by Cheryl Holt
“No. You look very comfortable, and it’s such a chilly morning. Let me spoil you.”
“How?”
“I’ll send a maid to stoke the fire. Once it’s warmer in here, she’ll bring hot water so you can wash, then I’ll have her deliver a breakfast tray. You can eat in bed.”
“That sounds marvelous.”
“If it’s still raining, I’ll arrange a carriage. We probably shouldn’t ride today.”
“Good. I’m awfully sore.”
They’d fled Dunworthy on horseback, which had proved a huge aggravation. She’d insisted she was an equestrian, but she’d fibbed about her proficiency. Her ineptitude had slowed them, and her hands and thighs were raw from the reins and saddle.
He leaned down and forced himself to kiss her. He hated to bother with exhibiting any affection, but he wasn’t quite finished playing the part of devoted fiancé. He couldn’t have her worry because he was delayed in returning. Luckily, their room was at the rear of the building, so if she glanced out the window, she wouldn’t see him trotting away.
“Don’t bestir yourself until the maid comes,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“It’s likely very hectic downstairs, with guests preparing to leave, so the staff will be busy. It will be awhile before a servant can tend you. You can doze off if you want. I’m sure you’re exhausted after our antics last night.”
“I might have a nap.” As he drew away and straightened, she asked, “When will you be back?”
“Give me an hour. I need to eat myself, then I have to talk to the men in the stables about a carriage.”
“Then we’ll depart?”
“Maybe or maybe not. If the roads are bad from the rain, we might not wish to continue on just yet. Take your time getting up. There’s no hurry.”
“I hope we don’t tarry. It would allow Uncle John to narrow the distance between us.”
“Do you truly think he’ll chase after you?”
“I can’t decide. One minute, I’m convinced he will, then the next, I’m convinced he won’t, but we shouldn’t risk it.”
“He’s not tough enough to wrestle you away from me. Even if he arrived, I’d never let him remove you from my dastardly clutches.”
She chuckled, then sobered. “Are you glad about this? You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”
He knew she meant the fact that he’d deflowered her. Initially, he hadn’t intended to. Or perhaps he had. She was an enormous tease.
After he’d had her money in his pocket, he’d felt he deserved extra compensation for the trouble he’d instigated with regard to her. She was exhausted from losing her virginity, but he was exhausted from having to pretend it had been wonderful.
His main goal currently was to vanish. He’d race across England to London and blend into the teeming masses before John Dunn could guess his direction. John could travel to Scotland on a dozen different roads, but he wouldn’t find Holden on any of them.
“I’m so glad we proceeded, Ellen,” he lied. “Don’t fret. It’s all working out perfectly.”
“And you liked it, didn’t you? I did it correctly?”
He laughed. “There’s no wrong way to do it.”
He had liked it too. Very much. It was always thrilling to push a virgin to the end. She hadn’t exactly complained, but she hadn’t been happy about it either. Her mother had apprised her, too often, that she shouldn’t spread her legs unless she had a ring on her finger.
Well, she might receive a ring someday, but it wouldn’t be from Holden. He had big dreams and big plans, and none of them included a frivolous girl with no status, fortune, or ancestry worth mentioning.
“Now then, my darling bride”—his tone was sweet and gentle—“go back to sleep. I need to get on with my morning.”
He gave a jaunty salute and strutted out. In his last glimpse of her, she was holding the blankets to her bosom, and if he was being honest, her breasts hadn’t been all that interesting. She was a thin female and not especially voluptuous.
“Don’t forget about the maid,” she called.
“I won’t.”
He shut the door and headed down to the lobby. As he’d predicted, the place was very busy. People were milling. Satchels and trunks were being stacked in corners, ready to be loaded into coaches.
He sauntered out to the front porch, delighted to discover that the rain had stopped. He strolled to the stables and flagged down the first fellow he saw so he could inquire about hiring a horse.
* * * *
Ellen tugged on her cloak and walked over to the door to start downstairs.
She’d been waiting for Holden forever. He’d told her he’d return in an hour, but two hours had passed, and she was growing concerned. No servant had appeared, and ultimately, she’d dragged herself out of bed. She’d had to dress without having the chance to wash.
She’d had a fair idea of what happened when a man and woman nestled under the quilts. She hadn’t wanted to participate and had thought they should be wed before they began that portion of their relationship, but Holden had been so eager, and she hadn’t been able to dissuade him.
The deeds they’d perpetrated hadn’t surprised her, but they’d unnerved her. It was much more intimate than she’d imagined it would be, and she couldn’t picture herself regularly engaging in such depravity. How did wives stand it?
She felt tainted and impure, and her feminine areas were very raw. She couldn’t bear to suppose she’d have to ride all day without bathing. She’d decided to speak to a maid on her own and ask for hot water, but the whole prospect was upsetting.
Having never previously stayed at a coaching inn, she wasn’t precisely sure how a person ordered hot water. Plus, she was anxious to clean herself when Holden wasn’t present.
The prior night, he’d stripped off all her clothes and had made her perform her marital duty in the nude. She hadn’t realized it was accomplished that way. She’d assumed a bride was allowed to wear her nightgown, but Holden had claimed nudity was very exciting.
If she bathed while he was watching, it might encourage him to force her into bed again. It was her specific intent that, in the future, they would pursue nuptial activity in the dark and as infrequently as possible.
She peeked into the hall, then tiptoed down to the lobby. It was deserted, but then, it was after ten. Travelers had risen early to continue on their journeys. Only Ellen and Holden were dawdling.
“Mrs. Smith!”
It took Ellen a moment to grasp that she was being summoned. Holden had signed the register with the fake names of Mr. and Mrs. Smith. She turned and the proprietor was addressing her from behind the counter.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Are you finished with your room? Are you checking out? I’d like to send up the maids if you’re leaving.”
“Not quite yet. Have you seen my husband?”
“No. We’ve been very busy. If he came down, I didn’t notice.”
A guest approached and diverted his attention, and Ellen wandered away to search for Holden. There was a taproom off the lobby that was a restaurant during the day and a tavern in the evening. She was starving and hoped he’d be there, but the tables were empty, and Holden was nowhere in sight.
A serving girl passed by, and Ellen mustered the fortitude to talk to her. “Pardon me, but I’m looking for my husband. He was at breakfast about seven-thirty.”
“We were packed then, with the passenger coach preparing to depart. I doubt I’d recollect.”
“He’s very handsome. Blond hair, green eyes?”
“Sorry,” the girl said, and she kept on.
Ellen peered in again, just to be certain he wasn’t there, then she hurried out to the stables. The rain had cleared, but angry clouds whipped by, and there were puddles in the yard.
She neared the building, and a man intercepted her.
“May I help you, Miss?” he asked
.
“Actually, it’s Mrs. Mrs. Smith?”
“I apologize, but if you need transportation, we don’t accommodate any lady who’s traveling alone. Is your chaperone or maid with you?”
“I’m not alone. I’m with my husband, Mr. Smith. A few hours ago, he planned to arrange for a carriage.” She flashed a wan smile. “I’ve been waiting for him in our room. Might he be here?”
“Mr. Smith, you say?”
“You remember him?”
“Handsome fellow? Blond? Dapper?”
She was swamped with relief. “Yes, that’s him.”
“I assisted him myself.” The man scowled. “I hate to tell you, ma’am, but he hired a horse. One horse.”
Ellen scowled too. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he hired a horse, and he trotted away.”
“To where?”
“He claimed he was off to Manchester.”
Her heart sank to her shoes. “That can’t be right. We’re on our way to Scotland. We’re…ah…heading north.”
“Are you?” he mused.
He brazenly glanced at her left hand, hunting for a wedding ring, but there wasn’t one. Furtively, she tucked her hand into the folds of her skirt.
“What might your destination have been in Scotland?” he inquired.
“It was just…ah…Scotland,” she murmured.
He studied her critically. “How old are you, Miss?”
“Eighteen,” she lied, “and it’s Mrs. not Miss.”
“Sure it is.” He smirked. “Do your parents know where you are?”
“Or course they do.”
He grabbed her arm and turned her toward the inn.
“Let’s get you inside, Miss. We’ll confer with the proprietor, so he can decide how to deal with you.”
“Why must I be dealt with?” she asked.
“This is a respectable establishment, and we have a reputation to protect. We don’t permit immoral shenanigans.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she firmly stated.
“I’ll bet you don’t. We’ll likely call the law on you. Best prepare yourself.”
He marched her over, and she accompanied him like a puppet on a string.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Winnie and Bobby approached the castle together. They’d been out on the cliffs and staring at the mainland, wondering if John might be on his way home already, but it was optimistic pondering. He’d only been away for a day, and who could guess how far Holden and Ellen had ventured toward Scotland? Who could guess if he’d chosen the correct route?
He might be away for ages, and they were dejected over his absence and missing him terribly.
Once he’d agreed to rescue Ellen, he’d departed quickly, and she supposed it was his years as a soldier that had taught him to pack and head out at a moment’s notice. He hadn’t had anyone accompany him, not even Bobby who, in recent weeks, had become his happy shadow.
At being left behind, Bobby was particularly morose. “Lord John should have let me go with him. He shouldn’t be out on the road alone.”
“He can travel faster by himself.”
“I wouldn’t have slowed him down.”
Actually, John had whispered that he wouldn’t take a companion because—if he caught Holden—he truly thought he’d murder him. If violence occurred, he couldn’t have any witnesses.
Winnie refused to believe John would kill Holden. Then again, what did she understand about real life and vengeance?
John hadn’t shared the details of the sins Holden had perpetrated against him, but their quarrel had cost him his career and reputation. Who was she to tell him he shouldn’t commit murder? There had been several occasions in her own past where she’d have been elated to shoot Holden right between the eyes.
“Will he find Ellen?” Bobby asked.
“I don’t know, but if he doesn’t locate her immediately, he won’t search for long. He wasn’t too keen on chasing after her in the first place. If he rides for a bit, and there’s no sign of her, he’ll turn around.”
“Or he might keep on to Scotland. He was so angry. I wouldn’t like to be in Ellen’s shoes when he stumbles on her.”
“I hope there’s a good ending for her. I hate to think she might be imperiled.”
“Would Mr. Cartwright imperil her?”
“I’m certain he would.”
“I’m furious that he hurt you, Miss Watson. I wish I’d been acquainted with you then. I’d have made him pay for being so awful to you.”
“You can be quite a hero, Bobby Prescott.”
She ruffled his hair, and he grinned and blushed.
They walked over the drawbridge and into the castle yard, and it was unusually quiet for it being the middle of the afternoon. There was just one boy over by the stables, but when he observed them, he blanched and skittered into the building.
“I haven’t seen Jane today,” Winnie said. “Have you talked to her?”
“No, but I’ll check on her once we’re inside.”
They went through the tall doors into the main hall, Rex dogging Bobby’s heels, and when they entered the large chamber, they staggered to a halt.
The tables Winnie had rearranged had been put back in their original spots. Two dozen Dunn cousins were scattered about, and on closer inspection, she noted it was a collection of those with whom she’d crossed swords during her short tenure. There were the cook and his assistant John had fired. There were the housemaids she’d forced to clean his office.
Melvina Dunn was in the front and sitting in the lord’s chair. Disturbingly, Freddie Townsend sat next to her, as if she’d conferred special status on him.
As far as Winnie was aware, Mr. Townsend had packed his bags and fled, but apparently, he’d slinked in the minute John was gone. He definitely had some gall. So did Melvina in allowing him to return.
The scene reminded her of the day she’d arrived, when John and Melvina had been holding court and John rendering verdicts. It seemed odd that Melvina would proceed without him, but Winnie wouldn’t attempt to comprehend any Dunn routines.
She might have skirted the gathering and tiptoed off to her room, but suddenly, Melvina said, “Miss Watson! Finally. We’ve been waiting for you. Approach the dais please. Bobby, you too.”
Every person whipped around to glare at them. Their stony expressions were cold and hostile, and Winnie’s spirits flagged. What now? Wasn’t it enough that they’d been cruel and antagonistic? Wasn’t it enough that they’d constantly ensured she was denigrated and maligned?
She loved John Dunn so dearly, and she thought she might have loved him all her life—if she’d been given the chance. She’d have married him and made him happy forever, but their stern, unbending attitudes had guaranteed she wouldn’t try.
If she’d been tougher and braver, she might have fought them to remain by his side. But she wasn’t tough or a fighter. She had to move on, and with John being away from Dunworthy, it provided the perfect opportunity to sneak off. In fact, she was planning to do just that, and she’d meant to tell Bobby out on the cliffs.
At the last second though, she’d lost her nerve.
If the Dunn clan was about to initiate a session of verbal abuse, their timing was silly, and their ire so misplaced. She was eager to leave Dunworthy. She was ready to leave. She simply couldn’t figure out how to inform Bobby and Jane.
She peeked down at him, and he realized mischief was afoot. He rolled his eyes and bit down a smile. Rex growled quietly, not finding any humor in the situation.
They marched down the center aisle and stopped in front of the dais. Winnie seized the offensive.
“How may I help you, Mistress Dunn?”
“I’ll be brief.”
“I appreciate it.”
“With Lord John away from Dunworthy Castle,” Melvina said, “I am in charge.”
“I’m delighted for you.�
� Winnie couldn’t tamp down her sarcasm.
“I am issuing a decree that you are no longer welcome, so you’ll depart.”
“No longer welcome?” Winnie snidely retorted. “I think you’re confused. Was I ever welcome? I don’t recall which day that was.”
Mr. Townsend poked his nose into the mess. “You have a very smart mouth, Miss Watson. Why don’t you shut it for a change?”
“I don’t answer to you, Mr. Townsend, and I’m positive Lord John ordered you to scurry away like the rat you are. Why are you still in residence?”
“Miss Watson!” Melvina slapped the arm of her chair. “Be silent and listen.”
“Fine. Get on with it, so we can end this charade.”
“You are an outsider who barged in where you weren’t wanted. You’ve brazenly assumed authority that wasn’t yours to assume. You’ve bossed us and forgotten your lowly position with regard to us.”
“I’m not sorry either,” Winnie blithely stated. “I butted into your business with Lord John’s permission, and I stayed as a guest with his permission. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you discuss it with him.”
“I also accuse you of whoring,” Melvina bluntly announced.
Bobby gasped. “Watch yourself, Mistress Dunn. I won’t stand by and let you insult Miss Watson.”
Melvina ignored Bobby and continued to harangue at Winnie. “Lord John is my fiancé, and I have to tolerate his lusty habits, so I couldn’t put my foot down over his fascination with you.”
“Lord John is not your fiancé,” Winnie scoffed. “When you persist with such absurd fantasies, I fear for your mental capacity.”
Mr. Townsend chimed in again. “Who claimed John isn’t her fiancé, Miss Watson? Was it John himself?” He laughed in a cruel manner. “He would lie like that. He’s the biggest libertine in the world. You can’t have believed him. You’re not that stupid.”
“I’m not talking to you, Mr. Townsend,” Winnie snapped.
“Well, I am talking to you, Miss Watson, and I’m verifying that John and Melvina have been engaged for two years. They’re marrying at Christmas. The invitations have already been sent, and family members are arranging to travel from all over England.”