Unmasked by her Lover, page 12
Obligingly, the moon slid out from behind the clouds and cast its beam on the rider. He carried a lantern, too. Together they revealed Garrow on one of Lord Calvert’s hunters. The grooms would be appalled when they discovered how many horses were missing.
Now, what the devil are you doing here? Harry wondered. Was it you following us all the time? Or are you about your own business?
Determined to find out, Harry kept pace with the tired horse, following Garrow the length of the town, in the direction of the nurse’s cottage. Did he know where Meg was? What possible interest could it be to him?
Could he somehow be involved in the trickery that had led to her ruin?
His hands clenched at his sides. But with an oath of annoyance, Garrow wheeled his poor horse around, and Harry was forced to press himself against the rocks to remain unseen. The horse trudged past him back toward the center of the village, then cut up a street that led to the church and a small square. Keeping further back, Harry hauled himself up onto the road and followed.
Garrow, it seemed, was looking for something or someone, but if it was an assignation, his partner did not join him.
Eventually, Garrow paused outside the dark tavern, dismounted, and banged at the front door. A dog barked. He knocked again. “House!” he called, and another dog further up the street joined in the chorus of the first.
An upper window flew open, and a wrathful man in a nightcap looked out. “Stop your racket! Can’t you tell we’re closed? Go to bed like the rest of us!”
“I’ve need of a room and a place to tie my horse,” Garrow snapped. “So jump to it, my man.”
“We’ve got no rooms for the likes of you.”
“If I had any choice, would I be here?” Garrow snarled. “Get down here and open the damned door!”
For a moment, the tavern keeper was clearly tempted to close the window and ignore him. But no doubt the lure of fleecing the gentleman was too strong, for a few moments after he slammed the window, he opened the front door, still in his nightcap, grumpily pointing to a gate further down the road, which much have led to some kind of stable.
Harry waited until Garrow led his exhausted horse through the gate before he turned and walked thoughtfully back to the seafront and along the road to the nurse’s cottage. He wondered if it had indeed been Garrow following them earlier. He could have followed the main road to Margate instead of turning toward Cliffstone, then realized there was no sign of them and returned to the fork. With his lantern, it was quite possible he could have made out the fresh tracks left by their horses.
Garrow could cause a great deal of trouble if he knew Harry was with Meg. Would he have realized there were two horses? Or had he just followed Harry from Calvert Court from some weird curiosity?
Perhaps Aline had put him up to it. More than likely, but what was her game?
He walked up the grassy lane, noticing the light still shining through the curtains at the front of the house.
Not for the first time, he thought Calvert needed a punched nose. Harry was fond of Martha, and hurting her was not acceptable. For an instant, he imagined himself married to Meg, and his mind could find no situations in which lust for another would even occur, let alone tempt him.
No, Calvert still needed a bloody nose.
*
“It’s beginning to get light,” Martha observed, pulling open the curtains. “If you mean to pretend you never left the Court, you should go now.”
“Put your clothes on and come with me,” Meg said.
Martha shook her head, holding her shawl closer about her. “No. I won’t do anything on impulse anymore. I’ll think about it,”
Meg stared at her. “What have you done with my sister?”
Martha smiled. “I took a long look at her.”
Together, they walked through to the kitchen, where Nurse had packed a bundle of bread and cold beef and apples for the journey.
“Thank you,” Meg said, hugging her. “I’ll come and see you properly very soon. When all this nonsense is over.”
Nurse nodded and glanced at Martha, who was opening the kitchen curtains, too. “When will Their Graces come to Calvert Court?”
“The day after tomorrow, I think,” Meg replied.
“You won’t be able to pretend to them,” Nurse pointed out.
“They already know Martha is missing. Papa will have sent out all manner of discreet inquiries. In the meantime, I imagine they’ll go along with my masquerade.”
“And your own trouble?”
“Oh, I imagine he will brazen it out until everyone pretends to believe him. But I doubt I shall receive any offers of marriage.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Martha said from the window. She waved. “He’s still out there waiting for you.”
“Get away from the window in your night clothes!” Nurse exclaimed, dragging her back.
Martha laughed, though the smile died as she met Meg’s gaze. “I think you envied me Calvert when he offered for me.”
“You know I did.”
“Do you want to hear something funny? I think I only wanted Calvert so much because you always had Harry.”
Meg flushed. “I never had… Really? You were in love with Harry?”
“No, not really. Well, perhaps, a little. As you were a little in love with Calvert. We always liked the same people to different degrees.”
“And now?” Meg asked steadily because she had to know.
“Oh, Meg, now we are grown up, and everything’s different. Go away before I cry.”
Meg stepped closer and embraced her. For a moment, she thought Martha would push her away with a laugh, but abruptly she threw her arms around Meg and clung.
“Take care, Meggie, and let me think,” she whispered.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and they broke apart, each dashing a hand across their eyes.
Nurse opened the door to reveal Harry, who swept off his hat. “Forgive the intrusion! How are you, Nurse?”
“Get away, I was never your nurse, and I’m very well,” Nurse declared. “But I don’t know what you’re thinking about to let her ladyship junket about the country like this! And dressed like that!”
“Well, she probably causes less comment like that,” Harry excused.
Nurse snorted. “I should have known you would support her in every folly!”
Harry tried to look meek, which made Meg and Martha laugh. Even Nurse had to control a quivering lip as she stomped off to fetch the food bundle.
“I’m so glad to see you safe, Harry,” Martha said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “I know you’ve had a terrible time.”
“Devil a bit,” Harry said cheerfully. His arm went round Martha readily enough, as though he would return her kiss. But Martha, on tiptoe, held him in place. Her lips moved, whispering something in his ear.
Something stirred in Meg’s heart, forcing her to look away.
“Look after each other,” Martha said. “Oh, and Meg?”
Halfway out of the door, Meg glanced back at her sister, hoping for a change of heart, for the news that she would come with them after all.
“Thank you,” Martha said.
Meg smiled faintly, then hurried up to the garden gate, which Harry held open for her. She accepted his help into the saddle and then couldn’t help laughing when Nurse tutted at her riding astride.
“You make a very fine young man!” Martha called.
“Me?” Meg asked. “Or Harry?”
Only when they were back on the road did she let her smile fade.
“She won’t come,” Harry noted.
“Not yet. She’s still thinking what is best. I really think Calvert might have lost her this time.”
“And in the meantime, you’re still saddled with playing two roles in this masquerade?”
Meg sighed. “Apparently so. But I believe Meg must be sent away, or I shall be discovered. Perhaps my father could do that when he arrives.”
Harry shrugged. “Perhaps. But it would look bad for your reputation when he does. Everyone will assume he’s sent you away in disgrace because of the scandal.”
“I wonder if I care?” she mused.
“You will when they try to marry you off to someone you despise.”
She glanced at him. “Oh, no. I imagine they still have you in their sights. Unless my father has managed to fix the whole mess,” she added optimistically. “In which case, I will merely be mildly disreputable and may go and live in a cottage and write satirical novels about society.”
“What is this obsession of you and your sister for cottages? Wouldn’t you be more comfortable somewhere larger?”
“Not if my father cuts off my funds, and I cannot afford it. Would this way lead up the main road?”
“Yes,” Harry said, “but we’re better taking the next turning where we came down. Garrow is staying in a tavern in this street, and I’d rather he didn’t glance out of the window at the wrong moment.”
She jerked toward him. “Garrow? What on earth is he doing here?”
“That’s what I would like to know.”
Meg frowned, thoughtfully. “He must have followed you. He is very interested in you. He keeps asking me—and Martha—about your health and your state of mind, particularly about the loss of your friend Major Dewar.”
“Does he indeed?” Harry said slowly. “He spoke to me about Dewar, too, which is odd because they barely knew each other, and what they did know, they didn’t like. What the devil are he and Aline up to? Surely not highway robbery again!”
“You still believe they are working together?” Meg asked.
“They have no other reason to be together. There is no love lost there on either side.”
“That is true,” Meg agreed. “And yet… I would have said she likes you. More than her husband. And I don’t feel she’s malevolent.”
“Well, she doesn’t cackle and make evil potions that I’m aware of,” he allowed. “But that does not make her a friend.”
“You still think she is a spy?”
“I think she was. But what is the point of spying now that the war is over? I’m sure we shall all be jostling for power at the Peace Congress in the autumn, but what have people like Dewar and me to say to that?” His distant gaze refocused on her. “Unless it’s your father they’re interested in… Is there not some talk of him going to Vienna for the Congress?”
“There was, but I think he will merely pull strings from home. Still, you could be right, Harry. Garrow could have deliberately made friends with Calvert because of his connection to Papa. And Aline does not really care whether I am Meg or Martha, because we are both my father’s daughters.”
“Yes, but with what purpose?” Harry wondered. “Who can they be working for?”
“To win France a seat at the Congress?” Meg hazarded. “To lobby for Bonaparte’s release from Elba or even his reinstatement as ruler of France?”
“Bonaparte will never be allowed to rule France again. For the rest…” Since they were drawing out of the town, Harry urged his horse into a gallop. They rode side by side under the lightening sky until a farmer’s cart rumbling toward them forced them to slow and pass in single file.
“How could we find out?” Meg asked, pursuing the same subject as the horses walked together again. “We could search Garrow’s rooms!”
“Or Aline’s.”
“That doesn’t seem fair when she has helped me keep up the pretense of being Martha as well as Meg.” She sighed. “And actually, even Garrow as our villain makes no sense. You said he was one of Wellington’s staff officers. Surely his loyalty must be above reproach?”
“He does seem too stupid and his tongue too loose to be much use at intrigue. But I wouldn’t put it past Aline to be using him.” He met her gaze. “And you. What I can’t yet see is a purpose.”
“There must be one. Following us in the night to Cliffstone, of all uninteresting places, is bizarre.”
“I imagine he thinks so, too.”
They were silent for a little, watching the beauty of the red and gold sunrise. Awed, Meg allowed herself to be distracted and soon gave in to an unexpected sense of contentment.
“Do you know,” she murmured at last, “there is nowhere else I would rather be, than here, now, with you?” She glanced from the sky to Harry and smiled.
Something leapt in his eyes, intense and burning. Holding the reins in one hand, he stretched out the other to her. “Then I’m glad I found you in Grosvenor Square.”
It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take his hand, to feel the strong clasp of his fingers. Had there always been this exciting edge to their relationship? Even before he went away?
“I didn’t think you were, just at first,” she said.
“Oh, my dear, if only you knew!”
“Knew what?”
He smiled and dropped her hand, urging his horse into a gallop.
*
As they crossed into Calvert land, they edged off the road and into the woods to avoid any passersby who might not be fooled by Meg’s disguise. Harry tried to distract himself from the obsessive thought that he was truly alone with her.
Of course, they had been alone together for the greater part of the night, but concern for her safety and protection had been uppermost then. Now, in broad daylight, on her brother-in-law’s land, he was more aware of her than ever. The singing of the birds, the odd buzzing insects, only served to remind him of the basic silence, the solitude of the woods. Desire curled in the pit of his stomach.
“I should change into my riding habit,” she said a shade nervously. “Before we reach the Court.”
He shifted in the saddle, for the vision conjured by her words was not helpful. “Your dress will be crushed to death in those saddlebags,” he managed.
“Oh well, it will still be better than being caught dressed like this.”
“True.” He urged his horse off the track, moving deeper into the trees until he thought they would be hidden from anyone passing along the track. He pulled up his horse and dismounted to help her, but she had already swung her leg over and was about to slip down from the saddle when he seized her from instinct.
Bad instinct. Wicked instinct, for the brief press of her body against his did nothing to remind him that he was a gentleman. Especially since her face was flushed as though the contact affected her, too. Or perhaps she felt the wayward hardness of his body.
He stepped back at once. “Let me hold the horses while you take what you need.”
She busied herself with opening the saddlebags and drawing out her familiar riding habit, even the little jacket and hat that went with it. She brushed ruefully at the hat. “I don’t think that will ever be the same again! Never mind.”
His eyes met hers. Perhaps it was the fact that she didn’t seem to breathe that drew his gaze to her mouth. With her lips slightly parted, at once aware and confused, she had never looked so adorable, so desirable.
Her lips snapped shut, and she swallowed. Slowly, he raised his gaze to hers once more.
Her chin tilted. “You need to turn your back,” she said, not quite steadily.
“Of course.” Hastily, drawing both horses with him, he turned and walked several paces away from her, mentally lashing himself for staring at her like some adoring dog. A dog with lascivious intent.
Desperate to distract himself, he petted the noses of each horse in turn and let them dip their heads to crop the undergrowth. He ran his hand along the back of the mare until he came to the saddle. And made a discovery.
“Meg, you don’t have a lady’s saddle,” he said, turning impulsively to face her.
Bad impulse. Wicked impulse. For she was just smoothing her chemise over what was surely her otherwise naked body. Her hair had tumbled loose about her shoulders, and her men’s garb—surely something old of Johnny’s or Peter’s—lay at her feet.
She froze, reaching for the dress slung over a tree branch. With a little gasp, she snatched her hand back as though to cover herself.
“Sorry,” Harry said in a strangled voice. And yet, he didn’t turn away. He, too, seemed frozen, drinking in her soft, seductive beauty. The shift clung to her outline, revealing the delicious shape of her full breasts and slender waist, the sweet curve of her hips, and those long, graceful legs.
Slowly, determinedly, he lifted his gaze back to her face. Her loveliness snatched at his breath. And she saw it. Yet the arms which she’d already raised to cover herself fell back to her side. She gazed back at him. A trembling, wicked challenge.
“Must you stare, Harry?” she demanded, her voice not quite steady.
“Yes. It seems I must.” One hint of fear or anger, and he would have spun away from her again. But her shock had vanished, and it came to him that she wanted him to look. To like what he saw.
And Harry never refused a challenge. Deliberately, he walked toward her, waiting for her to back away, to ward him off, threaten him, even scowl. She did none of those things.
“Do you know,” he said huskily, “how very beautiful you are?”
“Martha is beautiful. I merely look like her.”
He came to a halt in front of her, close enough to feel the trembling of her body. “No, you don’t. Your beauty is your own, as it always was.” He lifted his hands, tangling his fingers in her thick hair. “Tell me not to kiss you.”
She gazed up at him, saying nothing at all. When her lips parted, it was not in speech but in clear invitation. With a soft groan, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his.
She gave a little gasp, her breath impossibly fresh and sweet as spring water. He drank her in, and she let him, opening to him like a bud about to bloom. Her hands crept around his neck, caressing the hair at his sensitive nape.
He deepened the stunningly sensual kiss, releasing her head to sweep his hands down her back to her waist and hips. There he rested them, drawing her closer against his fevered body. Her mouth widened in shock, but she didn’t draw back. Instead, she clung closer, kissing him back with a wild, unschooled passion that enchanted him.
