by Lynsay Sands
She briefly considered lying herself silly, claiming that she had been traveling to Clarendon, the seat of the family’s title, when her carriage broke down, but there were a couple problems with that lie. The first was that she had no idea where Ramsey manor lay in England, and whether it was in a position to be on her way to Clarendon. The second was that this Robert might insist on gathering her things from her imaginary carriage.
Maggie was saved from prevarication and the risk associated when Lord Mullin’s carriage began to slow, distracting both occupants and delaying the man’s interrogation. She and he nearly bumped heads trying to peer out the window at the same moment, exchanged a slight smile, then glanced out in turns to see that they had arrived in the village.
“We are here,” her host announced unnecessarily, then looked at her in question. “Where did you wish to go?”
“This will do,” Maggie announced abruptly. Unwilling to give him the opportunity to ask those questions she could see swimming in his eyes, she pushed the carriage door open then rushed clumsily out.
“Oh, but I cannot just leave you here,” Mullin called to her, climbing down from the carriage as well. “Are you staying at Ramsey? Did you—”
“Thank you ever so much for bringing me here, my lord,” Maggie interrupted determinedly. “I appreciate your assistance. Have a good day.”
Turning on her heel, she then hurried off along the street, not caring at all where she was going as long as it was away from Lord Mullin and his questions. Fortunately, he did not pursue or try to stop her. Still, Maggie stepped into the first shop she came across. She had no idea where to rent a hack, and she would need directions.
“M’Lord?”
James glanced up from the ale he had been contemplating to find Crowch at his side, hat in hand. “Is it fixed?” he asked the driver mildly. They had hit a rock in the road, and it had cracked one of the carriage wheels. Fortunately, the accident had occurred just a mile short of the village, and the wheel had remained intact until they could reach a shop where it could be repaired. James had left the chore to Crowch and settled himself in the pub, somewhat exhausted by his travels between his country estate and London.
“Aye, m’lord.”
“Good. Get yourself a drink; then we’ll be off again.” The fellow’s weary smile of relief was enough to remind James that he was not the only one who had made this trip back and forth and back again. He felt a moment’s guilt, which moved him to add, “I appreciate your efforts these last few days.”
The words sounded as stiff as James felt. They were an apology of sorts, couched in a compliment. He was not used to having to give apologies, but then he rarely worked his servants as hard as this. Crowch had been asked to drive through the night to take Lady Margaret to Ramsey, then, after less than an hour’s rest at Ramsey castle, he’d had to turn around and drive James back to town for the meeting of the House of Lords. This morning, after the proceedings were finished, the man had been put upon for a return trip to the country. Last night’s sleep was the only rest the man had had in two days. It was no wonder he was looking so weary. And the compliment was deserved, Crowch was a good man.
“We’ll be staying in the country for a bit this time,” James called as the driver settled with relief at a table for servants in the corner.
Crowch said little, but looked much happier at the news. He accepted the ale a wench set before him and drank thirstily. James waited as he did, idly pondering the arrangements he’d made regarding a Lady Margaret.
Lady. He grimaced slightly. Lady Margaret, Lady X—whichever she called herself, she wasn’t deserving of the title. He could hardly believe she was the same woman that Gerald had prattled on about all those nights beside the fire. The Margaret Wentworth Gerald had described was brave, resourceful, smart, and beautiful. But above all, she was a lady. None of which seemed to match what James had learned about Lady X.
James had attended the meeting of the House of Lords that morning, but he had arrived back in London just before dinner last night. He had eaten, then found himself too wound up to sleep. Or perhaps he had been at that state of being overtired where sleep became elusive. Whatever the case, he had gone to his club to relax and await his weariness overtaking him. While there, he had sought out more information regarding the infamous Lady X. He had learned much. The courtesan was always a subject of gossip at the club, but James had paid very little attention ere now. Last night he had listened to the tales of her expertise with combined fascination and horror.
Lady X had arrived in London not long after Gerald’s death. At least that seemed to prove it was circumstance that had led Margaret to take up such a disreputable career, James told himself. And yet, he had not been prepared for the degree of skill she was purported to have. Oh, he had heard before that the woman enjoyed her work, but until last night he had thought such words were simply the smitten boasts of her customers. But if half of what her marks claimed was true, she didn’t just enjoy her work; she reveled in it like a pig rolling in muck.
From all he had learned, James was left wondering what on earth he was to do with the wench. Aside from the obvious, that was. He toyed briefly with the idea of offering her a position as his mistress. After all, he was between women at the moment; she was attractive and experienced, and might enjoy a break from her present position. Perhaps she would prefer one lover. It would be much less demanding.
The scheme was the briefest of daydreams, however. James would have liked to be able to claim that it was his fond memory of Gerald, and the fact that this was hardly what his friend intended when he’d asked James—on his deathbed—to look after his sister, that turned him from the idea. But the truth was, it was his own responses to the woman that had quickly killed the fantasy. Just the thought of her had his body reacting like fire to an influx of oxygen. James was not used to, nor was he comfortable with, such passionate feelings in himself. He had always prided himself on his self-control and just thinking about Margaret shattered that. He did not know what it was about her. Perhaps it was the fact that she looked so sweetly innocent when he knew she was quite the opposite. Whatever the case, he had thought of little else but Maggie since taking her from Madame Dubarry’s. And nothing he had heard during his visit to town had weakened his responses.
The girl was positively infamous. Every man in London was lusting after her. The only halfway sensible thing she had done was to wear her mask and insist on anonymity. But the game could not have continued for much longer. Sooner or later the girl’s identity would have been revealed. Margaret was just lucky that he had been the first to discover it.
James was congratulating himself on that fact when the front door opened. He froze at the sight of Lord Mullin entering the inn. He’d bumped into his friend after leaving Crowch to see to the carriage repairs, and they had shared a drink together before Robert had left to continue home. The man’s return now was wholly unexpected. Robert’s troubled expression as he approached the table was concerning, too.
“Robert,” James greeted his friend curiously. “To what do I owe your return?”
“You owe it to a certain lady of whose brother we are both acquainted,” the man answered roughly. He settled on the bench next to James and said in a hiss, “What the bloody hell is going on?”
“What do you mean?” James asked warily, feeling himself tense. He had a bad feeling about this. “And which lady exactly?”
“Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
Mullin made a face at his confusion. “Gerald’s sister. Lady Margaret Wentworth.”
James’s eyes widened. “What of Gerald’s sister?” he asked warily, already knowing he would not like the answer.
“What have you done to her?”
“Nothing. What would make you think I had done anything to her?” he asked, his mind beginning to work frantically. Had Robert stopped at Ramsey for some unknown reason on his way home? James hadn’t considered that anyone might discover Margaret’s
presence in his home, or assume that . . . Good Lord, if she—
“Are you saying that she was at your estate without your knowledge?”
James winced. “You stopped at Ramsey?”
“Nay.”
James was confused. “Then what would make you think—”
“I ran across her on my way home. There was nowhere else from which she might have come except your estate—and not by the normal route.”
“What do you mean?” There was no mistaking the alarm he felt now.
“I mean, it was obvious she had left on foot and walked—or crawled, judging by the amount of . . . mud on her—through the woods to the road. So . . . Did you take her as your mistress? Have you had a lover’s spat and she is now trying to run away on foot to teach you a lesson?”
“Of course not!” The fact that James had actually, however briefly, considered the idea of taking her as his mistress made his denial even more heated than it normally would have been. He saw the expression his emphatic denial inspired in his friend, and he scowled.
“Trust me, she is as pure now as she was when I met her.” Which isn’t very pure at all, he added to himself as he stood. “Come, Crowch,” he called. “We must go collect Lady Margaret ere she stumbles into trouble on the road.”
“I did not leave her there,” Robert snapped, obviously insulted that James might think he had.
“You didn’t?” James paused in his flight to glance back.
“Nay. Of course not. A gentleman would hardly leave a lady in the path of ruffians and ne’er-do-wells, even should it mean ruining the seats of his newly purchased carriage to whisk her to safety.” The last was added on a somewhat pained note.
“I shall replace your seats,” James said impatiently. “Where did you leave the wench? Is she in your carriage?”
“Wench?” Mullin echoed in dismay.
James gritted his teeth. “Where is she?”
Lord Mullin scowled, then said reluctantly, “Last I saw, she was headed for the livery stables. I think she meant to rent a hack.” He paused. “Though she didn’t appear to have a purse on her, so how she would pay for—”
James had heard enough. Turning on his heel, he burst out of the inn.
“Wait for me!” Lord Mullin cried, and James glanced back to see him nearly knock Crowch over in an effort to follow.
Shaking his head as he ran, James ordered, “Fetch the coach, Crowch, and meet us at the livery.”
“Ye can’t rent a carriage if ye don’t have any coin.”
“Yes, but you see, I do have coins—I mean funds,” Maggie assured the surly, needle-thin man with whom she had been arguing.
“Well, then, show me the coins and we’ll be off,” the stableman said with obvious amusement.
Maggie ground her teeth with a frustration she tried not to let show. She reiterated: “I do have funds. Just not on me. I can pay you once I am returned to my home. My town house. In London.” She added the last for good measure, hoping to impress the man, but knew at once that she’d had the opposite effect. His nose wrinkling with distaste, the man let his mean little eyes trail with disdain over her ragged and filthy form, then shook his head.
“Coin up front. ’At’s how I do business. No coin, no carriage.”
“But—”
“Margaret!”
That sharp call made Maggie turn in alarm to see whose voice it was. Her alarm did not lessen at the sight of Lord Ramsey striding forward, trailed by the younger Lord Mullin. James looked rather put out, she saw unhappily. As if she were the one who had done something wrong.
Silently cursing her luck, Maggie drew herself up and prepared to deal with this new problem. She had not walked, crawled, and fought through the rain and mud all day to be dragged back to Ramsey at its end. She would see herself to London or die trying. Well, perhaps not die, she allowed with a frown.
“Timmins!” Much to Maggie’s irritation, at James Hattledon’s brusque address, the stableman suddenly stood upright, a respectful expression covering his face that had been conspicuously absent throughout the duration of her conversation with him.
“M’lord.” Mr. Timmins nodded at Lord Ramsey.
“My apologies if Maggie was bothering you,” the nobleman said.
“Lady Margaret Wentworth,” Maggie snapped, very aware that by calling her Maggie he was insinuating a lower station than she deserved.
“Oh, is it that game today?” Ramsey asked patronizingly.
Maggie whirled on him with dismay. Catching the meaningful glances he was throwing at Timmins, she snapped her mouth closed and turned to Lord Mullin. “I am Lady Margaret Wentworth. Tell him,” she entreated, glaring.
When the younger noble hesitated, his gaze going to James, Maggie could have hit him. Any hesitation was enough to cast doubt, she was sure.
“I am,” she repeated furiously. Then she added, “And this man has kidnapped me and is holding me against my will at his estate.”
The move was risky. Her reputation would now be in ruins if this tale got out, but Maggie didn’t see much choice. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had any prospects to alienate. Frances had been the only man to show any interest in her since her brother’s death, and she wouldn’t marry him now if he were the last man on earth.
“Yes, and I have been ravishing you at every turn,” Lord Ramsey said good-humoredly.
Maggie gasped. “You have not! He hasn’t,” she added for Timmins’s and Mullin’s benefit.
“Well, not recently, but I am sorry that I have neglected you so, my dear. I did have business to attend in town. I promise I shall be more attentive now that I am back.”
Maggie was so confused by his words that it took a moment for her to realize that he had taken her arm and was leading her away from the livery. She recognized that fact at about the same moment she realized that his words would be construed as those of a man trying to soothe a neglected lover. She immediately tried to pull away from Lord Ramsey, but the arrival of his carriage right then aided him in preventing her escape; the way he bundled her up and thrust her inside could easily have been misconstrued as assistance rather than the brute force it was.
Unfortunately, while Mullin was close enough to tell the difference, his protest at such treatment was mild to say the least. Mentally Maggie named Robert a traitor as he murmured, “I say, Ramsey. Steady on. No need to manhandle her.”
James’s only response was to lunge up into the carriage behind Maggie and catch her as she tried to flee out the other door. He pulled her onto his lap, holding her firmly against his chest, trapping her arms with one of his own even as he covered her mouth with his hand when she opened it to scream. She was so busy struggling, she didn’t even notice when Lord Mullin climbed into the carriage and took the opposite bench to glare at James.
“You had best explain this, my friend. I cannot allow you to treat a lady thusly. Especially not Wentworth’s sister.”
“I shall explain as soon as we arrive at Ramsey and she is dealt with,” James snapped. He grunted as Maggie landed a healthy kick to his knee and bounced with restrained fury in his lap.
“For now, perhaps, you could just trust me?” he said in a hiss. Then his nose wrinkled and he glanced around with bewilderment. “What the Devil is that stench?”
Maggie paused in her struggles at the question and noted the way Lord Mullin’s gaze slid to her.
“Dear God!” Lord Ramsey gasped. Banging on the wall of the carriage, he bellowed, “Home, Crowch, and fast!”
Chapter Five
James had rather hoped that Maggie would wear herself out and give up her struggles by the time they reached his estate. Such was not the case. She was still wiggling, kicking, thrashing, and trying to bite his hand when the carriage rolled up before his manor and stopped. He didn’t know where she got the energy. For his part, James was exhausted from trying to hold her still and prevent being neutered by her flailing legs and grinding bottom. He was also heartily sick of the stench perm
eating his carriage, as well as the growing anger and disgust on Lord Mullin’s face.
With Maggie still clutched to his chest, James staggered out of the carriage and carted her through the front door that Mullin hurried to open for him. Pausing in the entry, he bellowed for his butler.
“Surely you can let her go now, James,” Robert said impatiently, his gaze decidedly sympathetic for the hell-cat.
“I will, as soon as someone explains how she got away.”
“You could just ask her,” his friend suggested dryly.
James turned to snap something unpleasant at him, but paused, his attention drawn to the top of the stairs by a gasp.
“But she’s asleep in her room!” A maid stood, gaping down at them, and cried out, “I have sat outside her door all afternoon.”
“My lord?” Webster rushed up toward them, shock on his face. James Huttledon was not the sort to bellow and stamp about.
He glanced from one servant to the other, then released Maggie, giving her a less-than-gentle push that sent her into the startled butler’s arms. “See that she is bathed and given fresh clothes.”
“I do not want to bathe,” Maggie snapped, regaining her balance and pulling away from Webster.
“You enjoy looking like you just crawled out of the stews, do you?” James asked coldly. Her eyes narrowed on him in displeasure.
“What I would enjoy,” she answered between gritted teeth, “is to go home. And if you will not take me, then I would appreciate Lord Mullin’s assistance in the matter.” She turned a stunning smile tinged with desperation on the other man. “Please, my lord. As a former friend of my brother’s—”
“You can ask him after you bathe,” James interrupted. He did not like the way Robert was swelling up in readiness to become the woman’s protector. “Surely you have ruined his carriage seats enough for one day? Besides, you will have to wait for his carriage and driver to be fetched. Both are still in the village.”
