A Proper Companion

by Candice Hern

  Hugh took one more look at Emily and grinned in anticipation. He then walked into the deserted corridor and closed the door behind him. He carefully locked the door, pocketed the key, and headed for the taproom.

  * * *

  Emily opened her eyes and immediately shut them again. Her head was throbbing. She must have drunk too much champagne. She tried to raise her head but thought better of it and let it fall back onto the pillow. How much champagne had she drunk? It was odd, but she couldn't seem to remember much of anything. She didn't even recall going to bed. Yet she still felt so sleepy. Perhaps it was early morning, and she needn't worry about getting out of bed just yet. Eyes still closed, she tried to remember what had happened last night.

  The ball had been a great success. She remembered that much. The ballroom had looked spectacular, she was not too proud to admit. She recalled dancing a few times and she remembered how handsome Robert had looked as she watched him twirl someone or other across the dance floor. She sighed at that remembrance.

  Then her eyes popped open. All at once she remembered the footman's message, the empty yellow salon, and finally a familiar voice. Whose voice?

  And so, Cousin, you shall avoid me no longer.

  Hugh!

  Emily forced herself up onto her forearms. Where was she? She blinked her eyes and tried to make out her surroundings from the dim light of the fire. The room was small, plainly furnished, and completely unfamiliar. She appeared to be alone.

  "Cousin?" she said into the dark.

  There was no answer. She pulled herself into a sitting position. The pain in her head pounded with such a force that she covered her face with her hands. Once the pain had subsided and she had opened her eyes again, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. It was then she became aware that she still wore her ball gown. In a panic, she reached up to her throat, but felt her mother's emerald pendant still in place. She breathed a sigh of relief that at least her precious emeralds had not been stolen.

  But why had Hugh abducted her?—for clearly that is what had happened—and where was he now? What on earth did he want from her? Her head ached too much to attempt to solve that puzzle.

  She stood slowly and began a survey of the room. There was a gentleman's hat and greatcoat lying on a ladder-back chair near the fire. Hugh's? She picked up the hat, but there was nothing distinctive about it—an ordinary beaver—nor did the greatcoat offer any clue to its owner's identity. They must be her cousin's things. Unless he had an accomplice? Good heavens! She really had no idea what was going on, or who was likely to come through that door, she thought in a panic. She must get out of here!

  She hurried to the door but found it locked. My God, she was a prisoner. Frantic, she went to the single window, lifted the latch, and flung it open. She hung out the window from her waist and looked around. She was clearly at an inn, as she could see the stables and the kitchens in the light of the moon. Just below her was the kitchen garden. Three floors below! She looked desperately from left to right, but there was not a decent tree within reach.

  She bit her lip, determined not to cry, and turned back into the room where she fell facedown on the bed. What could she do? She had no desire to wait patiently for Hugh, or God knows who, to come through the door. Particularly when she had no idea what he could possibly want of her.

  Emily's mind raced with notions involving her cousin, even her dreaded uncle, but nothing seemed to make any sense. Of course, none of their behavior toward her had made any sense. She still did not understand why they didn't simply leave her alone, ignore her completely if she was an embarrassment to them.

  She rolled over onto her back and sat up against the bed pillows. Her head ached enough from whatever drug she had been given, and any mental effort to understand this abduction only increased her discomfort. But she couldn't let it go. She needed to understand. She caught sight of the hat and greatcoat once again and caught her breath. If a gentleman's things were in her room, then he must intend to share it with her. Oh, my God, she thought. They want to ruin me!

  She had to get out of here, she thought frantically. But how? She was unconsciously clutching at the bed linens in her panic. She glanced down at her hands, and all at once an image of her mother came to mind—her mother holding Emily on her knee as she told her the story of her romantic elopement with Walter Townsend, the story of how she had climbed out the window on knotted bed sheets.

  Emily jumped up and began to tear the linens from the bed.

  * * *

  Robert was exhausted, angry, and worried sick about Emily. He had stopped at four inns without success. He tossed the reins of his horse to the ostler at the Swan and asked if he had seen anyone of Faversham's description. When the ostler said that someone who might have been Faversham had arrived about an hour ago, Robert dashed to the entrance of the inn and flung open the taproom door with a bang.

  All heads turned toward the door, but only one interested Robert. Lord Faversham sat near the fire nursing a pint of ale. He looked up and flinched in alarm when his eyes met Robert's. He rose abruptly and stood with legs apart in a stance of swaggering confidence, his lips formed in a sneer. By God, he thinks to challenge me, thought Robert with inappropriate amusement as he pondered the image of this insolent young puppy attempting to best one of the regular habitués of Cribb's Parlour.

  As Hugh made a slight move forward, Robert bounded across the room and landed a clean hit to Hugh's jaw before the young man could react. Hugh staggered against the table where he had sat, his tanker of ale tumbling to the floor with a crash. He lifted his hand to his jaw and glared at Robert with a look of outraged fury, and then launched himself at Robert with both fists flying. The man had no science, thought Robert as he dodged the random blows, which almost made him doubly dangerous. He must be taken out quickly.

  Hugh landed a lucky chop to Robert's chin before Robert was able to restrain him through a series of expertly delivered left digs, followed by a punishing right hook which sent Hugh reeling. Robert pushed him back against the table and put his hands to Hugh's throat.

  "What have you done with her? What have you done with her?" Robert's hands tightened on Hugh's throat, and he wanted nothing so much as to kill him then and there.

  Hugh sputtered and gasped, but was unable to speak. His face began to turn a dangerous shade of purple.

  The flustered innkeeper hurried into the taproom to see what the commotion was all about. "Now, see here, sir," he said, gesturing wildly at Robert. "Unhand that man at once! I will not have murder done in my taproom! Unhand him, or I will send straight away for the magistrate."

  Easing the pressure somewhat, but without letting go of Hugh's throat, Robert turned toward the innkeeper. "Did this gentleman"—he spat out the word—"arrive at the Swan in the company of a young woman?"

  "Why, yes, sir," the innkeeper said in obvious confusion. He was unable to take his eyes off the darkening face of Hugh. "He arrived with his wife, who was apparently quite ill. He carried her in his arms wrapped in a warm cloak."

  Robert snorted. "A touching sight, no doubt. Where is the woman now?"

  "Why, she must still be upstairs in their room, sir," innkeeper said the. "She was not at all well, you see."

  Robert breathed a sigh of relief that Emily must be under this very roof. He released his hold on Hugh.

  Hugh sat up and grabbed at his throat, gasping and coughing, as he stared wild-eyed at Robert.

  Robert glared at him with obvious disgust. "I should call you out for this," he said in a sinister voice.

  Hugh stared back at him with a look of utter panic on his face.

  "However," Robert said as he casually dusted off his greatcoat, "I am not prepared to leave the country just now, simply for having murdered you. Nevertheless, I think it best that you not forget our little encounter this evening. Only as reminder, so to speak, I believe I'll just rearrange your face a bit."

  Within the space of a heartbeat, Robert had landed a swift blow
to Hugh's face. The man collapsed to the floor with a moan. The unnatural angle of his bleeding nose showed it to be broken.

  "But I swear to God," Robert said as he stood over the bleeding, whimpering Hugh, "if you so much as come near Emily again, I will kill you. I suggest it might be more comfortable for you to leave the country for a while. You would not want to run into me unexpectedly, I assure you."

  Robert turned to the innkeeper. "Please show me to the room where you put the woman who arrived with this ... gentleman. You must understand that she is not his wife, but that he abducted her against her will."

  "Well, dash my wig!" the innkeeper cried. "I thought there was something havey-cavey about the way he kept her covered up and all. Follow me, sir."

  With one last look at the bleeding, moaning man crumpled in a heap on the taproom floor, Robert hurried after the innkeeper. As they made their way up two flights of stairs and turned into hallway after hallway—good grief, what a rabbit warren this place was—Robert prayed to God that Emily was still safe, that Hugh hadn't already ...

  The innkeeper indicated a door at the end of a narrow hallway. Robert hurried to the door and pounded. "Emily!" he shouted. There was no answer, and so he tried the door. It was locked. He turned to the innkeeper with an imploring look.

  "I have a master key," the man said as he produced it. He put the key in the lock, turned it, and gingerly opened the door. Robert, more impatient, bounded into the room. "Emily?"

  The room was empty. A wool cloak lay on the bed, and a man's hat and greatcoat were tossed on a chair. But what caught Robert's eye was the rope of knotted linens trailing from the sturdy bedpost to the open window.

  "Ha!" he shouted. "What a woman!"

  He dashed past the confused innkeeper, laughing as he made his way down the stairs.

  Chapter 22

  Emily slowly inched her way down the makeshift rope, uncertain of the strength of the knot she had tied around the bedpost. Her heart pounded in her chest as she expected the rope to give way at any moment and send her plummeting to the ground. She reached a second-story window at last, and, while braced against the narrow embrasure, her slippered toes clinging to the window ledge, she thought to chance calling for help. The room appeared to be dark; there was no glow from a fire or branch of candles. Taking a deep breath, discounting the folly of disturbing perfect strangers who might be more threatening than her cousin, she tapped on the glass. There was no response.

  "Oh, please!" she whispered as she tapped louder. "Someone please be there!"

  Still there was no response, and she was forced to admit that the room was unoccupied. She tried to force the window open, but it appeared to be locked from the inside. "Damnation!" she cried as she slapped the flat of her hand against the window in despair. There was nothing for it but to continue down to the ground.

  Emily gave the knotted linen a cautious tug. It seemed to be taut enough, and so she grasped it tightly with both hands and began once again to ease her way down. She kept her eyes on the ground below.

  It was close now—if the linen rope gave way, she would fall only a short distance. She began to relax. When her toes were no more than three or four feet from the ground, Emily braced herself to jump.

  Suddenly she was grabbed from behind, strong arms closing tightly around her waist.

  "No!" she screamed as she was pulled free from the rope. "No!"

  A wail of despair rose up from the back of her throat as she realized she had been caught. She had almost done it. She had almost gotten away. But, blast it all, she would not give up without a fight. She began kicking and struggling against her captor who, damn his eyes, was actually laughing.

  As she kicked she was pulled close against a heavy coat over a broad chest. She realized this man was taller and broader than Hugh. Who was this? Her uncle? One of his henchmen? She kicked out harder, though her soft evening slippers were useless against the thick leather boots of her captor. As she was pulled tighter against the broad chest, she caught a fleeting hint of the aroma of musky shaving oil. Could it be ...

  "What kind of welcome is this?" a soft, seductive, wonderfully familiar voice said against her ear. "And after all the trouble I've been through to rescue you."

  Robert!

  Emily turned in the arms that held her and threw her own around his neck. He gathered her close as tears of relief fell down her cheeks.

  "I-I thought you were Hugh," she said in a quavering voice.

  "I'm sorry to disappoint you, my love."

  "Oh, no," she said, pulling back so that she could look up at him. Her eyes bright with tears, but she gave him a tremulous smile. "I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my life!"

  "My sentiments exactly, my dear," said Robert, the laughter gone from his voice as he gave her a look of such warmth that her breath caught in her throat. She was immediately reminded of the look in his eyes last night just before he kissed her.

  "B-but, what of my cousin?" she asked, unable to take her eyes from his. "He was the one who abducted me, was he not? I never actually saw him, but I thought I heard his voice."

  "Yes, it was Faversham who took you, the bloody fool."

  "What has happened to him?" she asked. "Did you—"

  "I am afraid he's lying on the taproom floor," Robert replied. When Emily gasped, he added, "Nursing a bloody nose."

  "Oh, my." She steered him away from the shadows and into the moonlight. After studying his face she reached up a hand to touch his bruised chin. "He did this to you?"

  Robert smiled. "He got lucky. But I assure you he looks much worse."

  "I am glad," Emily said with conviction. "Although I almost wish you had killed him." She thought of the hat and greatcoat on the chair. "I was so afraid." She shuddered as she buried her face against his shoulder.

  He tightened his arms about her. "Emily," he whispered.

  After a moment he reached down and tilted her chin up with the edge of his hand. "Emily," he whispered against her lips. He kissed her gently, then pulled away and looked into her dazed eyes. Suddenly he crushed his mouth to hers. He kissed her with a hunger and passion Emily could not have imagined, and she responded with her own shy desire. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer, savoring every new sensation as his mouth plundered hers.

  Finally, reluctantly, Emily pulled her lips away from his and pushed against his shoulders. My God, she had let it happen again! This was foolishness. This was wrong. She must step behaving like a doxy, for that is all she could ever hope to be to him. And she would never be that. Never.

  "Robert, we can't," she said breathlessly, trying to escape the arms that still held her.

  "Why not?" He began softly stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. "I love you, Emily."

  She wrenched away and turned her back to him. She couldn't bear this.

  "Don't do this, Robert," she said plaintively. "I am not a lightskirt. I will not be your mistress."

  Robert chuckled. "Then I suppose you'll just have to be my wife."

  "Please don't tease me, Robert," she whispered. "This is much too painful for me. You know I cannot be your wife. I cannot bear for you to kiss me like that and tell me you love me and then go off and marry Augusta Windhurst. Please," she said, choking back a sob. "Please go away."

  Robert came up behind her and curled his arms around her waist, gently pressing her back against his chest. Emily thought she would collapse with grief, thought her knees might actually buckle, and so accepted the support of his strong arms. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  "But I'm not going to marry Augusta," he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  Emily stiffened involuntarily. A tiny thread of hope wound its way around her heart. She sucked in her breath.

  "You're not?" Her voice came out in an unnatural squeak.

  "No." Robert laughed, pulling her closer. "We have decided we would not suit. In fact," he said, his breath tickling her ear, "if my guess is corr
ect, Miss Windhurst is even now finding comfort in the arms of my cousin Ted. Perhaps he is kissing her, like this." He nibbled her ear, caressing it with his tongue.

  "Or like this." He feathered kisses down her neck onto her bare shoulder.

  "Or like this." His lips moved up to her throat and Emily threw back her head and sighed with pleasure.

  "Or ..." He turned her in his arms, and his mouth came down on hers. He moved his lips tenderly against her mouth, teasing her lips with his tongue. She moaned softly, threw her arms around his neck, and opened her mouth to his.

  Some time later Emily sat perched sideways in front of Robert on his horse, his greatcoat enveloping her like a cocoon. She leaned comfortably against his chest, his arm holding her close, tilting her head up frequently to receive his kiss as they made their leisurely way back to Grosvenor Square. Both cherished this private interlude, savoring the physical intimacy required by their position on the horse, and were in no particular hurry to reach Mayfair.

  As they plodded along the deserted midnight roads, they spoke of all that was in their hearts, recounting, as lovers do, those moments when they first recognized their love for one another. They spoke of their future together, of the family they would have, and marveled at the depth of their happiness.

  "You know, Robert," Emily said as she snuggled deeper into the warmth of his greatcoat, "I still do not understand what happened tonight. I cannot for the life of me comprehend why my cousin abducted me."

  "Oh, good lord!" Robert exclaimed. "You don't know."

  "Know what?"

  Emily began to bounce against his chest as Robert exploded with laughter.

  "What?" she repeated, thoroughly puzzled. "What should I know?"

  Robert rocked her in his arms as he laughed. Emily pounded his chest with her fists in her impatience, which only made him laugh harder. When he was finally able to speak, he said, "Emily, my love, you are an heiress."