Unlacing the Innocent Miss

by Margaret McPhee

  She would tell him, she had decided. All of it, every last sordid detail. He had saved her from Kempster. Maybe if he knew the truth, he would save her from Evedon too. For all of his harsh exterior, he had proved to be the true gentle man. It was Kempster, with his smooth pretty gilding, that had been the rogue. Her heart was telling her to trust Wolf, and, for once in her life, Rosalind would not choose the sensible safe option, she would listen to her instinct.

  A knock at the door.

  Rosalind stared at the door, her heart skipping a beat. A pause, before it swung open to reveal the man that stood framed in the doorway.

  ‘Wolf.’ His name escaped her lips before she could stop it. She was on her feet and moving towards him, smiling—before she saw the expression on his face. All trace of gentleness had vanished from him. He was once more the Wolf who had met her from the coach on Munnoch Moor. The smile slipped from her mouth. Her steps checked, and she halted, looking at him with uncertainty.

  Wolf stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

  She stood where she was, unsure of what to do.

  He stood in the shadow by the door. ‘You are re covered?’ he asked; his voice had all of the same old harshness to it.

  In that moment she knew that everything had changed, that this was not the same Wolf who had kissed her with such tenderness, the man who had saved her from Kempster. The wash of despair was so great that she could have wept had she allowed herself to. Fanciful hope shattered; he would not save her from Evedon, and Rosalind knew she would tell him nothing.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  ‘And are you well enough to travel this day?’

  ‘To London?’ Her heart rate accelerated as she awaited his answer, even though she already knew what it would be.

  ‘Where else?’ he said.

  She glanced away that he would not see the truth of her feelings.

  The silence hissed between them.

  ‘When do we leave?’ She forced herself to meet his gaze squarely, to stand up straight and proud and strong as if she cared not one jot.

  ‘As soon as you are ready.’ He stepped out of the shadow and into the sunlight that flooded the room. The battered leather hat held within his hand brushed against his thigh. His hair was ruffled, as if he had just run his hand through it, its strands glinting golden in the sun, and his eyes were a pale mesmerising grey against the honeyed tan of his skin. His face was lean and rugged and, for all of its severity, much more handsome than the pretty-boy looks of Pete Kempster; she thought that she had never seen a man to match him.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I am ready now.’ The calmness of her voice made her words all the more convincing. It was a lie, of course. She would never be ready to face Evedon.

  He stood there, looking at her, and she looked right back at him, and the tension pulled tight between them.

  ‘The little boy from the stables—how is he?’ She hoped that he would think the hoarse ness of her voice due to the effect of smoke.

  ‘Why would you care?’ A short hard sentence, uttered like a whiplash of contempt.

  ‘I care,’ she countered.

  ‘You care so much that you ran off with Kempster rather than stay to help the lad.’

  It was the truth and the truth hurt. Yet it was not just that which she baulked at; he made it sound as if she had eloped with Kempster, as if there had been something between them. She ignored his comment.

  ‘The boy?’ she asked again.

  ‘The boy is recovering.’

  She nodded. ‘I am glad to hear that.’

  ‘Are you?’ he said harshly and stepped closer, a blaze of fury flaring in his eyes. ‘Are you really, Miss Meadowfield?’

  ‘Of course!’ She sighed and, massaging her fingers against the gathering knot of tight ness in her forehead, turned away to the window. ‘I should not have gone with Kempster,’ she said quietly, almost to herself, and did not know why she was admitting any such thing to Wolf. ‘But I was desperate.’ She swung round, facing him with renewed defiance. ‘I do not want to hang.’

  ‘Enough of this pretence. Were you some common housemaid, you would swing from the end of a scaffold all right, but they’d not hang a gentle woman. Evedon wants your theft kept quiet. It’s an unfair world, Miss Meadowfield; surely you know that?’

  Unfair? Rosalind thought of them hanging her father and all that had happened to her family. She thought of the diamonds being found in her chamber, and of Evedon and his damnable letter. And she pressed her lips firm that the words would not spill.

  Wolf’s gaze was hard and judgemental. ‘And what of Kempster?’

  ‘He offered me a way out. He said he would take me to the next coaching inn and leave me there.’

  ‘Just like that.’ She could see the hardness around his mouth.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But he lied.’

  ‘As did you.’ His voice was deathly quiet. And just for a second, the most in credible searing hurt flashed in his eyes before the harsh anger masked it. ‘And there was me believing you were telling the truth.’

  ‘I am telling the truth.’

  ‘Really?’ Wolf shook his head cynically, dis believingly, and digging in his pocket, pulled out a fold of banknotes. ‘Thirty pounds, Miss Meadowfield. We found it on Kempster.’ He thrust the notes towards her. ‘Yours.’

  She stared at the money and then up at Wolf. ‘You believe Kempster that I bribed him,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Where else does a footman get thirty pounds?’

  Her gaze held his. ‘Where indeed?’ she retorted angrily. Wolf believed Kempster’s lies. He did not deserve to know.

  ‘Then you do not deny it?’

  She stared at the notes, feeling the blast of Wolf’s icy contempt. She could tell him every last word of the truth and still he would not believe her. Then damn him, for she would tell him nothing.

  His eyes narrowed at her silence. ‘Go on, take it.’

  It seemed like there was a heavy weight pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe and she felt the ominous prickle of tears behind her eyes. She would not cry, not in front of him. Anger forced the tears away as she faced him with a defiance to match his own.

  ‘Take it,’ he said, and there was a ferocity in his voice. ‘The money from the emeralds, I presume. You think that you can buy anything, anyone for the right price. Anything to save yourself, without the slightest thought for what happens to those who get in your way. Well, not this time. I’ll see to that, Miss Meadowfield.’ His eyes were dark and stormy and filled with fury.

  He turned and left without a further word. And the white paper banknotes fluttered down to scatter over the wooden floorboards where he had stood.

  Chapter Twelve

  They did not leave that morning after all. For all that Wolf had relented and given them a day’s rest, he slept poorly that night. His thoughts centred constantly on Miss Meadowfield. He saw again the way her eyes had lit up when he had entered her room, her instinctive move towards him and the shyness of her smile. He remembered, too, her terror and fear and anger at Kempster’s hands within the alleyway. And her stubborn refusal to take back her thirty pounds, leaving Struan to collect up the notes, from where they still lay upon the floor, when he had delivered her dinner tray. And even knowing all he knew of her treachery—that she had bribed Kempster in order to escape him—Wolf still wanted her, still cared for her. Fool. She was a liar and a thief. She had stolen the emeralds and sold them. Where else could she have obtained the money to pay Kempster? If she even was as poor as Kempster had said. She had done all of these things, and none of it made any difference.

  He still remembered her kindness to the little beggar lad, and her bravery in risking her own life to save the child. He remembered the feel of her mouth beneath his, the look of surprise and innocence and guilty desire within her eyes when he had kissed her, the raggedness of her feet from walking endless miles without complaint. He should hate
her, should despise her, God only knew had he not been raised for just such a purpose, but he could not. There was something about Miss Meadowfield that seemed to reach through all the barricades he had erected over the years. She affected him, for worse or for better. He wanted her; he wanted her as he had never wanted any woman. And his dreams were filled with the fire, and the fight with Kempster, but most of all, with Miss Rosalind Meadowfield.

  ‘So a chaise’ll no’ be avail able until the end of next week? We cannae delay that long, for all the lassie’s fears.’ Campbell was leaning against the wall in the yard surveying the stables.

  ‘We cannot,’ agreed Wolf. He was tired this morning, not so much from lack of sleep, but from the constant dilemma that raged within him.

  The cold grey morning sky seemed to reflect both his mood and Campbell’s.

  ‘She’s no gonnae like it.’

  ‘Tough. We’ll ride easy with her; it’s the best we can do.’

  ‘You do realize that she’ll have to ride wi’ you. That wee mount they’ve given me cannae take two up.’

  ‘Have my horse. I’ll ride yours.’

  ‘It wouldnae make a difference. Still too small.’ Campbell looked round at Wolf. ‘What’s the problem wi’ you taking her?’

  Wolf flicked him a glance. ‘There’s no problem.’ He did not want to lie to Struan, but he had no wish to start explaining the exact nature of the problem, not when he did not really understand it himself.

  ‘No problem save what’s between you and Miss Meadowfield,’ said Campbell quietly.

  Struan never did miss much. ‘There’s nothing between us,’ Wolf countered too quickly.

  ‘Really?’ Campbell arched a dark eyebrow.

  ‘Really,’ said Wolf curtly, wishing that his friend would just leave the matter alone.

  ‘But you dinnae want to take her pillion.’

  ‘I’ll take her pillion.’ Wolf said a little too heatedly. ‘It is no matter to me.’ Another lie. Just the thought of having Rosalind Meadowfield pressed against him raised a storm of warring emotions.

  Silence followed his words.

  ‘We dinnae have to take her back,’ said Campbell slowly and looked thought fully at Wolf. ‘We could just let her go free and be done with it. You did say that you had your doubts over Evedon’s story.’

  Like hell would Wolf give in to this weakness. ‘We’re damn well taking her back to Evedon, Struan.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Campbell softly beneath his breath as he ambled back into the inn, ‘but what the hell state are you gonnae be in by the time she reaches him?’

  There was no chaise, Rosalind learned. Instead they rode that day just as they had done before, with Rosalind sitting up by Wolf on his great horse. Except it was not the same as when he had brought her back from the bluebell wood; everything had changed between them, she could feel it in the tension in the strong arm settled around her waist, and see it in his eyes when their glances accidentally met…and sparked.

  The day was as sombre as the mood that hung over them. A bleak grey sky across which the chill wind blew a thick padded lining of cloud. It had already rained twice, only showers that did nothing to slow their pace. The horse did not bother her so much now. She knew that Wolf was a good horseman and that he kept the horse under control. She could even relax a little into the monotony of the canter, feeling her body heavy and aching from lack of sleep and her struggle with Kempster. She longed to rest her head against Wolf’s chest and close her eyes, but she could never do that. He thought her a thief. He thought her a liar.

  London was only a few days away, according to Campbell. Not long now before she must face Evedon. And for all that Wolf believed, she knew that Evedon would not allow her to live knowing what she knew about him. The chafe of the letter against her ribcage was a constant reminder of that; fool that she was to have taken it. Every step of Wolf’s horse was taking her closer to that fate. Her stomach clenched at the thought and her palms grew clammy with fear.

  The image rose in her mind of the black silken noose swinging between Evedon’s fingers that night in his study, and of his fury and panic at the sight of the letter dropping through the air to land beneath her fingers. And she knew that she was not ready to die, that she could not just sit here so meekly before Wolf and let him take her to her death. For a moment, she contemplated telling him the truth, of appealing for his mercy. Her body was warm from the shelter of his, and she imagined that she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her arm. She dared a glance up at him. He sensed her movement. The silver eyes met hers, and despite all their angry words of that morning, something else still flared between them. She could feel it in the strange warm sensation that shimmered low in her belly.

  Wolf held her gaze for only a second more, then looked away.

  The time passed in tense silence.

  A noise sounded from behind, something thudding down upon the ground that broke the quiet monotony. The horse checked its stride. Wolf glanced back and brought the beast to a stop. He slid Rosalind down before dismounting himself.

  She saw Wolf’s saddlebags lying some paces back up the road, and watched while he walked back to retrieve them. He crouched down on the road, examining the strap ping before hoisting them over his shoulder and coming back to where she stood with Campbell now by her side.

  ‘The straps look undamaged. You fastened them on this morning; was there any problem?’ Wolf asked Campbell.

  Campbell shook his head. ‘I thought I had buckled them up good and fine…’

  ‘No harm done,’ said Wolf and began to fit the bags back on to his horse.

  ‘I’ll take the lassie up and keep going while you sort your baggage. It’ll save time and you can catch us up easily enough and take her back. My horse should manage the both of us over a short distance.’

  Wolf gave a nod.

  ‘Unless you’ve an objection to riding with me, Miss Meadowfield, and prefer to wait for Wolf.’ There was something of a knowing look upon Campbell’s face.

  ‘No,’ she said too quickly. ‘I have no objection, Mr Campbell. What difference does it make with whom I ride?’

  Campbell cocked an eyebrow. ‘Indeed.’ And when he mounted his horse and reached his hand down to her, she took it.

  Campbell rode as easy as Wolf, the horse resuming a steady canter on down the road. She was careful not to look back at where Wolf remained.

  They rode on, and with every minute that passed, Rosalind expected to hear the gallop of Wolf’s horse behind them, but none came. She waited and waited, listened and listened, and at last could not resist a glance back. There was no sign of Wolf. Had they really travelled so far?

  Campbell rounded a corner, and brought the horse to a stop. To wait for Wolf, she thought, and knew that she should not care. Was it not better that she rode with Campbell when there was so much sparking friction between her and Wolf? But Campbell slipped her down on to the road, and stayed in the saddle. He stared down at her and there was a pensiveness about his face.

  ‘Still want to escape, Miss Meadowfield?’

  She looked up at him, confused and more than a little suspicious.

  ‘Or have you grown accustomed to the idea of returning to Evedon?’

  ‘Of course I wish to escape.’

  ‘Then here’s your chance. Start running.’

  ‘You are letting me go?’ She stared at him incredulously.

  ‘That’s precisely what I’m doing.’

  ‘Why would you do such a thing? I thought Evedon was paying you a lot of money to capture me.’

  ‘Dinnae remind me what I’m giving up here, lassie.’

  ‘Does Wolf know what you are doing?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’m no’ blind, Miss Meadowfield. I see what’s between the two of you.’

  ‘There is nothing—’ she began, but he cut her off.

  ‘That’s what Wolf says too, but you’re rotten liars
, the pair of you.’ He smiled a fleeting smile. ‘Wolf has dragged himself up from the gutter. He’s done what he had to to survive. You have no idea of where he’s come from, of the life that he’s had to lead, of the things he’s had to do. He’s overcome what would have killed other men. But his desire for you is making him question all that he believes in, that which has kept him going through the long hard years. Put simply, Miss Meadowfield, you will destroy him. And I’ll not stand by and watch that happen.’ He shook his head.

  ‘No,’ she cried, ‘it is not like that. There is nothing between us.’ And in her heart she knew that she was lying. There had been something between her and Wolf from the very start.

  ‘Is there not?’ He produced a small purse from his pocket and threw it down to land on the ground before her. ‘Best no’ to take any chances. There is the thirty pounds. Take it this time, Miss Meadowfield.’

  She stared at the purse in disbelief.

  He gestured to the surrounding countryside. ‘There is your freedom.’ His expression was the most serious that she had ever seen it. ‘Take the money and go, miss, for you’ll no’ have another chance like this.’

  She could not believe what he was saying, what he thought of her.

  ‘Your thinking is quite wrong, Mr Campbell.’

  ‘I dinnae think so.’

  She forced her chin to stay up, forced her gaze to remain steady on his.

  ‘Cut across that field over there. There are hills and woodland at the other side. Stay in the woods and head north. I dinnae want Wolf finding you. Do you understand?’

  Without another word, she turned away, leaving the purse where it lay.

  ‘The money, Miss Meadowfield,’ Campbell called after her.

  Rosalind ignored him and began to run.

  Saddlebags fastened securely back in place, Wolf pushed the stallion on hard, making up the distance that separated him from Campbell and Miss Meadowfield. He was still angry, her flight with Kempster still lodged like a fishbone in his throat, sharp enough to draw blood. Yet he craved the feel of her body perched on the saddle before him, ached for the fragrance of her hair and the softness of her arms around him. Even though he knew that he should not, he was desperate to have her from Campbell and back with him.