by Carrie Brock
The blanket lifted and Nicki sucked in cool, fresh air. She glanced at Teddy, who watched her with devilish mirth twinkling in his amber eyes. “You're right, Nick. Your hair looks like a lion's mane.”
Nicki raised into a crouch, an admirable feat considering the coach traveled at immoderate speed over an extremely rough road. The wheels struck another pothole and she fell back into the seat with a jarring thump.
“You will not be laughing when Blake overtakes us. You will regret every bruise.”
“Blake won't find us—if he decides to follow. You seem so sure he'll want you back.”
“Of course he will. We are to be married today.”
Teddy retrieved the throw from the floor and tossed it at Nicki. She watched as he reached inside his jacket and removed a decorative silver flask. “How could I forget. But the marriage was all part of his grand scheme to ruin your father. He never meant to go through with it.”
“How do you know that?” She wished she could have bitten back the question.
“Blake told me, of course. We used to be friends, you know.”
Nicki's throat tightened painfully. To hide her dismay, she pulled the blanket up to her chin. Then she chided herself. Blake had not even told his aunt the truth behind their engagement. Teddy merely toyed with her emotions, just as he had from the moment of his return.
She trusted Blake implicitly. “I do not believe you. Blake, unlike you, possesses a strong sense of honor.”
“Bah! Honor.” Smoothing back a lock of his errant blond hair, Teddy turned his stare to the shades drawn over the windows, as though he could see through them to what lay outside. He took a long drink from the flask. “What is honor but a word used by those who have always gotten everything they desire?”
“That is why you have none, Teddy. It is in all of us—from the highest king to the lowest beggar. But you have turned away from the honor inside you so many times, always choosing the easy way, until what little you might have possessed has withered and died. To be honorable is not always easier, but when you close your eyes at night you can do so without shame.”
He chuckled bitterly, his gaze burning into hers. “Was Blake's long campaign of revenge so honorable, then? He drained your father financially. He tricked you. Was that so honorable?”
Nicki shook her head. “No, it was not. But Blake was fighting to regain his honor from those he believed had taken it from him. I think he realizes it is something no one can take away, because it is inside. The difference is that you never wanted honor at all. You have spent your life avoiding it. Blake has spent the last few years of his life trying to regain it.”
“How noble!” Teddy curled his lip in derision. “Still, none of that matters now. You will never see Dylan again now that you are to be my wife. Be honest, Nick, haven't you fought marriage to others all these years because you awaited my return?”
The truth of that statement stabbed at her heart. She had waited for Teddy. But not this Teddy. And in maintaining her liberty, she had been free to become engaged to Blake. It had taken her no time at all to see who was the better man—but now what was she to do? She could not see through the blinds. She did not know the time of day, or even their destination. Nicki fought despair. She could not give up, not until every avenue of escape had proved impossible.
“I want you to take me back at once, Teddy. This is foolishness. You have no money . . . .”
“I have borrowed some money and when we are married I shall have your inheritance. We'll live comfortably.” He replaced the cap on the flask and placed it on the seat beside him.
Nicki tried to swallow, but her mouth had turned dry. “Blake will not leave England without me. He will search the ends of the earth if he must. I pity you when he finds me.”
“You think you mean something to the heartless earl? You're a fool, Nick. I always thought you were a little more practical. Besides, I believe you're forgetting the notes you left behind.”
Nicki closed her eyes, as though by doing so she could protect herself from his cruel words. She clenched her fists, then felt the Diamond signet ring press into her palm. Blake's words came back to her, lending her strength. I love you, Nicole Dylan.
Blake will know the note is a lie.
She opened her eyes to gaze squarely at Teddy, her chin lifted. “If you force me to marry you, Teddy Bartholomew, I shall make your life hell on earth. You see, I love Blake Dylan and I will do anything to be with him. Every sip you take, you will wonder if I have poisoned your drink. When you close your eyes at night, you will think question whether or not you've locked away the silver. And when you turn your back, you will never know if, when you turn around, I will be gone.”
Teddy stared at her as though to judge the honesty of her speech. Nicki held her breath, hopeful. He sighed. “That was quite eloquent, Nick. If we run low on funds, I can always put you on the stage. You'd be a smash.”
Frustration overwhelmed her. Nicki clenched her fists and lunged across the coach at Teddy, but he caught her wrists and shoved her roughly back into her seat. He glared down into her face, holding her with cruel force. Her breath hissed from between her teeth as the pain returned full force to slice through her skull, but Nicki faced him without flinching.
“Take me back! I want Blake. I do not want you! I hate you, Teddy! I shall hate you forever for this.”
He released her, reached to the floor of the coach to retrieve the blanket, and tossed it at her. Without a sound, he dropped back into his own seat.
Nicki covered her face and sobbed her heart into her hands, despising herself for breaking down in front of Teddy. But she could not remember a time in her life when she had been so frightened.
Or so alone.
Chapter 25
. . .
Blake reached inside his vest pocket and removed his watch. Nine o'clock. Twenty minutes since he had last checked, but seeming an eternity. Nicole, where are you? Worry gnawed at his insides. Was she safe? Had she regained consciousness? Would Teddy hurt her further? Would she cause some harm to come to herself by that damned recklessness of hers? Questions churned inside his mind, more frightening because he had no answers.
The search had thus far proved fruitless. He and Jonathon had stopped at every inn and hostelry on the westbound road to London, but no one had seen anyone meeting Nicole's or Teddy's description.
Sitting straighter in the saddle, he stretched his weary muscles. He looked at Jonathon riding next to him. Shoulders slumped, the man appeared in danger of slipping from his mount at any moment. They had slowed their pace to save the horses. The ride had been hard on them as well.
As much as the delay chafed, these were two of Jonathon's prize stallions, Adonis and Zeus, and the pair had already endured twice the abuse other horses could have—almost as though they sensed Nicole's danger.
Ahead, Blake caught sight of a sign rocking back and forth on weathered posts, the letters faded by time. Another inn. He pressed his boot heels into Adonis's side to urge him on. Jonathon followed suit. Minutes later, Blake drew up on the reins and turned his horse into the courtyard.
Without warning, a bright orange carriage drawn by two horses surged into the path of Blake's horse. He pulled sharply on the reins. Adonis reared, front hooves flashing. Blake was forced to tighten the grip of his knees to keep his seat.
The young dandy driving the carriage called out a harried ‘beg pardon,’ the vehicle tilted sharply, then maneuvered onto the thoroughfare. One of the ladies seated in the back of the carriage squealed. A parasol fluttered wildly. Two riders gave chase, one a gentleman, the other a lady in a red riding habit.
“Cecil, slow that thing down or you'll spill our picnic lunch!” The gentleman called out to the carriage, laughing. Then they were gone.
Blake's gaze went from the road to survey the courtyard. A mail coach stood nearby and awaited the fresh horses that were backed into the traces. A half-dozen horses stood inside open stalls while two boys of about e
leven or twelve worked together to brush one of the horses, arguing good-naturedly. A smithy worked his forge, then held tongs over the billowing flames.
As he urged Adonis forward, Blake heard how closely Jonathon followed by the ringing of shod hooves as they crossed the uneven cobblestones. He continued to look around, but saw no coach that looked to be privately owned. None of the horses appeared to be well lathered or worn down, as they would have to be.
Blake reached up with one hand to rub his eyes. It was unthinkable that Teddy could have come so far without a change of team. He and Jonathon must have taken the wrong road. The only hope left was that the other search parties would have better luck.
After a dismount, Blake handed the reins over to an eager lad with bright red curls and a sprinkle of ginger freckles across a pug nose. “Take special care with this brute, he has earned his keep this day.”
Reaching inside his cloak, Blake removed a coin from his jacket pocket and tossed it to the boy.
“I'll care fer ‘im good, m'lord.”
Jonathon climbed down from Zeus and offered Blake a tired smile. A curious protectiveness stirred in Blake's chest and he turned back to the boy and offered another coin. “Here's another shilling for this beast as well. We plan to leave within the half-hour. How are you set for mounts?”
“We've none so fine as these—but we got some that's 'ardy. Ye seem to be in a ‘urry.”
Blake nodded. “We are indeed. Choose your finest and have them saddled and ready. See to the boarding of these two. We may be back for them this evening.”
As the boy took both sets of reins Jonathon reached out to catch the young man's sleeve. “Have you seen a coach today—the occupants would be a tall, thin man with blond hair and a pretty young lady, small, with lighter blond hair?”
The boy thought for a moment. “Nay, m'lord. ‘asn't been no one such as that ‘ere t'day.”
Blake knew the extent of Jonathon's disappointment because the emotion was something they shared, and had shared with each failure to hear word of Nicole. He took the shorter man's arm and led him across the courtyard to the arched entry leading into the inn.
Blake paused just inside the door as he waited for his vision to become accustomed to the dimness. He noted the public room teemed with people, some most likely passengers from the post. That left at least a dozen others crowded into fairly tight quarters. Combined with the scent of unwashed bodies and eau de cologne came the unmistakable odor of boiled eggs and cabbage. Voices raised to speak over each other, shrill laughter, and coughing. The place was a nightmare. Blake looked out across the heads for any opening that might mean an empty seat. An ache had started behind his eyes.
A red-faced man wearing an apron over his barrel-like torso dodged serving girls who bustled to and fro attending tables. Eventually, he reached Blake and Jonathon.
“Welcome, Gentlemen.” The greeting concluded with a grin that revealed a good deal of missing teeth.
“We should like a place to sit for a short while!” Blake shouted over the din.
“Of course. I've a private room this way. I'm Gerard, the owner of this establishment. If you will follow me.”
Blake felt very much like a child being dragged in the wake of an overbearing nanny. Jonathon trod upon his heels twice before they managed the journey to the opposite side of the common room.
Gerard opened the door and ushered them into a cozy sitting room. A worn settee and several arm chairs grouped on a threadbare Persian rug, a rickety table here and there. But the room smelled clean, a fire crackled in the grate, and it was blessedly quiet.
The snaggle-toothed grin erupted again on Gerard's round face. “Some tea? Cook has just baked scones. If you've a heartier appetite, we've kidney and eggs.”
As Jonathon dropped into one of the armchairs, Blake glanced at him, then back to Gerard. “We plan to continue our journey shortly. Tea and scones will be fine.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
Gerard closed the door with soft click.
Blake moved to the window. Over rolling green meadows dotted with cows and sheep, dark clouds roiled, promising rain at the least, possibly a storm. Luck certainly was not with him today. Soon he and Jonathon would have to return to the designated meeting place. Blake said a silent prayer that Nicole would be joining that rendezvous.
“It was Ted that poisoned the horses, wasn't it? It all fits. He wanted you to look guilty.”
Blake allowed his shoulders to sag. Damn, he could not recall ever feeling this exhausted. But then, he had never before experienced such dread in his soul for another human being. It surrounded him, dragged at him.
Nicole.
He could not lose her.
“My actions fell into his hands nicely, making me look the guilty party.” He turned in time to see Jonathon lean forward and press his palms over his cheeks.
With a sigh, Jonathon raised his face. His red-rimmed eyes met Blake's gaze. “I'd hoped it was—I don't know—anyone else.”
“I do not see that it matters, sir.”
“But it does. It was Ted that struck her. If he killed the horses, and it looks as though he did, he may harm her further.”
Blake's insides turned glacial. That thought had not crossed his mind. Then he recalled the night the branch had collapsed, nearly killing Nicole. Teddy had made an extremely timely and opportune arrival to rescue her. Could the branch have been tampered with to eliminate Blake and had instead endangered Nicole?
Carefully, he maintained his composure, struggling against a rage that would not be appeased until he had broken every piece of furniture in the room. “Teddy cares for Nicole—he always has. She will be fine.”
Jonathon shook his head. “If he cared, he would have found another way to take her from the house. Instead, he struck her like some thief. My poor girl . . . she's never had a hand raised to her. There were times when I could have turned her over my knee, but she would look at me so bravely with those eyes of hers.”
“I know that look. A man is helpless before it.”
“Then what does that make Ted? A monster? He's known her since she was hardly more than a babe. How could he do this to her? Even you, as much as you hated and despised me, could not withstand her.”
Blake pictured Nicole's teeth worrying her lower lip, her delicate hand pushing back a strand of hair that seemed to constantly be out of place. No, he could not withstand her. But then he loved her. He loved her from the moment she let loose a string of curses in his bedchamber. Somewhere inside of Teddy there must lie a piece of that emotion. How could there not?
Because Bartholomew cared only for himself.
Blake strode to the armchair opposite Jonathon and collapsed into the seat. He could not speak. There were no more comforting words left in him to offer Nicole's father. Perhaps he could even stand to hear a few himself.
The door opened to Gerard bearing a large tray. With one foot, he skillfully hooked the leg of a small table that stood next to the door and dragged it to a spot near Jonathon. “Here you are, Gentlemen. If you should need anything else, pull the cord there by the door and someone’ll be here straightaway.”
Blake nodded. The man disappeared through the door and closed it behind him without a sound. Jonathon sat up and reached for the teapot. He poured two cups. Blake rose to retrieve his.
As he took a drink, he absently watched Jonathon split a scone and coat it with whipped butter. Steam wafted from the roll, carrying with it the aroma of fresh baked bread. Blake's stomach rumbled in anticipation, reminding him he had not eaten since dinner last night. Jonathon handed over the buttered scone. While Blake retrieved a linen napkin and returned to his own chair, Billington prepared himself a roll.
As he continued to watch Jonathon, Blake noted with surprise how easily they had slipped into a kind of comradeship. Having only known the closeness of a family during the first years of his life, Blake had vague images of how it had been.
Nicole's family was
his ideal. Loving, protective, loyal. And this man, Jonathan Langley—the man Blake had hated and worked so hard to destroy, the man who now treated him like a son—stood at the head of that family unit.
“Sir, there is something I must say—to clear the record, so to speak. I am not proud of what I have done to you and your family. If I had known you . . . I am offering my apologies, sir.”
Jonathon wiped at butter on his chin with a napkin, then smiled slightly. The warmth that entered his eyes touched Blake more deeply than the stiffest praise he had cajoled from Barrett Dylan.
“I don't relish the part I played in the whole mess and I am sorry for your pain. These past few weeks, I've watched you with my daughter and I've listened to her champion you when I still would've condemned you. Now, I can honestly say I welcome you into my family.”
Blake cleared his throat. “And if we do not find Nicole?”
“If God chooses to take her from me, he's left you to keep her memory alive for us all.” His chin trembled. “She loves you with all her heart. That's all I need to know.”
The last vestiges of darkness fled Blake's soul at those words. Startled, he felt moisture slip down his face. “Your daughter has returned the light to my life, sir. You have saved me just by bringing her into this world. I will be honored to be part of your family. We will find Nicole. We have to find her before that bastard does something to harm her. And when we bring her home, I only hope she can overcome what Teddy did. She worshiped him.”
Jonathon sat up a little straighter and with a renewed vigor. “Oh, I think Nick saw through Ted quite some time ago. It was you that helped her to do that. She'd already fallen in love with you before he returned. Then she had someone decent to compare him to when his true colors showed through. I think I might actually feel a little sorry for the man about now. Nick can tear into someone when she has a mind to. If she misses her wedding because of Ted, you can bet he'll feel her wrath.”