by Mary Brendan
‘Why next time? I should like to see the Viscountess before I leave the area.’
‘She is plain Mrs Woodville now and not always in the best of health.’
‘Then I should certainly like to have the opportunity to pay my respects to her, if I may. I remember both your parents with fondness.’
Deborah looked about as though hoping something might catch her eye and allow her to distract him.
‘Where is your house?’
‘Oh…not far. It takes me only about twenty minutes if walking briskly towards Rye.’
‘You have no carriage or servants accompanying you today?’
‘I did set out with a vehicle and a driver…’ Deborah hesitated, feeling oddly reluctant to disclose to him the tale of her servant’s misfortune. She concluded there could be no harm in recounting what had happened to Fred. ‘My driver was set about by some bullies whilst I was shopping.’ She grimaced in a mix of regret and disgust at the memory of it. ‘I sent Fred on ahead in the trap so he might rest in case he is concussed.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ Randolph said, quietly adamant.
‘There’s no need,’ Deborah immediately countered. ‘I’m quite able to look after myself. But thank you in any case for your concern.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ Randolph repeated with such grit in his voice that Deborah blinked nervously at him. As though to impress on her that he meant what he said, he took her elbow and moved her determinedly with him towards the forge.
Once the bill had been paid, and Donald had tugged at his forelock several times before ambling back in to the smithy, they set off along the lane that led to Rye with the magnificent stallion clopping docilely at his master’s heels.
At first they proceeded in silence, both seemingly deep in their own thoughts. Debbie’s feverish mind had been occupied in searching for an innocuous topic of conversation that would skirt any past intimacy between them, yet be absorbing enough to fill the twenty minutes that stretched ahead. The most obvious subject was settled upon. Their mutual friends would provide all that was needed to fill the time until they reached Woodville Place.
‘I have recently had a letter from Jemma—’ ‘What caused those louts to attack your driver?’ They had spoken together and fell silent together too. Deborah realised she’d had no reason to fear he’d been brooding on their past and might increase her uneasiness by referring to it. She was unsure whether to feel relieved or indignant that Fred’s misfortune seemed of more interest to him.
Randolph indicated with a polite gesture that she should carry on.
‘I…I was just saying that I have recently had a communication from Jemma. She and Marcus have been visiting relations in Ireland since the early summer. They hope to return by late November and have invited us to join them at Gresham Hall for the Christmas holiday.’ Deborah slid a look up at him. ‘Do you regularly keep in touch with Marcus? I imagine you know they have a son as well as a daughter?’
‘The boy is named after me…at the end,’ he qualified wryly, a smile twitching his lips.
‘John Solomon Bailey Randolph Speer,’ Deborah recited softly the name of their friends’ infant son. ‘He must be toddling about now. His sister, Violet, is nearing her fifth birthday,’ she added, naming her sweet goddaughter.
‘You are one of Violet’s godmothers, I believe,’ Randolph remarked, slanting a look down on the top of her bonnet. He could see just a glimpse of her beautifully carved profile. A lock of honey-gold hair had tumbled forwards to dance against her cheek as she walked. Randolph’s left hand clenched as he suppressed the urge to brush back the curl, caressing her complexion. Once he would have touched her and she would have welcomed it. But not now. He’d sensed the frostiness in her from the first word she’d spoken to him. Whatever infatuation she’d had with him had long gone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have expected a woman as young and as stunningly lovely to wait for him while he went overseas. But, of course, she hadn’t waited, had she? he savagely reminded himself. She’d quickly forgotten him, and in time had become engaged to an army officer. But for the unlucky fellow’s demise she’d be a married woman.
She was presently tolerating his company because of good manners and because they shared mutual friends. Now he was back in England it was likely they would from time to time be thrown together whilst guests of the Earl and Countess of Gresham. She saw potential embarrassment in their forced proximity and was struggling to feel indifference for him. Unfortunately he knew he’d never manage to have such lack of feeling for her, much as he might want to.
Not for the first, or the thousandth, time in his life Randolph cursed his brother Sebastian to damnation. But for his selfish, licentious ways he wouldn’t be in this part of the country at all and Deborah Cleveland would still be just a shadow in his past. Gone…if not completely forgotten. Now she was again by his side and it seemed the most natural place for her to be. An unbidden curse broke beneath his breath at such maudlin romanticism and with enough volume for Deborah to hear his frustration.
‘I was asking about the men who set about your servant,’ Randolph reminded her to cover his lapse. ‘Did some sort of quarrel erupt between them?’
‘Yes,’ Deborah said and gazed into the distance, uncertain whether to admit that she’d been the unwitting cause of poor Fred getting a beating.
‘Over what did they quarrel?’ Randolph probed, a ghost of a smile acknowledging her reticence in informing him.
Deborah sighed. ‘As you are new to the area you probably know nothing of the horrible things that go on around these shores,’ she began. ‘My servant was simply protecting my reputation by remonstrating with some ruffians for being disrespectful. He got a beating for being loyal to me.’
Randolph stared straight ahead, his eyes narrowed to slits against the afternoon sun low in the sky. ‘And why would these ruffians want to be abusive about you?’ he asked exceedingly softly.
‘Because I hate them, and I make no bones about letting them know it,’ she returned forcefully. ‘I’m not going to act blind, deaf and dumb so that they may carry on unchallenged. But for them I would now be Edmund’s wife.’
A firm grip on her arm spun her about so she stood before him. ‘Explain exactly what you mean by that,’ he roughly demanded. His hands were on her shoulders, drawing her close; through the cloth of her cloak he could feel her quivering.
‘My fiancé was on coast watch and they killed him.’ Deborah’s voice shook with distress. ‘More recently another dragoon, Lieutenant Barrow, was wounded. He has a dreadful head injury and it is feared it will prove fatal.’
Randolph’s hands dropped away, then were again refastened on the soft tops of her arms. ‘Your fiancé was killed in a clash with smugglers?’ he said hoarsely.
Deborah nodded and her huge blue eyes glistened at him.
‘I’d heard from Marcus that you were betrothed to an army officer and that he’d been killed on duty,’ Randolph said softly. ‘That’s all I knew. I wasn’t aware how he’d died.’
‘He was murdered by the outlaws who infest this area,’ Deborah said querulously. ‘They hate me because I won’t forget or keep quiet about it.’
Randolph pulled her close, stilling her agitation against the warm, solid strength of his body. A hand was raised to tilt up her chin; slowly it slid to cup a cheek and to keep her looking at him.
Deborah felt her breath wedge in her chest. For a moment it seemed the years were peeled away and she was dressed not in sturdy outdoor clothes and chipstraw bonnet, but a pastel silk gown with gardenias threaded in her hair. She was not in an autumnal setting, serenaded by birdsong, but in the Earl of Gresham’s pale marble hallway with strains of a lilting melody drifting from the ballroom. But the gaze that was bathing her face with golden warmth was the same and her lids drooped as she anticipated Randolph’s lips bruising hers with a passion she recalled had left her feeling weak and dazed and so wonderfully happy. A second later the spell had been whipped away.
<
br /> ‘Hope we’re not interrupting.’ sneered a male voice.
Chapter Three
‘You are very much interrupting,’ Randolph returned in a lethal tone. He moved Deborah behind him and anchored her there with an unshakeable hold on her wrist. ‘So go away.’
‘You!’ Debbie spat whilst squinting against a gilded western sky to see the youngest Luckhurst brother grinning at her. She’d immediately recognised the owner of that coarse voice. Behind him were two other men of about the same age whom she’d noticed accompanying him on other occasions. ‘I know it was you who set about my driver, Seth Luckhurst—’ she began, before pressure on her wrist insisted she keep silent. She heeded Randolph’s warning and her teeth sank into her unsteady lower lip to stem further wrathful accusations. Thereafter her loathing was limited to glaring at the three men who were emerging from a thicket a few yards away. All were dressed in rough country garb, although a neckerchief knotted about Seth’s throat brightened his drab figure.
‘Are you deaf as well as stupid?’ Randolph enquired mildly. ‘I said your presence is unwelcome. Do you not understand English?’
A look of surprise passed between the men. They were used to issuing threats, not receiving them, but all of them were ready for a fight.
‘Don’t reckon it’s us wot’s stupid.’ Seth smirked as he swaggered closer. ‘You’re not from round here, are you, friend? If you was, you’d know not to cross me.’ One of his thumbs jabbed arrogantly at his chest. It rose to tip his hat back on his head in a cocky gesture, then both brawny fists were jammed on his hips. ‘If you fancy being a hero for Miss Woodville, I’ll give you a fight. Or you could just get going, y’know.’ Something about the stranger’s cool confidence was unsettling Seth Luckhurst despite the odds being stacked very much in his favour. ‘It’s her I’m after. I need to…talk to her,’ he finished on a lewd chuckle.
Randolph gave a sigh, as one might when one’s patience is being tested to its outer limit. ‘Unfortunately you can’t,’ he replied with weary courtesy. ‘I want to talk to her and my need is greater than yours.’ He let go of Deborah’s wrist and started to shrug off his leather coat as though readying himself to take up Seth’s offer of a fight.
Deborah immediately sought and gripped hard at one of his hands, unsure whether she did so to seek his security or to stop him brawling. He had little chance of success against three adversaries. She was as worried as much for Randolph’s safety as she was for her own. A finger traced a soft, secretive caress on her palm—a wordless instruction that she remain quiet and trust him. Randolph turned to his horse to deposit the garment over the saddle and pivoted back with a pistol in each hand.
An immediate gasp parted Deborah’s lips. She’d not even seen him remove the weapons from their repository, so coolly and smoothly had he handled them.
‘Be sensible and be on your way.’ Randolph’s suggestion held an amount of tedium.
Seth rubbed a nervous hand over his bristly jaw. ‘There’s three of us and you’ve only got two shots.’
‘And both of them are levelled on you,’ Randolph told him with a smile. He could tell that Seth was the ringleader and the others deferred to his authority. He seemed a common enough bully and Randolph suspected Luck-hurst would crumble when his own life was in serious peril.
‘Shoot me and they’ll get you,’ Seth blustered, but he’d backed away a pace.
‘Sensible move,’ Randolph drawled his praise.
Seth stopped on seeing his cronies peering at him askance. Turning tail so quickly would do nothing for the reputation of the Luckhursts. He and his brother, Zack, were feared as the area’s most brazen villains. If Zack found out what had gone on, he’d beat the living daylights out of him. Seth adjusted his hat and, beneath its lowered brim, ruminated whether his accomplices would blab that he’d retreated from a stranger who spoke and dressed like a town fop.
Sensing he was wavering, Randolph helped the fellow make a decision. A shot rang out, making Deborah start and suppress a scream and Seth bellow in rage as his hat flew backwards off his head. It landed, tattered and smoking, on a grassy mound.
‘Missed.’ Randolph tutted and gave a sardonic smile. ‘I’ll need to practise.’
‘You’ll pay for this,’ Seth snarled. His usually rubicund cheeks had turned ashen in alarm. He knew very well that the fellow could have put a bullet between his eyes had he chosen to. He was obviously a proficient marksman and therefore a fellow to be wary of. From town he might be, but he was certainly no novice gunman. Seth turned and, furiously swiping the ragged hat from the ground, stomped back towards the shrubbery. His cronies fell into step behind him, looking uneasy. Before he disappeared into the thicket Seth turned and glowered at Randolph. ‘Stupid thing you just done. I’m going to come looking for you and when I find you…’
‘I’ll make it simple for you. I’m staying at the Woolpack in Rye. Ask for Randolph Chadwicke from Suffolk.’
Immediately on hearing that three tousled heads almost collided as the men immediately conferred. Seth straightened, arrowed another suspicious stare at Randolph. A moment later they’d disappeared and soon after came the sound of hooves hitting hard ground.
Randolph paced away from Deborah, the loaded pistol still raised as though he suspected they might arc about to return on horseback in a surprise attack.
As the sound of the gang’s retreat died away Deborah’s shoulders slumped in a release of tension and a sigh shuddered out of her. A moment later the enormity of what had happened—and how much worse it could have been—hit her like a thump in the stomach. A sob burst in her chest and she crossed her arms over her middle, inclining forwards as though she felt sick.
As soon as he noticed her stifled anguish Randolph returned swiftly to her side. An arm remained raised, levelling the loaded gun in readiness whilst the other enclosed her in a comforting embrace and pointed the spent weapon skywards. A moment later he had deposited both weapons whence they came and swung into the saddle. Reaching down, he circled an arm around her narrow waist and scooped her up easily in front of him as though she were weightless.
Simultaneously Deborah smeared the wet from her eyes and sucked in a startled breath. She could never in her life remember being handled so roughly. Spontaneously she squirmed as though she might slide down the animal’s sleek flank to the turf. A brawny arm girdled her midriff, preventing her moving, then jerked her back against his solid torso.
‘Be still,’ Randolph growled against her ear. ‘Trust me, if they decide to come back mob-handed and overpower me, you won’t like what it is they have in mind for you.’
Deborah could feel her cheeks starting to prickle and burn, and not simply from the warm breath that had just bathed it. She knew as well as did Randolph it wasn’t conversation those villains had had in mind for her this afternoon. The terrifying thought made her shudder and her hands pressed at her stomach as though to suppress the nausea rolling there. Seth and his cronies might not have happened upon them by unlucky chance as they walked towards Woodville Place. It was not unusual for her to stroll home using this route. Had Seth been watching her since Fred drove off in the trap? Had he plotted to ambush her with the intention of physically punishing her for reporting him to the magistrate? If so, he must have put his plan into action before he saw her set off home with an escort. He certainly had not been ready for the challenge Randolph presented.
‘They won’t cow me,’ Deborah announced with a shaky attempt at bravado. ‘I’m not frightened of them.’
‘Well, you should be.’ A large hand caught her sharp little chin and tilted her head so he could scan her profile beneath a shadowing bonnet brim. He tightened his hold as she tried to twitch her face free. ‘Has he tried to intimidate you like this before?’
Deborah shook her head, her golden tresses swaying against his abrasive cheek as he inclined towards her to catch her quiet response. ‘It’s just been nasty looks and comments and so on, although on one occasion he did try to
grab me when I passed him in a lane near Hastings. Our maid Lottie was with me that day. But that didn’t stop him.’
‘And?’
‘I knocked away his hand. It was about six months after Edmund was murdered by one of those brutes. Luckhurst was probably just showing off to his friends. He said he’d marry me so I wasn’t left on the shelf. They all started laughing.’
‘You don’t go out alone in future.’
Deborah swivelled about to frown at him. No man had spoken to her with such curt authority since she was a teenager. And of course her father had had a right to dictate to her. She was a viscount’s daughter, an only child who had been reared to be confident and independent. Since her stepfather had died, and her mother had grown increasingly nervous and prone to her migraines, Deborah had taken over the reins at Woodville Place. She made decisions that affected the lives of her and her mother and their few servants. She was her own mistress. Who did Randolph Chadwicke think he was, ordering her about? But for a quirk of fate the hiatus in their acquaintance might not have been breached today…or any other day in the near future. They were now strangers to one another. She raised sparking sapphire eyes and drew a breath in readiness to forcefully remind him of all of it, but a grim smile told her he had no need to hear her lecture—he could guess the gist of it.
The stallion was prodded into action and the sudden motion threw her back against him. She felt his arm tighten, anticipating her rejection, but after a moment resting rigidly against him, she felt her body involuntarily relaxing. Soon she’d curved into him for warmth and lowered her bonnet against the wind whipping at her complexion.
* * *
By the time their ride was at an end Deborah was feeling very subdued and not a little guilty.
The horse ambled in a circle, once, twice, in front of rusting iron gates that stood ajar at the head of a leafy avenue that wound to Woodville Place. She realised Randolph was giving her an opportunity to invite him to take her right up to her door before he had to insist he do so.
