Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “Then what?”

  “We will take a room until I am well enough to travel. You could send a post to our parents regarding our survival.”

  It grieved her that the only parent she could contact was her father, but she did not articulate her fears of a future confession to all involved.

  “Do we possess enough funds for such a stay?”

  A scowl crossed his expression. “I have no means of knowing. As my wife, I assumed you would know.”

  Angel shot a glance at his jacket. “Mayhap—I mean with your permission, I should determine our immediate financial status.”

  “I trust you completely,” he said in earnest.

  Angelica released his hand and crossed the room to remove his coat from the hook. She ran her hand over the cloth to search for pockets. Finding a small hidden pocket, she fished out a gold pocket watch. “I see no chain, but this holds promise.” She returned to the bed and placed the timepiece in his hand. “If nothing else appears, we might pawn this piece until someone can come for us.”

  He rolled the watch in his palm. “There appears to be an engraving. Might you read it?”

  Angel retrieved the case and drew closer to the candle.

  “The light is too weak,” she explained. “Perhaps with the sunlight tomorrow.”

  Disappointment crossed his features, and she knew he thought again of claiming his family. “Do not rush your recovery. Your memory will return in time.”

  “You could—”

  “No,” she said to forestall his plea. Angel was not certain she could refuse him much longer. If she knew of his family, she would be tempted to share it all just to place a smile upon his lips. “It would be better if you did not borrow my memories. If I speak of your life before me, how will you recognize the return of your sensibility?”

  He sighed in resignation. “I know you speak the truth, but my pride screams to be whole again.”

  “You will be,” she assured him.

  He squeezed his eyes closed. “Is there more than the timepiece?”

  Angel continued her search of his pockets. At length, she came upon a purse. From its weight, she could identify several coins. She held it out to him.

  “Would you care to open it?” Knowing their relationship to be a farce, she felt odd going through his belongings. Her doing so smacked of betrayal.

  Using his good arm to support his injured shoulder, “William” scooted up in the bed before spreading smooth the thin blanket covering his lap. “Why do we not discover the contents together?” He patted the spot he wished her to use, and Angel dumped the coins and the paper upon the folded over linen.

  “My Goodness!” she gasped as her eyes took in the wealth of the man’s purse.

  “Goodness, indeed.” His eyes appeared as large as hers. “Would you do me the favor of determining the exact amount?”

  Angel counted the funds twice to be certain she had not erred. “Nearly three and fifty pounds,” she said in awe. “More than several workers earn in a year combined.”

  “How did we come by so much?” His tone announced the man’s dumbfounded disbelief.

  Angel swallowed hard. She had seen more money in her father’s safe, but never upon his person. For a split second she wondered if the man she named William came by his money honestly. Perhaps he was a highwayman. His clothes spoke of a gentleman farmer or a man of trade, but no such man would travel so well, yet still so poorly. When she thought on it, William’s mount was a fine specimen of horseflesh.

  “Perhaps those at our wedding displayed their well wishes,” she offered lamely. “I was unaware of your wealth.”

  His voice was as breathy as was hers. “Obviously, we can afford a stay at a proper inn until family claims us.”

  If anyone discovered her duplicity, her life would be in shambles, but Angel knew before she could set him on his own, she must remove him from the Wendts’ kindness. Even so, the thought of leaving him brought on a bit of churlishness. Her choices were limited and her course set. “Then it is only necessary for one of us to speak to Mr. Wendt.”

  * * *

  Wendt agreed to transport them to the nearest village of any size, one supposedly upon a mail route, but Mrs. Wendt maintained they should remain one additional day to provide “William” time to regain a bit more of his strength before setting out upon the seventeen miles’ journey.

  William insisted Angel accept a portion of the money to purchase a new gown as the storm ruined her carriage dress. Rather than offend him, she accepted a five-pound note. However, she reminded him as neither of them knew their financial wealth, it was best if they spent his money wisely. Angel would not leave him without his memory, his family, or his hard-earned wages to comfort him.

  She reasoned her father could reimburse the stranger for any charges he might incur in her behalf. The problem of what to do with the man once they were on their own never left her thoughts. Multiple times each day she said a private prayer for the return of his memory. Otherwise, she would be hard pressed to leave him behind.

  “Perhaps I can convince Papa to take on the gentleman’s case. Mayhap even offer him a position. I cannot desert him.”

  * * *

  The three days they had spent with the Wendts were the most satisfying ones since Angel lost her dear mother. Nothing grand happened—nothing except life itself. With Victoria Lovelace’s death, Angel and her father and brother knew a perpetual sham, pretending all to be perfect, for the sake of her mother’s memory. Yet here in the middle of Warwickshire, not one moment knew excellence, but Angel experienced contentment nonetheless. William held no memory of his past. He suffered an injury that brought him pain, while Angel’s reputation tilted upon a precarious precipice. However, good people had welcomed them into their home; provided simple, but nourishing meals; and gave them every consideration. The Wendts’ regard outweighed any mark of respect she might receive from the ton.

  “And then there’s William’s kisses,” she whispered as she looked out upon the Wendts’ small vegetable garden. “They are— ” She giggled. “Quite magnificent.”

  Since their first kiss only last evening, William claimed her mouth four times, each embrace more demanding than the last. During their last encounter, William’s tongue swept the soft recesses of Angel’s mouth, sending heat and desire coursing through her veins, so much so she took up his unspoken challenge and sucked on his tongue to increase his passions. Afterward, he pressed her body to his, with her clinging to him as if he were the ship, which would prevent her from being thrown overboard.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered close to her ear as his lips slid along the line of her neck to her collarbone. When she was in his embrace, she had no care for propriety or the world’s possible censure.

  “I can finish the supper,” Mrs. Wendt’s voice broke through Angel’s daydreams. “Why do you not freshen your things? This ’ill be Mr. Copley’s only opportunity to join us for a proper meal. You’ll want to look yer best. Ye and yer man be beginnin’ ag’in tomorrow.”

  Angelica flushed with color. Did Mrs. Wendt recognize Angel’s wayward thoughts?

  “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Copley and I owe you a great service.”

  Mrs. Wendt shrugged off Angel’s gratitude. “Git on with ye.”

  Angel snuck into the room she shared with the man she claimed as a husband. When she spied him stripped to the waist, her breath rushed from her lungs. Her heart lurched. She had seen him thus previously, but that was when he lay crumpled and in pain. Standing so relaxed before the washbasin, he seem to fill the room. His chest broad. His waist trim. The sinewy length of his legs marked by the loose trousers. Beside this man, she felt fragile and delicate.

  She fought the urge to rush into his embrace. To be surrounded by the clean masculine scent of him. “I thought you asleep,” she managed as she closed the door.

  The man, who was no longer a stranger, looked up with an all-too-familiar smile, one she would miss terribly when they pa
rted. “I meant to make myself more presentable. Would you agree to assist me?”

  Angel could not remove her eyes from the expanse of his chest, covered with coarse dark hair leading to the waist of his trousers and below. She found herself swallowing hard. “Certainly.”

  Despite his state of undress, his smile widened. “I am pleased my wife finds me as appealing as I find her.”

  Angelica gave her head a hard shake. “Such thoughts are not appropriate,” she said as she crossed to him, reached for the cloth he held in his injured hand, and motioned for him to turn around so she might wash his back. In truth, she did not trust herself to touch his chest or to feel the warmth of his breath upon her cheek.

  Thankfully, he did not object to her change in the conversation, yet, before he permitted Angel her modesty, he said with a chuckle, “I assure you, lass, men rarely think upon anything else.” He glanced over his shoulder at her and winked, and despite her embarrassment, Angel enjoyed the small thrill bounding down her spine.

  She tutted in disapproval. “You are incorrigible, sir.”

  He turned quickly and caught her to him. “If I am incorrigible as you claim, Mrs. Copley, it will be your duty to tame me.”

  Angelica sighed in regret. She would cherish the opportunity of spending time with this man—to see him well and beyond. “I should see to your hair. It is quite tangled,” she said as she stepped from his arms. “Come sit.” He smirked with amusement, but he did as she requested. “When we reach the village, we may order a proper bath for you. You will feel more yourself once you can reclaim your ablutions.”

  “I will feel more myself when I can reclaim my wife’s full attentions.” He caught her hand and brought the back of it to his lips.

  Angel found herself melting into his touch. Clearing her throat forcibly, she slid her hand from his larger one. Before reaching for the brush, she ran her fingers through his silky locks. It was the first time she truly noticed his hair was the color of her dream lover. Odd. Then another realization crossed her mind. Angel had only dreamt of “Lucifer” once since encountering this man. She had never “not dreamed” of her friend. The thought frightened her. It was imperative she end her relationship with this stranger before she lost her pride in his welcoming countenance.

  “What is this?” she asked in distraction.

  His hand followed hers to a knotted mass of hair. “I am not certain.”

  Angel’s fingers swatted his away. “You have a queue under these frayed ribbons.” She removed the ribbons and lifted a false pigtail from his tangled hair. “Why would a man of your state require a disguise?”

  His features screwed up in confusion. “I am not certain. My memory—” he mumbled in excuse. “As you are as surprised as I, I must assume I always wear it.”

  Angel recognized her error. His wife would know of this peculiar convention of his. “I did not realize. The style is one of another century.” She searched for the correct words to allay his curiosity.

  “Perhaps I am a man of vanity,” he suggested.

  “I doubt a man of your countenance would require falsehoods.”

  He reached over his shoulder to pull Angel upon his lap. “Mayhap I am a governmental spy. If so, I mean to have my way with the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance.” His eyebrows flexed in a tease.

  Angel laced her arms about his neck. “Do you hold a memory of the other women of your acquaintance?”

  He kissed along the line of Angel’s neck. “You know I do not, but even if I did, your comely countenance would still consume my every thought. You are my everything, Elizabeth.”

  The sound of another woman’s name upon his lips brought Angel to her senses. She dropped her hands into her lap. “Mrs. Wendt shall have supper upon the table soon. I must assist you into proper clothing.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I will permit you your modesty for now, but eventually, we will spend time as husband and wife, lass.”

  If only, she thought, but after she confessed it all to him, her supposed husband would drive her from his life. “It shall be as God deems it,” Angel responded enigmatically.

  * * *

  The following afternoon Mr. Wendt assisted Angel to the ground in the village of Crockett, situated at a crossroads. She studied the few public buildings as Wendt negotiated the narrow street, where a variety of shops, catering to the needs of both townsfolk and those passing through on their way to London stood strong, as well as an inn and a public house.

  The village’s thriving nature would serve her purposes well. Crockett would bring about an end to her relationship with “William Copley.”

  “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Wendt,” she said before turning to assist William from the back of the wagon, where Mrs. Wendt had made him a pallet. “We are deeply in your debt.”

  They had not anticipate how many of the side roads remained cluttered with the debris of the recent flooding, causing their journey to take longer than expected. Viewing the destruction, Angel realized how fortunate they had been to escape the killing force of the water.

  She untied her “husband’s” horse from the back of the wagon.

  “I shall house the horse in the stable,” she said as William scooted along the wagon’s wooden planks.

  “We will see to the animal together,” he said through the tight lips of pain. “It is the man’s role.”

  Angel thought to protest, but she recognized his determination to reclaim his life. “I meant no offense,” she apologized.

  He paused to sit on the edge of the wagon to catch his breath. “I took no offense,” he assured her. Standing a bit unsteadily, the gentleman turned to offer Wendt his farewell. He smiled secretly. “Tell Mrs. Wendt not to wash the bedding from your daughter’s room until she searches the mattress cover. I left your lady a surprise.”

  Wendt scowled. “Neither Mrs. Wendt nor I acted for profit.”

  William extended his hand in friendship. “I offer my gratitude, Wendt, for the safety of my wife and the future of my family. Accept my gift as a token of appreciation. Mrs. Copley and I hold great affection for your remarkable wife. You chose well, sir.”

  “Aye. That I did.”

  “Treat Mrs. Wendt to a bit of chocolate or a fancy ribbon for her Sunday bonnet. Such a gift cannot compare to what she gave me—my life and my wife.”

  Wendt’s frown lines met. “You are a smooth talker, Copley.” He turned to Angel. “Beware of this one, Mrs. Copley.”

  Angel’s smiled widened. “I shall bide your warning, sir.”

  An hour later they were alone in a let room at the inn. For the first time since she rode into the clearing before the Wendts’ farmhouse, possible ruination reared its ugly head. “Copley,” she said in hesitation, “we should speak of—”

  He stood looking upon her, his eyes filled with what one could only call satisfaction. “Talking was not on my list of possibilities.”

  Angelica swallowed hard. This was the moment she dreaded for nearly a week. “Yet, I insist.”

  William’s disappointment colored his expression. “May we at least order a meal, lass, before we address whatever brought a downward line to your sweet lips.”

  Angel would prefer to speak the truth and be done with it as quickly as possible, but she agreed. “If you are well enough to call upon the inn’s mistress, I shall use the diversion to draft a letter to my father. I am certain he is quite distressed with the news of my disappearance.”

  With a satisfied grin upon his lips, he strolled to the door. “After we share our meal, you must finally speak of my family, lass.”

  Angelica fought the tears misting her eyes. After she told him the truth, she would never witness a smile upon his lips again. “It is proper for you to know it all.”

  * * *

  Thinking to celebrate a new beginning, Hunt ordered the meal and a bottle of wine. He held hopes of suitably wooing his beautiful wife to share a proper bed. To Hades with his shoulder injury. Means existed for a m
an to please a woman, even if he knew a disadvantage, and thankfully, his wife was not indifferent to him. Deep in thoughts of the intimate pleasures awaiting him above stairs, at first he did not hear the anxious call from behind him.

  “Malvern! Thank God!” A pair of strong hands caught Hunt by the upper arms to spin him around. “We searched everywhere for you.”

  Hunt winced from the pain of the sudden shift in his shoulder joint. “I beg your pardon. Do we hold an acquaintance?”

  The stranger’s steel gray eyes studied him. “What game do you practice, Malvern?” He surveyed Hunt’s simple dress before shooting a glance about the empty common room. “There is no one within. Drop the farce, Malvern. Your family is at sixes and sevens with your disappearance.”

  Before Hunt could question the stranger regarding what he knew of his family, a third man interrupted them.

  “Remmington,” the young man called as he entered the inn, “the horse definitely belongs to—” Then he froze, and Hunt recognized how elation quickly replaced the despair in the man’s expression. “You found him,” he gasped in disbelief before catching Hunt up in a very masculine embrace of joy.

  “My arm,” Hunt groaned as the air rushed from his lungs from the pure force of the young man’s hold upon him.

  Immediately the fellow released him. “You are injured.” He ran his hand over the makeshift sling Hunt wore. “I told Etta you had to be injured if you were late to arrive at Mama’s party. You are never tardy.”

  Hunt readjusted his arm into a more comfortable position. “Evidently,” he said through tight lips as another jolt of pain ran down the length of his arm. “You two recognize me, but I hold no memory of your countenances. Perhaps we should part—”

  The younger man meant to protest, but a well-placed restraining hand from the elder of the two stifled the younger’s words. “Mayhap you would care to share with us your name and how you came to be at the White Horse.” The man’s tone spoke of growing understanding.

  Hunt frowned. He wished to speak with more confidence; he held the suspicion all was about to change in his life. “My name is William Copley, and my wife and I survived the recent flooding. We came to Crockett by the goodness of a farming couple, who tended us after our escape from the waters.”