Scandal Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Looking at him as if he had lost his wits, Sir Edward snapped, “You rouse the servants and have them look. I am ringing for the coach and sending a note around to the twins—we may need their help. We must not delay.”

  Drew and Henry, full of anxious questions, arrived shortly. Upon hearing what was feared, outraged and hungry for Tynedale’s blood, they were impatient to set off in pursuit. The search of the household was completed and beyond a scrap of delicate material caught on one of the bushes leading away from the house, there was no sign of Nell.

  Within moments of finding the scrap of material, Sir Edward and Robert were in the family coach and rattling over the London streets. Drew and Henry, swathed in greatcoats, their heads bent against the storm, had chosen to ride astride and their horses splashed alongside of the swaying coach.

  Until the coach was clear of London, Sir Edward and Robert sat grim-faced and tight-lipped, neither inclined to talk. Finally leaving the city behind them, Sir Edward tapped on the roof and sticking his head out the window, yelled to his coachman, “Spring ’em!”

  The driver cracked his whip and the horses leaped forward. The coach, flanked by the twins, rocked and lurched through the night, the blackness lit now and then by the silvery flashes of lightning.

  Tynedale possessed nothing so luxurious as a coach—his had been sold weeks ago to pay off his most pressing debts. He was driving his curricle and even with the top up, he and Nell were pelted with rain as he urged the pair of rented horses on to greater speed. He didn’t believe that anyone had heard Nell’s cries, but he was taking no chances. Besides, he had to have her safely hidden away by daylight. He had known from the beginning that Gretna Green on the Scottish border was not feasible—and the first place the family would look for her. He smiled tightly. There were other ways to bring about a hasty wedding…Once he had compromised her, he was confident that their marriage would follow immediately. All he had to do was get through the next twenty-four hours and all his problems would be solved.

  Tynedale glanced over at Nell sitting next to him. She held herself rigid, one hand wrapped around the leather strap to steady her swaying body, her eyes fixed on the galloping horses in front of her. Wrapped from head to toe in the concealing folds of his cloak it was unlikely that anyone—anyone fool enough to be out on a night like this—would recognize her. The blackness of the night would have shielded them, anyway, and the storm was a stroke of luck.

  He would have preferred to have planned the abduction more carefully and he certainly would not have chosen a curricle in which to make his escape, but the news that Nell was leaving London on Monday had left him with no time to make other plans. That and the news that Wyndham had bought up all his vowels. Bloody stiff-necked bastard! Wasn’t it enough that Wyndham had beaten him in that duel earlier this year and scarred him for life? It wasn’t his fault that Wyndham’s ward had been weak and unwilling to face the loss of his fortune. “Play or pay” was his motto and if the boy couldn’t stand the nonsense, then he shouldn’t have played…Tynedale smiled. Especially since the dice were loaded. It was a pity what had happened and he’d admit that if he had known that the boy would take such final and drastic action, that he might not have completely ruined him. But his own needs had come first and he had needed the Weston fortune to bring himself about. And I should have followed my first instincts, he thought grimly, and with the Weston fortune at my fingertips, put my own affairs in order. He sighed for the lost chance. But once a gambler, always a gambler, and he had been convinced that his luck had finally turned. With an ill-gotten fortune to back him, he was positive that he could recoup all of his former losses. If one fortune was nice, two would be even nicer. With that thought guiding him he had continued his reckless gaming and whoring. It wasn’t until he had discovered himself once again on the verge of ruin a few months ago that he had begun to cast around for a way out of his difficulties. Marriage to an heiress seemed the only answer.

  He glanced again at Nell’s set face. Yes. Marriage to an heiress was the simplest solution. And Eleanor Anslowe suited him. She knew the ways of the world and having reached her majority, her fortune was hers to command—his, once they were married. Sir Edward might puff and rail, but there was nothing that he would be able to do. Once Nell was married to him, all his worries would be over.

  Her courage waning with every mile that took them farther from London, Nell stared out into the night. She was exhausted. Fright had taken its toll and her leg was aching unbearably. But she was not beaten and she was not going to make Tynedale’s task easy for him. She had a fair idea what he had planned and she knew, with a sinking feeling, that she would not be able to prevent him from raping her. She swore to herself that even if he succeeded in his evil plans and she had to hide her face in shame for the rest of her life, she was not going to marry him! She took a deep breath. She would get away from him. Somehow.

  Since it was unlikely her screams had been heard or that she would be missed until the morning, her escape was going to have to be of her own devising. She looked out at the rain-drenched countryside revealed in the flashes of lightning. She had no idea how far they had traveled from London and in the darkness everything looked different, anyway. She doubted that Tynedale was going to stop soon, but she determined that when he did finally pull the horses to a halt that it would be then that her best chance for escape would present itself. And if there were other people around so much the better. She wasn’t a bit averse to revealing his perfidy.

  Nell’s chance came sooner than she expected. A jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the night sky and struck the ground less than fifty feet in front of the racing horses. The very ground seemed to shake and the carriage shuddered. The gigantic flash was followed by a boom of thunder that sounded like the end of the world was at hand. The horses screamed and reared and fought Tynedale’s nervous jerk on the reins. One horse slid on the muddy road and became tangled in the traces; the other was plunging and rearing, fighting to escape. Tynedale could not regain control and the curricle was dragged off the slick road. As the vehicle lurched drunkenly into a ditch at the side of the road, the nearside horse broke free and galloped off into the darkness.

  Nell was almost thrown from the curricle by the accident, but she managed to stay inside the vehicle. Tynedale was not so lucky. The jolt and plunging of the curricle pitched him into the ditch.

  Cursing, he climbed to his feet. Clutching his shoulder, he surveyed the damage. In the midst of one of the worst storms he’d ever seen, one horse was gone, the vehicle was mired in a muddy ditch and if he wasn’t much mistaken he had broken his collarbone. The night could not get much worse.

  But it could. Nell hesitated not a moment. The instant the curricle came to a rest, ignoring her throbbing leg, she scrambled down from the vehicle and stumbled for the protection of the trees that edged this section of the road. She heard Tynedale’s shout behind her but the sound only added wings to her flying feet.

  The trees enveloped her and she gave fervent thanks for the night and the storm. Heedless of the branches that whipped at her and the debris that tangled around her feet she plunged forward, deeper and deeper into the concealing forest. Tynedale’s cloak impeded her progress, but she dared not throw it aside—her white nightgown would be a beacon for him—if he was following. She stopped once, listening intently, but beyond the furious howl of the storm, she heard nothing but the frantic beating of her heart and her own labored breathing. She smiled suddenly. She had no idea where she was; she was cold and sodden and frightened, but, by God, she had gotten away from him!

  Chapter 3

  Nell stood under the branches of an oak tree for several more moments, catching her breath and planning her next step. The fury of the storm had not abated and she was aware of the danger of lingering beneath the tallest object in the area.

  Pulling the cloak up over her head to shield herself from the worst of the rain, she left her shelter and began the arduous task of finding her w
ay out of the rain-slick forest. It was not easy; she fell to her knees many times, sliding on the slippery branches and brush beneath her bare feet. The rain and the lightning and the booming crash of thunder overhead did not help matters. Nor did the utter blackness of the night and the wind that howled through the treetops.

  Time was suspended and Nell lost all sense of direction. Now and then as she fought her way through the darkness, she had the eerie feeling that she was trudging in circles and she feared that she would walk right into Tynedale’s arms. Her first burst of euphoria at having escaped from him had vanished long ago, and as the minutes played out and she grew wetter and more exhausted and her leg began to ache and drag, she almost hoped that she would stumble into him. Almost.

  Thunder rolled overhead and a second later, right in front of her, a bolt of lightning slashed through the darkness. The strike was so close Nell was knocked to the ground. Several minutes later, dazed and shaken but unhurt, she scrambled to her feet. More importantly, in that blinding flash of light her disbelieving eyes had spied a cottage or hut a few hundred yards in front of her.

  Hope surging through her, she half-stumbled, half-ran toward the promise of shelter. Another blaze of lightning revealed that she had not been mistaken and, her breathing ragged and labored, she fought her way to the small building that sat in the open, a few yards from the forest.

  It was indeed a cottage and relief poured through her. She was safe! Help was at hand. But with a sinking heart she became aware that there was no welcoming candlelight flickering in the tiny windows and no sign or sound of human habitation. Suppressing a sob, she sagged against the wooden door-jamb, disappointment knifing through her as she realized that the dwelling was abandoned and deserted.

  But at least the place offered shelter and, gathering the last of her strength, she pushed open the door. The door gave way easily and another streak of lightning revealed that there was nothing to steal or pilfer beyond a scarred table, three or four rickety chairs and a bed of rushes against the wall.

  Despite the rubble on the floor, leaves, branches and the worthless debris left behind by its previous inhabitants, the interior looked like a palace to Nell as she stepped inside and out of the bruising storm. Relying on the lightning bursts, she explored her domain on unsteady feet.

  The place was small, consisting of just two rooms, the one she had first entered and one other. There was a rough stone fireplace and some old faggots resting on the hearth, but they did her little good—she had no way of starting a fire.

  Having completed her survey, she dragged herself back to one of the dirty windows and looked outside. She glimpsed a wide, muddy expanse of road through the rain and lightning and guessed that she had stumbled upon an abandoned toll keeper’s cottage. Travelers would once have had to pay a toll to travel this portion of the road, but no longer, and hadn’t for some time, if the condition of the cottage was anything to judge.

  At the moment none of that mattered to Nell, she was simply grateful to be out of the storm and free of Tynedale. Feeling battered and exhausted, too worn out to think beyond the next second, she wrapped her damp cloak around her slim form and somewhat gingerly made herself comfortable on the bed of old rushes.

  Her back against the wall, her legs curled beneath her, she sat watching the lightning as it danced and dazzled in the darkness. She shivered from the cold, her torn and bruised feet were throbbing, and she was conscious of a great weariness stealing over her. At least the intensity of the storm was lessening, she thought drowsily, the crash and boom of the thunder just a faint growl in the distance, the lightning no longer so terrifyingly near.

  A huge yawn overtook her and she blinked sleepily. Tynedale was still a danger to her, but she was beaten. She could run no farther and it was possible, indeed likely, that she had given him the slip. Her mouth twisted. Of course, it was also possible that the road in front of the cottage was the Great Road North that Tynedale had taken from London and that at any moment he would come driving up to the front door of the cottage. She yawned again. She didn’t give a damn. She had run her race and could not run any longer. Her head dipped and a second later her body followed. She slept sprawled on the rushes, her small frame concealed by the heavy folds of the cloak.

  Cursing the storm, his stepmother and particularly his stepsister, Julian urged his horse forward. Of all the devilish inconvenient, inconsiderate things to have happened! He still didn’t quite believe that he was out in the black of night, far from London in the wee hours of the morning, riding along in the midst of one of the most powerful storms he had seen in many a year. Blast Elizabeth! If she was going to make a runaway match with Carver, why the hell couldn’t she have chosen less inclement weather?

  The wind tore at his cloak, and rain blew down on him while the lightning and thunder made his horse shy and dance crookedly down the road. He didn’t blame the horse—he was miserable, too. And wet. And tired. The jagged streaks of lightning exploding across the black sky did not help the situation, the bay stallion snorting and half-rearing at each strike. It was a thoroughly unpleasant ride.

  At this hour, Julian thought bitterly, he should have been at home, warm and asleep in his own bed, and he would have been if Diana hadn’t fallen on his neck the instant he had returned home. As he tried to disentangle himself from Diana’s stranglehold, he became aware that his spacious hall seemed awash with people. Meeting Julian’s eyes, Dibble, his butler, had sniffed and declared that he knew nothing of the affair. Elizabeth’s maid suddenly left off wringing her hands and wailed that she had only been obeying Miss Elizabeth’s orders by not delivering Elizabeth’s note to Lady Wyndham sooner. Clinging to him, Diana had shoved the tear-damp note under his nose, sobbing that he must save her baby. Now.

  Ignoring the note that Diana seemed insistent upon thrusting up his nose, Julian pushed it aside and taking Diana by the arm, escorted her into the morning room and got the tale out of her. It seemed that Miss Forest, chaperoned by Lady Milliard, Julian’s great-aunt, had not yet returned from the Ellingsons’ ball. The hour was not late and Lady Wyndham, having attended a social function of her own, had only returned home a short while ago. She had not been alarmed by Elizabeth’s absence until Elizabeth’s maid delivered to her, not ten minutes previously, a note stating that she was running away with Captain Carver.

  Julian was disinclined to set out in pursuit. His ride home in the sedan chair he had hailed upon leaving Boodle’s had already acquainted him with the fact that there was a wicked storm moving through the area. And if Elizabeth was damn silly enough to throw away her future on Carver, let her! But Diana’s sobs and pleadings finally overcame his common sense and convinced him that it was his duty to stop such an imprudent match.

  Grumbling and muttering, he ordered his horse brought round and changed his clothes. Within a matter of minutes, a broad-brimmed hat pulled across his forehead and swathed in a many-caped greatcoat, he was riding hell-bent for leather out of London. As the weather did its best to make his ride a nightmare, and he doggedly pressed forward, his thoughts were not kind toward his stepsister. In fact, he rather thought that he would beat Elizabeth soundly and throttle young Carver when he caught up with them.

  The weather continued to worsen and he considered seeking shelter until the bulk of the storm passed, but the need for haste was imperative if he was to overtake Elizabeth and her gallant. The weather and the condition of the road, which was slowly turning into a slick, muddy slop, made for treacherous going and Julian cursed again the fate that had sent him out on a night like this. His only comfort was the knowledge that Carver and Elizabeth were somewhere out there ahead of him in the storm and he bloody-well hoped that they were having as uncomfortable a time of it as he was.

  He smiled grimly from beneath the brim of his drenched beaver hat and thought about how this thankless task seemed a fitting end to an evening that had gone sour from the moment he had laid eyes on Tynedale, at Boodle’s. Oh, the time had passed pleasantly
enough, but even when he had appeared at his most relaxed and urbane, his mind had been on Tynedale and his nephew’s senseless death. The anniversary of Daniel’s suicide was just over a month away and he suspected that he would be able to face it with far more equanimity if Tynedale had been brought to justice.

  But before he could seal Tynedale’s fate, he thought wearily, he had to catch his erring stepsister and rescue her, whether she wished for rescue or not, from the dashing Captain Carver.

  Catching sight of a vehicle resting drunkenly half-in, half-out of a ditch, his pulse quickened. Could luck be on his side? Had the lovers been thwarted by the storm?

  Pulling his horse to a stop, Julian stared down at the curricle, disgust on his face. Only a damn silly fool, and a lovesick one at that, would have chosen a curricle in which to make a runaway match—and on a night like this. He studied the scene in the flashes of lightning. The pair of horses that had been pulling the curricle were gone and so were the inhabitants of the vehicle.

  The sky lit by an incandescent arrow of lightning, he looked down the road and smiled. He would have them now. Knowing Elizabeth, he thought it unlikely that she would relish riding astride through a raging storm. They had probably holed up at the nearest house or tavern—and that, he concluded, was the first reasonable decision they had made tonight.

  It was a desolate stretch of road that he was riding along and after he had ridden another few miles, his confidence began to flag. He did not think that he missed any signs of habitation, but in the dark and the rain it was possible.

  A blinding flash of lightning sent his horse screaming and rearing up in the air. Dancing on two hind feet the stallion could not find purchase on the slippery road and despite Julian’s effort to control him, horse and rider went over backward.