The Infamous Rakes

by Amanda Scott

  “Marrying Crawley? But I doubt she has any such intention. Are you quite sure?”

  Thorne shot him a mocking smile. “I am very sure that she will be a widow before nightfall if she does so.”

  “Dear me,” said Mr. Vellacott, slipping his glass back into his fob pocket, “how very fierce you are, sir.”

  “I am learning the art of plain speaking, Vellacott. Pray congratulate me, and excuse me. I am off. Tim, release them!”

  Gillian’s intent to accept Crawley’s offer of marriage lasted only until he arrived in Park Street that morning. Her father and stepmother had left the house before she came down to breakfast, and she found herself the sole occupant of the morning room. Still, she found it nearly impossible to think straight about what she ought to do.

  Living with her father and Estrid, despite the present truce, did not appear to be an acceptable answer to her dilemma. Even if she and Estrid could work out an agreement between them, she was not certain she could continue to live in amity with her father if he had decided, as it appeared he had done, to resume control of his wife, his family, and his estates. Either he and his daughter would be constantly at outs with each other, or Gillian would find herself bowing more and more to parental rule. That, of all things, she would dislike the most, after so many years of making decisions and having the freedom to do as she pleased where the estate was concerned. Just the thought of trying to explain to him what she had done with regard to the new seed would be both difficult and frustrating. The earl thought of Mr. Coke of Norfolk only as an excellent host for the annual sheep shearing at Holkham Hall, or the amusing shooting parties at Longford. If he knew of Coke’s vast reputation for agricultural innovation, Gillian was not aware of it. And if she mentioned Lord Percival Worth’s experiments to him, he would merely say that the son of the Duke of Morency ought to have better things to do with his time.

  Thinking of Lord Percival reminded her that Thorne had been visiting at Braunton Burrows the day they had met, but her musings were interrupted just then by Blalock, who informed her in disapproving accents that Lord Crawley had called and was insisting that his visit was expected. “I told him that her ladyship was not at home, m’lady, but he insists that it is you he has called to see. Shall I send him away?”

  Gillian sighed, knowing she could not marry Crawley. “No, Blalock, show him up. I will send him away myself.”

  When Crawley entered the room and moved forward to greet her, she held up a hand. “Stop where you are, sir. Blalock is already distressed that I have agreed to see you at all, and I should not like him carrying tales of me to my father just at present. I ought to have called my abigail to come in, but I did not, to spare your feelings.”

  He grimaced. “That sounds very much like a refusal, my dear. I hope it is not.”

  “It is, sir. I have thought and thought. One moment your proposition seems like an answer to my every problem, but the next I see only a lifetime of misery for the both of us.”

  “I would make you a much more pleasant husband than Thorne, my dear,” Crawley said, smiling ruefully at her.

  She smiled back. “I do not doubt that, sir. One does not think of his lordship as the sort to be a pleasant husband. I am sure he would be demanding, and arrogant, and ungrateful, and that he would shout at me when I was only trying to tell him something he ought to know, and ... and, oh dear, Crawley, I fear that I have left my handkerchief abovestairs. Oh, pray—”

  Breaking off, she turned away so that he would not see her tears, but when a large white handkerchief was pressed into her hand, she took it gratefully and blew her nose.

  “You love him very much,” Crawley said.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, sniffing. Dabbing her eyes, she turned back, forcing herself to overcome her tears. “Forgive my foolishness. I am not usually such a watering pot. They came on so quickly, I didn’t realize. ... But you must see that I cannot marry you, sir. It would not be fair. I like you very much, but I could never love you like that ... and ...”

  Making a sound very much like a growl, Crawley turned away from her, muttering, “Your stepsister ought to be soundly thrashed, and I hope that when—But never mind that,” he added briskly. “I’ll tell you what you need, ma’am, and that is an outing. I’ve my phaeton below with a fresh team hitched to it, and I should like nothing better than to take you for a nice, refreshing drive. The day is a splendid one, so do not tell me you won’t come. ’Tis bad enough that you have capsized all my hopes of becoming a wealthy landowner. Don’t tell me you won’t even come for a drive with me. You needn’t worry about the proprieties, for I’ve my tiger with me today.”

  He looked at her in much the same way as a puppy hopeful of a scrap from the table, and she could not help but give a watery laugh. “Almost you persuade me, sir, but I should not.”

  “I see how it is,” he said. “You prefer to wait to have it out with your stepsister, or perhaps to offer her your congratulations on her excellent generalship. You may tell her for me that I think she should go at once and offer her services to that rascal Bonaparte. He might appreciate her methods.”

  Gillian had not thought about attempting to confront Dorinda again, and she was not by any means sure she wanted even to talk to her now. There was nothing to be done. The betrothal was a fact, and the duke would not allow Thorne to back down. Dorinda would merely flaunt her new status. It was not a picture Gillian could contemplate at the moment. Impulsively she said, “I will go for a drive with you, sir. Indeed, I welcome the opportunity to escape from the house for a time. Only let me leave word for Clementina. She has been ill, you know, and I don’t want her to fret if I do not go to her.” Dorinda would sit with Clementina, and Gillian did not think it would be good for the little girl if Gillian were there with them as well. Not if all she wanted to do was to scratch Dorinda’s eyes out.

  “An excellent notion. If you do not mind, I will also leave her a message to wish her better health, and another to Miss Ponderby, to wish her ... well, I shan’t say what I wish her,” he added with a comical grimace.

  When the notes were written and Gillian had collected her things, she let Crawley assist her to the seat of his curricle. He climbed up beside her, called to his tiger to set them loose, and they were off. Gillian settled back against her seat to enjoy the warmth of the sun on her face. Crawley was fully occupied for some time with traffic, and so she had no need to maintain a flow of conversation, and by the time she realized that he was not merely driving her around the block or into Hyde Park, they had reached the Edgware Bar and he had drawn up to pay their toll at the gate.

  Gillian waited until they were clear of it, and then, fully conscious of the tiger perched behind them, she said in a casual manner, “Are you perchance abducting me, sir?”

  Crawley grinned at her. “I had thought about it,” he said, “but they’ve developed a nasty habit of hanging men who abduct heiresses, and I do not think your papa can be depended upon to look kindly upon my suit. Were that not the case, I’d have snapped at the chance to carry you off, for I’ve decided I shall be happy only as a wealthy man. I must tell you, however, that I hope you will tell Thorne, when the opportunity arises for you to do so, that you have agreed to make me a very happy one.”

  Her heart seemed suddenly to be pounding in her chest. “I do not think I understand you, sir. Even if there should be cause for me to tell him such a thing, I could not do so.”

  Crawley’s gaze rolled upward. “Then may I tell you it has been a pleasure knowing you, ma’am, and that if there is indeed an afterlife, I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”

  Watching him carefully, Gillian said, “Do you anticipate an early demise, sir? You look very healthy to me.”

  “Thorne will most likely hasten my departure from this earth, ma’am, when he catches us, if you say I carried you off.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her. “You expect him to follow us, then. But my dear sir, why should he?”

  “Well, h
e’d better, considering that I was kind enough to send him a letter informing him of my intention to make you my bride—an intent, I feel bound to warn you, that I said was a mutual one. Mongrel promised faithfully to see that Thorne read the damned thing before he left the house today, so I dashed well hope he follows us, or else, my dear ma’am, we may very shortly find ourselves deep in the suds.”

  Gillian burst into a peal of delighted laughter.

  14

  CRAWLEY TURNED INTO THE New Road toward Islington, and his attention was instantly claimed by his team, for suddenly there were shouts ahead and a large herd of cattle thronged the street. The air was foul with them, but drovers quickly cleared the way, and the traffic began to move again.

  “Bound for Smithfield Market, I don’t wonder,” Crawley said a moment later. “Daresay that lot’s bound for slaughter.”

  “What a pleasant outing we are having, to be sure,” Gillian said, grimacing at him. “Pray, where are we bound?”

  He grinned back at her. “Well, ma’am, in the letter I left for Josh, I said we were bound for Fledborough in my own county of Nottinghamshire, because special licenses may be had cheaply there. That means the Great North Road, of course, and we are taking the shortest route I know to meet it, through Barnet.”

  “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of visiting Barnet,” Gillian said. “Is it far?”

  “Oh, a matter of some ten or eleven miles,” he said, grinning at her. “’Tis a fine place and historical too. A famous battle was fought there during the Wars of the Roses, and the folks have put up an obelisk in honor of it. Town sits on a hilltop, so there are some splendid views to be had.”

  “My dear sir, I am not particularly interested in fine views or in historical obelisks. I am persuaded that we ought to turn back at once, before this plan goes the way of your previous schemes. Goodness knows what my family will be thinking when I fail to return, but you may count upon Dorinda, at least, to see to it that your plan does not succeed.”

  “Corbin has promised to look after the fair Dorinda,” Crawley said. “We need worry only about Josh, and I doubt we need to worry about him too soon. We left your house at ten, and Mongrel gave it as his considered opinion that Josh wouldn’t stir out before noon, so that gives us a couple of hours on him. You may be easy, believe me. I don’t want him catching us too soon.”

  With some asperity Gillian said, “Be easy, sir? That is just what I cannot be! You must know better than anyone what his lordship’s temper is like.”

  “None better,” Crawley said cheerfully. “He will be ripe to murder me if we have read him correctly.”

  “And me,” Gillian said. “You did say you had done your best to make it look as if I had agreed to this mad plan of yours.”

  “I did, but I took the lion’s share of the credit, just in case he didn’t believe me.”

  “Good God, sir, but you must know that if he does care as you seem to think he does, he really will murder you!”

  “My dependence is entirely upon you, ma’am. You must distract him long enough for me to take to my heels.”

  He was laughing at her, and she knew it, but she could not be easy. They were coming into Islington, and though she knew he must be right and it was far too soon to expect the marquess to be on their trail, she could not help looking back over her shoulder as they passed the Peacock. There was no sign of him.

  Crawley said in a different, more serious tone, “Look here, you must not be on the fret, you know. I think you know Josh cares for you. The problem with him is that—”

  “That he likes to have his own way about things,” Gillian said grimly, “and I cannot see that this idiotic plan of yours will change that.”

  “Did you hear how he introduced your stepsister to his father last night?” Crawley asked.

  “He said she was the woman he meant to marry,” Gillian said in a small voice.

  “I would wager every opportunity for wealth to come my way for a year—well, a month, anyway—that he was speaking of you when he said that. You turned and ran the minute you saw Dorinda, so you might not have seen the look on Josh’s face, but if he knew it was her face he was going to see when he said those words, you may call me anything you like.”

  “But what can that matter,” Gillian said, “if his father will not allow him to go back on his word?”

  “Josh can handle his father,” Crawley said. “He just sometimes needs a little prodding before he will take his courage in hand and do it. You mightn’t think it when you hear the old blighter speak, but he’s mighty fond of Josh, for all he gives him a wigging nearly every time they meet.”

  “Yes, I have noticed the affection between them,” Gillian said. She thought for a moment about what he had said, then said, “Do you mean to say, sir, that you have abducted me—for without mincing words, that is what this is—merely to stir his lordship to rebel against his father?”

  Crawley’s amusement was clear. “I don’t know that I would put it that way myself, ma’am, but I suppose that’s it. At best, Josh would think the matter out from every angle and consider all the things that might happen, and chances are, he would murder the fair Dorinda before anything else was accomplished. And if we hadn’t acted quickly, your father would have put a notice in the papers today. Once I saw what took place with your stepmama last night, I thought we might have a respite, since Marrick had his own affairs to consider and mightn’t send the thing out first thing. But even if he did, you know, I doubt, after last time, that the paper will put it in before clearing it with Josh or his father. I have it on excellent authority that his grace came the duke over the poor fellow who printed the last one. So if Josh moves quickly, I think the betrothal can be scotched.”

  “He will not like having his hand forced, I think.”

  “We will concern ourselves with that when the time comes,” Crawley said grandly. “I hope he comes up with us by Welwyn. This team is good for two stages at an easy pace, but I shouldn’t like to try taking them as far as Stevenage. If I wind them, Corbin will have my liver. Moreover, we’d never get back before midnight, and I fear that your reputation—”

  “Oh, are we concerned now about my reputation?” Gillian said with a sigh. “I’d never have thought it, sir.”

  “Are you vexed? I’m sorry if you are. You needn’t be, you know. I promise you, we’ll make it all right and tight again.”

  She sat back to try to enjoy the scenery, hoping very much that Thorne would come after her. She could think of no better end to the crazy journey than for him to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her. On the other hand, she could not convince herself that anything had really changed between them. He still would resent the fact that he could control neither her money nor the vast estates that would one day be his. The very thought that he must wait for the duke’s death in order to come into his own, she knew, did not sit comfortably with him. It was a pity, she thought, that the two men could not simply divide up the wealth now and each have a part. Or that she could not give half of her fortune to him. But such solutions would not work. Neither Langshire nor Thorne would want half a loaf, and she knew her grandfather would not have approved of any plan that would allow her to give her fortune away to someone not of Vellacott blood.

  The battleground Crawley had mentioned was actually to be found at Hadley Green, half a mile north of Barnet, where he proceeded at once to put her in possession of the details of a battle that had taken place there well over three hundred years before. Gillian paid little heed. She was not interested in the houses of York or Lancaster, only in the House of Langshire.

  Though Crawley kept his team to a pace that not only spared them but that compared more to a snail’s crawl than the speed expected of such a team, they had passed through Hatfield and come within three miles of Welwyn before Gillian, looking back for what must have been the hundredth time, saw a cloud of dust in the distance and felt a leap of hope in her heart.

  Before she could spea
k, the tiger riding behind them said, “Be a carriage coming up fast, m’lord. Best hug the shoulder.”

  “Could it be the royal mail?” Crawley asked, grinning.

  “No, m’lord. Not near enough dust nor enough speed. Looks to be a sportin’ carriage, and a right fast one at that.”

  Gillian looked at Crawley and saw his grin. “Is it he?”

  “No way of knowing till he’s upon us,” Crawley said. “I’d have thought it would be another half hour to an hour, but if he’s been driving like the devil—which I’ll be bound he has—it’s Josh, all right. Shall we try to outrun him? I daresay we might beat him to Welwyn. These horses have got to be a good sight fresher than his. He’s probably driving job horses by now, for if he hasn’t changed at every stage, I don’t know him, though come to think of it, I daresay the duke keeps his own teams on this road. It is also the way to Langshire, after all.”

  Gillian was paying him no heed. She had turned around on her seat and was watching the carriage behind them. And it was as well for them that there was no turnpike ahead just then, for the tiger was likewise looking to the rear. But Crawley did not increase his speed, so it was not long before the other team caught up with them.

  Crawley pulled to the side as if to let the faster team pass him, but the other carriage swept past and swerved, forcing him to bring his horses plunging to a standstill. “By God,” he muttered, “if that were anyone but Josh, I’d have a few sharp things to say to the fellow.”

  But it was Thorne. Tossing his lines to Tim Cooley, he jumped down and strode back to their carriage with murder in his eyes. “Come down from there, my lad,” he said to Crawley. “I’d like a word or two with you in private. Behind that hedge yonder looks to be a good place for a quiet chat.”

  “Does it?” Crawley said, his tone even, all sign of his previous humor gone.

  Gillian held her breath. She was not at all certain what she ought to do. She could not allow Thorne to have any sort of “chat” with Crawley, for she knew perfectly well what he meant to do to him. But she was not by any means certain that she wanted to talk to him herself in the mood he was in. It was a pity, she thought, that they had not reached the safety of Welwyn High Street, for even Thorne must have thought twice about starting a brawl there. But here on the highroad she was afraid he might.