The black and white dog appeared out of nowhere. It streaked across the road just under the horse’s noses.
The grays neighed wildly and veered hard to the side. With a lurch, the left wheel sank deep into the soft grass on the verge, and the carriage scraped the blackthorn hedge.
“Hell’s bells!” Eliot gasped. He battled to get his horses under control. “For God’s sake, hold on, Verena.”
The grays plunged in the traces and wrenched hard against his desperate grip. With all his strength, he fought to bring them back into line. They were within a whisker of bolting. If they did, he feared that the curricle would end up in splinters and heaven knew if he’d be able to save Verena.
Despite his best efforts, he felt the carriage tipping. He’d lay money that they were about to go over.
He leaned his weight in the other direction and without his asking, Verena leaned into him. She was soft and warm and shaking with terror, and he’d willingly forego touching her ever again, if he could just keep her safe and get her out of this mess.
“Steady, there. Steady there, boys.” Despite his panic, he kept his voice low and soothing. “It’s all right. Nothing to worry about.”
As he kept up the calming litany, the carriage bounced back on two wheels with a shudder and a loud creak. The horses were still upset, but at least Eliot had them under control. He doubted that they’d try and make a run for it now, although if anything else appeared to startle them, they’d be off like a shot.
He sucked in his first proper breath since the dog’s appearance. Dazed eyes took in his surroundings. The day was still clear and warm, despite death brushing past, closer than he’d driven alongside Shelburn’s phaeton back before Barnet.
“Can you sit up on your own, Verena? I’d help you, but I don’t want to let the ribbons go.”
“Dear Lord above, haven’t you already given me enough excitement for the morning?” she gasped, struggling back to her corner of the seat. She’d lost her hat, and her lovely hair tumbled about her face in beguiling disarray.
“Are you all right?”
“A few bruises, I think, but nothing a glass of brandy won’t help.”
Eliot made himself laugh, more as a tribute to her spirit than because he was genuinely amused. By heaven, she was a champ. “I’ll send you a case when I get back to London.”
“Make it two.” She tried to sound like her usual ironic, collected self, but didn’t quite succeed.
With every minute, the grays became quieter. The dog had disappeared through a gap in the thicket and was nowhere to be seen. At last, Eliot’s pulse started to revert to its normal speed.
“You’re on.” He turned to face her. Verena was pale, and her blue eyes were dark with the remnants of fear. “Will you take the reins, while I get down and check the horses and the rig? I want to be sure we’re safe to go on.”
“Of course.”
Eliot passed her the ribbons and climbed down, ashamed of how his legs quivered with reaction. He kept reliving that moment when the world had threatened to turn upside down and transform everything to catastrophe.
After hefting in another tattered breath, he made himself walk up to take the horses’ heads. The poor, frightened beasts were blowing and shivering. Sheets of sweat covered their glossy withers.
“Shh, Mick, it’s all right, old man. It’s all right. That nasty dog has gone. You’re safe. You’re such a good fellow. Such a good, grand, brave fellow.”
Mick, whose full name was the Archangel Michael of Tipton, and his brother Bob, properly Robert the Bruce of Tipton, soon lowered their heads under the low, comforting crooning. The prosaic names that his grooms used for his thoroughbreds usually amused Eliot. Not today. He wasn’t yet in any state to smile at anything.
He, Mick and Bob could all be dead by the side of the road. Even worse, so could Verena. Nausea clawed at his heaving gut as he imagined all her fire and intelligence and beauty coming to destruction.
He kept murmuring to the horses and stroking their necks and quivering flanks, until he was sure that they were over their fright. Only then did he dare to leave them to walk back to where Verena sat in the curricle, clutching the ribbons.
“Mick and Bob?” She sounded like her usual self. She’d recovered her composure with impressive swiftness.
“It’s less of a mouthful than their full names.”
“I like it.”
Eliot reached into his coat and produced a flat silver flask. He unscrewed the lid and passed it to her. “Here’s my lady’s brandy.”
“Thank you.” She transferred the reins to one hand and took a generous swig. “That’s better.”
When she returned the flask, he was pleased to see a hint of color returning to her face. Aware that his lips touched the same place hers had, he took a mouthful of the spirits, too.
He replaced the stopper and handed the flask back to Verena. “Just in case you need some more.”
The liquor helped to steady his still-leaping nerves. He couldn’t help thinking about what might have happened just now, if luck hadn’t been on their side. “There’s a basket under the seat. I brought some apples. I think the boys deserve a small treat.”
“So do I.” Verena set the flask on the seat beside her and leaned down to pull out the large wicker basket.
He opened the lid. After a rummage, he found a couple of apples and a knife. “There’s bread and cheese in there if you’re hungry.”
Her wry laugh reassured him that she was going to be fine. He wasn’t so sure that he was. “I’m not ready for food yet. If you hadn’t been so brilliant with the horses, I’ve got a feeling I’d be smashed to pieces in a hedgerow.”
He had the same feeling, and it made him feel sick. Because it was all his fault that she’d been in danger in the first place.
“We were lucky,” he said with a hint of abruptness, before he headed up to give the horses their treat. He couldn’t force any more words through the great logjam of emotion blocking his throat.
Bob was nosing at the grass at the roadside, and Mick looked uncharacteristically docile with his head down and one front leg bent in a relaxed pose. They’d recovered from their shock faster than he did.
Eliot took his time with them, praising them and scratching behind their ears and feeding them the apples in chunks. When they were over their scare enough to nudge him in equine greed, he left them to give the curricle a thorough check for cracks. Everything seemed in good shape, which was almost unbelievable, considering the speed he’d been going when he came off the road.
Once he was sure the rig was safe, he bent to untangle Verena’s hat from the bushes. As he passed it up to her, he noticed that the strap was broken. “I’m not sure it’s still wearable.”
With a shrug, she accepted it. “Better my hat takes a battering then we do.”
She tugged the last of the pins from her hair. The carriage ensemble featured a white cravat like a man’s. With a couple of efficient movements, she unwound it and tied her hair back from her face.
“Very becoming,” he said, trying to summon a smile. He bent to pick up the coin purse and slip it into his pocket. When the carriage lurched to the side, it had fallen to the ground.
“I’ll arrive in Hatfield looking like a milkmaid, but if you don’t mind that, I don’t.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, his tone flat enough to earn him a curious glance. To his relief, she didn’t question his lackluster response.
Eliot climbed up beside Verena and set the grays off at a gentle amble. He was grateful that it was a sleepy Sunday morning and no traffic came past to unnerve his horses again.
She passed the flask back. He took another sip, but nothing could banish the sour feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach. He put away the brandy and stared blindly past the grays’ ears to the road unwinding ahead.
After about five minutes of modest progress, Verena spoke. “Eliot, don’t you think you should get them going again? I know you’ve g
ot a good lead over Shelburn, but there’s still a couple of miles to Hatfield. You don’t want him to catch up. It is a race, after all.”
Instead of heeding her suggestion, he drew the horses to a stop. With shaking hands, he tied the reins to the front rail. The grays wouldn’t bolt again now, although they wouldn’t appreciate another delay. He’d felt how eager they were to pick up the pace.
In preparation for the difficult moments to come, he squared his jaw. Admitting that one had been criminally misguided was never easy. Failure tasted rank on his tongue and settled in a great acrid weight in his gut. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about the race anymore.”
Her jaw dropped in shock, and she regarded him in baffled dismay. “I don’t understand.”
Eliot swallowed to clear his throat before he spoke in an urgent rush, his voice harsh with the intensity of his emotions. “I’ve been wrong, Verena. Wrong about so much. I won’t ask you to forgive me, because I’ll never forgive myself.”
Somewhere during those frantic minutes of almost crashing his carriage, Eliot’s conscience had awoken from its temporary slumber. Now it was hurling recriminations at him fit to make his head ring.
Eliot was a man of powerful conscience. During most of his life, he’d followed its dictates. For God’s sake, only his conscience had prevented him from breaking with his pig of a father years ago. It insisted that he owed a duty to Imogen and the title and the people on the estate.
Over the last few weeks, his turbulent feelings for Verena had drowned out the sensible inner voice that told him what was right and wrong. But the near disaster on the road had knocked him back to reality with a painful jolt. Now the cold eye of reason surveyed his behavior, and he was appalled at what he saw.
He’d been acting like a barbarian. Worse, he’d been acting like a fool.
“I wasn’t injured,” Verena said in a matter-of-fact voice.
A humorless smile curved his mouth. “Praise heaven, you weren’t. But you shouldn’t have been in this carriage. You wouldn’t have been, if I’d kept my bloody trap shut. I shouldn’t have challenged Shelburn. I have no claim on you. I have no license to interfere in your life. I have no right to chase away any man you fancy. I’ve been behaving like a selfish brute.” Then the worst admission of all. “I’ve been behaving like my father.”
“That’s not true,” Verena said, but reality was too stark for him to find any comfort in her assurances.
“I love you, Verena, but I don’t own you. Dear God, one of the things I love most about you is that you’re such a law unto yourself.”
“You’d be alone there,” she said with a hint of bitterness.
It was his turn to shrug. “Then I’m alone. But I’ve always thought your independence was brave and true. I still think that, even though I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to bend you to my will.”
Eliot swallowed again to ease his constricted throat. He owed her this apology, but that didn’t make it any easier. He continued in a low voice that vibrated with sincerity. “I won’t act the petty tyrant anymore, Verena. You’re free of me. You’re free to take any lover you choose. You’re free to forget me. In fact, you’re just free. I’ll never trouble you again.”
Chapter 18
Verena surveyed Eliot in mounting horror, while every word she’d told him that she wanted to hear followed on from the last. Her trembling hands twined in her lap as acid tears stung her eyes, blurring her view. Although not enough to allow her to pretend that he didn’t mean what he said. Or to conceal just how beautiful he was.
He’d never looked more like a valiant knight of old. His jaw was hard and determined. His expressive mouth was stern. His gray eyes were steady. Only the muscle flickering in his cheek betrayed what it cost him to let her go.
“But, Eliot, what if I don’t want you to set me free?” Her voice emerged as a shaky whisper.
When he didn’t immediately respond, she wondered if he’d heard, although he sat mere inches away.
After a few seconds, she saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. His eyes grew intent. “Just what are you saying, Verena?”
This time, he wasn’t going to accept anything but unconditional surrender. She couldn’t blame him. She’d hurt him so deeply, although that had never been her purpose. Not only that, but she’d tainted his standing in the world. After today, there would be even more nasty talk. Loving her had destroyed his good name.
But while she felt guilty about how she’d tormented him and she regretted turning him into a figure almost as scandalous as she was, she wasn’t sorry that they’d reached this point. Because a night of uncomfortable soul-searching had revealed that she didn’t give a fig for what the world said. She never had.
At last, she was ready to break free of the prison that had held her captive since her disastrous marriage. Now that she’d stared death square in his cold, cold eyes, her decision to marry Eliot seemed even more urgent. She had one life. She had no intentions now of spending it without him.
She struggled to give him a smile but couldn’t quite manage it. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t stop her voice from trembling either. “I’m saying, my darling saintly Lord Colville, that if you’re still willing to take me as your wife, I’m most willing to be taken.”
The vulnerability in his expression threatened to break her heart. She saw how much he wanted to believe her, but couldn’t quite allow himself to.
“Verena…” He reached out and caught her arms in desperate hands. “Have you stopped running at last?”
Curse these tears. And the stupid thing was that she was happy. Why the devil was she crying?
She blinked to clear her vision, but it remained misty. “I’ll always run to you, my love.”
His hands tightened. Even through the fine wool of her spencer, the heat of his touch stirred her blood. “But you were so angry this morning when you arrived at the inn.”
A tremulous smile greeted that. “You were making yourself an object of ridicule.”
“You know why I did it.”
“Yes, to show me that you don’t care about scandal.”
“That’s true.” He sent her a rueful look. “But mainly it was to keep you away from Shelburn. I’ve been trapped in a hell of jealousy since you sent me away. I’m not proud of myself.”
Once, she might have resented that hint of ownership. She would with any other man. But she couldn’t bear to picture Eliot marrying someone else, so she was in no position to feel superior.
“My dear, no man has touched me since the day we came together. No other man will.” She reached up to shape a hand to the angle of that princely jaw. Her voice thickened with emotion. “That is if you’ll have me. You haven’t answered me yet, you know.”
“I’ll have you every day of the week, you wonderful girl.” He pressed his face into her hand, and his smile broadened. “I was yours from the first. Now I think that perhaps you might have decided to be mine.”
“Yes, I’m yours, Eliot. There’s no perhaps about it. I can’t resist you.” Tears started to trickle down her face. “I love you. So very much.”
She’d admitted that she loved him once before, but it had been a grudging confession and the prelude to rejecting him. Now she spoke the words with all the adoration filling her heart.
She’d imagined that it might be difficult to promise herself to a man ever again. But with this man, it felt like a new kind of freedom. The vow emerged as naturally as water flowed downhill to the sea. So easy that she said the words again just for sheer pleasure. “I love you, Eliot.”
Verena saw his face change, as at last he realized that she yielded to her love and that she entrusted herself to him forever. He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips, as if she was fragile and sweet and innocent. As if she was the girl that she’d been before those dark years with George.
Something in that reverent, tender kiss restored her lost innocence. She kissed him back with a trace of shyness that she kne
w he sensed, because his touch turned even gentler and his lips conveyed worship instead of passion.
By the time he raised his head, she felt made anew. She would come to Eliot, worthy to be his bride. It didn’t matter what the world might say about her. She and her beloved knew the truth about the purity of the love that united them.
“I love you, too, Verena. I’ve loved you from the first. What changed for you? I was so sure I’d lost you forever.”
“You were right. I was frightened.” As her thirsty heart opened wide to take in his declaration, her lips turned down in self-disgust. “But I’m not frightened anymore. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, yet I was letting the shadows of the past steal away all hope of happiness. Will you forgive me for hurting you?”
He leaned in and kissed her with more heat. By the time they drew apart, they were both trembling with the power of the emotions surging between them. “Right now, I’m so happy I could forgive Lucifer himself.”
She managed a broken laugh. “I’m wicked, but I’m not quite as bad as that.”
Eliot stared at her as if she was the sun that warmed his days to light. She swore then and there that she’d do her best to make sure he always looked at her that way.
The carriage creaked as Mick moved in the traces. They probably shouldn’t leave the horses standing too long, but Verena couldn’t bear to bring this radiant moment to an end. Not just yet.
Eliot cupped her cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb over the trails of her drying tears. “I hope that you’ll still be wicked with me.”
She reached up to give him a quick kiss. “Only with you, my beloved.”
“Only with me.”
This time, he lashed his arms around her and drew her as close as the narrow seat of the carriage allowed. His lips explored hers with silent promises of love and faith and protection. Promises he’d speak in front of a vicar before the next few days were out. Promises that would bind them together for eternity.
Once that prospect would have terrified Verena into a gibbering mess. Now she couldn’t wait. She kissed him back, making her own silent vows of everlasting allegiance.
Two Secret Sins Page 17
