Anita Mills

by Scandal Bound

  “And I was worried about you!” Trent smiled. He reached to take the weapon, disengaging it from her paralyzed fingers. Thinking her about to swoon, he put an arm around her and led her back to the hay pile.

  “I was so frightened,” she murmured in understatement as she gripped his hand tightly. “There was no one here, my lord—no one at all.” She swallowed convulsively, unwilling to give vent to the tears of relief she felt welling up. “I thought you had deserted me.”

  “I gave you my word as a Deveraux that I’d see you to York, Miss Marling.”

  “Not knowing any other Deveraux, my lord, I had no way of knowing how binding such a promise was,” she retorted. “Besides, what was I to think? You were gone, your carriage was gone, your servants were gone—even the Grumms could not be found. You might have wakened me, or left me a note, or something!”

  “I expected you to still be abed.” He sank down beside her and managed a wry smile. “You were more right about our esteemed innkeeper than I care to admit, my dear. Timms heard them, rattling the door where I’d placed the chair, and he surprised them. By the time I got the door open in the dark, he and Dobbs had subdued Grumm while Emmett caught the woman running down the stairs. It seems they intended to rob us in our beds—whatever else they planned is but conjecture.” He slipped a comforting arm about her shoulders and continued, “I confronted Grumm and his wife and they insisted at first that they were merely checking the locks before retiring, but then Timms explored the basement and found a veritable treasure trove of clothing, jewels, and money. When I suggested a visit to the local constable, they became quite agitated and offered to share everything with me.”

  She shuddered against him. “I told you I did not like the place.”

  “Let me finish. Dobbs inquired about, rousing people from their beds in the village until he found the constable. The fellow came over and examined Grumm’s basement with a great deal of interest and arrested the both of them. He also commandeered my carriage to take them to jail in the nearest town.”

  “Oh, dear! And I suppose there will be an investigation and I will be discovered.” She sighed regretfully. “And you will be embroiled in my affairs, won’t you? I’m truly sorry, my lord.”

  “Ellen,” he told her seriously, “you are looking at a man who’s had to leave the country three times for killing a man in a duel. I can survive a scandal, but you cannot.” He rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “It won’t come to that, however, I promise. I have already given my deposition to the magistrate—a veritable toadeater, by the by—and I have told him you are my sister. He is coming over; he expressed a certain interest in Grumm’s robbery victims since none has come forward to complain. When he speaks with you, just remember that you are my sister and that I am bringing you home from school.”

  “At my age?”

  “I thought it was rather clever of me, really,” he told her with mock injury. “And you do not look your age, Miss Marling. I told him you were Ellen Deveraux.”

  “And I am Miss Smith to your driver and coacheys, Mrs. Smith to the Grumms. Do you not think he’ll find that rather suspicious, my lord?” She stared into space for a moment. “No, perhaps you were right and I should have tried to stomach Brockhaven, but I just could not. I should never have embroiled you in this. Now, I will have ruined both our reputations, and my aunt will most likely disown me.” She straightened her shoulders and added resolutely, “But I shall survive. I shall become a musician or a milliner, or something.”

  “My people will not contradict anything I tell them, Ellen. And you will not have to resort to anything so drastic, I am sure,” he told her bracingly. “From all I know of Augusta Sandbridge, she’ll read me a peal and take you in. My only fear will be that she’ll try to make me offer for you.”

  “Well, she cannot. There is Brockhaven, after all.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of the carriage barreling into the innyard.

  Trent stood up and pulled Ellen after him. “Come, my dear, let us get this over with. No doubt the estimable magistrate will be with them. Just remember, call me Alex as though you have done so for years.”

  The sunlight nearly blinded her as they stepped out to meet the carriage. Dobbs jumped down nimbly and helped an elderly man in old-fashioned clothing down from the coach.

  “Mr. Langston, our magistrate,” Trent hissed in a low voice.

  “Your lordship.” The old man bowed deeply in the marquess’s direction and inclined his head toward Ellen. “I can understand your reluctance to expose you sister to this sordid business, but I am afraid I will need her to corroborate what you have told me.”

  Trent scanned the horizon before leaning over to whisper to her, “I do not like the looks of those clouds, my dear. Just humor him and say as little as possible that we may be on our way before the storm hits.” Aloud, he told the magistrate, “She knows nothing of import.”

  “Eh?” The old man cupped his hand to his ear and frowned. “What’s that?”

  “She knows nothing!” Trent shouted.

  “Oh.” The magistrate turned his attention to Ellen. “Your sister, eh? I’d note the resemblance anywhere. Aye, she has the look of you. But you mark my words, young man, she’ll give you grief if you let her wear gowns like that. Not at all the thing for a young miss—not at all.”

  “I know, but the hat she wanted was worse,” Trent responded loudly. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as though he were enjoying himself hugely.

  “Don’t know what gets into females these days,” the old man muttered. “The missus and I had four of ’em, and not a one wore anything like that.”

  “Ellen”—Trent turned to her in an attempt to prompt the magistrate back to the matter at hand—”Mr. Langston is wishful of asking you about last night. I told him that you did not see or hear anything, but he would hear it from you.”

  “Aye, not so young as I was used to be. Let us go inside and get to the bottom of this. Unsavory business, it is—aye, unsavory. You, young fellow, d’ye think Grumm kept a decent wine cellar?”

  They stood aside for him to lead the way in. Ellen leaned closer to Trent and whispered, “We shall be here all day if he discovers one.”

  “There you are wrong, my dear. I will procure some for him and mayhap ’twill keep him diverted from more delicate subjects. And there is, after all, nothing that says we have to tarry while he drinks it.”

  The magistrate found himself a table and pulled up a chair while indicating that he expected Miss Deveraux to do the same. Ellen sank warily into a seat opposite him as Trent disappeared in search of the wine cellar.

  “Now, miss,” the old man rasped, “you will be pleased to tell me what happened here last night, and do not leave out why you found it necessary to share your brother’s chamber under an assumed name. Grumm says you both told them you were man and wife.”

  “That I did, sir,” Ellen confirmed, “for as soon as I saw the place, I was afraid to be alone and I thought they would think it odd for a brother and sister to share a room in an empty inn.” She smiled ingeniously at the magistrate and added, “Just look around you, sir—’tis enough to frighten an older lady than I.”

  “I see. Yes, well, your brother says you are but seventeen, and I suppose that explains it. You’ve still got your head full of fanciful notions, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t think it was fanciful in the least, sir, not in light of what happened. Alex says they tried to rob us while we slept, and I believe it was only the intervention of our driver and coachmen that saved us from being murdered in bed.”

  “Did you actually see or hear anything yourself?”

  Trent had entered the room with a wine bottle and some glasses as Langston posed the question. Smoothly taking over the conversation, he shook his head and told him, “My sister sleeps like the very dead, sir. I could not even wake her sufficiently to tell her we were taking them to the constable. She had no notion of where we’d gone when she woke, an
d was so frightened when I returned that she nearly shot me with my own pistol.”

  “I did not! Alex, ’tis unfair. I did not plan to use it unless you were Grumm.”

  “Had I been Grumm, my dear, I should have expected you to shoot.”

  “You cannot be serious, my lord!” Mr. Langston appeared shocked to his very core. “Not at all the thing to give a female a pistol—she might have hurt herself.”

  Trent poured the magistrate a glass of rich red wine, diverting him momentarily. “Ah, but as a Deveraux, she is expected to know how to take care of herself in these unforeseen situations,” he pointed out with a perfectly straight face.

  “Deveraux? Thought you said the name was Trent!” Langston stared at the marquess, digesting this turn of events with distaste. “Deveraux, sir! I cannot credit it.”

  “You expected me to look positively evil, I suppose?” Trent prompted pleasantly.

  “No, no—that is—”

  “Alex, really! You have shocked poor Mr. Langston.” Ellen joined in the spirit of it. Turning to the magistrate, she assured him, “We Deveraux are not nearly so bad as we have been painted.”

  “Dreadfully loose-living, if half the tales I have heard can be credited, miss.” The old man caught himself guiltily and listened to add, “But, of course, I should not be talking of your relations in front of you, I daresay. Besides, much of it must be exaggeration.”

  “Alex,” she sighed, “have you been raking about again? Really, Mama will not like it if you cut up another dust like that last one.”

  “Really? What …” Mr. Langston leaned closer, his curiosity piqued.

  “Our mother would like to see him settle down and get married,” she continued conversationally.

  “I daresay that might curb his excesses, but I doubt his suit would be welcome to most parents if he is a Deveraux.”

  “Nonsense, utter nonsense,” Ellen dismissed airily. “My brother is, after all, a marquess, and I cannot think of many papas who would not welcome seeing their daughters a marchioness. The world is full of those who would sell their girls no matter how loathsome his reputation is.”

  “Ellen,” Trent cut in abruptly, “I believe Mr. Langston is more interested in the Grumms than in the Deveraux.”

  Disappointed, the elderly magistrate sank back in his chair. Like many of his fellows, he found the ways of the haul ton far more interesting than the doings of a couple of thieves. Regretfully, he poured himself another glass of the wine and returned to the subject at hand. “Then we have established that you did not see or hear anything, Miss Deveraux?”

  “I did not.”

  “It is probably just as well, child, for the story appears likely to get worse. My constable fears what he will find when the grounds are dug, for ’tis not at all likely that other robbery victims simply went on their way without complaint.”

  “Really?” Ellen shot a meaningful glance at Trent and muttered, “I told you we could be murdered in our beds when first I saw the place.”

  “But we weren’t. Now, if Mr. Langston is quite finished with you, we had best be getting back on the road. By the looks of those clouds, we have tarried too long as it is. And I believe Dobbs has managed to procure some biscuits and sausages to eat on the way.”

  “Aye, you go on, my lord,” Langston responded. “I expect the constable any time now with men and shovels, and it would not do to have the young lady here when they begin to dig.”

  No sooner were they safely inside the carriage than the marquess burst into laughter. “Well done! Family resemblance indeed!”

  “It probably was the dark hair that did it.”

  “Either that or the man was half-blind.”

  “Did you see his face when you called me a Deveraux?” She chuckled.

  “I think it was the notion of you with a pistol that shocked him first, my dear.”

  “Would you really have expected me to use it? I mean, would your female relatives really have fired on anyone?” she asked curiously.

  “Of a certainty, if there were any. By all accounts, my mother would have. And, by the by, if we are ever called on to continue this ruse, we do not have a mother anymore. Our mother passed away before you were born, if you must know.”

  “Well, I could scarce say that, could I? I should sound the veriest fool, my lord, for then how could we account for me? But,” she added philosophically, “I doubt it shall be a problem, anyway, for we are surely not above another day or so from York.”

  “I don’t know. It depends on the weather when we get there. We’ll make good time if that storm passes, but since it is coming autumn, Ellen, we may not be so fortunate.” He pessimistically eyed the dark clouds through the carriage window. “That looks like it is going to turn ugly, my dear. I think you are bad luck.”

  “I? And how do you know ’tis not your own misfortune?”

  “Because I controlled my life until you dropped onto me at Brockhaven’s.”

  “Well, I should not be proud of that, my lord,” she retorted, “for no doubt your life to that point had been just one high flyer after another and a dozen gaming hells to squander your money in. Bad luck, indeed! ’Twas you who would come!” She caught herself and regretted her words. “I am sorry, I should not have said that. If the truth were admitted, I truly am beholden to you for your kindness.”

  “Since it is not too far from the truth, I’ll let it pass.”

  She was silent for a moment and then changed the subject. “When you return to London, will the Mantini be very angry with you? They say she is very beautiful.”

  “She is.” He shrugged. “But the world provides beautiful women every day to take a man’s money in exchange for a few favors.” His eyes met hers, and the corners of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement. “You know something, Miss Marling? You are beginning to sound more like a jealous wife than a sister.”

  “Of all the conceited … I assure you that I have not the least interest in how you spend your life. My intent was to simply keep you from your tedious attempts to place the blame for being here on me. Certainly, I never wanted to stay in that awful inn.”

  “I despise females who have to be right.”

  “Really? I should have thought the Deveraux women to be infallible.”

  “There are no Deveraux women. I have one brother and a couple of wild younger cousins, all male.”

  “Thank heavens the world is spared more of you.”

  “Ah, but as you pointed out back there, I am accounted quite a prize, my dear. The ton is full of mamas trying to make their daughters Marchioness of Trent.” He reached for his hat and leaned back, placing it over his eyes. “I did not get any sleep—unlike you—so if you are quite finished carping, I intend to remedy the situation.”

  “Your manners are abominable.”

  “Being a marquess, my dear, 1 do not need any.”

  5

  THE SUN DISAPPEARED in the dark clouds, and the wind came up, causing the carriage to sway even more as it lumbered northward, but Lord Trent neither cared nor noticed as he slumbered beneath the rakishly tilted-hat. Ellen, on the other hand, stared out her window at the darkening landscape and felt her spirits sink. Try as she might, she could not but think that her unannounced arrival on the Sandbridge doorstep in the company of Alexander Deveraux would scandalize even her Aunt Augusta. And when it became known that she’d spent days and nights in his company, she would very likely be turned out in disgrace.

  She glanced over at the dozing Trent and sighed. He was a complicated man, to be sure, an unfathomable mixture of unexpected kindness and insufferable arrogance. It was a pity that such blatantly handsome men always seemed to be self-centered and disagreeable. Even when he was doing a good turn, he could not leave it be, but rather felt it incumbent to lash out in some way before he became too pleasant. But then, perhaps it was just as well, she reflected further, because even she was not immune to such handsomeness and it would not do for a plain Ellen Marling to entert
ain any romantical notions about a man like Trent.

  Apparently he was used enough to traveling on whim in spite of what he’d said, for he at least kept a change of clothing in the boot. Gone were the soiled and wrinkled evening clothes, replaced now by buff-colored superfine pantaloons tucked smoothly into perfectly polished boots that reached almost to his knees, and a tan woolen cloak draped rather than buttoned over a very masculine pair of shoulders. Where the cloak fell back, she could see he wore no coat, only a plain ivory shirt without ruffles or pleats that lay open at the neck. He looked no more like her image of a marquess than her brother Julian.

  Shifting his hat back off his eyes, he met her quiet study. “Interested, ma’am?” he asked lazily from his slouch. “Can it be that you are no different from the rest of your sex?”

  “No!” She jumped guiltily and her face flushed uncomfortably, but she managed to answer coolly, “ ’Twas not my intent to stare, my lord. I was but wondering why ’tis necessary for one so handsome to behave so unhandsomely.”

  “Back to carping, eh? Very well,” he muttered as he readjusted his hat to shade his face. “But pray do not stare so. Unlike you, I am quite a light sleeper and it disconcerts me.”

  “You cannot feel a look, sir.”

  “Obviously I can.”

  Scrupulously avoiding even a glance in his direction, Ellen turned her attention to the carriage interior. It was quite unlike anything she had ever been in before. The walls were lined with glossy mahogany panels trimmed out in brass; the coach lamps were small, square-chimneyed, and diffused with shell; the floor was carpeted with a finely printed Spanish wool and protected by a woven mat; and the seats were covered in a rich claret velvet. The rain began pelting at the windows intermittently at first and then washed like great sheets of water that obscured the outside world. A trickle of water seeped in at the top of her window and began its irregular path down the pane. With a quick, furtive peek at his lordship, she drew out his handkerchief and dabbed at the rivulet before it could reach the wood.