Debauchery and the Earl, page 12
She slipped past it to the door of the stables, which were in darkness. Within, all was quiet save for an equine snort and the faint shifting of a horse’s hooves.
Something was not right. She gripped the lantern tighter. “My lord?”
A shadow moved within the deeper darkness and resolved into a man.
“Miss Blackwell,” said Cyril Gough. “I am glad to see you so punctual. Shall we?”
He moved with speed, taking advantage of her surprise to grasp her arm in a frighteningly strong grip that she could not shake off though she tried vigorously. As he began to drag her toward the carriage, she swung the lantern at him, opening her mouth to scream at the same time.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth from behind, and another seized her wrist, snatching the lantern before it could get anywhere near Gough’s head. She bit the hand over her mouth, hard, eliciting only a snarl and no relaxing of the suffocating grip. Despite her furious wriggling and kicking, she was thrown inside the coach, which took off even before the door was closed.
She was hauled upright and realized she was squashed between two men—Gough and the man who had delivered the message. Not Calton’s valet, but Gough’s.
Chapter Twelve
Andre de Talley knew he had no chance of sleep, so he had slipped out of a side door, taking the key with him. He needed to walk off the fog clouding his mind and think clearly, for Helena’s news of her pregnancy had hit him like a bombshell.
He didn’t know why, for it had always been a risk since that crazy moment in Brighton. Even then, insane with love and lust as he had been, he had retained enough sense to withdraw, as he thought, before the crucial moment. And when they had met again in London, she had treated him as though he were of no account. And although they had now relaxed once more into their old relationship—without him taking advantage of her this time—she had been so merry and Helena-like that it had never entered his head she was with child.
He set off across the lawn without much care for where he was going. Through his confusion and hurt, he had almost said to her, “Is it mine?” Thank God he had not sunk so low, for he knew the child was his, and yet that she had kept it from him, that she had only turned to him once she had realized her condition…
But even that was not necessarily true. He had been so caught up in his new post in London, ensuring he could stay there in order to be close to Helena, that he had lost track of the time and of Helena herself, who must have felt abandoned. That was his shame, along with taking advantage of her in the first place.
And now…now, God knew what she was feeling. That he had abandoned her all over again. Lord Calton had tried to tell him. Josephine had been more brutal. But they both made sense. And that was his third shame.
If he walked away now, if he didn’t go to her immediately, he would lose her. And that, that was the unbearable, unthinkable thing in all of this. Helena was his to look after, his beloved and the mother of his child. He stopped dead and looked about him.
He didn’t think he had come far. There were the stables over there, with a carriage outside—Gough going on his way as threatened. He seemed to be an unsavory person, and he would not be missed.
As Talley strode down the track back toward the house, another lantern caught his attention, carried by a female figure in a traveling cloak.
Something familiar in her movement caused him to quicken his step toward her, but she was edging around the wood now, past the carriage, and he could not see her.
And then, in a clatter of hooves and wheels, the carriage almost mowed him down. He fell back against the bushes, glaring at the carriage, and clear as day through the side window, he saw two men and the frightened, furious face of Josephine Blackwell.
He did not stop to think but threw himself onward to the stables, and with all speed, saddled the horse Calton had lent him. He could not take time to raise the alarm at the house, but in the hope his gesture would be understood, he hastily tied his embroidered handkerchief to the bench beside the stable building and galloped off in pursuit of the carriage.
*
Josephine stared from one captor to the other, breathing deeply. “I don’t know what you hope to achieve by abducting me, but unless your goal is suffocation, one of you will have to move.”
Gough’s expression shifted from wary to admiring. He flicked a glance at his henchman who, with apparent reluctance, moved to the opposite bench. Josephine immediately put as much distance as possible between herself and Gough.
“So, what do you want?” she demanded coldly.
Gough smiled. “You, my dear.”
“I believe you have already had this discussion with my father.”
“But not with you.”
“I’m sure my father passed on the gist of my reply,” she said scathingly.
“Well, we shall have several hours to convince you to change your mind, which as we all know is a lady’s privilege.”
“I won’t change my mind. Now stop being ridiculous and make this coach stop at once.”
Gough sat back, regarding her with fascination and absolutely no alarm. “You really do think Calton will offer for you?”
She lifted a brow, maintaining haughty silence.
“Even now?” he went on, “when you have just eloped with another man while bearing the child of yet another man?”
Josephine blinked, distracted from her instinctive denial of elopement by his last accusation. “What?”
“I did wonder for a while if the child were Calton’s, but Selina Reddington assures me it is unlikely. And besides, I don’t think you’ve known him long enough. But even if he is helping you, his intentions do not include marriage to a fallen woman.”
“But to be clear,” she said frowning, “you believe yours do?”
“Probably. Depending on your—er…pre-marital performance. I don’t need the Darling money, but there’s no denying it would help. And after said premarital performance, to say nothing of the baby, I shall be well able to dictate settlements to your charming papa.”
“My father will shoot you.” Only as she said the words with ineffable contempt, did she realize what she was clutching on her lap, hard between her white fingers. Inside the reticule she had grabbed from her bedchamber, she could feel the outline of the little gold-mounted pistol with which she had once threatened Calton. It was not yet loaded, of course, but if she could find a moment…
“Shoot the only man willing to marry you and save you from shame?” he mocked.
“You abducted me,” she retorted. “The shame is yours.”
He smiled. “And the child?”
She laughed. “What child? I am no more enceinte than you are.” She jumped up to batter on the coach roof for the vehicle to stop.
Gough yanked her back down before she could touch it. “It will make no difference. My coachman is deaf and blind when he has to be.”
“I think you might find he talks a great deal when the alternative is the hangman’s noose. Abduction is a hanging offense, you know.”
“You forget, I have your shame to shut your father’s mouth.”
“Are we back to that again? You are a complete fool.”
He scowled as though her insult actually stung. “Am I? I heard you, Miss Josephine, at the ruin, in conversation with Calton.”
She curled her lip. “Eavesdropping is clearly not an infallible way to the truth.”
Gough’s henchman let out an exclamation. She followed his gaze to the window where a horseman was galloping alongside the carriage.
Talley?
*
Calton, sitting on the back terrace steps, thought he should probably go inside soon. It was cold and quiet, and dawn was still an hour or so off. He heard the distant sounds of carriage wheels and horses on the drive—presumably Gough leaving, which was all to the good.
Yes, he should go inside and get some sleep before bearding Josephine’s father. Before seeing her again. Before luring her to somewhere private and secluded and indulging…
Don’t think of indulgence, he told himself severely, or there will be no sleep at all.
A swishing movement behind him forced him to his feet. For a delicious moment, he thought he beheld Josephine in her night attire, come to offer him his heart’s desire. But no, it was Helena who stood before him, more beautiful than his beloved if one looked dispassionately, and yet somehow paler, less vital. At least to Calton.
He bowed in silence, but she did not return the courtesy.
“Where is my sister?” she blurted.
A sharp pang of unease pierced his happiness. “You share a chamber, do you not?”
“She is not in her bed. We… I said some unkind things to her. I thought she might have come outside—I heard a door close, though I suppose that could have been you.”
There was no real reason for his feeling of dread, and yet he could not forget that he had just heard Gough’s coach leave Harcourt. Had there not been hoofbeats after that, too? Altogether, far too many people seemed to be abroad.
“Look in the library,” he said briskly. “And back in your own room. I’ll search around the other rooms and meet you back here in five minutes.”
She nodded and scuttled off inside. He closed the French doors behind them. He would rather have gone to the stables first, but he had no wish to alarm Helena. Instead, he went toward his own chamber, listening briefly at several doors on the way to see if any of his trusted friends were awake. Only at Talley’s, which was in silence, did he then open the door into darkness.
“Talley, are you asleep? I think I might need you to…” He held his candle high, which showed him the bed was empty. Indeed, it had not been slept in. Talley was not here. He swung around and left, hurrying now directly to the front door, which was unbolted and not even properly closed.
Swearing beneath his breath, he ran around to the stables. A still glowing lantern had been abandoned at the stables’ main door. Calton picked it up and looked inside. All the stalls were full of guests’ carriage horses and several extra riding horses, too. On impulse, he went to his own and drew in a shuddering breath.
Then quick footsteps outside had him striding for the door.
Helena Blackwell stood in a traveling cloak by a wooden bench to the side, gazing at an embroidered handkerchief that seemed to have been tied around its arm.
“That is Andre de Talley’s,” she said in a flat voice. “Josephine has taken her cloak and reticule.”
“De Talley is not in his room,” Calton observed. “And I suspect he has taken my horse.”
“They are together,” she whispered, sinking onto the bench. “I knew it!”
“What are you imagining?” Calton said harshly. “That they have eloped together? Why would Talley then leave us a token?” He flung his hand toward the handkerchief and strode back into the stables, to lead out his remaining horse for saddling and bridling.
“Then what is he doing?” Helena demanded.
“Looking after your sister, I suspect,” he said grimly, tightening the girths. “Which is my task.”
“Is it?” she said with interest, and then, springing to her feet. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, wait here and cover for her if necessary. I’ll be faster alone. But don’t fret, they cannot have gone far.”
*
As the horses slowed to a standstill, Gough swore and wrenched down the window. “Get these horses moving at once or—”
“Good morning,” Talley’s voice said amiably. He appeared at the window, looping very long reins around a tree at the side of the road. Clearly, the coachman had given him no fight, and he did not appear to be armed.
“Have you taken to highway robbery, monsieur? Having lost the damned war?”
“Diplomacy, monsieur,” Talley replied. “For now. Come down, if you please.” To help, he wrenched the door from Gough’s hands and let down the steps. “Both gentlemen, if I may call you that, first.”
“I have no intention of leaving my own carriage at the orders of a dashed Frenchman!”
“Think again, sir,” Josephine said, for during the distraction of her companions, her hands had been busy extracting the pistol from her reticule, and it now pointed straight at Gough’s heart.
There was a distinct pause, during which she did not dare look at Talley. Then the valet all but shoved his master out of the door and hastened down after him. Josephine followed them, keeping the pistol aimed, although she had to hold it too tightly to prevent her hand from shaking.
“I see you came prepared, Miss Jo,” Talley remarked. “I should have known. Naturally, I offer my escort back to Harcourt. My only question is, what would you like to do with these two?”
“The lady is traveling with us willingly,” Gough said smoothly. “More willingly than I, truth be told. I believe she thinks if she is compromised, I will marry her.”
“Why would you believe that?” Talley asked, clearly amused, “when she has already turned you down?”
“That was merely her father, for, of course, he does not know.”
“Know?” Talley urged, apparently fascinated.
“That the whore is already with child.”
Talley took a step nearer him, his eyes flashing with fury “You will mind your lying, common mouth!”
“I do not lie. Look at her. It’s quite clear she will not shoot me!”
“I might try,” Josephine said conversationally. “Although anger has made my hands a little shaky, and I am not quite sure what I might hit. I might, for example, aim to disable you and hit something vital instead. Mind you, any kind of wound can fester and kill you.
A wary look entered Gough’s eye. He changed tack. “I think she is insane. And I suppose you must be the poor fool who fathered her unborn brat. I admit to surprise, for I thought you were mooning over the sister.”
“I am.”
Despite everything, Josephine beamed at him. “Are you? Then we must return to Harcourt immediately so that you can tell her so, for she has got some silly—ah!”
Distraction had cost her dearly, for she had forgotten about the damned valet again, and he had already grabbed her wrist before she could move or even heard Talley’s abrupt warning.
The man wrenched the pistol from her hand and shoved her back against the coach. A horse snorted at the movement.
“Shoot him!” Gough all but screamed. “Shoot him quickly!”
Oh, the devil! Even as the unladylike curse sounded silently in her mind, the valet pulled the trigger.
A deafening silence filled the night.
“It’s not loaded,” Josephine said apologetically. “No ball, no powder.”
Talley laughed, a shaky, not quite amused sound. “You threatened them with an unloaded pistol?”
“You came without one?” she retorted.
“Get her back in the coach,” Gough snarled to the valet. “You!” He pointed furiously at the coachman who still sat on his box watching events unfold with apparent interest. “Untie the reins, and this time do not stop for anything!”
The coachman sighed loudly and began to climb down. As his boot hit the road, he nodded back the way they had come. “You might want to think again, guv. Numbers piling up against you, by the looks of things. Pretty sure I know that fellow—or at least his horse.”
“And he will have a pistol,” Talley said with satisfaction. “Maybe two.”
Josephine evaded the valet’s suddenly indifferent grip to peer up the road. Furiously galloping hooves filled her ears as a horseman bore down upon them at frightening speed. Gough gawped, then, avoiding Talley, slid around the back of the coach to the other door. Josephine tripped him, causing him to stumble and slow, and then the rider—Lord Calton, magnificently frightening in his fury—rode straight at Gough, who let out a grunt of sheer panic.
For a moment, it looked as if Calton would ride straight into the coach, simply to get at the paralyzed Gough. Josephine held her breath while Talley yanked her well out of the way on the grass verge.
At the last possible moment, Calton’s horse veered, avoiding the carriage, but the rider lashed out with one fist and sent Gough staggering, sprawling over the coach steps and half inside the vehicle. The horse slowed and turned and, before it had even halted beside Talley’s, Calton had slid to the ground. He strode straight over Gough without even kicking him on the way past, only to snatch Josephine into his arms and crush her mouth beneath his.
Stunned, she could only yield, letting her arms slide around his waist to hold him, or perhaps just to hold herself upright under his thorough assault. A bizarre sense of safety and happiness flooded her, for all would be well now that he was here.
Even though she was alone in the middle of nowhere, at night, with five men to whom she was not related.
“Calton,” Talley said quietly. “You might want to flourish that pistol about now?”
Calton released her mouth, though not the rest of her, and she saw Gough had hauled himself to his feet, still clutching his jaw. The valet, whose stance resembled that of a pugilist in drawings she had seen, watched Calton very carefully.
Calton curled his lip. “I won’t need a pistol to deal with those scoundrels. Not unless you, Gough, are still in London when I return there. Or you open your mouth even to speak the name of this lady—and trust me, I will hear if you do. And then I will involve pistols and I will kill you.”
Gough’s eyes shifted.
“Talley?” Calton inquired.
“He told his valet to shoot me,” Talley mused. “If I come across either of them again, I might have to reveal that, though whether to society or to the authorities I am not yet sure.”
“Both,” Calton suggested. “Seems to me you had best leave the country, Gough. And rot in some quiet corner of the world where neither of us will ever fall over you.”
Gough and the valet almost tripped over each other to get back into the carriage. The coachman did not hurry himself to untangle the reins and climb back up to his box.
