by Darcy Burke
She faced him, eyes ablaze with exasperation. “You are not responsible for our welfare, Mr. Bowen. Now you’re being an obnoxious kind of arrogant and persistent. Kindly stop.”
Her words struck him like a blow to the groin. He was used to managing situations without argument. Working with a partner would take adjustment—if it were to continue, which it didn’t appear to be. “Will you at least allow me to hire a guard?”
She frowned, but considered his offer. “No. Thank you.”
“You’re a stubborn female,” he growled. He’d hire a guard to follow them at a discreet distance, and he’d follow behind that. She couldn’t control what road he traveled nor what lodging he obtained.
“And you’re a managing gentleman. Perhaps it’s best our alliance is at an end.”
He stood, angry at her obstinacy and at the fact that he was still drawn to her while she was ready to push him aside. “Be ready to depart at eight.”
She nodded and he strode away. Maybe he should steal the book from her. Then she’d be safe, and he could find the treasure without worrying about having her in tow. Her presence wasn’t the problem, however; it was the way her presence made him feel and behave. He prided himself on being calm, polished, unaffected. But now he was riled, hotheaded, passionate. The sooner he could leave her behind, the better—with or without her book.
The following morning, Margery and Mrs. Edwards met Mr. Bowen in the drive. His coach was ready and only Lady Stratton came to see them off. Presumably, Stratton was sleeping off another night of debauchery. Margery noticed Mr. Bowen looked a little pale this morning. Had he participated in Stratton’s lecherous activities? She tried not to think of it.
After saying good-bye to the countess, they all climbed into the coach. The tension between her and Mr. Bowen seemed to tighten the air, but Mrs. Edwards appeared unaware.
“I can’t say I’m sorry to be leaving,” she said disdainfully. “Lady Stratton seems a kind sort, but that husband of hers . . .” She shuddered.
The ride into Leominster passed quickly and quietly. The bag holding the book perched on the seat beside Margery, next to a second bag Lady Stratton had given her. It contained a luncheon and a pair of pistols. In addition to the pistols themselves, Lady Stratton had given Margery some quick lessons on how to fire one. However, Margery doubted she’d remember how. Thankfully, the man who was to drive her to Westerly Cross, Lady Stratton’s father’s estate, would know how to use them.
As soon as they neared the coaching inn, her pulse began to thrum.
Mr. Bowen fixed her with a dark stare. “Stay here until I organize your transportation. Are you sure you won’t let me send a guard?”
Mrs. Edwards leaned forward, her face lighting. Margery put her hand on her arm. “No, thank you.”
After Mr. Bowen departed the coach, Mrs. Edwards turned sharply toward her. “Why did you do that? A guard would not come amiss.”
Margery’s mind scrambled to come up with something to say. “I don’t trust Mr. Bowen.” She might not trust him not to take the book, but she didn’t think he would do anything to frighten them. That made the lie taste especially sour. “I’ve begun to doubt his motives. He’s obsessed with finding the missing book and taking my book with him. I just want to return home, without his presence.” Margery nearly cringed as she was going to completely confuse Mrs. Edwards as soon as they departed and she instructed the driver to drop her at the King’s Arms.
Mrs. Edwards mashed her lips together. “I disagree, but I shan’t convince you otherwise. Remind me never to play the part of your chaperone again. I can’t imagine a more intractable charge.”
Margery sought to placate the woman. She hadn’t agreed to such a long journey, or the trouble they’d encountered. Margery touched her arm and offered a conciliatory smile. “Did I not save you the other night?”
Mrs. Edwards didn’t look convinced. “At first, but it was Mr. Bowen who fought him off, if you recall.”
She did recall, and Margery had her own fears about traveling to Westerly Cross by herself, but she trusted in Lady Stratton’s plan.
A short while later, Mr. Bowen returned and they transferred to their new coach, which would take them all the way to Gloucester. As he helped them inside, he said, “The coachman is armed and I’ve told him you carry something of value. If you change your mind and would like a guard, he will hire one for you.” He gave Margery a handful of coins. “This will accommodate a guard, your lodgings, and your food.”
“This isn’t necessary.” Margery still had funds, but was glad to receive his offering. Now she could transfer it to Mrs. Edwards, instead of having to halve her money.
He looked at her intently. “I’ve let you decline my other offers, but I’m afraid in this I absolutely must insist.”
Margery tipped her head down demurely. “Then I shall be gracious.”
“What a novelty.” His tone dripped sarcasm, but when she shot a look at him, a smile played at his lips. “I will send word as soon as I can. Our alliance may be over, Miss Derrington, but our association is not.”
The promise in his words sank into her and made her deception cut like the edge of a piece of parchment. “Good-bye, Mr. Bowen.”
“Until we meet again, Miss Derrington.” He closed the door and the coach moved forward.
She waited until they had turned a corner and were making their way out of town, in the opposite direction of where she wanted to go, before rapping on the roof.
Mrs. Edwards’s forehead furrowed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m so sorry,” Margery said and meaning it quite sincerely. “I’m afraid I need to continue on my journey—alone. I have a letter for you to give to my aunts.” She withdrew the missive from the front flap of the book and handed it to Mrs. Edwards. “Please tell them I love them and that I’ll see them soon.”
Mrs. Edwards’ eyes were wide, her jaw sagging. “Wherever are you going?”
Margery spoke quickly as the coach slowed. “I’d rather not say, but I’ve disclosed everything important in the letter to my aunts. You’ll be safe now that I and the book are not with you. I’m certain anyone following our path will have their eyes on me since the book is consistently in my possession.”
“But what about you?”
The coach came to a stop. Margery patted Mrs. Edwards’s knee. “Don’t worry, I have things all planned out. I will be quite secure.”
The coachman opened the door. “Yes, miss?”
“There’s a change of plan. I need you to take me to the King’s Arms.”
Beneath the brim of his hat, his brow furrowed. “But the gentleman said to take you to Gloucester via Ledbury.”
“The gentleman is no relation of ours and we are glad to be rid of him. You will still take my companion to Gloucester, but I need to continue on to visit my family.” She donned her brightest smile and silently thanked Mr. Bowen for pointing out how she could use it to her advantage.
The coachman looked unsure, but ultimately nodded. They were quickly on their way back into town and to the King’s Arms, which was thankfully at the other end of Leominster from where they’d parted with Mr. Bowen.
Mrs. Edwards gave her a swift hug. “I didn’t mean it when I said you were difficult.”
Margery smiled at her. “I know.”
“If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, but in any event, I absolve you from all guilt and blame. Here is the money Mr. Bowen gave me—I don’t need it.” Margery transferred the funds to a grateful but worried Mrs. Edwards. Taking her book, Margery stepped out of the coach with the aid of the coachman and gave Mrs. Edwards a final wave. “Have a safe journey.”
She picked up her valise and went into the inn, where she found the innkeeper. After she provided him with the name Lady Stratton had given her—Mrs. Dunlop—he immediately led her to a small curricle.
“Wait, there’s no driver?” Margery ask
ed, thinking she’d somehow misunderstood Lady Stratton and suffering a bout of panic. She could no more drive a vehicle than fire a pistol—and Lady Stratton had only versed her on one of those topics.
The innkeeper chuckled. “’Course there’s a driver. Me nephew, John. He’s a good lad.”
Relief seeped through her frame. “Thank you.”
Shortly, John, a boy of about six and ten, came outside. Tall and lanky, he seemed unlikely to be able to protect her, but then not everyone could be built like Mr. Bowen. She shook her head, dismayed that he’d come so quickly and effortlessly to mind.
The innkeeper introduced Margery to his nephew, and after he tied her valise to the back of the curricle, they set out. As they left town, John leaned toward her. “I understand ye have a pair o’ pistols should we need ’em?” he asked.
“Indeed I do.” She patted the bag nestled between them. “Right here.”
John grinned, then urged the horses into a faster trot. The summer day was beautiful, the scenery incomparable, but Margery still felt a nagging bit of remorse at lying to Mr. Bowen and leaving Mrs. Edwards on her own. She also felt a surge of excitement as she considered meeting with Lord Nash tomorrow. Lady Stratton’s note of introduction was also tucked into her book, between the pages depicting the knight’s offering of the Heart of Llanllwch.
“Now might be a good time to hand me one of those pistols,” John said quietly.
Margery’s insides froze as she caught sight of the man stepping out of the shrubbery that lined the road. With shaking fingers, she opened the bag and removed one of the pistols. John snatched it from her just as the brigand held up his own pistol and called, “Stand and deliver!”
“Put your head down, miss.” John drove straight and discharged his pistol.
Margery squeezed her eyes shut at the sound, but quickly opened them. John’s shot must’ve gone wide, for the thief was still in the road. “That was foolish, mate. There’s another bloke behind ye. There’ll be no escape for ye now.” He pointed his pistol and Margery didn’t think, just shoved the boy out of the moving curricle as the shot fired.
Then she threw herself to the floor of the vehicle and prayed the horse would run the man down.
Chapter 7
In pursuit of Miss Derrington since she’d bloody changed transportation and direction after leaving him, Rhys swore as Craddock brought the coach to a halt. Rhys assumed they’d caught up to her, but a premonition of dread washed over him. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot confirmed his fear and prompted him to race from the coach.
The curricle she’d taken out of Leominster sat in the middle of the road. A darkly-dressed man ran toward it.
“Craddock!” Rhys called.
The coachman was off his seat, tossing a pistol at Rhys as he descended. They ran forward, and Craddock fired at the man, hitting him in the leg. Rhys hoped to God that had been a villain. He circled the curricle and caught sight of a lad lying in the ditch, then heard the struggle in the curricle.
He leaped toward the fray. A sinister-looking man with a pock-marked face and several missing teeth was wrestling Margery for her book. She clutched it tightly, holding on as if her life depended on, while he did the same.
Rhys held up his pistol and spoke loudly. “Let go of the book and step away from the lady.”
The man snarled, revealing more gaps in his mouth. “I didn’t really want to hurt no one, but you aren’t givin’ me no choice.” He plucked up a pistol from somewhere beside Margery and fired it at Rhys. However, he wasn’t as good or as fast as Rhys, whose father had also required he fire a pistol with speed and accuracy. Rhys’s bullet winged the brigand in the shoulder, just as Rhys intended. The bloke fell back over the front of the curricle and slid to the ground.
Rhys hurried to the curricle. “Margery, Miss Derrington, are you all right?” He longed to caress her face, smooth his hands all over her to ensure she was whole.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Fine? She was “fine, thank you”? Rhys’s temper exploded. Why wasn’t she grateful for his arrival? Or at the very least, relieved she was safe? “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just saved you from certain death.”
Instead of appearing grateful, she looked annoyed. “Aren’t you being a bit dramatic? I had a pistol at my side.”
“That you weren’t using!” Rhys’s temple began to throb. “Taking off by yourself—”
“John!” She surged past Rhys, jumped down to the road, and rushed to the lad lying in the ditch. Kneeling beside him, she cradled his head. “He’s bleeding. Oh, John.” Now she sounded concerned. Not for her safety, but for this boy who hadn’t been able to protect her.
John groaned as his eyes fluttered open. “Miss?”
“Yes, I’m here. The danger has passed. You were quite brave.”
The lad smiled faintly. “Did I hit me head?”
“I think so,” she said. “But I think you’ll be fine.”
“Craddock,” Rhys snapped. “Please help John into the coach and drive him back to the Knight’s Arms. We’ll follow in the curricle.”
Craddock helped the boy to his feet while Margery stood. She brushed off her skirt as John wobbled alongside Craddock. They passed the second would-be-thief, whom Craddock had shot in the leg. He moaned piteously and clutched his thigh.
Rhys ignored the injured man and turned his attention to Miss Derrington. “That was the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing I was following you.”
Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t ask for your help. I had things quite well in hand.”
“You had nothing in hand.” Rhys could barely find words amidst his overwhelming anger. “That brigand was going to take the book at any cost. Not to mention the second brigand Craddock dispatched in the road.”
She looked over the curricle and wrinkled her nose. “You shot him. I don’t think he’ll bother me anymore. And that one,” she tossed a glance to the wounded man in the lane, “can’t follow me either.”
“You’re just going to jump back in the curricle and drive yourself to who-knows-where?” He crossed his arms lest he decide to shake her. “I never took you for an imbecile, but I clearly need to revise my opinion.”
She pursed her lips. “There’s no need to be rude. Fine, you can drive me.”
He could drive her. She was going to allow him to help her after she’d lied to him and put herself in unnecessary danger. He moved closer, backing her up to the side of the curricle. “You think you’re safe right now, but I would caution you not to be too comfortable. You see, I’m furious and I was scared. ” All the emotion of the last quarter hour erupted inside of him. “Oh, to hell with it.”
Rhys snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Her mouth formed an O just before his lips descended on hers. He wanted to unleash his anger, his desire, his utter need. When their mouths connected, he held her close, pressing his hands into her back.
He expected her to pull away, but her lips softened against his and he nearly dropped to his knees. Her hands came up to his shoulders and settled there, neither encouraging nor denying. But her mouth told a different story as he angled his head and slid his tongue along the crease, begging for access. She opened slightly and allowed him into her wet heat.
His tongue searched for hers, met its sweet softness and coaxed her to play. She was timid at first, then became bolder. She was the most courageous woman he’d ever met, and he wanted her like no other.
I’m kissing a young woman in the middle of a road in broad daylight. What in the devil has she done to me?
Reason drew him to pull away. He loosened his hold and she sagged back against the curricle. Never before had his passion overtaken his logic and caused him to completely lose control. There was a sense of liberty, but also fear. He couldn’t let it happen again.
However, for the first time in their acquaintance he felt as though he had the upper hand, and he liked it. Swallowing back his apprehension he held
out his arm. “Come along, Miss Derrington. While we journey back to Leominster, you can tell me all about your failed attempt to cheat me out of the treasure.”
After returning John and the curricle to his uncle, they traveled to Church Stretton as Lady Stratton had directed. The journey took longer than expected due to having to double back, which meant suffering Mr. Bowen’s brooding anger for an extended period of time.
Margery had tried to explain her position—that the book was hers and that she didn’t owe him anything. He hadn’t argued with her, just grunted occasionally and shot her resentful looks.
As they drove into town, he sat straight on the opposing seat. “When we arrive at the Crooked Cat, you’ll let me do the talking with the innkeeper.”
She’d told him the name of the inn where she’d planned to stay in an effort to demonstrate that her scheme hadn’t been ill-conceived. His directive made her suspicious, and stoked her ire, given the tone he employed. “What do you plan to say?”
“I’m not letting you or that book out of my sight. As of right now, we are officially married.”
Married? “No.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow. “I wasn’t asking. For your protection and for the safety of the book, you will masquerade as my wife.” He looked away. “I don’t expect you to behave like it—at least not in private. There will be no more kissing.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” Liar. She’d rather liked his kiss. That thing he’d done with his tongue had heated her in places she never imagined could burn. Her only regret was that it had been over too quickly. But he was right—they couldn’t do it again.
Yet that didn’t keep her from being disappointed. She began to imagine, for the first time, how Aunt Agnes could’ve chosen ruination. If her gentleman had kissed her like that as well as treated her kindly and with charm, he would’ve been hard to resist.
