Still Wicked

by Ayers, Kathleen

  The blankets.

  Paying attention to such a detail had saved Spence’s life on more than one occasion, as it might be doing now. He was positive those blankets had been neatly folded and stacked in the corner when he’d left the coach. Spence reached inside his coat, his fingers gliding over the butt of his pistol. Pointing the weapon at the moth-eaten pile of wool he ignored the streak of pain crawling up his side.

  Fucking secretary.

  Spence watched the blankets rise and fall with the breathing of whomever was hidden beneath their folds. He had a guest, probably one who meant to kill him. And he’d been so sure no one had followed him from Edinburgh. He was getting sloppy.

  “Perhaps,” he cocked the pistol, “you’d like to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in my coach?”

  * * *

  The low, raspy growl rippled down Elizabeth’s spine.

  She pulled back the blankets carefully, hoping she hadn’t escaped her mother and Gustave only to be shot by some enraged gentleman.

  The thought of being alone in an enclosed space with a gentleman she didn’t know was nearly as frightening as having a pistol pointed at her. It had been too much to hope that she had ended up in the coach with the older woman and her two daughters who were far more likely not to threaten her.

  “Bollocks,” she whispered under her breath as she took in the gentleman casually sitting across from her.

  Even in the muted light filtering through the shades, Elizabeth recognized the gentleman who’d been staring at her inappropriately from across the common room. He hadn’t appeared so large earlier, but now his form seemed to suck up all the available space in the coach. The charming smile he’d given her earlier was gone, replaced with an arrogant tilt of his lips.

  “Bollocks indeed.”

  Not an ounce of sympathy from him, then. His entire being seemed poised to strike, as if she were some sort of a threat.

  “Hands where I can see them. Now.” The flapping sound of the shade being pulled open met her ears. “Do so slowly. I’d hate to put a hole in you.”

  “I should hate it as well,” Elizabeth answered, before she could think clearly about the wisdom of antagonizing a man such as the one across from her. She raised her hands from beneath the blankets.

  Gustave was still outside, stamping about. He was asking if anyone had seen a young woman dressed as a nun. She was addled, Gustave claimed to those he was speaking to, and possibly a danger to herself. The muffled cry of a woman met Elizabeth’s ears as he demanded to check her coach.

  A small sound of distress escaped Elizabeth.

  “Oh, that won’t help you, little nun.”

  “Novice.” Elizabeth clasped her hands even as fear washed down her back. She couldn’t have picked a worse coach to steal into. The man pointing the pistol regarded her as if she were nothing more than a small rodent, easily disposed of and of no consequence. For a split-second, Gustave and Mother seemed a more preferable option.

  “I can explain,” she stuttered as her anxiety reared its head. It didn’t help that he was also attractive and oh, so very large.

  “I suppose you can,” he said, the words raspy and cold, like small bits of ice flicking against her skin.

  Gustave was now speaking to the red-haired driver of this coach, demanding to check inside. He rapped on the door.

  “Please.” Fear bled into the word. “Please.”

  The gentleman put the pistol behind his back but left it cocked. “Cover back up. Don’t make me regret this, little nun,” he said in a low whisper. “Porter!” He cracked open the coach door. “Why are we not moving? Who is this man?” He moved in front of the door, effectively blocking Gustave’s view of the interior of the coach.

  “I need to check your coach. I’m looking —”

  “Lord Kelso.” He corrected Gustave in a same coldly aloof tone he’d used with Elizabeth. “And who you are looking for is none of my affair. How dare you insist upon inspecting my coach?”

  “My lord,” Gustave started again, in a much more deferential tone, “I beg your apologies, but I’m looking for a young lady. Dressed as a nun. She’s a bit…tetched in the head. I fear she is a danger to herself and possibly others.”

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth at the lie and slunk down deeper into the blankets. Her rescuer’s name was Lord Kelso.

  “A nun. Good Lord. Are you accusing me of absconding with a…nun?” An outraged puff of air left Kelso. “How dare you?”

  Gustave choked. “My lord, I meant no disrespect. I only —”

  “You approach me demanding I allow you to inspect my carriage and then besmirch my reputation by accusing me of hiding a nun? Begone. I’ve not seen the girl you speak of nor am I interested in doing so. Porter, I’m going to be late and I detest not being on time.”

  Elizabeth could hear Gustave’s ragged breathing, no doubt furious at being denied entry. “A moment, my lord.”

  “Remove your hand from my coach.” A deadly note of menace laced the words from Kelso. A moment later, the coach door was shut. Kelso rapped his knuckles on the roof.

  There was a brief snap of the whip and the coach jerked forward, the horses taking off at a steady trot.

  Elizabeth crawled out from beneath the blankets to see the pistol once again pointed in her direction.

  Lord Kelso gave an annoyed shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose I won’t need this, will I?”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “Tetched in the head, are you? A runaway nun?” He leaned closer, the disheveled waves of his hair falling about his cheeks. An exotic scent followed his movements, teasing her nose. He regarded her like a big tawny cat, the comparison more striking when she noticed the color of his eyes. Amber, beneath a slash of dark brows.

  Elizabeth shrank back as far as she could, careful to pull her skirts from around his boots. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “What the bloody hell are you doing in my coach?”

  “I am escaping.” There was no reason to lie. And she needed his help in getting to the next coaching inn where she could then make her way to London and her brother. Returning to St. Albans was out of the question. The minute her mother had set foot on the grounds of St. Albans, the tiny convent had ceased to be a sanctuary for Elizabeth. She was no longer protected there. The best course of action would be to reach Sutton.

  Her stomach pitched at the thought of London, but she had little choice.

  “I hope you have a riveting story to keep me from having Porter turn the coach around. Did you steal from the collection plate?” Kelso’s voice was a warm brush against her skin, lifting the hair along her arms. His eyes roamed over her novice’s habit. “Are you to be punished for poor clothing choices? Or did you steal something from the widow I saw you with?”

  “Poor clothing choices?” Elizabeth replied in the same sarcastic tone. “I’m a novice. This is what we wear.” Regardless of his rescue of her person, she’d been threatened quite enough in the last twenty-four hours. “I don’t care to be accused of thievery either.”

  The tawny eyes narrowed at her tone. “I thought nuns were possessed of a more serene temperament. All that praying. Doesn’t seem to have helped you.”

  “I’m not a nun. I’m a novice.”

  A brow lifted in derision. “I doubt you are either. Not with such a sharp tongue.”

  “You don’t appear to be the type of man who is well-versed in nuns,” she returned smartly, her nerves so frayed they might snap at any moment. He looked like a gentleman, and certainly dressed as one, she mused, taking in the expensively cut coat, but there was something menacing lurking beneath the veneer of the aristocratic image he projected.

  Kelso tapped a forefinger against his lips, considering her retort. “I don’t suppose I am, but even I know a nun shouldn’t be so saucy.”

  The word ‘saucy’ held a wicked note as Elizabeth followed the movement of his fingers. She’d never taken note of anyone’s lips before. She blinked and looked down
at her lap.

  “My name is Sister Elizabeth.” A small lie but she saw no reason for him to think her anything other than a novice.

  “Elizabeth,” he deliberately addressed her. “And I’ve just saved you from…?”

  “Gustave. I am deeply appreciative.” Perhaps he wouldn’t question her too closely. Once they reached the next coaching inn or even a decent-sized village, she could find a coach to take her to London.

  “Gustave. Unpleasant fellow.” He stretched out his legs in her direction. “Thinks I go around debauching young nuns.”

  Elizabeth withdrew as far into the leather squabs as possible to avoid the touch of his boots.

  He watched her retreat with interest. “Don’t worry; your virtue is quite safe from me. Contrary to your large friend’s comments, I’m not in the habit of debauching nuns.” A small laugh bubbled up from him.

  “Your mockery of the church and my position is not appreciated.” She hadn’t expected such a dangerous looking man to also possess a dry wit. It was difficult to retain her stern expression when what she really wanted to do was laugh. Her shoulders softened as some of the tension in the coach evaporated.

  “A small pun at your expense.” His glance at her this time was reminiscent of the look he’d given her in the inn’s common room, though now she could see the way the amber of his eyes darkened to molten honey.

  Heat warmed her cheeks. “You are improper.” Elizabeth clutched the blanket a bit tighter, though she didn’t feel the least threatened. Her anxiety was still there, humming beneath her skin, but it had quieted.

  “So I’ve been told. Pray enlighten me as to your appearance in my coach.”

  “I will tell you.” She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at her own clever reply. “Cease your pun-ishment.”

  The beautiful, wide mouth ticked up on one side. Such a lovely mouth. Even more so when it formed a smile, the force of which Elizabeth felt sink into her bones. She took a deep breath and his eyes darted to her bosom.

  “The widow is my mother.” She answered his previous question, ignoring the way his amber gaze slid over her body as if trying to discern what the rest of her looked like beneath the blankets.

  “I am sorry for your loss.”

  Sun streamed through the window as they turned at a fork in the road and slanted across his eyes and cheeks. His eyes flashed gold, the deep brown flecks in the amber sparkling in the light. When she’d been a little girl, Papa had taken her to a museum. There hadn’t been much which interested Elizabeth, but she did recall the bits of amber on display among the fossils. It was difficult to keep her wits about her with eyes like his staring at her.

  “No, I mean, thank you. But my father died many years ago.” Guilt bubbled up inside her as it always did when she thought of Papa. “My mother’s husband passed away. She and I have been estranged for many years.” A half-truth. Elizabeth though it best to omit Mother was completely mad and had probably killed her husband. “She has arranged a marriage for me. An unwanted marriage.”

  “And you are a…nun. With a calling to God.” Kelso didn’t sound as if he believed her.

  “Novice.”

  “Ah, yes. I forgot.” He sighed. “I detest family squabbles and am not inclined to involve myself in them. No matter how attractive doing so may seem.” Kelso sat up, as if he meant to rap on the roof to signal Porter. “It sounds as if your mother only wishes to make a good match for you. A normal course of events, I’m told. Perhaps you are nothing more than a disobedient child.”

  Elizabeth objected to being called a disobedient child. She was young, true, but she was far from being a child. She opened her mouth to give him a scathing retort but remembered how desperate her circumstances were and how much she needed Kelso. “The groom is more than twice my age and I’ve no desire to wed. I’ve never even met him.”

  “All young girls wish to marry. Isn’t that the point of your existence? Your mother doubtless knows best and has deemed life in a convent to not be your purpose. I’m going to have Porter turn around and take you back to your mother.”

  The frayed edges of her nerves snapped a bit. “The groom isn’t quite as old as you of course, but still quite elderly.” If he was going to turn the coach, then she’d no need to hold her tongue. “My feelings have been completely discarded so my mother can take advantage of the benefits such a match would provide her.”

  A spark lit the dark gold eyes. “With your demure manner and gentle tone I can’t imagine why your mother doesn’t find nunning —”

  “That’s not a word.” Elizabeth tilted her head. He’d made no move to stop the coach and she guessed his threat to turn around was an idle one. Kelso was toying with her. He wasn’t going to return her.

  “You’re barely out of the nursery; how would you know?”

  Kelso, Elizabeth decided, was in dire need of a shave. The sunlight trailed along the shadow of his jawline, a slightly darker brown than the hair on his head. Not brown exactly, more the color of warm gingerbread.

  “It is imperative I reach London,” Elizabeth said. “My brother will handle matters from there. I ask only that you drop me at the next coaching inn, and I will make my way to London on my own.” She wasn’t sure exactly how she would do so since she’d no coin on her, but dressed as a novice, Elizabeth was sure someone would come to her aid.

  “How are you to get to London? By jumping into another unsuspecting stranger’s coach? I assume you have not so much as a shilling on you. Vows of poverty and all that.”

  “You are a very unpleasant gentleman.” Elizabeth clasped her hands, unnerved by how well he’d assessed her situation. “I’ll pray for your soul.” The last bit was certain to annoy him.

  “Don’t bother. What if I’m bent on lechery?” His eyes strayed to her bosom again.

  “I’m meant for the Lord. And we’ve already established you find nuns unappealing.”

  “I don’t recall saying such a thing. Possibly it is only you I find unappealing.” The amber eyes left their perusal of her form as if no longer finding her interesting which Elizabeth told herself was a good thing. She didn’t want to appeal to Kelso. Not in the least.

  6

  Spence knew she was lying, but about which part of her story, he wasn’t certain. He’d never had any intention of returning her to the hulking thug she’d called Gustave and suspected she knew it. Her slender form, taut as a bowstring when he’d first discovered her, had relaxed. But she was frightened; unfortunately, she didn’t appear to have much fear of him. He mulled that over for a moment. Quite a lot of people were afraid of him, just not this wayward nun. “You shouldn’t be so trusting to ask for my help.”

  “I’ve no one else to turn to, Lord Kelso.” The blue of her eyes, so like the Mediterranean, shone with innocence, and her voice held a pleading quality. “I’m certain you will be rewarded in the next life for your care of me.”

  “Fine.” Spence didn’t give a shit about finding his reward in heaven. He was too busy studying her plump lower lip. What sort of sound would she make if he nipped the bit of flesh between his teeth?

  The gray sack she wore did nothing but fan his lust as he imagined what lay hidden beneath. If he wasn’t going to return her to Gustave and her mother, if indeed the widow was her mother, he certainly wasn’t going to leave her at a coaching inn. She was much too young to be traipsing about England on her own. The occupant of the next coach she jumped into might not be so disinclined to lechery.

  A strand of her hair slipped from the scarf wrapped around her head, answering one question. Black, like a raven’s wing.

  I am incredibly inclined in the direction of lechery. As well as seduction. And let us not forget debauchery.

  Even as he speculated about such things, Spence knew he wouldn’t touch one glorious ebony hair on her head. There was a slight chance Elizabeth really was a novice and her tale all true. Her accent and bearing led him to believe she was of noble birth. She could simply be a young lady
who didn’t care for the husband her family had chosen and had runaway. In either case, Spence had a moral obligation to deliver her safely to her brother. Spence hadn’t behaved as a gentleman for most of his life, but he had been raised as one. His mother would be incredibly proud.

  “I am not dropping you off at a coaching inn.” He held his hand up to stop the rebuttal her luscious mouth began to form. “You really can’t go about jumping into strange conveyances without a care of who is inside. Much too dangerous. I will take you to London.”

  He saw the hesitation bloom across her lovely features. “I’m not sure—”

  “You’re far safer with me than you would be on your own. Especially if Gustave is about. Trust me on that.” Spence didn’t care to think of the giant footman touching Elizabeth.

  She said nothing, only studied him with those deep blue eyes as if trying to discern the truthfulness of his statement. Something in his face must have assured her because after a few minutes, she nodded. “I accept your assistance.”

  “Good.” There was the matter of the one loose end the ministry wanted tidied up before his arrival in London, but a small detour to the Wilted Rose shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. McDonnell’s accomplice, a smuggler by the name of Abernathy Hughes, would be receiving a visit from Spence. According to the information he’d been given, Abernathy could be found in Halwick, a village just this side of the Scottish border. The smuggler had rooms at the Wilted Rose. Spence meant to pop in for an ale, take care of Hughes and be on his way with the patrons of the Wilted Rose none the wiser.

  There was no reason to inform Elizabeth. His little nun would likely sleep through the entire affair since they wouldn’t arrive in Halwick until close to midnight. The last thing he needed was to field questions from Elizabeth on exactly what he was doing at the Wilted Rose. She might be compelled to spout prayers or lecture him.