A MERRY CHASE

by VICTORIA MALVEY

  Her admission staggered Royce. He hadn't realized that he'd been hoping that somehow Atherby had been wrong and his mother hadn't been involved. Grabbing hold of a chair, Royce steadied himself. "Did you arrange for a man to enter Laurel's room at Hammingtons' country party?"

  "And if I did?" Elizabeth retorted. "It wasn't as if she were innocent."

  "How can you say that? The only reason she would have been discovered with a gentleman in her room was because you'd arranged it."

  "I didn't arrange for you to go to her room," his mother pointed out.

  Conceding that fact, Royce moved on. "Were you also responsible for destroying Laurel's clothes and my ledgers?"

  "Don't be ridiculous," Elizabeth sniffed. "I would never sink to that level."

  Still stunned by his mother's duplicity, Royce couldn't believe her denial. "And what of Laurel's horse bolting? Did you arrange for that as well?"

  "You are wasting my time with this nonsense."

  He dug his fingers into the cushion. "Don't you dare dismiss my concerns, Mother. When you admitted threatening Laurel's reputation, you lost your right to protest any questions I place before you." He took a deep breath. "Now answer my questions."

  Glaring at him, his mother lifted her chin. "No, I did not make an arrangement to startle her horse."

  "The problem I'm faced with now, Mother, is whether I can believe one word you say."

  "Don't be naive, Royce," his mother snapped, anger flashing in her eyes. "I am not the only person who would like to see you and the Simmons chit kept apart."

  "Margaret St. John," he said softly, watching his mother's reaction closely.

  "I did everything for you," she remarked, tapping her fingers upon the arm of her chair. "If only you hadn't insisted upon someone so obviously unfit, then I wouldn't have been forced to go to such extravagant measures."

  Ignoring his mother's last comment, he probed her for more answers. "Did Margaret arrange to have Laurel's clothes destroyed?"

  His mother smiled. "Ask yourself that question, keeping in mind that the objective would be to keep you and the Simmons girl apart."

  "Laurel was occupied with replacing her wardrobe while I was absorbed with replacing my books." More of the puzzle straightened into place. Margaret could have sent the note about his past to Laurel and also arranged to have Hammington discover her with Archie.

  "I must point out that her plan was hardly effective. After all, the two of you managed to attend a function the very next evening."

  His mother's statement caught his attention. "You seem to know quite a bit of detail about her plans."

  Startled, Elizabeth tried to cover her mistake. "I'm merely observant."

  "I don't believe you, Mother." Releasing his hold on the chair. Royce stepped closer. "No, I think you might have planned the entire incident."

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth slowly rose. "I didn't plan everything," she stated firmly. "If I had been in charge then, I would not have arranged for Lord Devens to go to our family box. Dear heavens, Royce, I've done all of this to protect our name."

  "Then?" Royce asked, pouncing upon the one word. "Are you saying that you're in charge now?"

  Silence reigned as Royce stared his mother down. Finally, Elizabeth answered, "Since it is far too late for you to do anything now, I might as well inform you of our final plan."

  Royce's gut tightened as he waited for his mother to continue.

  "At this very moment, your Lady Laurel Simmons is racing toward the Scottish border with Archibald Devens."

  "The Scottish bord—" Royce cut off his question as he realized where his mother meant. "Gretna Green."

  "Precisely. By tomorrow, she will no longer be a threat to the title of Tewksbury." His mother reached but for him … only to let her hand drop back to her side. "I did what I felt was best for you, Royce."

  "No, Mother," he said, backing away. "You did this for yourself not me. None of this has been about me."

  Turning away, Royce ran from the room … praying with every step that he wouldn't be too late.

  * * *

  As Archie advanced toward her, Laurel felt behind her, searching for something, anything, that would aid in keeping him away.

  "Are you ready for a spot of fun now, love?" Archie asked, giving her a reassuring smile.

  "Please don't do this," Laurel rasped, backing into a table.

  "It's not something to fear," Archie cajoled, stretching out his hand. "Come here now, Laurel, and let me show you."

  "Stay away." Pushing against the table, Laurel flailed her arm backward, seeking balance. She knocked over a lamp, shattering the glass globe. Steadying herself, Laurel flinched as a piece of glass cut deeply into her palm.

  "Now you've gone and hurt yourself," Archie chastised. Setting the key to the room on the small table near the door, he moved closer, holding out his hand. "Let me see the cut. I'll bandage it up before we seek our pleasure."

  Cradling her hand against her chest, Laurel shook her head, siding out of the way, edging closer to the fireplace.

  "It's foolish to be so stubborn, Laurel. You're bleeding all over your—"

  "Archie!" Loud knocking accompanied the call. "Open up."

  With a muttered oath, Archie opened the door to admit Margaret St. John.

  With one glance, she took in Laurel's bloodstained gown. "My, it looks as if you were having some sport," she mocked.

  "Shut your gob," snapped Archie, thrusting a hand through his hair. "This entire business is not going as I'd planned, so I'd very much appreciate it if you'd just tell me what you want and be on your way."

  "What I want, Archie, is to know what took you so long." Margaret placed her hands on her hips. "I've been waiting here, wondering if you'd managed to snare her or if you'd mishandled everything again." Laurel's hand throbbed, but she pushed the pain aside, concentrating on their exchange, hoping an opportunity to escape would present itself.

  "If this is all you've come for, then you can just get out now." Archie pointed a finger toward the door. "Laurel's gone and cut herself … and cleaning it up won't exactly put me in a romantic mood," he complained.

  Stepping closer, Margaret laughed at him. "Getting testy, aren't you?" she asked.

  As Margaret moved farther into the room, Laurel saw her opportunity. Lunging forward, she knocked into Margaret, sending her sprawling forward into Archie. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs. Without hesitation, Laurel snatched up the key and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. Shaking in relief, Laurel twisted the key, locking Margaret and Archie in the room together.

  Stumbling across the hall, Laurel sank down onto the floor, trembling in relief. She ripped a piece of her petticoat off and wrapped it around her cut hand. Archie began to bang upon the door, demanding to be let out, but, as Archie himself had directed, the innkeeper ignored the sounds.

  For once, it appeared Archie had done her a favor. Fatigue weighed heavily upon her, but Laurel fought it off until her lids closed on their own volition. She'd only rest for a short moment, she promised herself. Only a short…

  * * *

  The pounding of his horse's hooves echoed a frantic beat within him as Royce pushed the stallion harder than he'd ever pushed before. He'd already stopped at two inns along the road toward Gretna Green with no sign of Laurel or Archie. Dawn was fast approaching, heralding the end of any hope of returning Laurel to London.

  Royce spurred his horse onward when another inn came into sight. Please God, let me be in time, he prayed.

  Vaulting off his horse, Royce rushed into the inn, calling for the keep. When the older man came out scratching his belly, Royce began to question him.

  "My pardon for waking you at this early hour, but it is imperative I find a certain young lady. Has anyone checked in this evening?"

  "Indeed, but this is a private inn," the keep pronounced. "I'll not be giving out the names of my guests."

  Royce didn't have the tim
e to politely ask the man to reconsider. Instead he grabbed hold of the man's registration book and scanned the names. There, bold as could be, was an entry for Lord and Lady Devens.

  Tossing the book down, Royce mounted the stairs; taking them two at a time, bringing a shout of protest from the innkeeper. The sight that greeted him in the upstairs hallway made his heart stop.

  There, crumpled against the wall, lay Laurel in a bloodstained dress.

  Rushing forward, he pressed two fingers against her neck, checking her pulse.

  At his touch, she roused, her lashes lifting. "Royce?" she murmured, disbelief mingling with hope. "Is it really you?"

  "Yes, darling," he returned, gathering her into his arms. Pressing her close, he savored the feel of her against him. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded against his neck. "I've locked Archie and Margaret in that room," she told him, pointing one finger toward the door across the hall.

  "The blood, Laurel," he asked, his voice cracking. "Where did it come from?"

  Lifting her hand, she showed him the cut. "I hurt my hand when I broke a lamp by accident."

  Relief flooded him. While the cut had bled quite a bit, it didn't look too deep. "Everything will be just fine now, Laurel," he murmured, pressing a kiss against her forehead. "Let's find an empty room where you can rest while I fetch a doctor to stitch up your hand."

  Resting her head against him, Laurel murmured sleepily. "I'm so glad you came for me, Royce."

  Without haste, Royce found another open room at the end of the hall. Judging from the monogrammed bags, he assumed it belonged to Margaret. Gently, Royce laid Laurel upon the bed, tucking her into the covers. Unwrapping her makeshift bandage, Royce dipped a cloth into the water pitcher and began to clean off the blood, revealing a shallow cut on the palm of her hand.

  Reaching over, he loosened the fingers on her other hand, releasing her grip on a key. It could only be to the room where she'd locked up Archie and Margaret. Tucking the key into his pocket, he made his way downstairs to order the innkeeper to fetch a doctor.

  When the physician finally arrived, Royce left his post at Laurel's bedside.

  "This is Doctor Wilks," the innkeeper announced, stepping aside to allow a gaunt fellow to enter.

  "My lord," the doctor murmured, taking the seat Royce had just abandoned.

  "My wife cut her hand," Royce explained, gesturing toward the bandage wrapped around Laurel's palm.

  "Your wife?" exclaimed the innkeeper, peering closely at Laurel. "I thought she was married to the other fellow."

  Coldness settled into Royce's gut. "I assure you, this lady belongs to me."

  Frowning, the man shook his head. "My apologies, my lord. I meant no offense. It's just I could have sworn this young lady checked in with another gentleman who claimed her as his wife."

  Royce lifted one brow at the keep. "Are you suggesting that I don't know my own wife?"

  "No, no," hastened the innkeeper as he backed out of the room, mumbling about the oddities of the gentry.

  Turning toward the doctor, Royce pointed out her cut hand. "A piece of glass sliced into her palm, Dr. Wilks. I cleaned it as best I could, but I believe she will need stitches."

  "I believe you're right," the doctor agreed, before setting down his bag and attending to the cut. Working in silence, the doctor quickly cleansed, closed, and redressed the wound. Laurel thanked the doctor before drifting off to sleep once more.

  "Thank you," Royce said to Dr. Wilks as he pressed some coins into his hand.

  "Change the bandages on that cut frequently for the next few days. If a fever develops, you'd be smart to consult a surgeon." Heading for the door, Dr. Wilks paused with his hand on the knob. "By the way, my lord, your claim that the lady is your wife might be accepted if you placed a ring upon her finger."

  Flushing, Royce stood his ground. "The lack of a ceremony at the present time makes no difference to me. I claim her for my own."

  "Then do right by the girl," advised the doctor.

  "I intend to."

  With a nod, the doctor left them alone. Gazing down at Laurel, Royce knew he had another duty to attend to before he could focus all of his attention upon his bride-to-be.

  First he needed to rid them of a pair of vermin.

  Cold fury settled in him as he strode down the hall.

  * * *

  Chapter 23

  « ^ »

  As soon as Royce walked into the room, he headed straight toward Archie and plowed his fist into the other man's face. The sharp ache in his hand felt incredibly satisfying, assuaging a bit of the rage churning inside of him. "Stand up, you bastard, so I can do it again."

  Archie fingered his jaw. "I'd prefer to remain on the floor."

  "Coward," Royce sneered. A movement on the other side of the room caught his eye. Jerking his head, he saw Margaret trying to ease her way toward the door. Taking one step back, he slammed the door closed, effectively cutting off her path of escape. "Not before we come to an understanding, Margaret."

  "I did nothing," she protested.

  "The simple fact that you are locked here in the room with this piece of filth says otherwise." Royce calmed himself, focusing on the quickest way to rid himself of these two menaces so he could return to Laurel.

  Archie lifted his hand to ward off Royce as he moved closer. Grasping Archie's fingers, Royce tugged off the Devens' family crest and slipped it into his pocket. "For security measures," he informed Archie.

  "What the devil are you talking about?" Archie demanded, though his prone position eliminated any threat to Royce. "Give me back my ring."

  "No," Royce said bluntly. "Listen carefully, both of you. You are both going to visit Scotland for a long, long while and as of this moment, the two of you ran away to Gretna Green to wed."

  "What?" shrieked Margaret. "I will never agree to such a demand."

  "Ah, but you will," Royce countered, "or I shall be forced to inform the magistrate that you were responsible for startling Laurel's horse and endangering her very life." He tilted his head to the side. "Somehow I don't believe prison would agree with you, Margaret."

  "You could never prove it."

  "Yes, I could." Stepping forward, he grasped her monogrammed locket and snapped it off her neck. "You see, your locket got caught in the nearby bushes and carelessly you didn't notice it was missing."

  Worry flashed in her eyes, before she shook her head. "That still would not be proof."

  "I am the Earl of Tewksbury, Margaret," he reminded her coldly. "Most of my friends are very influential personages. Do you honestly believe they would doubt my word?"

  Her eyes narrowed in anger. "Damn, you," she hissed.

  "I believe it will be the other way around." Royce tucked her necklace into his pocket. "The same goes for you, Devens. If you return to England, I will have you brought up on charges."

  "How could you bring us up on charges and not your own mother?" crowed Margaret, tossing back her head. "I'll wager you didn't know about her helping us."

  "You'd lose that bet, Margaret." Royce crossed his arms. "Who do you think told me about this little adventure?"

  "She wouldn't have told you." Archie denied. "If she had, she would have incriminated herself."

  "My mother admitted everything." Returning his gaze to Margaret, he shook his head. "Don't believe for one moment that threatening to expose my mother will save you."

  "Your mother is obsessed with keeping your precious family name free of smears," Margaret said, confidence ringing in her voice. "All of society would be shocked to learn how far she'd go to protect the title."

  "You're wrong," Royce informed her. "No one would believe it." He smiled coldly. "Remember that my mother has devoted her life to being the epitome of a countess. Who would believe that the quintessential lady would sink so low?"

  "Bloody hell," Archie groaned, closing his eyes. "How long must we remain out of the country?"

  "Oh, only twenty years or so," Royce ret
orted. "If I even hear a rumor that either one of you has returned, I will bring my evidence to the magistrate and file charges." He opened the door, revealing three burly stable hands outside. "I've hired these gentlemen to escort you to the border. You will leave immediately." Stepping out into the hall, he paused to give one last direction. "If either one of them attempts to escape, you have orders to shoot them."

  Standing back with his arms folded across his chest, Royce watched while the three men dragged Archie and Margaret from the room … and out of his life.

  * * *

  Consciousness came to her slowly. Lifting her lashes, Laurel gazed around the room, trying to remember where she was. Memory came flooding back and with it, alarm. Curling her fingers around the bandage on her hand, Laurel struggled from the bed, driven to put as much distance between her and Archie as possible.

  She didn't know how she'd ended up in this room wearing only her chemise, but she wasn't going to waste time sorting it all out. Tossing back the blankets, she'd just swung her feet onto the floor when the door opened.

  Gasping, Laurel reached for the candlestick resting on the night table, ready to defend herself.

  "It's only me," Royce said quickly. "Now please put that down before you open your stitches."

  Sagging against her pillows, she returned the candlestick to the table. "How did you get here?"

  "I followed you."

  She shook her head. "I meant how did you know where I was?"

  Pulling a chair close to the bed, Royce sat down, his hands clasped between his knees, his head down. "My mother told me."

  How had his mother known? Before Laurel could voice the question, Royce lifted his head, meeting her gaze.

  "She was behind the entire scheme," he told her quietly.

  Hearing the soft echo of pain in his voice, she reached out a hand to him.

  A sound of disbelief rippled from him. "I tell you it was my mother who did this to you and you offer me comfort?" He shook his head. "I've never known anyone like you, Laurel."

  "If Margaret St.

  John is an example of the ladies you've known in the past, I shall take that as a great compliment," she quipped.