“I’ll be the judge of such things, not you.” He took her hand, assisting her from the coach before curling his fingers around her shoulder. Rapping sharply at the door, he waited, only looking down at her in exasperation when she shivered in the morning air.
After a few moments, the door was opened by a thin woman wearing an apron and smelling of yeast. Mrs. Nobs, as she introduced herself, had risen early to start the day’s baking, waving them in with a tired smile. At Kelso’s request of a small room for the use of his wife, the woman led them through the taproom where two men lay snoring, their heads on the table.
“Had a bit too much to drink last night.” The woman inclined her head. “Sebastian’s wife,” she nodded toward one of the men, “finally gave birth to a son after four girls. Decided to celebrate. I’ve a room ready at the end of the hall.” She handed Elizabeth a lamp and pointed. “Fresh water and towels to wash the dust away. Some soap as well. Make it myself.”
Elizabeth thanked Mrs. Nobs, waiting until the woman turned before wrenching her arm out of Kelso’s grasp. “I do not need to be watched over while I tend to my needs, my lord. Please feel free to see to your own business.”
Kelso looked at the two men sound asleep and back at her. Evidently deciding they would not pose a threat he said, “Do not tarry, Elizabeth. I’ll see what Mrs. Nobs has available for our breakfast, then we’ll be off.”
Elizabeth turned her back on him and walked through the taproom, giving the two drunks a wide berth. Holding up the lamp, she saw a narrow hall ending in a door. The hall was short, the room Mrs. Nobs prepared for travelers a small parlor with a window overlooking a stone fence and the pasture beyond.
After seeing to her needs, Elizabeth washed her hands and face. The soap was rough but smelled of roses and she felt immeasurably better after washing away the dust of the road. She looked out the window at the rolling field behind the fence, listening to the muted sounds of birds singing in the trees. A pang of homesickness for St. Albans filled her. Elizabeth adored quiet mornings and had spent many of them in the garden of St. Albans, listening to the birds as the sun started to rise.
She had no burning desire to return to Kelso, given his mood. At least not yet. Leaving the room, she opened the door at the back of the hall, pleased to see it opened up to the same view she’d seen through the window.
Elizabeth stood and inhaled the crisp fall air. A rooster crowed somewhere to her left. She stepped farther out on the step. The back of the tavern was strewn with discarded items. Leaves rustled beneath her feet as she moved forward, careful not to trip over a broken carriage wheel. The light behind the inn was muted and dark. Quiet. Peaceful. She stood for a few minutes listening to the birds before deciding she’d best return. She placed her hand on the doorknob and turned. Nothing happened.
“Bollocks.” The door had locked behind her. Or it was stuck. She shoved against the wood but succeeded in only making the door creak. She would have to go around the building to make her way to the coach. Kelso was bound to be furious.
A twig snapped in the darkness.
Elizabeth stood very still. It was probably only an animal somewhere beyond the stone fence. A squirrel, perhaps. The lamp had started to sputter, but she held it up, dispelling the darkness around her. She was being ridiculous. It was early in the morning. No one would be up at such an hour unless they were baking bread, as Mrs. Nobs was doing.
The lamp went out just as she decided to slide against the tavern’s exterior and make her way to the coach. Her hand trembled as she clasped the now useless lamp.
Breathe, Elizabeth.
She inhaled deeply to calm herself and caught the aroma of stale smoke and ale in the air.
I’m behind a tavern. Of course I smell smoke and ale. I also smell rotten vegetables.
The stone wall before her rippled in the darkness as a large shadow emerged and came forward.
“You scared me half to death,” she said. Placing a hand against her throat, she told her heart to stop racing. It was only Kelso. “I just wanted a breath of air and the door shut behind me. Then the lamp went out.” She gave a nervous laugh.
Silence greeted her words. The smell of unwashed body and horse assailed her. Elizabeth backed up several steps.
Not Kelso. Not her husband who smelled of spicy soap and only mildly of horse. Her panic increased as she fought to take another deep breath.
“Here now, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Elizabeth started at the unfamiliar voice. The man smelled foul. Ale clung to his breath. The dim light allowed a glimpse of greasy hair, hanging in clumps around his face. There was an open sore on one cheek.
She backed up abruptly, nearly tripping over the remains of a wooden bucket.
He reached over and grabbed her arm.
She tried to shake him off, repulsed by his touch. “My husband will be looking for me.” Panic darkened her vision and threatened to choke her. “Let go of me.”
“There’s no one here but you and me.” His words slurred, still drunk. He spun her around and grabbed the long braid of her hair. “Look at this pretty hair.”
Elizabeth tried to hit him, the lamp sailing through the air to shatter against the tavern wall. She couldn’t get enough air. She couldn’t breathe. The scream in her throat came out as a tiny squeak. Where had this man come from?
“Saw you primping through the window.” His hand fell on her breast. “Saw these nice titties.” He pushed his sweaty fingers down the front of her bodice and squeezed.
Elizabeth gagged. Her stomach heaved as terror filled her. She kicked out at him, but he only laughed. His hand tore at her skirts. “No.” The word choked out. “No.” He was bearing down on her, pinning her to the ground. The disgusting ale-sodden breath fanned against her cheek as she kicked and squirmed, trying to push him off.
Gulping for air, Elizabeth tried to scream.
The man’s weight suddenly lifted as he was slammed against the wall of the tavern.
Elizabeth scrambled back on her hands.
“Who the bloody hell are you—” The man’s words were cut off. A thud sounded as he fell to the ground.
“Her fucking husband.”
“Kelso,” she sobbed as a strong hand pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry. I only wanted to listen to the birds and smell the air…I couldn’t scream. I tried to but I—”
“Shush, Elizabeth. I’m here.”
Kelso’s strong arms surrounded her like a protective shield. She clung to him, pressing herself as close as possible, her earlier anger at him dissipating. Her fingers curled into the lapel of his coat, absorbing his warmth.
“Is he—” She looked at the shape against the wall, relieved to see him twitch.
“Let’s get you to the coach,” Kelso said quietly, steering her toward the front of the tavern. “I think Porter is nearly ready to leave. I’ve got you a hot brick to keep you warm and several apple tarts.”
* * *
Spence led Elizabeth around the side of the tavern to the waiting coach and Porter. After putting her inside, he motioned to Porter. “I’ll be back in a moment. Something I need to tidy up. She’s not to leave the coach.”
“Of course, milord.”
Spence walked back around the tavern to the man he’d just killed. He’d never felt such cold, blinding rage as he had seeing the man’s hands on his wife. Elizabeth was never to be afraid again. It was the one fucking promise he’d made to her and he meant to keep it.
He knelt, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the man’s smell. “I don’t know who you were, but I suppose you’ve learned your lesson about peeking at another man’s wife. Especially my wife.”
The man’s fingers twitched.
Spence checked his neck. No pulse. Bodies did that sometimes. Twitched as if still alive. Like a headless chicken. “Christ, you’re fat,” he said, putting the dead man over his shoulders. “And in desperate need of a bath, though I don’t suppose it matters now.”
When he’d found the room Elizabeth should have been in empty, he’d known something was wrong. He’d walked back through the taproom and, seeing no sign of her, went to the coach, assuming she’d disobeyed and not waited for him. He’d decided to search the tavern, but then the sound of glass breaking behind the inn had met his ears and he’d gone to investigate. At the sight of a hulking form looming over his wife, touching Elizabeth, Spence had gone mad for an instant. He’d thrown the man against the tavern wall, then snapped the drunk’s neck without a second thought.
Spence debated whether or not to just leave the bastard lying behind the building, but the last thing he wanted to do was repay the tavern owner’s wife with a dead body. There would be questions and he wanted no one to trace the dead man to him.
He carried the man into the pasture. Thankfully, dawn was just beginning to break, and it was so early no one would witness Spence strolling into a copse of elms. He found a shallow ravine with a large rock and positioned the body in such a way it would appear the man had tripped and broken his neck.
Wiping his hands against his thighs, Spence strolled nonchalantly back to the coach. It was time to take Elizabeth home.
23
“Elizabeth, we’ve arrived.” A booted foot nudged her toe. “Wake up.”
She was finally warm and even though the blankets scratched and smelled of wet wool, she didn’t wish to open her eyes. “Leave me alone.”
“Wake up.”
“Must you growl at me in such a way?” Blinking her eyes, Elizabeth yawned, unsurprised to see the interior of the coach and her husband sitting across from her. She hadn’t thought she’d be able to fall asleep again after—
He smelled terrible. He touched my breast. The lamp went out. I couldn’t scream.
Elizabeth sent an assessing look at Kelso. Outside of making sure the brick was properly placed beneath her feet and tucking the blankest around her, he’d not spoken to her. He looked annoyed, which was fairly normal.
When he’d first proposed marriage to her, Elizabeth had assumed, wrongly it appeared, that Kelso at least liked her. She regretted the loss of their friendship, brief though it had been. Elizabeth missed that Kelso. She didn’t care quite as much for the one sharing the coach with her, nor the one who’d abandoned her immediately after bedding her.
“I failed to thank you properly for coming to my aid,” she said, in an effort to engage him in conversation and diffuse lingering tensions in the coach.
“Coming to your aid seems a common occurrence,” Kelso said in the clipped, icy way she was learning to detest. “I do not growl.”
“You do. Like an angry bear. What happened to the man at the inn?” Given her experience with Kelso outside the Wilted Rose and his habit of walking around covered in weapons, she felt the urge to be sure, even though she’d seen the man twitch. “I—I would not wish to be the cause of someone to be hurt.”
Kelso’s face was unreadable. “I escorted him outside after showing him, with my fist, he shouldn’t spy on women, particularly if the woman is married to me.”
She watched him for the slightest tic. A flash of his eyes. Anything which would tell her he was lying. “I hope, my lord, should I be in need of your protection in the future, that you will consider…” Elizabeth hesitated not certain how to continue, “…how I feel about your skills.”
The amber of Kelso’s eyes darkened until they glowed a deep gold. His fingers curled against his thighs. He seemed about to say something, but then didn’t. “We need to discuss how to proceed once we reach your brother’s home. Hopefully he is in residence. If not, we will go to Dunbar House.”
Elizabeth tried to keep her features as bland as his. “I had assumed we would go directly to your home. Do you not have a house in London?”
“I do. A rather nice one. It will need to be opened. Servants hired.” He gave an elegant wave of his hand. “There are details to be handled before I can take up residence.”
“I see.” He did mean to just deposit her on her brother’s doorstep, then. She had thought at least they might share a residence while in London. Even couples who detested each other did so, as evidenced by her parent’s marriage.
I don’t want to be separated from him.
Now that the time was near, Elizabeth found the thought of being away from Kelso upsetting to her equilibrium. She was overreacting but seemed incapable of stifling the panic she felt at their upcoming separation.
“Elizabeth.” Kelso’s voice softened. “My house has not been open for many years. You would not be comfortable.”
“There is no need to explain your reasoning to me, my lord. I am grateful for your assistance in returning me to London. You’ve done more than enough. I appreciate the protection from my mother and, indeed, all unsuitable gentlemen, your name provides. Please feel free to collect me when you are required to ‘dangle’ me from your arm.”
“Don’t condescend to me, Elizabeth. Nor become flippant.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” She looked him in the eye.
Kelso ran a hand through his hair. “Stop acting as if I’m abandoning you.” His voice raised an octave. “We both agreed to this.”
She didn’t bother to remind him they had not, in fact, discussed leaving her at her brother’s. Elizabeth suddenly understood how much she’d wanted to only be in his orbit, even if they were to lead separate lives. She’d become dependent on Kelso’s presence in her life.
“You are, as usual, correct. Should you have need of me, you will send a note, I expect,” she said. Verbally sparring with Kelso had been exhilarating, no matter how gruff he became. Truly arguing with him in such an ugly manner was…horrible.
Kelso’s nostrils flared, no longer irritated but angry. “Do not push me too far, Elizabeth. I am tired and lack patience for your tantrum.”
Anger swelled within her. Tantrum?
“How dare you. I have been kidnapped, nearly married to a lecherous duke, seen my mother for the first time in years, been chased by pistols in a moving coach, married,” she sucked a lungful of air, “and been attacked by a stranger. All things considered, Kelso,” she leaned over, “I think I’m holding up fairly well at the announcement that my husband plans to drop me on my brother’s doorstep like a trunk he no longer has any use for.”
She breathed hard and fast, shocked by her outburst. Struggling to calm herself, Elizabeth looked out the window and away from Kelso. London was loud. Dirty. The streets were filled at this hour with crowds of people bustling about on their way to all manner of business. There was an orange girl on the corner.
“Elizabeth.”
A gang of young boys, their boots muddy and clothing patched, wandered the street, probably up to no good. Hacks crowded each other. How ironic she’d been sent from London, feeling discarded by her brother, and now she was returning, feeling exactly the same way.
“Little nun.” The low, dark timbre of his voice slid up her skin.
She didn’t turn to look at him; instead, she waved her hand in dismissal.
The coach turned down another street and the traffic thinned. The hacks disappeared, replaced with expensive carriages carrying exquisitely dressed occupants. Elizabeth placed a hand to her throat as they approached a familiar tree-lined street, the anxiety clawing at her. Her family’s home. A place to which she’d never intended to return.
Another coach sat outside the Cambourne townhouse bearing the ducal coat of arms.
“Oh, this is splendid,” Kelso hissed, catching sight of his cousin’s coach. “Well, at the very least, we shall only need to tell our story once.”
“Yes. How fortuitous for us both,” Elizabeth murmured, still angry and not daring herself to say more.
Porter stopped the vehicle and jumped down to open the door.
Kelso stepped out first, deliberately reaching for her hand and capturing her fingers with his before she could protest.
Elizabeth tried to stop the sudden trembling at the sight of the lion knocker gr
acing the door. How often had she dreamt of standing on the front steps of Cambourne House?
Spence squeezed her fingers gently. He was watching her carefully, perhaps expecting her to collapse in a fit of anxiety.
“I’m fine,” she lied, attempting to pull her fingers from his. “I do not require your assistance.” Elizabeth didn’t want his sympathy or understanding. Not after that beastly ride from Gretna Green.
“You aren’t fine,” he said quietly. “Stop pretending.”
Before she could reply, the door opened to reveal an elderly butler. Confusion filled his rheumy eyes as he leaned over, peering at her with the familiarity of one who’d served the Cambourne family for years.
“Lady Elizabeth?” His lips quivered, one shaking hand reaching up to cover his heart. “Oh, my! Lady Elizabeth. Forgive me, but you look so much like Lady Kilmaire.”
“Bevins?” The name of the butler came to her along with a flood of memories. Bevins patiently pouring tea for Elizabeth and her collection of dolls. The butler down on his knees helping her to build a fort in Papa’s study while he worked. He’d been with her family for the entirety of Elizabeth’s life.
Bevins smiled back and her. “Lord Cambourne has been so worried.” He blinked, looking at Kelso. “I’m sorry my lord, who —”
“Lord and Lady Kelso,” her husband said, his hand holding hers like a vise as if reluctant to let her go, which couldn’t possibly be the case. “To see Lord Cambourne.”
Bevins’s eyebrows rose up into his non-existent hairline, but he was too well-trained to comment further. The butler peered outside at Porter and Kelso’s rented coach. “My lady, I’ll have your trunks brought in. Lady Cambourne had rooms redone for you last year in hopeful anticipation of your return to us.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought he referred to her mother. Her knees grew weak and she wobbled, Kelso pulling her against him.
He means Alex. Sutton’s wife. Not Mother. Mother isn’t here.
Still Wicked Page 14