Like a schoolchild hiding something she didn’t want the tutor to see, Rosalyn covered her words with her hand. “I’ve said I hope I didn’t alarm her, but I’ve eloped with you. Now, will you please let me finish?”
He reached down, shooed her hand off the note, and said, “Let me have the pen.”
“Why?”
“I have something to write, too.”
“But I’ve not finished.”
“Yes, you have. You’ve said what is important.” He took the pen without asking, slipping it neatly out of her fingers. Dipping the pen in ink, he scribbled something across the bottom of her carefully worded note and stabbed the pen back in the inkwell. “Now come.” He took her arm.
Rosalyn held back. “What did you say?” She glanced at the note. His bold handwriting was easy to read, even by the flickering candle.
I’ll take good care of her—
M.
No one, not even her father, had wanted to take care of her.
For one complete moment, she would have followed him anywhere—even in a phaeton. She blew out the candle. “Let’s go.”
Outside, he helped her up on to the seat. The back wheels had to be close to a ridiculously eight feet high. She felt as if she could be tipped forward and tumbled out of the seat. Holding on to the side with both hands to keep her balance, she said, “I thought you didn’t like heights?”
“I don’t,” he answered, climbing up with one big step and taking the reins and whip. His horse flattened his ears in protest. He would prefer eating plants. However, a crack of the whip over his head and he set off smartly.
Colonel Mandland was right. There wasn’t any storage room for luggage, and if there had been, the way the wheels bounced over the rough road would have tossed anything to the wayside. She was torn between holding on to her seat or her bonnet.
“Do you have any idea where you are going?” she asked as he turned off the Market Road.
“I know exactly where I’m going. I traveled all these roads as a lad.”
“You went all the way to Scotland?” she asked skeptically.
He shot her a glance that told her louder than words how much he appreciated her doubts.
Still, she had to suggest, “I think you should slow down.”
“Don’t worry. I’m quite a hand with the reins. We’ll be in Scotland before you can blink.”
“If we don’t break our necks,” she muttered, and he laughed.
“Then we’ll go happy,” he pronounced.
Rosalyn wasn’t ready to “go” at all, and yet, it was rather exhilarating. No one was on the roads. They were all at home in their beds, and she could imagine herself and the colonel the only ones alive.
An owl swooped down from a tree and glided across their path. Moonlight silvered his wings, and he appeared almost bewitched.
“Your horse doesn’t seem to tire,” she observed after they had traveled a while at a bruising pace.
“Oscar,” he answered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“His name is Oscar. I bought him for ten pounds from a Portuguese peasant, and he is the most noble horse I’ve ever met…when he isn’t smashing your plants, that is.”
“He hasn’t touched the rose you gave me,” she said.
Colonel Mandland smiled at her. “Give him time.”
She yawned. The fresh night air was making her wish for her bed, but she didn’t dare close her eyes while riding in the phaeton.
He answered her yawn with one of his own. “Don’t go to sleep on me,” she warned. “We’ll end up in a ditch.”
“I won’t fall asleep. I used to like night marches the best. You move quickly because you don’t have to worry about the enemy.”
She glanced at him. He was watching Oscar and the road ahead. In spite of his rank, she sometimes forgot he was a fighter. “How ironic that one brother went into the Church and another into war.”
“Not ironic at all,” the colonel said easily. “Matt fights for souls and I fought for England.”
“And now you wish to be in the Commons.”
“Of course.” He gave her a smile and said, “They won’t let me in the House of Lords.”
“They let in George. What a pity.”
He laughingly agreed with her, and then he yawned again before turning onto a side road even narrower than the one they’d been taking. “Are you certain this is safe?” she asked, nervous about the ruts the wheels bounced over.
“It’s safe. Besides,” he continued, “this is the night before our wedding. Nothing will go wrong.”
“I would feel more confident if you would slow down, even a bit.”
“You worry too much,” he answered and snapped the whip again for Oscar to pick up the pace. For a while they rode in companionable silence until they drove over a bridge and came to a fork in the road. He started one way, and then changed his mind. “This isn’t the right direction,” he said, using his body weight to control the phaeton as they took the corner at a sharp angle.
Rosalyn wanted to close her eyes. “We are going to break our necks.”
“You’re safe,” he insisted, even as they must have hit a stone in the road. It was enough to throw the lightweight vehicle off balance. There was a sick cracking sound, and the phaeton careened crazily, leaning to Rosalyn’s side, and nearly plummeting into a ditch.
Colonel Mandland threw an arm around her to keep her from being thrown out of the vehicle while he struggled to rein Oscar to a halt. It demanded all of his skill as a driver. To his credit, they didn’t flip over.
The horse didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted by the accident. He came to a halt, waited a moment, and started munching on weeds by the side of the road.
“Are you all right?” the colonel demanded.
Rosalyn pushed the now crushed brim of her bonnet back. “Yes, I’m fine. What about yourself?”
He dismissed her question with a wave and hopped out of the phaeton. Turning, he placed his hands around her waist and swung her down as if she were lighter than a bed pillow.
The ground was muddy here. The damp oozed up into her kid slippers. She should have worn her walking shoes.
Colonel Mandland went around to inspect the damage. “One of the wheel spokes is broken.” He swore softly.
“We’ll have to return to Clitheroe,” she said. “Perhaps a farmer will pass by here in the morning.”
“Oh, no,” Colonel Mandland said. “We are on our way to Scotland, and to Scotland we will go.”
“But how will we get there?”
“Oscar,” he said, starting to unhitch the horse.
“We can’t both ride him,” she protested.
The colonel laughed. “Look at his back. It’s nothing to him to carry us.” Having unharnessed the horse, he pushed the phaeton out of the ditch and into a thicket. He pulled a knife from his boot and began cutting branches to hide the vehicle. “So that it is here when I return for it,” he explained.
“Perhaps this is an omen,” Rosalyn said. “Perhaps we shouldn’t elope.”
“That’s nonsense,” Colin replied, catching Oscar and starting to create a halter and reins for him.
“No, it’s common sense,” she argued.
“Perhaps it is a test of our determination and will,” he responded. He looked at her. “Rosalyn, did I not promise you an adventure? Well, here it is.” He led the horse back to the bridge so he could use the stone railing to mount the beast bareback. He trotted up to Rosalyn. “Let me have your hand.”
“You can’t expect me to ride without a saddle. My dress—?”
“The Scots won’t care what you look like,” the colonel assured her. “And I don’t like that hat much anyway.”
She opened her mouth to contradict him about the hat, but before she could say anything, he reached down, took her arm, and pulled her up onto the horse in front of him. She sat sidesaddle, her legs over his.
Looking into her astonished gaze, he said, “We�
�re off.” Oscar started down the road.
For a fearful moment, Rosalyn was certain she was going to be bounced off the horse. She used to ride all the time as a child, but she hadn’t been on a horse’s back for at least five years.
Colonel Mandland was completely at ease on horseback. His strong arms kept her in place, and his muscular legs provided the extra width she needed to keep her seat without a saddle. The warmth of his body staved off the chill of the spring night.
Slowly, she began to relax. “How far do we have left to go?”
“Three hours, maybe a bit more.”
“Are you always so tenacious at getting what you want?”
His lips curved into a confident smile. “Yes.”
“And you want this marriage for the Commons seat?”
“You keep mentioning that.” He glanced down at her as if trying to read her thoughts. For once, the darkness helped her hide from him. “I want this marriage, period,” he said simply. “And you’re right. Once I make up my mind, I do get what I want—usually. We’d walk to Scotland if that was the only way.”
Part of her was alarmed by such steadfast single-mindedness. Another was secretly pleased. There was something powerful about a man who went after what he wanted…and right now, she sensed he wanted her.
They rode in silence, each keeping their own counsel. At one point he said her name.
“Yes?” she answered.
“I was worried you’d gone to sleep.”
“I’m here.” She didn’t know why, but her response seemed to please him.
Shortly after dawn, they rode past the marker on the road separating England from Scotland. Within minutes, Colonel Mandland guided a tired Oscar into the yard of a wayside inn. There was a rushing stream beside the yard, and three brown-and-white dogs ran up, yapping a greeting.
The colonel dismounted first, and then, placing his hands on her waist, helped her down. Her legs almost buckled under her from the hours of riding. Fortunately, he had anticipated the possibility and steadied her with a hand on her elbow.
The day promised to be a clear one. The dawn of her wedding day.
Suddenly nervous, she looked down at her dress and pelisse, both hopelessly ruined, and she was certain the crushed brim of her hat gave her a comic appearance.
“You look fine,” he said.
Rosalyn glanced up at him sharply. “You’re jesting.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “We’ve dashed up here in record time, ridden all night, and almost broken our necks. Considering all that, you look marvelous.”
Rosalyn didn’t know if he was teasing or serious. “You look like you need a shave.”
He laughed, not taking any offense. “I imagine I do.”
A stable hand came lumbering out, yawning, leading three horses. Rosalyn had to yawn in answer, and she caught the colonel stifling one too. She couldn’t wait to go to sleep.
The lad took one look at the two of them, their clothes and their horse, and frowned. He tied the horses to a post and would have turned on his heel to go back in the stable except for the colonel stopping him.
“Here, lad,” he called to him. “Rub this horse down and feed him well. He’s done his duty for the day.” He flipped a coin in the air with one hand. Before the coin landed back in his palm, the boy was in front of him, ready to take Oscar’s reins.
The colonel pressed the coin in the boy’s hand. “There will be more if he is well taken care of.”
“Yes, sir,” the stable lad said and pulled his forelock.
“Shall we?” the colonel said, offering Rosalyn his arm. “The place looks decent enough. All the shutters are on their hinges.”
She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him lead her toward the inn’s door. “I just realized,” she said, “that I don’t know your prospects. You own Maiden Hill, but will we be scrimping and saving, or are you wealthy?”
He stopped, and her first thought was she had offended. Instead, he studied her a moment and said, “I like the practicality of your mind. It is a good quality in a woman.”
Rosalyn didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. Perhaps this was why she’d never had an offer before. She was too “practical.” The word made her feel frumpy. But then, practical women married for security—and what was she doing?
“So, do you have an answer?” she prodded.
“I’m not as wealthy as I’m going to be,” he assured her, opening the door, “after I marry you.”
She didn’t know if this was more of his flattery or a statement of fact. She really knew very little about him. A wiser woman would run now.
But it was too late. She was committed. She’d said she’d do it, and so she would.
They stepped into an open tap room filled with trestle tables. The fire was cold in the hearth, and the air smelled of stale ale. This was a man’s place, although a young woman with shaggy yellow hair was wiping down tables. On the other side of the room were stairs that presumably led up to the guest rooms. The walls were yellow with smoke and age.
A short, thin man with a big nose and eyebrows that looked like caterpillars came out from behind the bar. His shirt was clean. “May I help you?” he asked in a soft Scots accent.
“We’ve come to marry,” the colonel said grandly. “I know this isn’t Gretna, but do you have a parson?”
The innkeeper looked over Colonel Mandland, with his roguish growth of whiskers and travel-stained clothes, and Rosalyn, with her now shabby bonnet, and he must have thought them a pair escaped from an asylum. However, he generously kept his opinion to himself.
“You can marry here. The parson is a patron of ours, but you may have a wee bit of a wait.”
“We can’t wait,” the colonel said, hanging his hat, which was almost the worse for wear as her own, on a peg. “We want to be married this morning. The sooner, the better.”
The innkeeper raised his bushy eyebrows, and his gaze dropped to Rosalyn’s belly. She caught the implication and felt herself blushing.
“Well, you can marry whenever you want,” the innkeeper said, “but first, you’ll need to wake the parson.” He stepped aside and nodded to a pair of boots coming out from under a table by the wall.
From the other end of those boots, as if to punctuate the innkeeper’s words, came a rumbling snore accented by whiskey fumes. The parson wasn’t just asleep. He was dead drunk.
Chapter Nine
What else could go wrong?
Colin wanted to grab the parson by his boots and pull him out from under the table, except he was afraid of what he’d find. The temper he tried to keep always in check threatened to ignite.
And then Rosalyn started laughing. It was a giggle at first, but it built quickly into a merry, tinkling sound.
He turned, fascinated by the music of it. He was also stunned to realize that he wanted to marry. He wanted to marry her.
The realization almost sent him flying for the safety of the front door.
She met his gaze, her eyes animated and alive. “I’m sorry,” she managed at last. “But the Fates are against us. I mean, who would have thought the parson would be drunk? Especially at this hour of the morning?” She almost doubled over, unable to control herself.
“I’m certain Matt wouldn’t be surprised,” Colin answered, and he started to chuckle himself. “Of course, he’ll be angry enough about the elopement. We must never tell him about the parson.”
She sobered. “Your brother doesn’t know you eloped?”
A sharp stab of guilt pricked Colin’s conscience. “The subject didn’t come up.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“Some things are better left unsaid,” he hedged.
“I thought you were close.”
This was the Rosalyn he knew, the woman who turned into a terrier when she had her mind wrapped around an idea. “We are, as long as what I do is what he approves of. Innkeeper, do you have a bucket of water?” Colin said, changing the subject. �
��And hot coffee or strong tea?”
“He always likes a nip of the dog that bit him to bring him back to his senses,” the innkeeper explained.
“Then bring me a tankard of that,” Colin ordered.
“You can’t give the man more drink,” Rosalyn protested.
“Why not? He’s already had more than his share,” Colin answered and, lifting the parson’s leg, unceremoniously dragged him out from under the table.
“He’s in no shape to conduct a service,” she predicted.
“We can get him in shape.” Colin knelt down, lifted the parson’s head, and started rolling it back and forth between his hands. The man didn’t even blink.
Rosalyn crossed her arms. “You were saying about your brother?” she asked
Colin frowned at her, a word to the wise that this was not the time to question him. He’d been up all night and was not pleased to have a sodden parson on his hands.
She frowned right back, and suddenly the innkeeper, who was walking over with a tankard of ale, started laughing. “Are you sure the two of you aren’t already married? You bicker just like my wife and myself.”
“You don’t get along?” Rosalyn asked, her eyes widening in mortification at the innkeeper’s blunt remark.
“We get along fine,” the innkeeper soothed in his slight brogue. “She has her way of doing things, I have mine.” He lowered his voice to admit, “The truth is, she often knows better than I.”
“But you can’t be happy if you argue,” Rosalyn said.
“Arguing can be the best part of a marriage,” he answered. “We agree on everything important, and the little things don’t matter if you get along in the bedroom.” He waggled his bushy eyebrows for emphasis. Holding up his ring finger to display a gold band, he said, “Twenty-two years, and every night is as good as the first. That’s a good marriage.”
Colin thought Rosalyn would go up in flames, she was so embarrassed.
Nor was she the only one.
The blonde who had been cleaning tables came up behind the innkeeper and cuffed him on the head. Seeing her face up close, Colin realized the woman was older than he had first thought. “Lucas, the lady doesn’t want to hear you brag.”
The Seduction of an English Lady Page 11
