as saucers, she held on with a tightened grip, fearing every second that the next loose stone or swerving turn would dislodge it.

  Preoccupied with the struggle to stay on, she did not notice at first that Ned was traveling south and east along the Mayfair streets. When she finally did, she became worried about his destination, until she persuaded herself that he merely meant to run an errand before heading out of town. It should be no matter. She still had plenty of time to return home with Robert none the wiser.

  She felt the carriage slow and took the opportunity to peer up and about.

  Ned was pulling his team to a stop in front of block of houses. Not a shop was in sight.

  Christina experienced her first jolt of anxiety. Until this moment, she had never suspected that he might be going to take a passenger. Louisa had suggested he was heading into the country alone. But, then, Louisa had had no notion of the mischief that would enter her sister-in-law's head.

  The idea that his passenger might be a woman drained the blood from Christina's face. She suppressed a gasp.

  How could she reveal herself to Ned in the presence of a woman? Worse yet, what conversation would she have to endure as she rode unnoticed behind them

  She had no time to ponder this, however, for he issued a sharp command to “Jem.” She scrambled down, none too gracefully, and ran to the horses’ heads.

  “You needn't walk them.” Ned jumped down and strode impatiently towards the door. “Not unless he keeps me waiting."

  Christina was trembling now. Not only had the unaccustomed work been a challenge to her strength, but terror had gnawed a pit in her stomach.

  "He. Ned said a he.” She repeated this word to herself for comfort. “His guest is a he."

  Too late she realized that she could no more reveal herself in front of a man than she could a woman. Ned was already halfway to the door. Christina considered bolting, but if she did Ned's horses would bolt, too.

  He might forgive her for an embarrassing prank, but he would never forgive her for endangering his horses.

  Pluckily, she held on, praying for another opportunity of escaping before they were far outside London. She had a few coins tucked into her pocket in case of emergency. She could always use those to secure a ride. The only difficulty would be to find the opportunity before they got so far from London she could not return in time.

  In less than two minutes, Ned reappeared at the door. Before she took a peek at his guest, Christina pulled her stock up about her mouth.

  It muffled her involuntary squeak. Behind Ned she spied Levington strolling suavely towards the vehicle.

  Behind him was a servant, carrying a small portmanteau.

  “Throw it up behind,” Ned instructed the man. “My tiger can hold on to it. My valet will come by later with my coach to collect his lordship's other boxes."

  “Yes, my lord."

  While this exchange was going on, Christina's mind whirled in torment.

  Levington? Ned had invited Levington to accompany him?

  Of all the people in the ton, why had Ned picked him? Christina could think of no one before whom she would less wish to be humiliated.

  Her last conversation with the baron had been far from cordial. He was unlikely to have forgotten the slight she had paid him. How much he would enjoy discovering her in her present predicament.

  She averted her face as much as possible and tried to raise the woolen stock about her mouth without letting go of the horses. But the two objectives were incompatible. Every time she ventured to let go of the reins, a horse would jerk its head.

  “Hold them tightly now!” Ned warned, starting to come around to assist her. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing, sir!” Even though he was standing far away, Christina could imagine the feel of his breath on her neck. She made her voice as low and gruff as she could. “I've got ‘em right and tight now, me lord."

  Luckily, that stopped him before he got any nearer.

  “Very well. But let me know if they're too much for you today. Sounds like you're taking a cold."

  Christina would have laughed, if she were not fully conscious of being in a terrible fix. For once, she was certain she had gone too far and risked too much. Her only hope was the chance that she could slip away before either gentleman suspected her identity, but she feared that such an occasion would be hard to find.

  Ned climbed into his vehicle, took up the reins again and gave her the word.

  More sprightly now—inspired by a surge of panic—she sprang up onto the light seat behind him, which she now had to share with Levington's bag.

  At least it afforded her an excuse to hunch her shoulders, which gave her some relief, although nothing could materially relieve her of an impending sense of doom. Here she was, sitting with her back only inches away from the man who could spell her ruin if he discovered this latest prank. It had not been in Levington's interest to divulge her other escapades, not when so doing would place him under the gravest censure as well. But this latest start had been solely of her making. He would have no interest in keeping it quiet. Quite the contrary in fact.

  The horses made the curricle jerk before settling into a modest trot. With two men on board—and one terrified groom—Ned could hardly spring his horses as he threaded his way through town towards the Great Northern Road. Even at this reduced pace, however, they soon left London behind, and Christina found to her dismay that she could hear the two men's conversation far too well for her own comfort.

  At first the two discussed Ned's curricle and team as well as sporting news about town, but before long an awkward silence fell between them.

  It was broken by Levington. “Although your hospitality comes at a co
nvenient time, I must admit I was surprised by the invitation to Windermere Hall. I fail to see the purpose behind it."

  “Why?” Ned appeared disinclined to be as frank. “You have been hunting with me there before."

  “Yes, but that was before we exchanged rather heated words on more than one occasion, concerning a certain lady."

  Christina could almost feel Ned's shrug behind her, although their shoulders did not touch.

  “I see no reason,” he said, “to carry on with animosity when the matter was so easily settled."

  “Easily for you, perhaps. But not for me."

  “Indeed?” Although he responded in a bored tone of voice, fixing his gaze upon the horses’ ears in front of him, Ned found it hard to resist the temptation to search Levington's face. He could not allow Levington to think that his answer carried any importance. But Ned felt a profound desire to know just how Levington's attempts to woo Christina had ended.

  “Yes,” his passenger continued. “I am afraid I wasted the better part of three months in pursuit of the lady."

  “Wasted? She would not have you, then?"

  “No. I have to wonder whether she ever had the slightest inclination to do so."

  “When did this disappointment come about?"

  Levington gave a bitter laugh. “At milady's ball, if you please. She had conferred upon me the honor of taking her into supper, so you will concede that my expectations were not unfounded.

  “Then, calmly as you please, between the lobster patties and the pastries, she gave me my congé."

  “Ahhhhh.” On this long drawn out note, Ned finally understood that he had made a fool of himself following Christina up to her room. Why had she not acknowledged to him then and there that her flirtation with Levington was over?

  “You needn't sound so satisfied. Not unless you mean to have a go at her yourself."

  “I?” Ned forced a look of surprise. “No. I'm of no mind to get m'self shackled. And even if I was, I should be no more acceptable as a suitor than you."

  “With the lady or her guardians?” Levington's long look quizzed him. “The thought has occurred to me that the only reason Lady Christina could have had for playing me along as she did was to make some other gentleman jealous."

  A tightness gripped Ned's chest and throat. He responded shortly, “I assure you it could not have been me."

  “I'm not saying you were interested. You have no need of her fortune after all, and I assume you have women enough. I only thought the lady herself might have had ideas."

  “Not a chance of it. She must know she is worthy of a better fate than that.”

  His tone grown curt, Ned searched quickly for a different topic to remove Christina's name from Levington's tongue. He found only one. A dogfight was scheduled for that very afternoon on their route. He'd had no intention of attending it, but with Levington's obsession with wagering, a fight would be the very thing to divert his mind.

  Christina heard their talk turn to sports, and she ignored the ensuing conversation. The names that floated to her over the rattle of the carriage—names like “Spotty Sam” and “Brutus"—both likely to be pugilists—could hold no interest for her at all.

  What had meant much were Ned's words on the subject of her worth. They lingered in her heart like embers. His gentlemanly speech had inspired a warmth of gratitude that had nearly made her turn about in the seat. Who, better than he, knew how little she deserved? And, yet, he had defended her. He had also adroitly turned the conversation to something else.

  Christina could not indulge in speculation now, however, without the risk of revealing herself. All together, she must hold onto Levington's valise, the bouncing carriage, and her slipping cap, with only two hands to do the job of three.

  What conscious thought remained, she turned exclusively to the question of how to get back undetected. So far, neither gentleman had evinced a need to stop, and a halt for the night was unlikely for a couple of hours, maybe more. If something did not happen soon to provide her with an answer to her dilemma, she would never get home before Robert discovered her absence.

  She wished she could simply slip off the back of the curricle unnoticed. But once outside the metropolis, Ned had picked up his pace, and she had been jostled along far too fast to think of jumping. Even if she could manage to hit the ground without injuring herself, her situation relative to the gentlemen's behind her was so near, they surely would remark what she had done.

  And if she did wrench an ankle, her discovery would be certain.

  Resigned to seeing this escapade through, whatever the cost, she gave herself over to the bumpy ride.

  And bumpy it was. No matter how fine a vehicle Ned's curricle was, Christina was tossed and bounced about the seat over every loosened stone.

  Her head had begun to ache. Every muscle in her body hurt. And from facing backwards, she had evolved a rather pressing need to be sick. It was not long before Christina had to employ all her wits merely to keep from casting up her accounts. Consequently, the gentlemen's voices came to her as no more than an annoying murmur.

  Finally, after an hour, they stopped to make an inquiry at an inn. Christina hopped down and stumbled to the horses’ heads, grateful for any respite that would keep her off that seat. Hiding her face here posed no problem, for her unsettled stomach forced her to rest her forehead against one of the bays’ necks.

  She had hoped to be relieved of this duty by an ostler, so she could make her getaway, but none came to help. They were busy with an inordinate amount of traffic. The yard was teeming with all sorts of vehicles, most of the sporting variety, as if every London buck had found Newmarket here in this small country town.

  Her rest lasted no more than a few seconds before Ned and Levington were back.

  As Christina threw herself back up on the seat, she must have launched a breeze Ned's way, for she heard him sniff the air.

  He sniffed again. With prickles rising on her spine, she swore she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.

  She tried to bury that flesh between her shoulders.

  Before he giddapped the horses, he half-turned back and asked, “Have you been washing, Jem?"

  His direct question, this close, made her clutch at her seat. She muffled her voice. “Washing, sir? Me?"

  “Yes, I thought I detected a whiff of perfume. Must be your soap."

  Christina rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Oh, that, your lordship. Yes."

  She felt him turn back around as he clucked to his team. “Out to impress the girls?” he asked. “Just make sure you don't forget your duties in the meantime.” A puzzled note had tinged his voice, which was unaccustomedly severe.

  “I won't, your lordship."

  At this rate, Christina thought, a sense of nervous desperation making her stomach toss, I shall be discovered long before dark.

  The day was waning, though. Already, she had been gone much too long, and much too far in one direction ever to make it home before five o'clock. Whatever the outcome of this evening, she would have serious explanations to make, even grave charges to refute. She rode in silence, grasping Levington's bag with a sense of grim fatality, building slowly into despair. She had never meant for this to happen. No matter how wild she had been, she had never truly meant to be discovered in any of her peccadilloes. Deep down in her heart, she had not wanted to flout Robert's authority or injure Louisa's trust. She had only wanted to think poorly of herself so that the inevitable criticisms of others would not harm her so.

  But her fear of the general censure that would result from this escapade was almost more than she could bear. Her guilt was so extreme it almost overrode her discomfort.

  Just when she was certain her up-turned stomach would force a confession from her lips, she heard Levington say, “We should turn in here."

  Ned smoothly negotiated the corner of the main highway onto a private drive. In spite of his skill, the curricle lurched along the badly rutted road, exacerbating the headac
he that accompanied Christina's nausea. Mercifully, the drive was short. Only a few more yards led them to a spot where, peering round, Christina saw an isolated barn in the middle of a dormant field of maize, in which scores of vehicles had stopped. Her gaze took in every kind of conveyance from gigs to handsome traveling coaches.

  Grooms had unhitched many of the horses from their carriages to parade them around. Others simply stood at the head of the horses still in harness. Country boys, dressed in rough, rural garb, mixed with their city equals; some wove their way through the crowd, offering their services to any gentleman who arrived without a servant of his own.

  This would be the fight they had been talking about, Christina thought numbly.

  Although she had never been to anything vaguely resembling a pugilistic match, she knew such matches were both common and illegal. Small wonder that two rakes like Levington and Ned would begin their orgy by observing one.

  She had no doubt they would bet on the outcome, as nearly all Englishmen did. Then, as she realized how many elegant equipages were there, she could only pray to avoid being spotted by one of their gentlemen owners.

  As soon as the curricle stopped, she jumped down, having no doubt of being required to hold Ned's horses and hoping she would find the strength. She was surprised, therefore, when Ned signaled to one of the local boys to take their heads.

  “You, Jem!” Ned called. “You may watch the fight if you wish. We've got a long journey ahead of us, and you will need the rest.

  “Here"—as Christina kept her gaze downcast, hiding her face with the top of her cap, Ned reached unexpectedly inside his buff waistcoat pocket—"use this to wager with if you like.” He flipped a coin in her direction.

  Unprepared and still dizzy, Christina fumbled for it. It landed at her feet. Fighting the urge to dart a nervous glance up at Ned, she instead used the excuse to keep her eyes to the ground.

  “Thank you, sir!"

  Ned lingered. She could feel his searching gaze on the bulky cap on her head. “Are you perfectly well, Jem?” Uncertainty tinged his voice.