by Louise Allen
‘Go after it,’ Adam gasped, looking up at Henry. ‘Have you a loaded pistol left?’
‘Yes, both.’
‘Take her to the house—you can hold two of them off from there.’ Adam’s breath was coming in painful gasps. ‘Hurry.’
Henry brought the whip down with a crack and the team responded, already almost out of control with fear. Decima barely watched him go, her whole attention fixed on the man sprawled in front of her.
‘Adam? Can you hear me?’ His eyes were closed. ‘I must bandage your leg, stop the bleeding.’ How was she going to move him? Could she leave him here and go for help or would the men come back…? First things first, she steadied herself. Stop the bleeding.
‘Is he out of sight?’ Adam spoke clearly. Thank heavens, it would be much more difficult if he were unconscious.
‘Yes, try not to worry, Henry will save her, I know he will.’ There was the distant sound of a shot.
She looked up from where she was trying to make a pad out of wadded strips of petticoat to meet a pair of calm, lucid grey eyes fixed on her. ‘Of course he will,’ Adam said, lifting himself onto both elbows with a grunt. ‘God, this track’s hard. I must be lying on a flint.’
How could he be so calm, so brave? ‘Lie still, you’ll make it bleed worse. Can you just raise your leg a little, I know it must hurt…’
Adam sat up fully. ‘Leave it.’ He got to his feet, pulling her up with him. Too amazed to resist, Decima stared at him.
‘Your leg—Adam, you must let me bandage it.’ But the blood had stopped completely now and the man facing her was standing squarely on both feet, not favouring either leg. The grey eyes watching her were unclouded by pain, or any sign of fear for Olivia’s fate.
‘You aren’t wounded at all!’ She stared at the jagged tear in his buckskins, the blood-soaked leather. ‘How did you do that?’ Her heart was still pounding with the aftermath of fear and frantic action, her arms ached from the effort of holding the plunging team and she felt sick with reaction.
Adam shook his right arm and a knife slid out from the sleeve into the palm of his hand. ‘Sausage casing filled with pig’s blood in my breeches pocket.’
Decima reacted without any thought. Her right hand went back of its own accord and she hit him, flat on the cheek. ‘You idiot! Henry’s armed, someone will get killed!’
Adam rocked back on his heels, but made no other move to avoid her blow. ‘Bates swapped Henry’s ammunition for blanks before we started. The only person with a loaded gun is me, and that’s here.’ He patted a coat pocket. ‘My two assistants have blanks in their pistols as well and by now I imagine they will have proved singularly inept kidnappers and will have abandoned the curricle and Olivia in it. Come on, I am sorry you were frightened, but it’s all in a good cause.’
‘Frightened? I was terrified. And Olivia—can you imagine how she is feeling?’ Decima gathered up her skirts and ran to catch up with him. ‘Adam, what do you think you are doing?’
He glanced down at her, a smile twisting his mouth. ‘Match-making. I am sure Olivia would consider ten minutes of terror a fair exchange for not having to marry me.’
‘But…’ Decima found she was having to run again. He strode on, leaving her staring after him, her mouth half open. ‘But unless you propose to die of your wound and stay dead, how is this charade going to help?’
‘I am relying on human nature and on your friend Henry’s abilities as a chivalrous hero to carry the day. Now, stop hectoring me for a moment, Decima, you may lecture all you like in a minute.’ The two highwaymen were riding out of the copse, masks gone to reveal the grinning faces of young men on a spree. Neither of them looked capable of anything more vicious than an inn brawl over a girl.
‘All went according to plan, my lord,’ one of them reported, touching his battered tricorne hat to Decima. ‘We let go of the curricle just where you said, and made sure the reins got tangled in a bush—it wasn’t going anywhere. The young lady’s all right, I’d say—shrieking fit to bust, though. Would Henry be the short blonde gentleman?’
‘Yes,’ Adam agreed.
‘He’s well in, then,’ the groom observed with a grin, remembered Decima’s presence, and broke off in confusion.
‘Good work. Off you go, and for goodness’ sake tidy yourselves up before you hit the turnpike or I’ll be bailing you out of the local clink on suspicion of being on the High Toby.’
They rode off in high spirits and Decima took full advantage of his permission to lecture. ‘How can you be sure they will hold their tongues? Is this going to be spread all over town? We will be a laughing stock and the scandal will ruin Olivia,’ she stormed as they entered the copse.
‘They are grooms of mine, they are completely trustworthy and they think they are helping me win a wager with Sir Henry.’
‘Of all the improbable stories! They will never fall for that.’
‘Decima, they are eighteen years old, ripe for a spree and certain that the nobility can be relied upon to carry on in a completely incalculable manner. This just proves it. Now hush, we are almost at the house and I don’t want Henry’s attention distracted from calming Olivia down.’
They were emerging where the edge of the thicket met the overgrown pleasure grounds of the house. Adam turned and began to lead Decima towards the back. There was a small rustic summerhouse and he pushed open the door. ‘Come in here and let me explain.’ Reluctantly Decima let herself be seated on one of the benches that ran around the inside of the little shelter.
Adam shut the door and leaned against it, his face serious in the shadowed room. ‘This is not a joke and not something I am doing lightly, whatever you may think. I should never have offered for Olivia. The circumstances made it impossible not to, and I cannot explain more than that—if she feels she can tell you about it, she will. Once we found ourselves in that position I could not withdraw. At first I thought she could, and might if she realised that I was quite the wrong husband for her. But I had no idea at first just what a degree of subjugation she is held in by her parents’ influence. Her mother in particular. Olivia could no more defy her mother than fly. And then I saw what was happening between her and Henry Freshford. At last I could see a way out.’
‘You saw? I couldn’t understand why you were so tolerant!’ Decima shook her head, still puzzling. ‘Henry loves her, but he is trying to do the honourable thing. Nothing has been said between them, I am sure of it.’
‘So am I,’ Adam retorted grimly. ‘And while I did everything to remind Olivia just how miserable she would be married to me, I did my best to throw her together with Freshford. Your helpful efforts to reconcile her to the match were most unwelcome, I have to say.’
‘But I—’
‘You acted out of friendship and the most honourable of motives, I know.’ He smiled at her and something inside Decima quivered into life. Hope. ‘It is one of the things I love about you.’
Love? Did Adam say love? Decima found her hands were twisting tightly in her skirts and she forced herself to relax them. He loved her as a friend, that was all. They had been talking about friendship.
‘I could see that nothing was going to undermine Freshford’s sense of honour or Olivia’s rigid obedience, other than a major crisis, so I engineered one. I could have gone to him, told him I knew of his feelings, and assured him of my support. But we would never have got Olivia to admit the truth and face up to her mama. And what she would see as certain disgrace.’ Adam grimaced. ‘It took me days to think of something sufficiently convincing, yet that would put none of you at risk.’
‘But has it worked?’
‘Let’s find out.’ Adam held out a hand and Decima took it, her fingers enveloped in his. She was still shaken, but her anger had given way to a feeling of deep apprehension. What if this elaborate ruse had not worked?
They crept up to the back door. Adam reached up and retrieved a key from the ledge above and gently opened it, leading Decima into a kitchen, clean,
equipped, but cold and unused. Walking with catlike tread despite his boots, Adam began to move out of the kitchen, along a passage and through the heavy baize-lined door that separated the servants’ world from that of their masters.
They were in the front hall. All the doors were closed except one, standing ajar on the right-hand side of the front entrance. Adam led the way until they were standing outside. He kept her hand in his and Decima found herself clinging to him, as though bracing herself to hear bad news.
‘They have gone.’ It was Henry’s voice, strong and reassuring. ‘They will have no way of knowing who else is here, and one of them is wounded. They will be off, thinking we can summon the constables. It’s all right now, Olivia. I am here.’
There was the sound of a muffled sob, then feet moving on the boards and Henry’s voice again, less clear. ‘There, there, Olivia, you are quite safe with me.’
‘I know. You were wonderful.’ The adoration in Olivia’s voice was touching. Decima shifted, uncomfortable at eavesdropping. ‘So wonderful. Oh, Sir…oh, Henry!’
Adam, who had been standing with one eye to the narrow hinge opening, grimaced and moved away slightly. As he met Decima’s questioning gaze, he smiled and whispered in her ear, ‘I think this is going to be all right, but I’m damned if I’m playing the Peeping Tom. Give them a moment.’
He appeared to be counting, then gave Decima’s hand a squeeze, released it and pushed the door wide. Henry had Olivia in his arms, her face was tipped up to his and they were kissing with total absorption. Decima found a smile of pure indulgence was spreading across her face and she hastily straightened her expression and coughed. How was Adam intending to play this?
The lovers jumped apart as though a shot had been fired. Olivia went white and burst into tears. Henry, as pale as she, drew himself up to his full height and bowed. ‘I am at your disposal, my lord. Please name your friends.’
‘I find you ravishing my affianced bride and you expect the honour of a duel?’ Adam’s voice was icy. ‘I should fetch a horsewhip.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘No!’ It was Olivia, transformed from a tearful mouse into a spitting cat. ‘Henry was not ravishing me, he would do nothing so dishonourable. We love each other!’ She turned and took Henry’s arm, twining herself close to him. ‘I defy you to accuse him. I know I am ruined, but I do not care!’
‘Let me be the first to congratulate you,’ Adam said warmly.
‘What?’ It was Henry, one arm tight around Olivia’s quivering form. ‘Are you making sport with us, my lord? Because I have to warn you that I have no intention of standing by and seeing you insult this lady. All blame for what has just occurred is mine and I insist—’
‘Stubble it, do,’ Adam interrupted, lapsing into exasperated cant. ‘You love her, she loves you. Miss Channing and I find that we were mutually mistaken in our affections and have agreed, on the friendliest of terms, to sever our contract.’
‘We were? I mean, we are?’ Olivia was staring at him, her pretty face flushed, the snail tracks of tears drying on her cheeks. ‘But the scandal…’
‘What scandal?’ Decima decided it was time to take a hand. ‘Lord Weston, and you and Henry, will all appear in public on the friendliest of terms. Lady Freshford will be delighted, and will say so. Your parents will express their approval—’
‘They will?’ Henry was staring at her, apparently dumbfounded.
‘They will when they realise how wealthy you are,’ Decima retorted. ‘And how generous you will be with the settlements. And, of course, the fact that you will be persuading your cousin the duke to host the wedding at Farleigh. Adam might be a viscount, but he is not closely related to any living dukes, are you?’
‘No, although I am a distant connection of Freshford’s duke.’
‘He’s only a second cousin,’ Henry protested faintly. ‘Once removed.’
‘How are we going to tell Mama?’ Olivia enquired, going a little pale again and clutching Henry’s arm.
‘Are both she and your father out of town?’ Adam asked.
‘Yes, until Wednesday—three days’ time.’
‘Then we will both talk to them then, together. We will explain how we are mistaken in our feelings and how, although you tried to hide it from me, you loved another. I saw through your honourable deceit, leaving you free to marry the man you love, and so forth. I will exit, looking noble, to be followed by Freshford, hard on my heels before they have time to think of objections.’
‘I will be so frightened.’ Olivia’s eyes were wide. ‘I cannot do it, I know I cannot.’
‘Do you want to break Henry’s heart?’ Decima enquired bracingly, satisfied when she saw Olivia’s jaw set with determination.
Henry appeared to be a man coming out of a dream. The stunned expression was vanishing rapidly, to be replaced by a look of deep suspicion. ‘A word with you, my lord,’ he said grimly.
‘Not here.’ Adam held the door wide and ushered Henry out. ‘We do not want to confuse or alarm the ladies, do we?’
Adam closed the door and leant back on the panels. ‘Before you ask, yes, that was all a ruse.’ It was just beginning to sink in that it had worked, that he was no longer tied to Olivia and that he could at last tell Decima how he felt about her.
‘Your leg?’ Freshford was still eying him with a degree of suspicious hostility, unwilling to trust him entirely yet.
‘A trick.’
‘Someone could have been killed, shots were fired, Olivia was alone in that curricle.’
‘Every pistol, including yours, was loaded with blanks. The “highwayman” leading the curricle is a highly competent groom and the horses were less than fresh after a long drive. I did what I could.’ Suddenly bone weary, he let his eyes close for a moment, then reopened them to find Freshford regarding him quizzically.
‘Why did you become engaged to Olivia in the first place?’
Adam shook his head. ‘Ask her. If she will not tell you, I cannot. I suggest you drive her home in your curricle now. Take the picnic hamper from mine and have a pleasant journey back.’
‘And leave you with Decima?’ To Adam’s eye, Freshford was looking less like a man in love and more like a suspicious relative. ‘Just what are your intentions, my lord? I should tell you, I regard her as my sister. If you hurt her, you will have me to answer to. I am more grateful than I can say for what you have done for Olivia and me, but I won’t let that stand in my way.’
‘My intentions? To marry her, if she’ll have me. Do you think she will?’
Freshford grinned suddenly. ‘You’ll have to ask her and see.’
Adam reached into his pocket and withdrew the pistol. ‘You had better have this, just in case. The ammunition is live. If Decima were to be…delayed this afternoon—’
‘I will tell my mother she’s staying with a friend.’ Henry took the pistol, pocketed it, then held out his hand. ‘Good luck.’
Adam stepped aside as he opened the door and called. Olivia came out, too wrapped up in Henry to even notice Adam standing back in the shadows. He shook his head ruefully, wondering what transformation in the pretty little mouse the experience of loving Henry Freshford would bring about. It would be intriguing to watch, but now he had his own fate to put to the touch.
Decima was standing by a cold fireplace, staring down at the empty hearth. She glanced up as he came in, her face serious. ‘Olivia has just told me about the house party and why you had to propose to her. She feels so guilty about that.’
‘Water under the bridge now.’ Adam shrugged. ‘At the time I almost welcomed it. I had lost something very precious and I didn’t think I had a hope of finding it again, so nothing else really mattered.’ Did she understand him?
It seemed she did—the colour was high on her cheekbones and her eyes dropped before his. He pressed on. ‘I was running away from love and commitment and marriage. I thought that what I felt for you was desire, just that.’ He was doggedly determined to lay it all
out, leave nothing unsaid. ‘Then when I realised what I really wanted, that I didn’t want to run any more, I couldn’t find you. When I did discover who you were, it was too late.’
Decima was silent. Had he misjudged it? Should he have taken her back home, waited, tried wooing her with soft words and flowers?
‘Decima.’ It was four strides to reach her across the room—it seemed like a mile. ‘Decima, I love you. Will you marry me?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She turned to him, her eyes sparkling, her warm, generous mouth curved into a smile that was pure happiness, just for him. ‘Yes, I will, and I love you, I’ve loved you for so long and I never thought you could possibly love me.’
There didn’t appear to be any words, or, if there were, his tongue was incapable of articulating them. Adam took Decima by the shoulders, turned her gently into his embrace and kissed her.
This was real, and it was different, quite different from their kisses before, different from the way she had dreamed it would be. As Adam’s mouth angled over hers, gently insistent as he caressed her lips with his, she realised what it was. There was no doubt, no guilt, no anxiety about why he was kissing her. She knew he was showing her his love and he knew that was what she wanted, too.
Her lips parted and she shuddered deliciously at the heat, at the shocking, velvet slide of his tongue over hers. She moaned a little, deep in her throat and he shifted his hands to bring her closer, one hand in the small of her back, the other at the back of her head, impelling her into his kiss.
It was not enough. Her hands splayed across the breadth of his shoulders, her fingers spreading as they traced the hard muscle under the broadcloth and linen. He was so big, so strong, so hard, that he frightened her and delighted her all at the same time. But she was strong too, she would match him, keep pace with him, incite him to love her without restraint.
Adam’s hands shifted again and she was in his arms, lifted tightly against his chest. Decima muttered a protest as he carried her through into the hall. ‘I don’t want to go yet.’ Her lips found the skin at the edge of his jaw, rough with the start of new stubble, and she nuzzled at it, making him gasp.