by Lydia Dare
Weston released a long sigh.
“There are others like you, aren’t there?” she pressed.
He pierced her with his dark gaze. “I’ll be happy to answer any question you have on the trip back from Gretna.”
Meaning he didn’t intend to confide in her until she was safely his wife with her future linked to his. Until she had as much to lose as he did, if she told. “Weston.” She said his name slowly and batted her eyes the way she’d seen Lady Eynsford do with her husband when she wanted something.
Weston’s breathing hitched a bit and Maddie bit back a smile. How nice to know she affected him in some way. She thought back to the kiss he’d bestowed upon her the night before. She wasn’t the only one who’d wanted more, was she? He’d said as much, but she hadn’t quite believed him until this moment.
She nearly shook her head, remembering why she’d gone in search of him by the stables to begin with. She’d thought to blackmail him into telling her about Lord Gelligaer, which meant very little at this point. But, she wondered, would blackmail have been necessary to begin with? Could she have flirted the answer out of him?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Maddie bit into her apple, savoring the tangy juice as it hit her tongue.
“You looked as though you had some Machiavellian scheme hatching in your mind.”
Maddie laughed. “Heavens! I had no idea you were such a suspicious man.”
“You’re not planning on bolting when we stop to change horses, are you?”
What would be the point in that? She’d already spent the night with him. He’d already sent that damning letter to her father. No, her future with Weston Hadley couldn’t be altered, but she would dearly love to know exactly how she affected him. Maddie leaned forward on the bench and placed her hand on his knee. “I’ve accepted my fate.”
His eyes narrowed, but she heard the noise his throat made when he swallowed hard. “I don’t believe you.”
“Why not?” She knew she affected him. Why wouldn’t he believe her? Lord Eynsford never seemed to question his wife’s motives.
“Because last night you broke my nose trying to escape me. You threatened to have Renshaw hanged. You swore Lavendon and Robert would see me dead.”
Well, there was that. But… “You had just chased me across my father’s property, snarling and growling at me like a rabid animal,” she defended herself. “Anyone would have tried to escape you under those circumstances.”
“But now you’ve accepted your fate?” he asked dubiously.
“I am a realist, Weston.”
“Indeed?”
Maddie nodded. “Besides, can you blame me for wanting to know more about the man I am to marry? I know very little about you, after all.”
“You know more than most,” he grumbled. “More than you should.”
“Well, that’s hardly my fault.”
“I suppose you’re saying that it’s my fault?”
“Well, I’m not the one who turned into a beast and chased a lady into the forest in the middle of the night, now am I?”
“No. You were the one skulking about the stables in the dead of night.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What were you doing in the stables anyway?”
Maddie shrugged. “I suppose I’ll tell you after we’re married.” Then she took another bite of apple, relishing the fact that Weston didn’t seem able to keep from watching her lips. He wouldn’t kiss her until she asked him to? That she doubted. He wanted to kiss her right now. She could see it in his eyes. His eyes fastened on the drop of apple juice that slid across her chin. She swiped at it with the back of her hand. A lady didn’t do that, did she?
But then Maddie looked down at her clothes and realized that she didn’t resemble a lady at all. Her dress was covered with mud. It had dried while she slept, and was now crispy and scratchy. What must she look like? “I suppose I look a fright,” she began. Then she reached one hand up to smooth her hair and encountered a feeling she’d never felt before. Gone were her well-placed curls. Gone was the jeweled comb that had held her hair back from her face. Gone was any semblance of beauty whatsoever. What she was left with must look absolutely hideous.
Maddie let the apple drop into her lap and reached both hands up to pat her hair. “Oh, dear,” she breathed. She always took such great care with her appearance. Yet here she sat, her gown a mess and her hair sticking out every which way. She felt a lump in her hair and dug her fingertips into the mess, recovering the end of what she assumed must be a leaf. But she tugged and it didn’t come free.
“Allow me,” Weston said as he leaned forward, his gaze on that object that protruded from her hair. He tugged and tugged and finally gave a jerk, and pulled a twig from the top of her head. “Got it,” he said as he held it out to her. Her hand trembled a little as she reached for it. Tears burned at the backs of her eyelids when she saw a few delicate strands wrapped and knotted around the tree branch that had taken root in her hair. What an awful day.
“Oh, dear. You’re not going to cry, are you?” he asked, just before she dropped her head into her hands and proceeded to do just that.
***
Wes had never felt more out of place. Madeline, in all her faded glory, sat across from him and sobbed into her hands. Her shoulders shook with the sheer force of it. He reached out one hand and gently squeezed her shoulder, like he would with one of his brothers if they were worried, but it only made her cry harder. Of course, his brothers would never sob if he’d dragged them from the forest, muddy and bedraggled, and forced them to race for Gretna. They’d simply tell him to go to the devil, kick his arse and be done with it. But she couldn’t do that, could she? He wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t allow it, not if he wanted his family’s secret to remain safe and secure.
Well, she could kick his arse. In fact, he’d prefer it over the sheer torture of seeing her shoulders shake with unhappiness. “Madeline,” he said softly. But he quickly realized there was no possible way that she could hear him over the sound of her own sobbing. “Madeline,” he said a little more loudly.
“What is it?” she wailed at him.
“Come now, it’s not as bad as all that, is it?”
Her head jerked up and her sobbing stopped. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her cheeks were soaked. Her eyes were even puffy. Dear God, what had he done?
“Not as bad as all that?” she cried. She held out her hands and said, “Look at me! I’m a mess! I’m…” She stopped abruptly as though she was looking for the appropriate word.
“Dirty?” he supplied.
She flopped back against the squabs. “Dirty,” she sighed. “That’s what this has come to. I’m dirty.”
“Just a little,” he tried. “It’s really not that bad.”
“Do you have any idea how much I detest being dirty?”
“Quite a bit, if the crying is any indication,” he supplied.
“I was raised to be clean, Mr. Hadley,” she informed him. He cringed when he realized he’d been reduced to being Mr. Hadley again.
“Weston,” he reminded her.
She narrowed her red-rimmed eyes at him. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I got in when I was younger if I even dreamed of getting dirty? It’s simply not done.”
“You did quite well, in this instance,” he couldn’t keep from saying.
“I did?” she shrieked.
“Well, we did,” he corrected.
“We did,” she sighed. “We got me dirty. Filthy. Completely unattractive.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Wes said. “I think you’re pretty adorable either way.”
“Adorable is a good description for puppies, Mr. Hadley.” She sighed heavily. “I’ve been reduced to being compared to a dog.” Her voice broke on the last.
“Then at least you’re in good company.” He could think of worse things than to be compared to a dog.
“I want a
bath.” She said it with feeling. Like it was an order.
“Shall I have Renshaw ring for a maid as well? And perhaps someone to dress your hair?”
“That would be lovely.” She smiled through her tears. It was the most radiant smile he’d ever seen.
“I’ll have him do that right after he climbs off his perch and makes us a dinner of pheasant and lamb.” Surely she knew how absurd her request was.
Her stomach growled loudly. A most pretty blush crept up her cheeks. “I love pheasant and lamb,” she said softly.
His heart ached a bit of the thought of destroying this fantasy she was living in. But certainly, she had to realize how dire their situation was. He didn’t even have a pocket to let. He was wearing borrowed clothing. And hadn’t a shilling to his name. And he had Lady Madeline Hayburn imprisoned in his poor state of affairs. He’d brought her along for a very impoverished ride. Certainly, he was accustomed to doing without on occasion. To tying his own cravat and fetching his own drink. But she wasn’t. Hell, he didn’t think she’d ever been dirty before now. She’d just told him as much.
And it was all his fault. Lady Madeline’s fall from grace was on his head. “I don’t think you understand how dire our situation is,” he began softly as he leaned forward and took her hand in a gentle grip.
She pointed to her hair, which did look more than a bit bedraggled. “I think I understand quite well how dire my situation is.”
She had no idea that to go along with her dirty state and her wild hair, she could also run the risk of being hungry. “There’s more at stake here than the state of your hair.”
“Can’t we stop? Just long enough to have a good meal and a bath?” Her eyes pleaded with him. The tangles in her hair pleaded with him even more loudly.
“If we stop, then anyone they’ve sent after you could catch up to us,” he told her truthfully.
“But they’ve probably not even risen from their beds yet,” she cried. “You said so yourself,” she reminded him.
“Let’s see how far we get today, and then we can make a decision,” he offered, merely to placate her. But then she started to sniffle again. “Oh, all right. Fine. We’ll stop at nightfall. Renshaw will need to sleep anyway.”
“Thank you,” she croaked out as she swiped at the fresh wave of tears.
Ten
The tears did him in. He could take some whining. And he could take some griping. He could even take some grumbling, because his brothers had conditioned him well to that and he’d learned to ignore it through the years. But every time Madeline wrinkled up her pretty little nose to sniffle, it wrenched at a piece of Wes’ heart. It was like someone reached inside his chest and squeezed the air from his lungs every last time she spoke with a rasp because she’d been made to cry.
And yes, he’d made her cry. He was well aware that it was all his fault. If he hadn’t lingered quite so long over the whist table, he could have been well away from Castle Hythe before his transformation from man to beast took place. Then they could have avoided this trip. He never would have gotten her dirty. And she never would have been forced into this disgrace. For that was what it was, a disgrace. He’d been told enough times throughout the day. It was a total disgrace that Madeline was being treated so shabbily.
Wes cursed beneath his breath and rapped on the roof of the carriage. “We’ll stop at the next inn,” he told her.
Madeline’s head shot up and her eyes met his. “Really? Do you mean it?”
“I do. Renshaw needs to sleep. And I could stand to walk around a bit. We all need some food.” The apples and currants from the morning had long since left him empty.
“And a bath,” she sighed with a dreamy expression on her face.
“That depends on how much it costs,” Wes said beneath his breath. He was wearing borrowed pockets, for God’s sake.
“Why does that matter?” she asked, her head tilted at him in question.
“Money matters to us normal folks, Madeline,” he reminded her. “We need it in order to survive.”
“I’d hardly call you a normal man,” she remarked absently.
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.
“No, I don’t mean that,” she rushed on. “I mean you’re a gentleman. Your brother’s a viscount.”
“A penniless viscount, until recently,” he reminded her.
“Hmm. Until he absconded with Sophie’s fortune,” she added dryly.
Was that what Archer had done? No wonder Lady Sophia would like his head on a platter. How had his brother managed such a nefarious feat? And without Wes or Gray finding out. Wes shook the thoughts away. “That is neither here nor there at the moment. Archer isn’t here and neither are his funds. It’s just you and me on this trip.”
“And Renshaw.” She folded her arms across her middle. “Let’s not forget the fellow who is funding this little excursion.”
The way she said that grated a bit. Wes rubbed his brow. “Just so you’re forewarned, I’m not certain we can get a bath for you, but we should be able to get some warm water so you can get cleaned up.”
“That will never do.”
“It’ll have to do, Madeline.”
She smiled softly at him. “It’ll all work out perfectly,” she said. “You’ll see. Once they find out who I am, they’ll jump to bring me anything I want.”
He leaned forward and speared her with a glance. “That’s just it. They can’t know who you are. They can only know that we’re Mr. and Mrs. Hadley. And we might not even tell them that much.”
“I could be your sister,” she offered.
He could never look at her like she was a sister. The ruse would be up in an instant. “You’ll be my wife. We may as well practice.” Thankfully, the coach rumbled to a stop just as he said those words.
A moment later, Renshaw, looking more than a bit exhausted, opened the coach door. Wes bounded out and offered his hand to Madeline.
She stepped from the carriage with his assistance but instead of looking at Wes, her eyes landed on the coachman. “I understand Mr. Hadley has written you quite a number of IOUs during this journey.”
“Madeline,” Wes growled.
The coachman frowned at the lady, which had little, if any effect on her. She tossed back her filthy hair and stood as regally as a duchess, or at least as regally as any duke’s daughter. “I want a bath, Renshaw. I believe I am owed one. And I’ll thank you and your funds for seeing that I get one. And when we return to Kent, I will see that you are reimbursed for any monies spent in that regard.”
“Is that before or after you see me hanged?” Renshaw asked, a bemused smile lingered on his face.
“Before, naturally. What would be the point in seeing you reimbursed afterward?”
Wes grabbed her arm and began to tow her toward the shabby little coaching inn. “Do not antagonize him, Madeline.”
She gasped as the ramshackle establishment came into her view. “Good heavens. I’m not sleeping here!”
“I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice,” Wes began.
But she dug in her heels and shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. The place looks as though it is crawling with vermin.”
She had to be a spoiled duke’s daughter, didn’t she? His secret couldn’t have been discovered by a pious vicar’s daughter or a quiet chambermaid, could it? “Madeline, our options are limited. I’ll keep any vermin away from you. I swear it.” He felt like the worst sort of blackguard for even uttering those words. He was making the lovely and usually pristine Lady Madeline Hayburn spend the night in the most wretched inn he’d ever laid eyes on. Of course she’d balk at the idea. He wasn’t all that excited about it himself.
“Weston, no.” She clutched his arm. “It looks like the sort of place that caters to highwaymen.”
Indeed it did. “Darling, didn’t you see the look on Renshaw’s face? If we don’t stop, he could drive off the road and kill us all. We’ll just stay here long enough for him to rest a bit and
then we’ll leave.”
“But—”
“You’ve seen what I am,” he whispered only loud enough for her to hear. “Believe me when I tell you that no harm will come to you. I am stronger than any man inside those walls, and no one will ever hurt you.”
She blinked back tears and Wes’ heart nearly broke. “I want a bath, Weston.”
“All right, Madeline.” He draped his arm around her shoulders. It was the least he could do. He already owed Renshaw a tidy sum for driving them to the border, for food, for clothes, for shelter. Why not add a bath to the list? He just hoped the coachman’s funds didn’t dry up before they returned to Kent. “I’ll see that you get your bath.”
She sniffed back a tear as she nodded.
Wes directed her closer to the taproom doors and squeezed her arm when raucous laughter spilled out into the night air. “You are safe with me,” he reminded her. “But do me a favor and let me do all the talking, will you?”
Silently, she nodded once again, a bit of fear flashing in her green eyes.
As soon as they stepped into the taproom, all sounds of jocularity came to an abrupt halt as every gaze seemed to settle on them. The interior was just as Wes had suspected, filled to the brim with swarthy-looking fellows, who might, as Madeline had suggested, actually be highwaymen. He didn’t meet anyone’s eye except for that of an older man with thinning grey hair who was standing behind the long wooden bar.
“My wife and I are hoping you have a room this evening,” Wes said softly, guiding Madeline closer to the bar.
The innkeeper looked them both over, from top to bottom. “Did ya take a tumble from a horse?” he asked, his Yorkshire accent slow and rumbling.
“Fell into a bit of mud earlier,” Wes replied. “Have you got a room, sir?”
The man nodded. “Ma-ry!” he called, letting each syllable bleed into the next as the room at large began milling about, once again.
A portly woman in a mobcap emerged from the back room, wiping her hands on a grimy apron. “Ya bellowed?”
The innkeeper gestured toward Wes and Madeline with his head. “Take this couple up to nine, woman.”