Brighton Road

by Susan Carroll

  Good heavens! Gwenda could scarcely credit her ears. The man could not possibly intend to deliver a proposal of marriage, not here at an inn.

  But her own dismay was nothing compared to Miss Carruthers's. Dropping her manner of placid gentility, she half started from the chair, irritation and alarm chasing across her delicate features. "Oh no. I—I wasn't expecting—Please, Lord Ravenel. Desmond,it is yet too soon."

  Desmond? Gwenda stifled the desire to shriek. She was not so unreasonable as to expect to find men named Roderigo or Antonio outside the pages of her books, but Desmond! How could his parents have been so utterly unfeeling?

  " It is not too soon," Ravenel snapped. "I have received enough encouragement from you, Belinda, that I think I may make bold to speak what is in my mind."

  In his mind? What about his heart? Gwenda thought. She realized she had been staring so long that, despite her concealment, she marveled that they did not feel her eyes upon them. Both Ravenel and Miss Carruthers were so caught up in their own drama that neither seemed to suspect that they were not alone.

  All the same, Gwenda drew farther behind the settle. Resigning herself to the fact that she was now cornered until the end of this painful little scene, she eased into a more comfortable position as Ravenel launched into his proposal. He had a magnificent voice, deep and full-timbred. But his delivery—Gwenda winced. He might have been addressing a meeting of Parliament. She could almost picture his rigid stance, one hand resting upon the lapel of his jacket. He detailed quite logically and clearly for Miss Belinda Carruthers all of the advantages of becoming Lady Ravenel. These seemed to consist chiefly of estates in Leicestershire, a house in town, and an income of twenty thousand pounds a year. He was also prepared to generously overlook Miss Carruthers's own lack of fortune.

  Gwenda shifted on the settle, having to bite her tongue to overcome the urge to interfere. Ravenel was doing it all wrong. Not that she was insistent that a man go down upon one knee. But at least he ought to clasp Miss Carruthers's hands between his own and forget all this rubbish about estates.

  "In conclusion," his lordship said, "I believe our similarities of tastes and interests make for the likelihood of us achieving a most comfortable marriage."

  Gwenda smothered a groan against her hand.

  Ravenel added, almost as an afterthought, " It is only for you, madam, to name the day that will make me the happiest of men."

  A pause ensued at the end of his speech, which drew out to such lengths that Gwenda could not forbear sneaking another look even if it meant risking detection. Miss Carruthers appeared tormented with indecision, her pretty face not so much flustered as gone hard with calculation. The only thing Gwenda could liken the woman's expression to was when she saw her brother Jack contemplating some desperate gamble.

  "No!" Miss Carruthers finally blurted out. "I¬I mean yes, I cannot " She flounced to her feet. "I mean I am deeply sensible of the honor you do me."

  Not half as sensible of it as he was, Gwenda thought wryly as she noted Ravenel's brow furrowing with the weight of a heavy frown. Then she realized her interest in the situation was causing her to lean too far forward and pulled herself back.

  "I beg your pardon," he said. "But am I to understand that you are refusing my offer?"

  "No!" Belinda cried. "What I truly feel is that I cannot marry you, not—not at this time."

  "My dear Belinda," he began again, but his growing irritation robbed the endearment of any effect. "Do you wish to marry me or not? A simple yes or no will suffice."

  What a passionate attempt at persuasion that was, Gwenda thought, rolling her eyes. How could Miss Carruthers possibly resist!

  "If you would only wait until I come to Brighton," Belinda faltered. "Just give me a little more time "

  "A little more time in Lord Smardon's company?" Ravenel said. "I am not a complete fool, Belinda. I am fully aware that the friend you intend to visit on the way to Brighton is the Earl of Smardon. You are hoping to marry him, are you not? That is why you will not return a round answer to my proposal?'

  "Oh, no. I don't mean to marry anyone." Belinda's voice dropped so low, Gwenda had to strain very hard in order to hear her. "There is another reason for my reluctance. You see, I was once engaged to a young officer, Colonel Adams of the Tenth Cavalry. He—he died fighting in Spain. I fear I have not quite gotten over my Percival's death."

  "Once engaged'?" Ravenel echoed. "You never mentioned anything of the kind before."

  With good reason, Gwenda thought cynically. There was a note of insincerity in Belinda's voice that made the whole thing sound like a hum.

  "I hope I am not the sort of lady who goes about wearing her heart on her sleeve." Belinda's voice broke.

  When Gwenda next peeked at the couple, she saw that Belinda's eyelashes batted, fighting back the tears that made her eyes sparkle like jewels. Appearing uncomfortable, Ravenel dredged up a linen handkerchief, which he thrust at her. Gwenda wondered why the young lady's distress roused no sympathy in her. Rather, she felt as though she had stumbled into the second act of a very bad melodrama.

  "Thank you, Lord Ravenel," Belinda said, dabbing at her eyes with the linen. She gave a brave little sniff. "I am sure you understand now why I wish you to give me more time."

  "But—" Ravenel began.

  "Pray don't distress me by saying more just now. I will give you my answer in Brighton." Miss Carruthers managed to skirt past him. She bolted through the parlor door, fairly closing it in his face when he tried to follow.

  Gwenda waited tensely for Ravenel's reaction. He did not look like the sort to slap his forehead or tear his hair and lament. For a moment he stared at the closed door, looking rather nonplussed. Then he scowled, his eyes seeming to grow darker until Gwenda thought even the most black-hearted villain she had ever created would have thought twice about trifling with his lordship in his present mood. She half expected he would swear and drive his fist against the door panel.

  But although his jaw set in a hard, angry line, Ravenel merely snatched up his gloves and put them on again with sharp, savage tugs. Gwenda held her breath for fear he might yet take a notion to walk farther into the parlor. When he reached for the door handle, she had to smother a sigh of relief. She sank back, congratulating herself on escaping undetected, when she heard a sharp bark. The next instant Bert jumped back through the window, his muddied paws skidding on the wooden floor.

  With an inward groan, Gwenda flattened herself against the settle as Bert galloped over to where she sat. She shooed the dog frantically with her hand, hissing, "Go away, Bertie." But Spotted Bert was entirely impervious to such hints. He barked and wagged his tail as though he had not seen her for a twelvemonth, then assaulted her hand with rough, affectionate licks.

  "What the deuce!" Gwenda heard Ravenel exclaim. With a sinking heart, she listened to sound of his boots striding across the room. She had not a chance to move so much as a muscle before his lordship was bending over the settle and peering directly into her face.

  "Hullo," she said with forced brightness as she struggled to fend off Bert.

  Never had she seen a man look more thunderstruck. Ravenel's expression was exactly what she had been trying to achieve in her last book for Count Armatello when he saw the ghost of his murdered sister rise up before him.

  Ravenel's astonishment quickly evaporated, his face suffusing with a dull, angry red. Gwenda could see the storm brewing in those brilliant black eyes and hastily sought for words of explanation and apology, but before she could say another word, Bert began sniffing at Ravenel's sleeve.

  Ever a sociable creature, her dog took a sudden, violent fancy to his lordship. His tongue lolling out, Bert leaped up, trying to lick Ravenel's chin. With a muttered oath, Ravenel tried to thrust aside the eager, panting animal.

  "Oh, no! Bad dog. Heel, Bertie!" Gwenda cried.

  But Bert never heeled. He continued to leap up as though determined to scale Ravenel, scraping his muddy paws clean upon the le
ngth of his lordship's immaculate cream-colored breeches.

  "Down!" Ravenel said sternly, collaring Bert and forcing the animal back upon all fours. The dog whined and fidgeted while looking adoringly up at Ravenel.

  Gwenda saw in Bert's intrusion a chance for her to escape from what promised to be a most unpleasant confrontation. She stood up, reaching for Bert's collar and said, "I do apologize for Bertie's behavior, sir. If you will permit me, I'll just be taking him—"

  "Sit!" Ravenel. thundered.

  To Gwenda's mortification, she obeyed the command with more alacrity than the dog did. She plopped back down upon the bench. Spotted Bert gave in reluctantly, lowering his hindquarters to sit on her feet. To her astonishment, he remained seated even after Ravenel released his collar.

  "That's absolutely amazing," Gwenda could not help exclaiming. "Bertie never listens to anyone."

  "A trait that his mistress apparently doesn't share." With a look of disgust at his breeches, his lordship brushed at some of the mud stains with his gloved fingers.

  Gwenda blushed. "I am so dreadfully sorry, Lord Ravenel. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but indeed I can explain why I did so."

  He folded his arms across his chest. "I am all eagerness to hear your reason, madam."

  Gwenda thought he looked far more eager to throttle her, but she continued in a rush, "You see, I was waiting in here while my carriage is being repaired, but the landlord forgot I had already claimed the use of the parlor and he—"

  "And I daresay you experienced a sudden loss of voice that prevented you from speaking up."

  "Everything happened so fast, and then—"

  "And then you decided it would be far more interesting to skulk behind the bench and listen."

  Gwenda eyed him in frustration. "For someone who claims to be so eager to hear what I have to say, you have an annoying habit of interrupting me."

  Ravenel silenced her with a lofty wave of his hand that Bert took for encouragement to assault his lordship again. After subduing the dog with another curt command, Ravenel fixed Gwenda with a stern eye. "Upon my word, madam. You should have had the delicate sensibility to make your presence known instead of spying upon a man like some chit of a schoolgirl."

  Gwenda could have endured him railing or even swearing at her, as her brother Jack would have done, aye, and considered she deserved it. But when Ravenel lectured her in that stuffy manner, he reminded her of her odious brother Thorne.

  "I am rather afraid I don't have any delicate sensibilities," she said.

  "Nor scruples!"

  "No, I am not overburdened with those, either," she agreed affably. "I do think you might have had more sense than to go about proposing to people in a public place like an inn. But, I daresay," Gwenda added, trying to be charitable, "that you were too worried that Lord Smithdon or Smardon, or whatever his name is, was going to steal a march on you with Miss Carruthers."

  Ravenel's jaw dropped open in an outraged gasp. "Why, you impertinent little—"

  "And it is only natural your lordship should be feeling a little surly—"

  "Surly!" Gwenda thought he would choke on the word.

  "Pray accept my heartiest condolences upon your recent disappointment," she concluded.

  "My recent disappointment is none of your affair." His voice started to rise, but with obvious effort he brought it back down again. "I do not even have the honor of your acquaintance, madam."

  "Oh, so you don't. I am Miss Gwenda Mary Vickers." She swept to her feet and made him her best curtsy, but the regal effect was somewhat spoiled when she accidentally trod upon Bert's tail and he let out a reproachful yelp. As she bent down to soothe the dog, she realized Ravenel was regarding her with a mighty frown.

  "Vickers? You are not by any chance one of the Bedfordshire Vickers?"

  "Yes. Of Vickers Hall, just outside the village of Sawtree." She straightened, offering him her hand.

  He didn't take it. A visible shudder coursed through him as he muttered, "Good Lord. One of the Sawtree Vickers. That explains everything."

  Gwenda tipped her chin to a belligerent angle. "And exactly what is that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing. Only that I have heard of your family before." Ravenel gave her one of those wary looks generally reserved for village idiots and the hopelessly insane His eyes raked over her as though seeing her for the first time. Gwenda thought he dwelt on the curve of her breasts a little longer than he should have. She fought down a blush. Her Roderigo would have been far too high-minded for that.

  She did not believe that his lordship was behaving with much gallantry, but she was willing to make allowances for a man who had been so recently crossed in love. Once more she nobly tried to apologize for her intrusion. "Pray do not feel embarrassed over what I just witnessed, my lord. I assure you I am the soul of discretion."

  His thick eyebrows arched up in sardonic fashion. " It is difficult not to feel embarrassed. I am not accustomed to having an audience when I am making love to a lady."

  "Making love?" Gwenda gasped. "Dear heavens! Is that what you thought you were doing?"

  His glare should have stopped her, but she could not let the poor man continue under such a delusion. "Oh, no, my dear Lord Ravenel! I regret to tell you, but you were doing everything absolutely all wrong."

  "Indeed, Miss Vickers?" Ravenel said through clenched teeth. "What a pity I hadn't realized you were present. I could have consulted you first."

  "You should have been telling her something far more passionate than that you want a comfortable marriage. I'll also wager you never looked at Miss Carruthers when you were proposing, which is a great pity. You have a handsome pair of eyes."

  "Of all the arrant nonsense—" Ravenel began, turning an even deeper shade of red.

  "There is still time for you to make amends. You could go after Miss Carruthers even now, take her in your arms and say—"

  "Miss Vickers!" he snapped.

  "No, I don't think she would like it if you called her by my name," Gwenda continued, undaunted. However, the black look Ravenel shot her did cause her to retreat a step. She could not help admiring the way his eyes smoldered when he was angry. Gwenda stared as if mesmerized into those raging dark depths, wondering rather breathlessly what he would do if he lost his temper. She had never been menaced by a man, as her hapless heroines were by the villains in her books. Obviously she could expect no help from Bert. The dog had rolled over onto his back and was shamelessly begging to have his stomach scratched.

  With one powerful leap of her imagination, Gwenda conjured up images of everything from Ravenel's gloved fingers reaching for her throat to his restraining her ruthlessly against him. She felt vaguely disappointed when he merely drew himself up stiffly and said, "Since there is not the least likelihood we shall ever meet again, Miss Vickers, I have no intention of discussing my personal concerns with you any further. But, in future, let me advise you not to listen in on private conversations. Other men might be lacking in my considerable self-restraint."

  "And let me advise you, my lord," Gwenda said, never able to refrain from having the last word, no matter what the risks, "that the next time you propose to a young lady, you find one that does not make you feel quite so comfortable."

  Ravenel compressed his lips as though not trusting himself to reply. He spun on his heel and stalked over to wrench open the door. But this time he forgot to duck as he stomped across the threshold and slammed the top of his head against the door frame. The cracking sound was enough to make Gwenda wince in sympathy just hearing it. He reeled back, clutching his head, obviously seeing stars, the string of curses he wanted to utter trembling on his lips.

  "Oh, damnation. Go ahead and say it," Gwenda urged impatiently. "I haven't any delicate sensibilities to offend, remember?"

  She heard the indrawn hiss of his breath His mouth clamped into a stubborn white line, but his snapping dark eyes did the cursing for him. Then he exited from the room with the most incredible forbearance Gwen
da had ever witnessed in a man that furious. He didn't even slam the door behind him.

  Gwenda let out her breath. "Well, of all the toplofty men I have ever met!" She bent down beside Bert, obliging him by scratching him at last and rendering the dog into a state of bliss with his eyes closed tight.

  Gwenda tried to put the stuffy Lord Ravenel out of her head, but she could not help thinking about his lordship's broad shoulders, his raven's wing hair, and those marvelous flashing dark eyes so at odds with his rigid manner.

  " It is a great waste, Bertie," she said mournfully, shaking her head. "A great waste."

  Chapter Two

  Desmond Arthur Gordon Treverly, the sixth Baron Ravenel, stormed down the inn corridor, seeking the White Hart's landlord. He fully intended to collar Leatherbury and inform the man that when his lordship requested a private parlor, by God, he expected it to be just that—private.

  But he had to check his pace as he passed the coffee room and the stage passengers swarmed out. The twenty minutes allotted for their stopover had come to an end, and if they did not resume their places, they would likely find themselves left behind. As this group tumbled out of the door, Ravenel glimpsed the landlord about to rush inside.

  "Leatherbury," Ravenel shouted angrily, but the landlord paused only long enough to sketch a quick bow.

  "I will be with you in a moment, your lordship," he said, huffing with great indignation. "There are some travelers who arrived on foot attempting to bespeak dinner in my kitchens and, I assure you, here at the Hart we do not cater to that sort of person."

  Leatherbury's round face quivered with outrage, as though he placed walking in the same category as horse thieving. Then he bolted into the coffee room before Ravenel could say another word.