“How? How can one such as ye—”
“Just trust that I do.”
“But don’t ye see? I’ll have t’ go back, in any case. Gus here, he’s better. He don’t need me to watch him anymore.”
“I will have a word with the housekeeper. We’ll find something you can do at the manor, so you won’t have to go back to Fletcher.”
Sadie ducked her head and sniffed. “Thank ye, me lady.”
“For now, we’ll have to return to the manor. I should turn this map over to Mr. Crosby.” And at the same time, she’d ask him to install a lock on the cottage door.
They made their plodding way through the trees, Gus mounted, Caro leading Boudicca on foot, Sadie trailing in their wake. As they approached the manor, the yammer of dogs echoed through the trees. Boudicca pricked her ears and snorted.
They emerged from the woods to find the stable yard swarming with hounds, white with red and black patches. Boudicca yanked at the reins, eager to gallop after the pack. A sharp whistle brought the dogs to heel.
The blood sang in Caro’s ears, and her legs tingled with the itch to leap into the saddle. Sir Bellingham. He must have arrived, even if she wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow. She handed Boudicca off to Gem and hurried toward the house. Soon now. Soon she’d have her chance to prove herself. Soon she’d have her small taste of the freedom Sadie longed for.
Carriages choked the looping drive at the front of the manor. Men, their thighs clad in skintight buckskin, chatted on the broad steps. A few ladies dressed in traveling costumes exchanged greetings with one another. Caro’s gaze traveled from one face to the next, searching for the ruddy complexion of a baronet in his early thirties. Instead, she picked out two familiar figures—Lord Allerdale and Marcus Pendleton.
She swallowed a spike of irritation and pasted on a pleasant expression. “Welcome, welcome!” Blast it, but Lizzie was better at this sort of thing. She nodded to Allerdale. “Has Sir Bellingham arrived?”
A grin stretched Pendleton’s lips from cheek to cheek. “Oh, did he not send a message?”
A sudden sensation of cold washed over Caro from head to toes. “Not that I know of, but perhaps Caruthers has it?”
“No matter. It’s my unfortunate duty to inform you that Sir Bellingham is unable to attend your little hunting party.”
“I see.” Somehow she managed to speak though even her lips felt frozen. “And how is he to determine if I am fit to ride with his hunt if he is not here?”
“Oh, that’s no problem at all. He’s sent me in his stead.”
Chapter 20
The low buzz of masculine conversation penetrated the double doors that led to Sherrington’s formal dining room. With a shake of his head, Adrian continued on his way down the passage. Lady Caroline’s hunting party had arrived—an entire day early. No doubt the men were occupied with their bawdy stories, after-dinner brandy, and passing the chamber pot, while the ladies pretended gentility in the drawing room.
None of their activities concerned him, though perhaps he ought to be glad for the extra day. The sooner they held their hunt and left, the sooner he could enact his plans for the estate.
He’d turned the corner and headed for the stairs when a titter of high-pitched laughter rang out—too loud to have occurred in the shelter of a closed room. A flicker of movement caught his attention and he turned on his heel. Behind him, a small figure crossed the corridor and pressed an ear to the dining room door.
What the devil?
If he’d been given odds on which of the Wilde sisters was most likely to listen in on the men, he’d have wagered on Lady Caroline. He’d have lost his blunt, too, unless Lady Caroline had suddenly lost a few inches in height and dyed her hair auburn.
Adrian cleared his throat. “Lady Philippa, your pardon, but I doubt the conversation is fit for your ears.”
If Lady Philippa felt any shame at being caught eavesdropping, she did not let it show. “If the conversation is fit for Caro, it’s fit for me.”
That brought him up short. “Lady Caroline is in there?”
“Yes.” Lady Philippa flattened her cheek against the oak panel. “The ladies in the drawing room have begun to make unkind remarks.”
A muffled rumble of laughter seeped through the door, and Lady Philippa winced.
Adrian stepped closer.
“Snowley is there. He won’t let things get too far out of hand.” Lady Philippa bit her lip. “I hope. If you went in, do you think you might fish her out?”
“I can try.” He wasn’t any more certain of that statement than Lady Philippa sounded about Wilde. “But I think you and I both know that when Lady Caroline takes a notion into her head, it’s difficult to convince her otherwise.”
“I’ve seen dogs give up a meaty bone more easily. But if you’d be so kind as to persuade her to join the ladies, I’d be grateful.”
He pushed the door open. Everything looked perfectly ordinary—at first. Cravats askew, several male guests lounged about one end of an enormous mahogany table. But their attention wasn’t fixed on their drinks. They watched as a couple standing behind the duke’s seat of honor stared each other down.
Lady Caroline held a tumbler containing two fingers of liquid. Amber liquid. Nothing but strong drink, in Adrian’s experience, came in that particular hue.
Facing her, a man whom Adrian had never seen before—but a gentleman, to judge by his dress—held a similar glass. At some unseen signal, both tilted their heads back and downed their portion. Lady Caroline’s glass clacked onto the table an instant before her partner’s.
A cheer rose from the assembly, and a wide grin stretched across Lady Caroline’s lips.
Good God, Adrian had seen drinking contests, but never one involving a woman as lofty as a duke’s daughter. And this couldn’t have been Lady Caroline’s first taste of strong drink. She’d hardly winced at a measure that had to have burned a path down her throat.
“You need to stop them.” Lady Philippa had followed him as far as the threshold. “That’s Marcus Pendleton, and Dysart warned us against him.”
Adrian hadn’t the slightest clue what Lady Philippa was referring to, but he recalled Pendleton’s name well enough from the threatening note Lady Caroline had received. “Why has no one informed his grace?”
“Oh, good heavens. We couldn’t tell Papa that Caro was engaging in a drinking competition with a gentleman. He’d have a fit of apoplexy.”
Sherrington’s heir wasn’t any more effectual at putting a halt to the proceedings. Snowley stood to one side, twisting his hands about a serviette, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether the lines of propriety had been crossed.
Pendleton plucked a decanter off the table and refilled the glasses.
Adrian strode the length of the dining room and grabbed Lady Caroline’s drink before she could pick it up. The combined scents of peat and smoke curled from the surface of the liquor. Scotch. Single malt.
Lady Caroline made a swipe for her glass and nearly upended herself in the effort. She straightened, swaying like a willow in a brisk wind. Girlish laughter bubbled from her lips.
“What is the meaning of this?” Pendleton demanded.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Adrian shot back. “What do you think you’re doing, leading a lady of good breeding into drunkenness?” Christ, he sounded like one of them, the worst kind of society stickler. How ironic coming from the baseborn son of a tenant.
Out of nowhere, Snowley appeared to step between them. “Now, really. I’m sure this display is completely unnecessary.”
With another giggle, Lady Caroline picked up Pendleton’s neglected drink. “Another contestant? Let’s see if I can drink faster than you.”
Adrian’s heart rate spiked. Lord, she was further gone than he’d realized.
Pendleton leaned past Snowley until his face was inches from Adrian. “As you can see, no one is forcing Lady Caroline to do anything she doesn’t wish to.”
; “Yes.” She wobbled closer. “I have to prove I can drink with the boys. That’s the agreement.”
He reached for the glass in her hand, but she pulled it away in time. “You have a drink. You don’t need mine, too.”
“Just who in the bloody hell are you?” Pendleton asked.
“Oh dear.” Lady Caroline let out another titter. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. We need to perform introductions. This is our new estate agent, Mr. Crosby. He’s been doing a rather impressive job, I might add, especially when it comes to dredging the irrigation ditches.”
“Well,” Pendleton commented, “doesn’t that sound lovely and inappropriate?”
Adrian glared at him. “You mean like what’s going on now?”
Pendleton suddenly became engrossed in the wood grain of the tabletop.
“Where’s your sense of responsibility for allowing this to proceed?” Adrian added to Snowley.
“Now, see here. Pendleton’s one of us. He wouldn’t dream of taking advantage…”
While Snowley yammered excuses, Adrian kept his attention trained on Pendleton. The scoundrel was staring at a sheet of paper on the table, as if he thought to summon it into his hand by sheer force of will. A quill and a bottle of ink lay beside the page. At the top, bold lettering proclaimed Bill of Sale.
Adrian needed to read no further to put together what Pendleton had in mind. He’d get Lady Caroline drunk and talk her into signing away her horse.
A white-hot bolt of rage surged and, with a growl, he lunged.
Only to run up against a solid wall. Snowley blocked his path. A fountain of whisky arced through the air, as the glass in his hand clattered to the thick carpet and rolled beneath the table. Another pair of hands grappled him from behind, pinioning his arms.
Lady Caroline let out a screech.
“Let him go, Allerdale,” Pendleton said to the newcomer. “If Mr. Crosby should like to meet me outside, I’ll be more than happy to oblige. Just as soon as we take care of our business here.”
“Business? Business?” Adrian shook off Allerdale’s grip and vaulted past Snowley to seize Pendleton’s lapels in his fists. “This is underhanded trickery!”
A pitiful moan stopped him cold. Just on the edge of his field of vision, Lady Caroline wavered. Her complexion took on a greenish tinge, and her knees buckled. Shite.
Shoving Pendleton away, Adrian pivoted and swept her up in his arms. He shouldered past the crowd of onlookers and strode for the door. Lady Caroline let out another whimper and buried her face against his chest.
Down the corridor, to the back entrance, where he stood her on her feet. Just in time. She doubled over and heaved into the floral border.
He couldn’t stop himself from touching her shoulders, her back, anywhere he thought might somehow comfort her. When she straightened, he pulled her away from where she’d just been sick, and to his chest—to steady her on her unstable-with-drink legs, or so he told himself.
She shivered in his arms.
He pushed a straggle of hair off her forehead. “What were you thinking?” Though he wanted to yell and swear at her, he forced his voice to gentleness.
“They said…” Even her voice was shaky.
“They?”
“Pendleton. He told me if I wanted to ride with the boys, I had to drink with the boys.”
Ride with the boys. Oh, the images that conjured, not only of her taut, breeches-clad arse rising and falling in the saddle, but that same arse, bare naked, rising and falling as she rode him, her slender thighs firm and smooth against his. He shook the image away. Now was not the time.
“Did you see the paper he had out, waiting for you to sign?” The bloody, bloody scoundrel.
“He said he had an agreement, that if I signed it, it would allow me into Sir Bellingham’s hunt, but I had to prove myself worthy first.”
Goddamn Pendleton. “It was a bill of sale.”
“Damnation.” She ought to have spoken with vehemence, but the word emerged on a mere whisper. A shudder passed through her, and she sagged.
For a heart-pounding moment, he thought she was about to cast up her accounts once more, but no, this was worse. She was on the verge of fainting.
He scooped her up, cradling her slim body against his torso.
“Where are you taking me?” she murmured.
Not back to the house, that much was sure. Not when he didn’t trust Pendleton so far as he could spit. “The stables, to keep you out of trouble.”
“You don’t think I can get into trouble in the stables?”
Not in her condition. And without doubt, she already knew as much.
“This way we can keep an eye on your mare. If anything, Pendleton has shown he’ll stop at nothing to get his hands on Boudicca.”
—
Caro’s tongue felt like it bore a thick coating of fur, but that was hardly the worst of it. A dwarf might well be trying to beat his way through her skull with a pickaxe. She whimpered her misery and rolled over. Something crackled and poked her in the side, something much like straw. How odd, when her usual mattress was stuffed to bursting and topped with a layer of feathers.
Good Lord, where was she?
She chanced opening an eye. Bad idea, for it only made the dwarf redouble his efforts.
“Are you awake?” asked a familiar voice. Mr. Crosby. What on earth was he doing in her—well, it wasn’t her bedchamber, but wherever it was, he certainly shouldn’t be here.
“A better question would be Are you alive?” Heavens, to judge by her voice, she’d been turned into a frog.
“Drink this.”
A perfectly vile scent reached her nostrils. She opened her eyes to find a teacup brimming with some dark, unknown substance—and floating on top…“Is that a raw egg?”
“I know it looks awful, but I promise it’ll work.”
She allowed her gaze to travel over his face as he crouched before her. His black hair flopped in roguish hanks over his forehead, and his chin sported the shadow of a beard. “If I can manage to choke it down.”
“It’s best if you pinch your nose and take it in a single draught.”
She pushed herself up on one elbow, contemplated the mess in the cup, and suppressed the urge to gag. The egg yolk seemed to be staring at her.
“Just close your eyes and do it,” Mr. Crosby insisted.
Taking a deep breath, she obeyed. The egg slithered down her throat to land with a sickening plop in her stomach. “You only wanted to see me cast up my accounts again, didn’t you?”
Something pulled at the corner of his lips, but whether it was disgust or grim humor, she couldn’t tell. “Do you remember that much?”
“Vaguely.” She ought to feel embarrassment, but her head pounded too hard to bother.
“Do you recall anything else?”
“Good Lord, don’t make me think, not with my stomach rebelling on top of everything else.” Now that her vision had cleared somewhat, she chanced a glance at her surroundings. Somehow he’d brought her to the cottage. She was lying on Sadie’s mattress in the middle of the floor. A small fire snapped on the hearth. Outside, the night’s darkness was just beginning to give way to the dawn. “I seem to remember you saying something about the stables, though.”
“Did you think I was going to leave you in the hayloft?”
“You said something about guarding Boudicca. Where is she?”
“Outside, tethered behind the cottage.” He nodded toward the far wall. “I can see her from here.”
Caro craned her neck so she could follow the direction of his gaze. Through a back window, she could just barely make out the outline of a horse. “And you stayed with us all night,” she murmured.
Not just stayed, but stood guard, seemingly.
“I promised Pendleton wouldn’t get to either of you, and I’ve kept my word.”
“I never doubted it.” Tentatively, she pushed herself to her feet. There must be something to Mr. Crosby’s cure, since she was somehow
feeling slightly more human.
He rocked back on his heels and moved to the fireplace. “I’ve heated some water if you’d like to wash, and I’ve arranged for some soap. Your pardon that it’s not fine-milled, or anything.”
“That hardly matters.” What she wouldn’t do to feel clean again. “Thank you. You’ve thought of everything.” And that warmed her far more than his vile remedy had.
“I’ll wait outside, shall I?” He sidestepped toward the door.
A perverse part of her wanted to remind him she’d already walked in on his bath and that turnabout was only fair play. But no, it was bad enough that he’d spent the better part of the night out here with her. She couldn’t compound the issue by behaving like a complete wanton.
“When you’re done, we’ll have to head back to the manor,” he added. “I imagine you’ll wish to send Pendleton packing as soon as you can.”
“What? I can’t do that.”
His brows grazed the locks of hair curling over his forehead. “Have you forgotten the worst of what he’s done? Not only does he get you drunk, I’ve no doubt he planned that so you’d be in no condition to ride with the hunt.”
“The hunt wasn’t today. It was never today. He arrived early with his cronies.”
“You wouldn’t have held it if he’d succeeded in tricking you into signing over your horse. How can you allow the man to stay on after that?”
She swallowed a hot surge of irritation. “Whatever he’s done, I must remain in his good graces for the remainder of his stay.” Though the thought of keeping Pendleton happy tasted about as bitter as Crosby’s cure for the aftereffects of too much drink. “I don’t think asking him to leave will accomplish that.”
“I beg your pardon, but why in hell would you care about his opinion of you?”
“Don’t you understand? He might yet put in a good word with Sir Bellingham.”
“And you believe that? After everything he’s resorted to?”
“All right, he might not put in a good word for me.” At least not without a powerful incentive, such as agreeing to sell him Boudicca. But how could she ride with the hunt without her most precious asset? “But the other gentlemen who came with him are members of Sir Bellingham’s hunt, and they could yet convince him I’d make for a worthy member. If I send Pendleton off, they’ll follow him and I’ll have lost my chance to prove myself.”
To Tame a Wild Lady Page 17