Raven's Ransom

by Hayley Ann Solomon

  The viscount grinned and wrapped the traveling rug snugly abut her person.

  “Turn back? After all the trouble I’ve been to to abduct you? It is not easy to do such a thing, you know, in the very heart of London! I was forced to bribe your under butler into divulging your direction, and that, you know, goes against the grain with mel”

  “What?” Lily gazed at him in a turmoil of confusion.

  “Do I infer this is not to your liking? I felt perfectly certain, after the note I received, that this was your most earnest desire! I have had my team tooling up and down the streets all morning, hoping for a glimpse of your lovely self.”

  “My nose is red from the cold. I cannot be lovely at all. ”

  “True. That is why I propose we marry at once and have a delectable wedding feast by a cozy fire. That way, your nose will soon be restored to its former glory.”

  “Oh, you are horrid! There is nothing wrong with my nose. You trifle with me, sir, and I cannot say I like it!”

  “No? Then I shall have to make amends. I assure you, madame, that when next I trifle with you, you shall like it enormously.”

  Lily blushed. “You are a coxcomb, sir, and I should scream!”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. That would certainly be the correct thing to do in such a circumstance.”

  Lily looked at him doubtfully. Was he teasing her? Certainly, there seemed to be a frivolous ring in the deliriously fine lilt of his tone. If only he would stop looking at her, then perhaps she would be able to think! She averted her gaze and Lord Barrymore very kindly suggested that he order the landau to stop.

  “Why, my lord? That we may turn back?” Lily felt a most unaccountable stab of disappointment.

  “No, don’t be so absurd, my chicken, we are not turning back. I merely meant so that you can scream. Stanley shall not hear you if the horses are trotting at this pace and the breeze is howling behind us.”

  As he spoke, a great gust of wind flung the remains of Lily’s walking bonnet skyward. Her grown-up chignon came adrift in seconds, causing a squeal of dismay.

  “There, that is a start, but I cannot help but mention a better attempt ought to be made. That sounded more like a squeak than a gusty shriek. Stanridge has not so much as heard you.”

  “Standish. And that was not a scream. That was merely annoyance at the loss of my bonnet. I fear it cost Lord Raven a fortune.”

  “And shall undoubtedly cost me an equal one in its replacement. Forget the bonnet, I despise the things anyway. Your hair is much better as it is. It is flowing like a witch.”

  “What a horrible thing to say!”

  The Viscount Barrymore grinned. “Then get used to it, for I shall always call you a witch. If you didn’t have green eyes that entranced me quite sinfully, I should not now be making a cake of myself by marrying you!”

  “Not even for the Raven’s Ransom?”

  “Oh, quite possibly for that, but I cannot be certain.”

  He was teasing again, but Lily could not help wishing he had not answered as lightly. Was he abducting her purely for yet another gamble? For a chance at the riches Lord Raven dangled so skillfully before him? Suddenly, despite all her earlier protests, it mattered to her. Yet is was the one question, in all earnestness, that she feared asking. So she accepted his flippant answer with a toss of her head that sent such sparks flying between them that Lord Barrymore thanked the heavens that he had a special license in his pocket. There were certain limits to a gentleman’s patience, after all! Lily certainly raised him to those limits faster than even the first serving wench he had bedded as a boy.

  In front of them, Standish was growing restless. It was not his place to question the gentry, but Lily was a high-spirited thing and if she took a notion into her pretty little noggin there was nothing anyone could do about it. Nothing, of course, save the butler, who would probably take a switch to his shoulders before dismissing him out of hand. Miserable, poor Standish could only glance in dismay at the first postilion—a gentleman very firmly entrenched in the viscount’s household—who seemed to see nothing amiss in an unscheduled trip into the country.

  “Stanborough seems resdess.”

  Lily giggled. “Standish, you horrid fellow! And I don’t wonder he is resdess, for Grandfather shall have spasms when he finds out.”

  “Then you agree to relinquish your pretty name of Chartley and take up the hideously sober appellation of Barrymore?”

  “You have not yet asked, my lord.”

  “One never proposes when one is abducting. It is not comme il faut. All the textbooks agree.”

  “Now you are being nonsensical!”

  “And you are avoiding my query.”

  “Oh, very well, then, I shall be Lady Barrymore. But I warn you, my lord, if we are headed for Gretna I shall be chilled to the bone and quite unable to speak my vows. I’ve heard the journey takes days and I have not even a feathered muff.”

  “How improvident! One should always dress to be abducted. It is the first law of any decent ladies’ seminary. I am surprised your education is so deficient.”

  “And I am surprised you know so much about young ladies!”

  “Are you? Don’t be. I am rather knowledgeable on that score.”

  Lily felt a sudden lump in her throat. She cast her eyes downward, so that he would not get a glimpse of her maudlin tears.

  “Yes, a rake and a fortune hunter. I had heard that.”

  Barrymore’s tone was suddenly hard. “Do not be deceived by all you hear, Miss Lily.” He relented as he caught the glimmer of a shimmering tear. It had fallen from downcast eyes and stained elegant pastel-colored gloves. “Oh, do look up! I shall try not to eat you if you try not to sniff! We are not traveling to Gretna, but we have several miles more to traverse in this unsatisfactory traveling rig. Yes, you are perfectly correct, I should have brought a closed chaise, but sadly, being at points non plus, I sold it!”

  This served only to make Lily cry the more, for now she was perfectly certain that his lordship meant only to marry her to restore his fortunes. Or at least to gamble on such an event. Gamblers, she had heard, were always optimistic. What if Lord Raven and his horrid tricorne hat picked Primrose or Daisy? He would be ruined! And it would be all her doing for begging him to abduct her. Or if not abduct her precisely, then marry her out of hand, which was practically the same thing! A little sob escaped her despite her best intentions.

  Lord Barrymore deemed it necessary to place his arms about her and tuck her a little closer to his handsome frame. Their knees were now touching and his arms felt delectable about her waist. Mid sob, Lily opened her mouth in astonished delight. Lord Barrymore definitely felt that a kiss was in order. Unfortunately, he was all too aware of Standish, who was fumbling with the reins and causing his excellent bay mare—acquired at great cost—to stumble slightly. He sighed, and sat back regretfully.

  “If Stanford hears you sobbing he shall run my man through with a knife and doubtless me as well. That, I fear, would be tedious.”

  A glimmer of a smile appeared in the wide, green eyes.

  “Standish, my lord. And I doubt he carries a knife. But a blow to your head might suffice just as admirably.” She tilted her chin cheekily. He did care! She could swear he did!

  “Baggage!” Lord Barrymore scowled, but his laughter made a mockery of the frown. Lily thought she had never gazed upon anyone more handsome or peculiarly wonderful in all her life. She swallowed a little breathlessly, pushed back several strands of long, ebony hair that the wind had caught on her lips, and sighed.

  “It is what you really want, my lord?”

  “Can you doubt me?” His tone assumed a slightly mocking twist before he took a long breath. In the pause, Lily’s heart ached, for she was suddenly very fearful of what he might say next. My lord sensed that, for he took her hand, caressing her fingers a little so that they burned through their gloves. Mockery changed to a gentleness that sat uneasily upon a rake’s shoulders. Still, he surprised him
self.

  “It is what I really want.” Deep blue eyes bored into hers and she felt a tremor, whether at their strong sincerity or at something more basic that stirred within her, she knew not. What she did know, was that there was to be no turning back with this man, adventurer or not.

  She closed her eyes to the sensuous blue that was assaulting her senses. Her breath caught in her throat and her lips opened oh, so invitingly. My lord touched them with his finger, and truly, the sensation was more erotic than had he done the same with his mouth. Lily’s eyes flew open instantly, but the damage was done. Her bodice felt tight against her chest, and strange, intoxicating warmths seemed to whisper to her of pleasures to come. Amused, Barrymore watched her innocent surprise and wondered at his own response. They would suit, he and the Lady Lily. He was certain of it.

  The moment passed as the carriage stumbled, a little, upon a hole in the path. The second mare whinnied, but continued on with admirable speed.

  Lily watched as Barrymore gestured to his postilions. Her breathing was no easier, but somewhere at the back of her mind her thoughts were jolted into a more proper direction. Somehow, she really ought to alert her sisters that she was well. They would be troubled if she didn’t return within the hour. Being a kindhearted soul, she pondered the problem for an instant until her eyes flicked back to the viscount. Her brow, puckered in thought, smoothed at once, a naughty grin mischievously taking its place.

  Really! She was being abducted, one could not possibly arrange for every particular. When she was married, she would demand to return at once to Raven Place and oh, how astonished everyone would be! And she, the youngest sister, married—quite respectably, she thought—first. When she chuckled a little and voiced the thought out loud, Barrymore regarded her strangely, so that she felt hot and flustered once more.

  “Yes, dearest,” he murmured, but there was a lazy, teasing smile playing across the curves of his lips. “But first, don’t you think, we might withdraw to our wedding chamber? Much as I adore being a guest at Raven Place”—here his tone became disturbingly dry—“I believe I would much rather postpone that particular pleasure in favor of other more . . . uh ... well, yes, shall I say it? More particular pleasures. Unless you object?”

  Under his gaze—which was not quite as lazy as he would have her believe, Lily colored, felt shamelessly wanton, blushed delightfully, and muttered that no, she could not find it in herself to object to so delightful an agenda. At which her husband-to-be laughed out loud, patted her fondly, and remarked that indeed, she would have no cause to regret this bold course.

  The rest of the journey was a haze for Lily, who shivered under the traveling rug but welcomed the cold that bit into her shoulders and caused her fingers to freeze in their gloves. It convinced her that she was not the victim of some impossible dream, about to be wakened by the sound of the breakfast gong or curtains rustling open in her chamber. No, such a dream would doubtless be perfect. Certainly, it would not be so prosaic as to allow considerations of inclement weather and aching, stiff limbs to spoil the heartwarming effect of being about to become the Honorable Viscountess Barrymore.

  It was not until their turreted destination was finally reached, the warmth of chimneys spiraling promisingly into the afternoon sky, that she realized that his lordship’s words, whilst charming, had nevertheless still been ambiguous. It might, after all, have been the Raven’s Ransom that he wanted with such an earnest sincerity.

  Standish dismounted quicker than usual and opened the landau with fumbling vigor.

  “Lawks a mercy, Miss Lily, you bin givin’ an old gennelman like me a nasty fright jauntering about the countryside without so much as a by-your-leave! And what will ’is lor’ship say, I wunner? Turn me off without a character ’e will, you see an’ he won’t!”

  “Then you shall have to take up employment in my stables, my good man. Her ladyship will be needing a groom when she is my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Standish stared at him suspiciously.

  “Been I ain’t knowin’ nothin’ about that, pleasin’ your honor! An’ it is more than me life is worth to be allowing Miss Lily ’ere into that there inn, no matter how gentrified it is!”

  “Good man! You restore my faith in your common sense. I shall expect such excellent perspicacity when you are her personal groomsman. For now, however, let me remove that suspicious glare from your countenance and ask you to act witness to the ceremony. I trust you can then have no objection to her partaking of an excellent repast in this very fine—if I may say so—posting inn?”

  From the beam on poor old Standish’s face—now wreathed in toothless smiles—my lord inferred there was no further objection. Which was just as well, for the archbishop had been pacing about the private drawing room for well on an hour, and was at that moment again consulting his excellent fob. Lord Barrymore had been distressingly vague about the time in which he desired the ceremony to be performed. Still, his donation had been prodigious.... The archbishop patted his waistcoat and settled for a further intrusion on his time.

  He had not long to wait, for the couple entered very soon after that. The bride, he thought, was in high good looks despite her gown being a rather frivolous confection for the taking of solemn vows. Still, even a hardy old soul like the archbishop could see that she was a dazzling beauty and for that, one could make a few allowances. Especially as she seemed suddenly becomingly shy.

  Lord Barrymore bowed politely, exchanged a few perfunctory but civil words with him, then gestured for the rites to take place. And so, Miss Lily Chartley, frozen, dazed, tired, and stiff, became, but a few enchanting moments later, her very grand Ladyship, Lily, Viscountess of Barrymore.

  Fifteen

  The archbishop nodded pleasantly as he gestured for his carriage to be brought round. He breathed in deep of the fresh country air and picked a blossom idly as he waited. He’d waved away the footman and come down himself. It was not often he had a chance to collect his thoughts and just for today he thought he might dispense with a little ceremony. After all, the couple he had just left behind him had.

  He did not generally make a habit of marrying peers of the realm in strange country inns, but by and large he was pleased that he had bent the rules a little. The couple—both gently born—no trouble about that—looked like April and May, a pleasing contrast to some of the very proper arranged marriages he’d had to attend to recently. He patted his waistcoat, rather pleased, too, with the repast he’d discovered awaiting him. It was not all inns that employed French cooks, nor many lords who thought to order him up dinner. Lord Barrymore, for all his sorry reputation, was no skinflint. Neither, by the looks of it, was he stony broke, as he’d heard whispered. He smiled benignly on the pair, blessed them unctuously, and departed.

  He did not see, as he turned into the gardens, that there was a chaise harnessed and ready for travel. In it, was a shifty-looking gentleman who eyed him impatiently and called out a curse under his breath. It was not precisely drunken, but it had a definite lilt that would have alarmed the cautious archbishop had he heard it. Fortunately for him, he did not, being much occupied with thoughts of spending the bounty his morning work had yielded. Barrymore had been generous. Church windows warred with chiseled ceilings in his mind. There was much to be said for both, but alas, a choice must be made.

  As he considered, the dark carriage horses of the lone stranger began their paces in the courtyard. They were not to be changed, despite half a morning’s gallop across the Westenbury plains. Sir Rory Aldershot within, regretted this fact, for he believed he had something of an eye for horseflesh and considered it annoying that he had to treat his beasts in this careless manner. Still, as he told himself, caution would not serve him now. Only brazen impudence and a heedless disregard for the sweating animals.

  Once his aim was accomplished, they could rest so long as they pleased in the paddocks near Quimby. And Quimby, at last, would have a chance to be restored to its former glory. If he could keep his cool,
that is. He peered around through the inn’s entrance, ignoring the inquiring eyes of the overbold innkeeper’s wife. Instead, he threw a penny at a nearby urchin and beckoned him closer.

  “Another where that comes from if you can keep the viscount at his dinner for an hour or more.” The boy looked puzzled, so he concluded that Barrymore might be traveling under a false name. After all, if it was abduction the viscount intended, he would hardly wish to advertise his whereabouts to all and sundry.

  He tried again, this time with a more accurate description of Barrymore.

  “Oh, the swell, you mean? Right yer are, guv. I’ll keep ’im at table right enough! I can pilfer me a swag of the innkeeper’s finest. That always slows ’em down, I can tell yer!” The boy grinned.

  “Have a care if it doesn’t!” Aldershot’s tone was threatening, so the grin turned to a sulky scowl. Aldershot flashed the coin in front of his face and the lad grabbed at it.

  “Not so fast! If you want it keep a clear head on your shoulders and do my bidding. If the viscount so much as steps foot out of the dining parlor you can kiss it good-bye.”

  “ ’E won’t, guv. And ’is lady, like?”

  “You never saw a lady.”

  The boy stared. “Bein’ as I’m not blind, yer honor, I saw a lady as sure as I am standin’ on two feet.”

  “Then perhaps I shall have to plant you a facer so that you are not standing on two feet.”

  “Huh?” The boy glared suspiciously and more than a little fearfully.

  “Oh, scat, there is no talking to you; your comprehension does a half-wit credit. Just keep your mouth shut or you will be sorry.”

  Now these were words the boy could understand. He pocketed his penny and nodded knowingly. “Cross me ’eart, I won’t blabber a mort.”