“I do not like to be kept waiting—five minutes and I begin to eat.”
“Wait. Do you have a handerkerchief?” she asked hopefully.
“Of course.” He pushed open the door and stepped in, his gaze traveling from her flaming face to the deep decolletage of the gown. “Ingenious, my dear,” he murmured as he proffered the fine Venetian lace-edged square. “I doubt I have ever supplied one for that purpose before.”
She grabbed for the handkerchief and turned away to tuck it into her bodice. “I cannot believe that the Mantini would wear this in company,” she muttered half to herself.
“ ’Tis one of her more discreet gowns.” He grinned. “Come on, we waste time and I am hungry.”
The repast prepared for them was nothing short of fantastic. Ellen settled into her chair opposite the marquess and tucked a napkin over her lap. She had never seen so much food set out for two people, for she was used to traveling in the company of her father, who insisted on breaking their fast with tea and a few biscuits with jam. It was not because they were poor, but rather because he resented spending his money.
Lord Trent cut off a slice of ham and laid it across her plate. “Do not be saying you could not eat a morsel, Miss Marling, because I cannot abide a die-away miss. Pray keep in mind that we shall not be stopping again until late.”
“I should not dream of it, sir,” she assured him while she helped herself to an egg, a couple of muffins, and some sausages. Daintily cutting up the meat, she proceeded to eat. Trent finished first and then began watching in fascination as she ate everything she had taken on her plate. Finally, when she popped the last bit of muffin in her mouth, he felt compelled to push a plate of rolls toward her.
“You might as well try these, too. Really, Miss Marling, but you must have had a nurse that thought it a sin to waste food.”
“Even a crumb.” She nodded. “But how did you know?”
“I had one like that—Button, we called her.”
“I had not supposed that the Marquess of Trent ever had a nurse.”
“All English children of our class have nurses, my dear.”
“Well, I cannot imagine you to ever have been a proper English child,” she managed with a smile.
“Oh, I was a scapegrace,” he admitted cheerfully, “but not because Button did not try.” He took out his watch and frowned. “ ’Tis late, and we’d best be getting back on the road. I am afraid you will have to give Timms a more precise direction than just York, in case there is a shorter route. I’ve no wish to play nursemaid any longer than necessary, for I have enough problems with pursuing females.”
“If that is supposed to mean that I shall be soon-casting out lures to you, my lord, you are way wide of the mark,” she answered sweetly as she rose from the table. “I do not find ill-tempered men attractive in the least.”
While she made her way back to the carriage, he paid the shot and then huddled with Timms and the coacheys. When he came back, he found her standing outside the coach admiring the elegant equippage by light of day. Frowning, he moved to open the door and hand her up. “You should not be standing unattended in a common innyard,” he chided as he swung up beside her and settled in the seat across. “It would not do for you to be recognized.”
“My circle of acquaintance is quite small, my lord—’tis not I who would be recognized.” She spread her skirts out on the seat and resigned herself to more long hours cooped up in the carriage.
Once the coach started rolling, they made good time.
She attempted a few desultory comments for conversation, but he appeared preoccupied with other things, and she finally abandoned the effort. Both napped off and on until at last they stopped again. This time, Dobbs procured some bread, meat, and apples, and a bottle of wine from another inn along the way, and they ate inside the coach while it lurched into motion again. She viewed the small nuncheon with disfavor as she divided it.
“I have heard of those who travel light, my lord, but this is ridiculous. Never say that you mean to rely on so little to sustain yourself.”
“And I was about to say the opposite for you, Miss Marling— you have an uncommonly healthy appetite for a thin female.” He pushed another apple her direction and added wryly, “I do not suppose you thought to lift Brockhaven’s purse before you jumped from his window, did you?” He watched her color guiltily. “Of course you did not. And I had not the least intention of traveling the length of England when I left my house, either.”
“You mean we do not have any money?”
“I have enough, ma’am!” he snapped back. “But if you expect me to keep a roof over your head, you will practice a little economy. It was not until I paid the shot at the Hawk that I realized just how light my purse is.”
Mortified, she ate in silence and kept her eyes on the food in front of her.
Goaded by her embarrassment, he leaned across and corrected the impression he’d given her. “I am not so light in the pocket as I made it sound, my dear, but we will have to watch the expenses.”
“But you are a marquess.”
“And you imagined I carried my blunt with me? What a strange notion of marquesses you must have, Miss Marling.”
Stung, she bit back another acid remark and twisted the ring from her finger. “Here, my lord. Perhaps this can be sold the next place we stop.”
“Do not be absurd. I may not be the Bank of England, my dear, but I would cut up pretty warm if it came to that. I just do not happen to carry my gold with me.”
“Take it.”
“I could not take your wedding ring.”
“I assure you, my lord, that it has not the least sentimental value to me. If it will buy even one meal, it’s yours.” When he would not take it, she let it fall on the floor of the carriage. Finally, he bent to retrieve it and slipped it on the little finger of his left hand. He leaned back and shaded his eyes again with the hat. It was inconceivable to her that he meant to sleep again, but he did. She had to content herself with curling up on her side and covertly studying the strange man across from her. He was not so bad, she decided. In fact, he reminded her of her brother, Julian, at times. Perhaps it was that all young men of wealth were given to excesses, with the very rich reaching a level of boredom that required increasingly dissolute behavior to interest them at all. Lulled by the constant swaying of the coach, she abandoned the attempt to figure him out and drifted off to sleep herself.
“Ma’am.”
It seemed like she could not have been asleep above a few minutes when he was shaking her awake. “Where are we?” she yawned sleepily.
“We are at the Blue Boar, and by the looks of it, ’tis crowded. We could push on, I suppose, but I think we ought to plan on supper and beds here. At least I have heard this place keeps clean linen.”
She had never before entered an inn for lodging on the arm of a strange man, and she was acutely conscious of the appearance they must give without so much as a maid or valet between them. Trent grasped her elbow and led the way.
“And how might we serve you, sir?” the innkeeper asked while he looked them up and down. Behind him, his wife hovered curiously.
“I am needful of a chamber for my wife and myself,” Trent stated baldly.
At almost the same time, Ellen spoke up, “We are needing chambers for my brother and me.”
“So, that’s how it is, eh?” The innkeeper’s wife pushed herself forward and stood with her arms on her hips. “I knew it was havey-cavey business the minute I saw ’em. Well, sir,” she addressed Trent, “you can take your doxy elsewheres. We run a respectable establishment here.”
“I am the Marquess of Trent,” his lordship snapped at the landlord, “and I will have a chamber!”
“Aye, and I am the Prince of Wales,” the fellow snorted derisively as he took in Trent’s travel-stained evening clothes and his full day’s growth of dark beard. “Nay. Be off with you! We don’t run no place like that.”
As soon as they were back
in the carriage, Trent rounded on her. “Wonderful! ’Tis amazing how you got us thrown out of the last inn for miles.”
“You surely did not expect me to share your chamber, my lord,” Ellen shot back, unrepentant.
“Acquit me! I have not the least design on your person, ma’am, but could you not see the crowd in the taproom? They just might have had one chamber, but ’twas certain they did not have two. The next time, I shall do all the talking and you will keep your mouth closed—that is, if we can even find another place.”
“Then bespeak two rooms, my lord.”
The sun set, making the road dark and ominous as they barreled down a lonely stretch of it. Trent stared glumly out the carriage window into the blackness. “I do not like being abroad at night in a strange area and riding in a carriage emblazoned with my arms. ’Tis almost an invitation to robbery. I should have abandoned you to your fate and taken whatever bed they had back there. I doubt they would have quibbled with that.”
“Halt!”
He’d no more than voiced his fears than a warning shot rang out and horsemen approached from the side of the road. “And now, what do you think of what you’ve gotten us into, Miss Marling?” Trent demanded. He slid his hand into his cloak and drew out a silver-chased pistol that gleamed in the darkness. “Damn!”
The coach driver reined in as the men drew nearer. Dobbs leaned over and whispered to Timms, “Best duck, fer ‘is lor’ship ain’t about ter git robbed.”
At almost that same instant, another shot rang out and one of the riders fell heavily from his horse. The others spurred their mounts and bolted away without a thought for their fallen comrade.
Dobbs took the reins from Timms’ nerveless fingers and nodded knowingly. “Told yer he wouldn’t stand fer it.”
Inside the carriage, Ellen stared at the still-smoking pistol. “That was fine shooting, my lord. He must have been fifty paces away and in the dark.”
“About sixty,” he corrected coolly. He checked the barrel and slid the pistol back beneath his cloak. “I’ll reload later. Let’s go, Timms,” he yelled up to his driver.
“But, I mean, aren’t you going to see if that man needs a doctor? You cannot just go off and leave him,” Ellen protested.
Trent laughed cynically. “He’s past redeeming, my dear—shot clean through the heart, I assure you.”
“But you cannot know that.”
“I never miss. Deveraux are noted marksmen.”
It was obvious that he considered the subject done, but Ellen could not help persisting, “You cannot just leave him there!” She reached across the seat and caught at his coat sleeve, imploring, “You cannot! Even dead, he should have the dignity of identification and burial, my lord. If you will not see if he requires assistance, at least seek out the local constable and report his whereabouts.”
“You know, you are deuced softhearted over a damned highwayman,” he complained, and then relented with a sigh. “All right. Dobbs, get down and see to the fool; Miss Smith is concerned that he may be bleeding to death.”
“A highwayman, sir?” Reluctantly the coachman unhooked the lantern from the box and stepped down gingerly to examine the fallen robber. “Gor,” he breathed in awe. “Yer lor’ship got ’im clean in the ’eart. He niver e’en felt it.”
“Satisfied, my dear?” Trent leaned back. She could sense his mocking look as he added softly, “A Deveraux never shoots except to kill his man.”
“A remarkable family, the Deveraux,” she snapped with asperity. “A pity they have never exerted themselves to be civil. No doubt they could have excelled at that also, my lord, if they were so inclined.”
“A flush hit, Miss Marling,” he acknowledged, “but I doubt even my esteemed relatives have been called on to assist a runaway bride who does not know when to hold her tongue.”
Unable to think of a suitable reply, she allowed the conversation to drop again with an expressive sigh. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and feigned sleep. The coach lurched forward, jostling its occupants again as it regained speed and eventually returning to its constant swaying motion. Trent stretched his arms and shoulders several times and crossed and uncrossed his legs for exercise. Setting his hat on the seat beside him, he brushed back his unruly locks with the palm of his hand, and then having nothing else to do, he set to contemplating his companion. Sparking a flint to light the inner coachlamps, he waited until they glowed softly and then trimmed the wicks down until they provided enough illumination that he could see her.
In fairness, he had to own that, she was not an ill-looking girl, despite the gibes he had cast at her. He fell to wondering what she could look like decently gowned, with a maid to style that thick dark hair. In other circumstances—certainly a wedding to Brockhaven could not put any female in looks—but in other circumstances, he wondered if she might not be passably pretty. From what she’d said, he gathered she was about twenty-three—still too young for the aging baron. Indeed, the thought of Sir Basil’s bedding any young female revolted even Alex Deveraux. It was unfortunate that Ellen Marling could not have rejected Brockhaven out of hand, he mused, for she was certainly in for a very unpleasant scandal now. One thing he had to give her, though: there was no female of his acquaintance, respectable or not, who would have dared to do what she’d done. To defy everyone, to risk both limb and reputation, to literally jump out of a window to escape the attentions of a repulsive husband, was an act of either great folly or great courage. He drew back from his meandering thoughts with a jolt. He must be getting soft in his thirtieth year, he decided, for pity was something he seldom felt.
“Yer lor’ship!” Dobbs leaned over the side of the box and called down, “There’s an inn ahead. D’ye want ter stop?”
“Aye,” Trent yelled back.
Ellen opened her eyes finally as the coach came to a halt in a deserted innyard. A cat scurried out of the way as Dobbs dropped to the ground and began banging of the door until a slatternly woman stepped into the coachman’s lantern light. The orange glow gave her an unpleasant scowl.
Ellen looked out and shuddered involuntarily. “This looks like a place to be murdered in, my lord,” she muttered low.
“How very gothic you are, my dear,” he murmured back. “I cannot speak for you, of course, but I am ready to seek a bed.” He opened the door, ducked his head, and stepped down into the courtyard before turning back to assist her. While she pulled at the badly wrinkled skirt of the lavender gown, he moved to speak with the woman at the inn’s entrance.
“We require lodging for the night—or what is left of it. So, if you would make up beds for me, these men”—he gestured toward Timms and the coachman—“And—”
“How do you do?” Ellen stepped forward to possess herself of Trent’s arm and held on tightly. “I am Mrs. Smith. Smith and I are wishful of either an adjoining chamber or a single large one. The adjoining one would be best, of course, because he snores terribly, but—” She felt like a fool and her face flamed in embarrassment, but she did not like something about the place.
“Ellen,” Trent hissed, “I am perfectly capable of making the arrangements. Well, you heard my wife, madam.” He put an arm around Ellen and squeezed her shoulder.
“Ain’t no such thing here. ’Tis rooms at either end of the hall or one at the top of the stairs.”
“Well, then, it seems like one will have to do—right, my dear?” He gave Ellen’s shoulder another squeeze and propelled her through the door of the inn. “I daresay you can stuff your ears with something, can’t you?”
Ellen surveyed the grim little room they’d entered and noted the dearth of other guests. A rat, or else a very large mouse, scurried around a corner, causing her to jump against the marquess. “One will be fine,” she agreed readily.
The innkeeper appeared from the lower stairwell, his dirty shirt and trousers attesting to the general unkempt condition of everything there. He wiped his hands on an apron that Ellen decided looked bloodstained. With a jolt, she real
ized that his interested gaze had moved to rest on the low neckline of the Mantini’s dress. Her face coloring with embarrassment, she twined her arm through Trent’s and shrank behind him.
For his part, the marquess appeared not to notice anything amiss as he nodded in the innkeeper’s direction. “My wife and I have not eaten, and neither have my men. Perhaps it would be possible to order a cold supper?” he asked hopefully.
“As to that”—the fellow bobbed his head affirmatively—“I am sure that Mrs. Grumm has some beef left. We slaughtered today.”
As soon as they were alone in the dingy taproom, Ellen rounded on Trent. “How you could eat a morsel in this place is beyond me, sir. And he did not say what he slaughtered, did he? I do not wish to stay here, my lord.”
“And I would go no farther tonight, ma’am.” A wicked gleam crept into the blue eyes. “Especially not in light of the newest development in this strange journey. I can scarce wait to see you in one of the Mantini’s sleeping dresses.”
“You insufferable—” Her retort was cut off by the appearance of Mrs. Grumm with a plate of cold meat and bread. Setting two mugs of ale on the table, the woman spilled them onto the soiled cloth. With a shrug, she wiped the rims with her finger.
“Anything else, Mr. Smith?”
“No—nothing save clean sheets.”
“Ugh!” Ellen vented her feelings as soon as the woman was out of hearing. “Really, sir, I wonder at you. I would doubt there’s a clean sheet to be had in this whole place.” She looked around her disdainfully and added, “I see no signs of other custom, but then no doubt the service discourages return visits.”
Anita Mills Page 3
