A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4)

by Ava Stone

  Cordie choked on a sob. In his embrace, she’d never felt so safe. She managed to shake her head. “I’m fine.”

  Clayworth held her back a bit and examined her face, as if to tell if she were being truthful. “You’re not fine,” he told her, a frown marring his too handsome face. “You’re completely ruined, Cordelia. Your brothers, Miss Greywood, your mother, and others are searching the Sunderland’s from top to bottom. Surely you didn’t think your absence would go unnoticed or that Miss Greywood wouldn’t be concerned by your disappearance.”

  She hadn’t been thinking at all. Cordie fell back into her seat and gaped at him. Ruined? Oh, good heavens! What was she to do now? Her mother would kill her.

  Haversham staggered back to his feet, holding a blood soaked kerchief to his nose, glaring at Clayworth. “That is the last bloody time you’re going to hit me unaware.”

  Cordie jumped from her seat at the sight of him. “Oh, my lord, are you all right?”

  “Do I look all right?” he snapped back.

  She rushed towards him. “Lie down on the settee and tilt your head back.”

  ***

  Brendan’s mouth dropped open as he watched Cordelia hover over the bastard, propping pillows under his head. Her reputation was in tatters and she was concerned about Haversham’s bleeding nose? She was the most infuriating woman he’d ever…been in love with. Of course, she was the only woman he’d ever been in love with, so he didn’t have anyone else to compare her to, but still he was on a quick path to Bedlam because of her.

  “For the love of God, Cordelia,” he barked, “we don’t have a lot of time. How long do you think it will take someone else to come looking for you here?”

  She turned away from Haversham to face Brendan, anguish alighting her face. “There’s nothing to be done, my lord.”

  “Of course there is,” he stalked towards her. “You’ll marry me. We’ll leave for Scotland right now, before anyone realizes we’re gone.”

  She staggered slightly, and he grasped her elbow, steadying her. Cordelia’s mesmerizing green eyes were wide with surprise. “Marry you?”

  Not exactly the way he’d planned on convincing her, but there wasn’t a lot to be done about it now. “I know,” he said with a self-deprecating smile, “I’m not right for you. But you don’t really have any other option at the moment.”

  He hated that her eyes flashed to Haversham, so he quickly pressed his case. “You’ll send a letter to your mother at the first posting inn, saying I convinced you to run off with me. I’ll send a similar one to the Astwicks, asking them to turn the tide of opinion in our favor. Your family will know the truth, but it won’t matter. Your reputation will be safe, for the most part. Scottish wedding notwithstanding.”

  “I’d marry you,” Haversham said from the settee, “but I think your brothers wouldn’t stop ‘til they caught up to us. Somehow I don’t think they’ll try too hard if it’s Clayworth.”

  The marquess shot Cordelia a meaningful look that Brendan couldn’t interpret. His jaw clenched at the sight. What was the bastard saying to her? He sincerely hoped he’d broken the scoundrel’s nose.

  Cordelia glanced back at him and nodded. “All right, my lord.”

  Brendan heaved a sigh. Thank God. He’d make sure she never regretted her decision. “We’d best be on our way.”

  Haversham laughed to himself. “I’ll tell them you hit me when I tried to stop you. I should get to play the role of hero just once in my life.”

  Haversham could tell them whatever he damn well wanted, as long as Cordelia was safely in Brendan’s arms, he didn’t care.

  ~ 22 ~

  Cordie was relieved it was dark in the coach as they traveled out of London. She didn’t think she could take Clayworth’s scrutiny at the moment. Of course, his eyes were probably on her anyway, but since she couldn’t see them, it didn’t unnerve her like it would have in the light of day. Somewhere along the way, she had completely lost control of her life. She could spend the long trip to Scotland going over the events of the last month in her mind and try to pinpoint the exact moment it all stopped making sense, but really what good would that do her? The past was over and didn’t matter nearly as much as the future.

  Her future.

  Thoughts about where she went from here kept her eyes wide open as the London landscape vanished from the coach windows behind them. What did her future hold? She would be tied for life to the Earl of Clayworth. While he wasn’t exactly the tyrant she’d always supposed he was, the idea was still a frightening one.

  As a young girl she had always looked up to her sister Eleanor and her friend Marina. With three brothers closer in age to her, Cordie gravitated to the older, more sophisticated females whenever they were around. Marina had been beautiful. Curls the color of spun gold, eyes like a warm spring sky, and the perfect figure that left most men panting. She had been elegant and graceful—all good things a countess should be.

  It wasn’t even possible for Cordie to fill her shoes.

  Which was only part of the problem. If Marina had been miserable in the role of Clayworth’s wife, how poorly would Cordie fail? Perhaps she would have been better off married to Captain Seaton or even the Marquess of Haversham—not that his belated proposal had been sincere, but it was a nice gesture all the same.

  “Are you awake?” Lord Clayworth whispered.

  As if it was possible for her mind to relax enough for her to drift off. For a moment she thought about feigning sleep, not terribly keen to begin a conversation with him. Whatever he had to say could be put off. They had a long trip ahead of them, after all. However, she was rarely a coward. “Yes,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “I know you don’t want this, Cordelia. I am sorry it had to be this way.”

  She was too. Sorry they had to race from London to Gretna Green in the middle of the night, with her family worried sick about her. Sorry her friends and family wouldn’t be with her when she married. Sorry she would marry a man whom she could never make happy. Would Russell and Tristan really chase after them? Or was Haversham right? When they learned she was with Clayworth would they simply let her go?

  There didn’t seem to be another solution that would protect her reputation, however. And as Clayworth’s countess, she would be out of her mother’s house. She supposed she would always be in debt to him for both those things. “Thank you for making this sacrifice for me, my lord.”

  He sat forward on his bench and took both of her hands in his. “It’s not a sacrifice, ma minouche. I want you for my wife, as you well know.”

  It was the why she couldn’t understand. She wasn’t any prettier than any of the girls who had tried to catch his attention over the years. She wasn’t more accomplished or better connected. She did have that grotesquely over-sized dowry. “Are your funds in order?” As his wife she had a right to know that sort of thing, didn’t she?

  The earl chuckled, and the rich baritone sound filled the coach with warmth. “Get some sleep, Cordelia.”

  ***

  Cordie awoke rather suddenly when their coach found a hole in the road. She sat up and blinked her eyes into the brightness that spilled inside the conveyance and stretched her arms. Sleeping in a carriage was not the most comfortable thing in the world. Every muscle was sore. Ball gowns were not the most practical of traveling apparel either.

  She clutched a quilt that was draped over her more closely and looked across the coach at her husband-to-be.

  Cordie screamed.

  Who was that? The man sleeping on the other coach bench was not the Earl of Clayworth! Scraggily beard and mud splattered clothes notwithstanding, no one in their right mind would mistake this man for the earl. Had she been abducted?

  The man’s eyes flew open in a panic at the same time the coach slowed to a stop.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “W-Wilson,” he stuttered. “Sorry to frighten you, milady.”

  She wasn’t anyone’s lady yet, though sh
e opted not to correct the man.

  The coach door jerked open and Clayworth’s popped inside. “Are you all right, Cordelia?”

  She pointed at Wilson, whoever the devil he was. “Who is this man?”

  A smile tugged at the earl’s lips. “This is my coachman, Wilson. We’ve been trading off on the driving all night.”

  “I can take the box now, milord,” Wilson said, moving towards the door.

  “Have you had enough rest?” Clayworth asked, getting out of the man’s way.

  “I don’t think I could go back to sleep now if I wanted to,” the coachman said with a shudder. “That scream’s rattled me nerves.”

  “Let me know when you start to get drowsy.”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Clayworth climbed inside the coach, shut the door behind himself, and settled in Wilson’s vacated spot. “You never struck me as the screaming sort.”

  Cordie sat back against the squabs, folding her arms across her chest. “How was I to know you traded places with your coachman? I thought I’d been abducted or something.”

  His golden brows shot upwards and he bit back a smile. “Abducted? You are the adventurous sort after all.”

  Wonderful, now he was mocking her. Cordie glared at him. “As I was frightened, I hardly find the situation humorous.”

  He sobered up immediately. “There’s no reason to be afraid. I’ve waited my whole life for you, Cordelia. I’m not about to let someone snatch you away.”

  He’d waited his whole life for her? What an incredibly romantic thing to say. She grinned at him, despite herself. Could his words possibly be true?

  “How did you sleep?” he asked after a moment.

  Cordie tried to suppress a yawn. “Awful. Coach travel is not conducive to a good night’s sleep, my lord.”

  “Sore?”

  She nodded.

  “Come here,” he said, patting the seat beside him.

  ***

  Cordelia’s eyes grew wide, but only for a second, then she joined him on his bench. Brendan was playing with fire, he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. She looked as if she’d been delightfully tumbled already. Her pretty brown curls had slipped from the perfect chignon she’d worn the night before, and her pink gown was crushed beyond repair, or at least until someone pressed it again.

  Brendan had never seen a more beautiful sight.

  He adjusted his position so that he sat sideways, and then turned Cordelia so her back faced him. When his hands brushed her shoulders, she shivered, and Brendan smiled to himself. He affected her as much as she affected him. It was a good indication they would have a passionate marriage. Thank God. “Relax,” he told her and began to massage her shoulders.

  The soft moans and sounds of ecstasy that escaped her lips as he ran his hands along her back and shoulders made his cock stiffen in response. It had been forever since he’d bedded a woman. Perhaps if he’d done so more frequently, he wouldn’t be about to explode out of his breeches now.

  Brendan leaned forward and barely touched his lips to the slender column of Cordelia’s neck, eliciting a soft gasp from her. He didn’t stop. He ran his lips along her shoulders, squeezing her arms in the process. Her skin was so soft, like sweet clotted cream and he wanted more of her. He wanted all of her.

  But not now. Not yet.

  She would be his wife in just a few days’ time. He could wait. At least he thought he could. She deserved much more than a quick tup in his coach. She deserved a soft bed with fresh linens, pillows, and a silky nightrail.

  Brendan managed to pull himself away from Cordelia and shook the images of her naked and waiting for him from his mind. Perhaps Wilson would get tired soon.

  Cordelia looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. “That was very nice. Thank you.”

  She didn’t move to the other side of the carriage, instead she leaned her head on his shoulder and Brendan’s breath caught. He lifted his arm and cradled her against him. It was easier to resist her when she was sleeping. “Are you still tired?” he asked hopefully.

  “No. But you must be exhausted after driving.”

  “We’ll stop in Stamford soon. You can post a letter to your family and we’ll get some breakfast. Wilson will probably need a break by then.”

  “You don’t need to press too hard, my lord. I’m certain Haversham is right. My brothers won’t follow when they learn I’m with you.”

  Brendan could go forever without hearing Haversham’s name, and he frowned. The night before, a lot of questions had gone unanswered. At the time he was focused on convincing her to leave with him, but now… “Why did you go to Haversham’s last night?”

  She tipped her head up to look at him. The golden flecks in her green eyes didn’t sparkle like they usually did. “I—um—well, I suppose I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Don’t you know what could have happened to you?”

  “He was a perfect gentleman.”

  Brendan’s blood began to boil. She could not possibly be defending the scoundrel. “Perfect gentlemen don’t abscond with young ladies from balls and take them to their homes.”

  Cordelia placed her hand on his chest and frowned. “Are you going to berate me the entire way, my lord? If so, it is going to be a very tedious trip.”

  Berate her the entire way? “Cordelia, I know you’re accustomed to running around Town and doing whatever you want, but not anymore. You’re going to be my wife and…” His voice trailed off when a look of abject misery settled on her face.

  She pushed away from him. “I’ll have to follow your every dictate. Your every order,” she whispered. “Yes, I know.”

  He’d never seen her look so dejected and his heart constricted. Still he couldn’t let her go around like she had been. It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten herself into worse trouble than this before now. “I only want to keep you safe.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  As the creamy swells of her breasts rose with her every breath of air, Brendan’s blood raced to his groin. “I am well aware of that.”

  She narrowed her beautiful green eyes on him, then reclaimed her spot on the opposite side of the coach, turning her back on him and snuggling back under the quilt he’d draped over her the night before. “Do I have your permission to go back to sleep? I find I am suddenly weary of this conversation.”

  He groaned and rubbed his brow, exhausted from having driven half the night. Caroline Staveley’s words about Cordelia from weeks earlier echoed in his mind. A girl that could hold her own against you, when needs be. Oh, God! Would the rest of his life be this struggle? He’d be lucky to make it to Scotland.

  ~ 23 ~

  A young stable boy gaped at Cordie when she stepped out of Clayworth’s carriage into the yard at the coaching inn, muttering something about strange habits of the gentry. Unconsciously, her hand flew to her unkempt hair. She must look a fright. A glance down at her crumpled ball gown confirmed that her appearance was worse than she thought. No one in their right mind would travel in such an ensemble.

  Wonderful!

  Not that she was particularly vain, but every bride wanted to look her best—even if she was to say her vows over a blacksmith’s anvil with no one she knew anywhere in sight… Well, except for the groom. At the moment she didn’t even want to look at her groom, however. They weren’t even married yet and he was already telling her what she could and couldn’t do. This did not bode well for the future.

  Blast him for touching her soul too! For making her want him. He said such sweet and heartfelt words, and the way he touched her always made her melt. She longed for him to take her in his arms again and kiss her as passionately as he had in the past.

  But not at the moment!

  Still smarting from their earlier conversation, she now had to go sit in the taproom to write a letter of explanation to her mother. How could she write a flowery letter, professing her desperate love for the sainted Clayworth, when she’d like nothing better
than to strangle him? Still it had to be done. Who knew how many people Lady Avery would have to show the letter to, excusing her daughter’s absence from Town? It would have to be a good letter.

  As she entered the coaching inn, her eyes adjusted to the darkened taproom. Then she felt a hand at her waist and looked beside her, up at her intended’s handsome face. He looked just as ridiculous as she did. Formal wear in broad daylight and wind-tousled hair from having driven his coach. She hated that her pulse raced with his touch.

  “I’ve rented a private room, darling, so that you can write your letter. Breakfast will be served soon. After I help Wilson change horses, I’ll join you.”

  His lips barely touched her cheek in the most chaste of kisses. Then he left her in the care of the innkeeper’s wife, a portly woman with a large nose and a matron’s cap.

  “This way, Lady Clayworth,” the woman said, hobbling toward a pair of doors at the far end of the room.

  Lady Clayworth. Good heavens! She was already playing the role of countess? Cordie caught her breath then quickly followed the rounded woman, who opened the doors and gestured her inside. Of course Clayworth would have presented her as his wife. She couldn’t very well travel the country as an unmarried miss in the company of a gentleman.

  “His lordship said you need some foolscap and ink?”

  “Yes, please. I need to post a letter to London.”

  The innkeeper’s wife smiled, revealing a mouth missing many teeth. “We’ll do the best we can, milady.”

  She was alone then, looking around the private parlor. It was dark, with a heavy wooden table in the middle, an old sideboard against a far wall, and the whole place smelled of stale ale. Still, it was nice not to have her bones jostled back and forth as they had been in the coach for the last several hours, if just for a little while.

  “Here ya go, milady,” the portly woman called happily as she entered the parlor, with some parchment, an ink well, and an old quill. She placed the items on the table and then bustled out to retrieve her breakfast.