A shudder, and her heel dropped to the ground, digging in.
No. She couldn’t let Mr. Molson happen. She couldn’t let the nightmare of that man and his twisted world capture her.
For a long breath, she stared at the glowing white of Lachlan’s loose cravat. She’d seen this man with his sister, the new Duchess of Wolfbridge. She’d seen the care and adoration he had for her well-being. He was a boulder of unmovable granite with everyone, everyone except his sister. Evalyn had witnessed that in the last day and a half since he’d arrived at the duke’s castle.
This man—Lachlan—he had it in him. Kindness. She’d seen it. No matter what he was to everyone else at Wolfbridge, with his sister he was loving.
Plus, he was an earl. A Scottish earl, but still, he had to adhere to some sense of propriety—including knowing how to leave his hands off her person. How to keep his men’s hands off her person.
Her feet solidly in place, she tilted her chin upward. “Anything your household requires, I can do it, my lord. I can join the kitchens, I can sweep, mop. I can sew. I can contribute, my lord, I swear it.”
He stifled a guffaw. “Now why would a fine lass of the ton be willing to trade in silks and madeira for a scullery maid’s life?” He grabbed her wrist, stripping off the glove from her right hand. He flipped it palm upward and examined her skin in the moonlight. He snorted. “Soft. This hand has never once felt a scrub brush in it.”
She yanked her hand away. “Looks can be deceiving, my lord.”
“Can they?” His eyebrow had not fallen from its high perch.
“The fortitude of my will is able to see me through anything, my lord. I can and I will do whatever is necessary. No matter how dirty. No matter how low. I swear upon it. I need this. I need to leave with you tonight.”
“Yet your will cannot see you through whatever it is you are trying to escape?”
The murmur of the voices grew louder, footsteps crunching on the gravel pathway coming their way.
Time was running out.
She exhaled through gritted teeth. “My will is smart enough to know what I can and cannot survive. And I cannot survive what is ahead for me if I stay.”
His folded arms lifted slightly. “Why would you choose ruin, as that is surely what you are hoping for by asking to leave with us?”
“If ruin alone would help me, I would have done that the first night of this affair with a random gentleman. Ruin will not help me escape what is ahead.”
He stared at her blankly, his eyes still edged with skepticism.
He wasn’t taking her seriously—nothing of what she’d said had filtered through his brandy-soaked brain with any sense of urgency.
The footsteps drew closer.
Only a few precious seconds left.
Desperation sent her hand flinging out and she drew the dirk from the belt about his waist. Her hands in a flurry, she shoved the blade of the dagger between her breasts and yanked it downward, slicing open the gold embroidered bodice of her gown.
Her mother’s gown, the only thing she had left of her.
For how the sound of the fabric ripping sliced Evalyn to her soul, it was a sacrifice she had to make. She needed to leave. Tonight.
Her breasts half spilling forth, her nipples only barely concealed by the tattered gold and white fabric, she held up his dirk between them. “Don’t make me trap you, Lord Dunhaven. Give me your word I can come with you tonight, or I throw this dagger out into the pathway. I scream. They find us together like this and you are going to be bound to me in ways you would never want to be.”
That threat made it through his brandy-addled mind.
The fury on his face was instant and his lips pulled back as a low growl shook his chest. Shook the air around him. “Brutal little harpy.”
Without breaking eye contact, she threw the dirk behind her. It hit the ground, skidding into the granite gravel.
His next breath seethed from his mouth, his eyes skewering her.
But his ire didn’t bother her. It couldn’t. Not with what awaited her.
Her words slowed, softened to the slightest shaking whisper. “My stepfather is Baron Falsted and he will demand satisfaction.” She grabbed his forearm, the cords of muscle under his coat sleeve steel against the grip of her fingertips. “But I don’t ask that of you. I only ask that you swear you will take me north. Far away from here where I can disappear. Please. I am begging you…begging you, my lord. Please.”
His cheek twitched and his slow burr deepened into a rage that sent her legs trembling. “Baron Falsted?”
Her head bobbled in a frantic nod.
He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and his arms fell to his sides. “Aye, then it seems I’m saddled with extra baggage on the journey home.” He glanced up at the night sky. “We leave in two hours, lass.”
“In the darkness—in the middle of the night?” Her look flew up to the stars above. “But—”
“Two hours and we meet at the stables. If you are there, you can come. If not, we leave without you.”
He stepped around her quickly, disappearing out past the evergreen hedges that lined the entrance to the alcove.
She heard the scrape of the dirk across the gravel as he picked it up.
His footsteps retreated and a low, murmured acknowledgement floated over the tall hedge to her as he passed the people that had been walking on the pathway.
Her hand clasping the front flaps of her ripped dress to cover her breasts, she exhaled, sinking down onto the wrought iron bench nestled along the wall of evergreens beside her. Deep in the shadows she waited for the people passing to vacate the area. Her eyes lifted and trained on the stars above her. They twinkled especially bright tonight, the full moon lending shards of hazy light to make them bigger than usual.
Stars she had stared at her whole life, wishing upon.
Stars that had finally delivered.
A way out.
Finally, a way out.
{ Chapter 2 }
“I thought we’d be traveling by coach.” Trying not to choke on the dust kicked up from the horses and wagon in front of her, Evalyn looked to the mostly toothless elderly man next to her.
Rupe had hopped off the back of the wagon to walk as they ascended the last hill and had introduced himself. More curious than kind, she was nonetheless relieved that someone had finally uttered a word to her.
“Coach?” He chuckled, his lips drawing up along his gums. “Nae, lass. The journey down to these forsaken lands was riddled with stringy and rotten meat at the coachin’ inns, and the earl’s not looking to be repeatin’ that. We have wares to pick up along the way, so we be travelin’ like the almighty intended us to. On our feet and far from the inns this time.”
Evalyn gasped and dust flew into her throat, gagging her until she coughed it clear. Her hand to her mouth, she stared at Rupe. “Our feet? But that will take…” Her voice trailed, her look swinging to the rear wheels of the wagon in front of her, already piled high with supplies. She had no idea how long it would take to walk to Lachlan’s lands.
“Two weeks if the luck be on our side.” Rupe jabbed the long walking stick he held into the dirt of the road. “Lach’s got plenty o’ peers with land along the way and business with them all. Though the master likes to sleep outside like the rest of us.”
Evalyn had to swallow back the dry dust in her throat. “We…we sleep outside?”
“Course, lass.”
She nodded, trying to keep her chin up when the whole of her felt like sinking down along the side of the rutted road. She’d been awake since yesterday morning and the brisk pace they were traveling at didn’t look to slow anytime soon. Of course, aside from Rupe and the man leading the reins of the draft horse pulling the wagon, Lachlan and his men were all on horses—fine, healthy, well-bred horses that had energy to spare. She would have no hope for sleep for hours.
It had seemed like such a good plan last night. The perfect plan. A plan that would perma
nently get her away from the terror of her life.
A plan with a thousand gaping holes in it, now that she looked at it under the grey light of the day.
She’d thought there would be other women in the party moving north. Someone, at the very least, to connect with. She hadn’t imagined she’d be in the back of a pack of men, on foot, eating dust for hours on end.
But at least she was walking away. Every step was another step further from her stepfather and Mr. Molson.
She lifted her chin a notch higher, searching the wide, swaying backs of the eight Scotsmen in front of the wagon.
Heaven help her, all of them were huge, the breadth of their shoulders two-wide filling the roadway. She had noted the wide shoulders of Lachlan when he’d first been announced in the great hall at Wolfbridge castle two days past. But she hadn’t expected all of the men around him to contain his same sense of presence. It was hard to ignore any of them, to pretend they weren’t in her space as she was accustomed to doing with all men she encountered.
The only one that even came near to her stature was Rupe, and he was still a half head taller than her, though he had a wiry frame.
Lachlan had said he traveled with eight healthy, virile men, and he hadn’t been deluding her.
A shot of fear skittered down her spine.
She shook her head. Lachlan had promised her safe passage away from Lincolnshire.
Safe. She was safe.
She searched her mind, racing to remember his exact words on the matter of her safety.
Nothing.
Her head tilted down as her mind flew into a frenzy.
Had she forgotten to extract that very important promise from him?
~~~
Lachlan gave himself leave to look back over his shoulder. A clear sign to his men where his considerations were set, he’d focused his attentions forward for the better part of the day, paying no mind to who trailed them.
It had been long enough now that he could afford a backward glance.
His look traveled back past the staggered men on horses at his height, to the long wagon pulled by a draft horse, to Rupe sitting on the back of the wagon.
He paused for a moment before he let his gaze fall upon the last person in the party. The peculiar enigma tacked onto their journey north.
A cloud of dust flitted to the air in front of Evalyn and she waved it away, coughing.
Hell, he’d made a grievous mistake last night. What had he been thinking?
His head turned forward for a few strides of his horse, and then he looked backward once more, his look intent on her.
She’d managed to keep her feet moving the entire day, not straying behind—he gave her that. Especially when even he was tired, and he’d been on a horse all day.
Her auburn hair remained swept up into the style she wore last night. The only difference about her appearance was the hastily sewn bosom of her dress that she had sliced through with his blade. When he’d left her in the garden, her breasts had been spilling forth, milky white globes in the moonlight that begged to be caressed.
The nymph wavered back and forth in her steps from directly behind the rear left wheel of the wagon to the center, seemingly trying to find the least offensive air.
He’d noticed her in the Duke of Wolfbridge’s ballroom while she stood near Lord Dalton, and not because of her insatiable need for attention like every other chit in the room. He’d noticed her for how she shrank into the wall, desperate for no attention to come her way.
Lachlan had thought she had flattened herself into the wall because of her odd dress—the last thing he did was monitor the fashionable frocks of society—but even his eye could discern that the gold and white concoction she wore was twenty years past its prime.
Yet her beauty was unmistakable—gold-green eyes that glowed canny behind her dark lashes. Auburn hair that swept in a long sweep across her brow, the locks shiny and smooth, and pinned back into a simple chignon. Fine cheekbones and a delicate nose showcased flawless skin that was only interrupted by a dusting of freckles across her nose.
The woman would have been the envy of every chit in the room if she’d had a proper dress on and managed to utter a word or even a smile.
Beauty that he’d now have to manage every step along the way. It’d be easier if she were uncomely, drab. Even average would have been preferable. But including Rupe, he had nine men with him. Nine men with eyes and cocks.
At least he’d predispositioned everyone in the party against her. That’d been easy enough. All he had to do was tell them she was the daughter of Baron Falsted. That was enough to keep their eyes locked forward as well.
Lachlan shook his head to himself. The daft lass hadn’t even had the sense to change out of her dress. Or her damn slippers. She wouldn’t last another day without the soles wearing through.
And her bare arms covered only by a thin shawl would be freezing once darkness descended. In Lincolnshire they’d had unusually warm September days that had spilled into October, but they were traveling north and the heat wouldn’t hold—especially into nights.
Dammit. This was a bloody mistake.
Even if her stepfather was Baron Falsted. Even if stealing away the man’s stepdaughter was sweet revenge upon the blasted blackguard. This was a mistake. And he’d been too soused hours ago to realize it.
She looked back over her shoulder. Too long. As though she was searching the empty road behind them.
What in the hell was she running from?
Some ill-mannered suitor, determined to make a match of her? A loveless groom? Silly wench. If she was out to teach a lesson to whoever drove her out into the gardens last night, she was the one about to learn a brutal reality about the way the world worked. Protected young chits of the ton dare not wander too far from the castles they tread in and expect to survive unscathed.
But for the fact that her stepfather was Baron Falsted, he’d have sent her back to Wolfbridge hours ago when day broke.
But now…now he’d resigned himself to keep her.
Not that anyone would be coming for her. Even if someone managed to attach her disappearance to their departure, no one other than his men knew which little-used roads they were traveling north upon.
Lachlan shifted in his saddle, facing forward.
He’d keep her until they reached Stirlingshire. She was beautiful, and if it suited her, he’d entertain the idea of making her his mistress at Vinehill. Or she could work in his kitchens. Whatever suited her sensibilities. Either way, stealing away Baron Falsted’s only kin had turned the entire disastrous trip to Lincolnshire into sweet revenge.
Justice.
Justice had appeared in the most peculiar of places.
In the most peculiar of women.
{ Chapter 3 }
Her shoulders dragging, Evalyn picked her way over the long legs stretched out toward the fire, balancing three wooden bowls in her hands.
Rupe had sent her scurrying the moment they broke for camp for the evening—gathering twigs for the fire, running to the brook for bucket after bucket of water, and then cutting the potatoes.
She’d never cut potatoes before—any food for that matter—and potatoes were slippery and hard to send a blade through. The knife had slipped and sliced into her forefinger three times, slashes of blood stinging her skin.
It didn’t help that she’d been blurry-eyed and half asleep since the moment they stopped. Not hungry, not even feeling the chill of the air on her bare arms as the sky darkened to night, the thought of crawling under the wagon and sleeping was all that consumed her mind. But Rupe kept barking orders at her, jarring her back awake.
Her head down, she’d stiffened her resolve and did everything bade of her. She’d sworn to Lachlan she would do anything to escape. So she had damn well not break her promise on the first day of the journey.
The stew Rupe had concocted finally complete, he’d sent her running with full, steaming bowls to the men gathered around the roaring fir
e.
She’d already delivered three bowls and the second set of three bowls were balanced in her arms as she stepped past the men—men that decidedly ignored her except for the food she set into their hands.
If anything, there were glares of death and destruction in her general direction.
She didn’t talk to them. They didn’t talk to her. She was perfectly fine with that arrangement.
What had Lachlan told them about her presence in the traveling party? When they had left from the stables in the dead of night, not one of the men past Lachlan and Rupe had acknowledged her presence. And the most Lachlan had given her was a curt order from high on his horse to move to the back of the wagon at the end of the trail of men.
Rupe had been the only one in the group to acknowledge her presence with actual words since they left Wolfbridge.
The second set of bowls delivered, she hurried back to the cooking fire where Rupe was fishing through the pot of stew with a ladle.
“Rupe, why did so many men from Lachlan’s lands travel with him to Wolfbridge for the wedding? It is slow to travel with so many. I would think only Lachlan would have made the journey to attend the event.”
“They didn’t travel to Wolfbridge to attend the wedding, lass.” He filled a bowl and handed it to her. “They went bearing swords and pistols to stop the wedding.”
“To stop it? Whatever for? It is a splendid match for Lachlan’s sister. And the Duke of Wolfbridge is well respected.”
Rupe snorted. “English bastard.” He turned his head and spit on the ground. “Ye don’t know much about his grace, then.”
Her head snapped back. “Oh, I did not know. Is the duchess in danger?”
“We left Sloane there, per the master’s orders, so she must be fine enough.”
Evalyn nodded and glanced over her shoulder at the crew of men surrounding the large fire. The size of them made much more sense. These men were not made for diplomacy. They were made for fighting. She’d begun to think all Scotsmen were built like Lachlan.
The Iron Earl Page 2
