by Jo Beverley
Van said that Con was the steady one, the one who had anchored them to prevent extremes. But the Con Somerford she had known in the past weeks did not strike her as rock solid, even with Susan and his new happiness.
Van said it was Waterloo, and the loss of his fellow Rogue, Dare Debenham, there.
Maria had known Dare. His mother, the Duchess of Yeovil, was a distant cousin. Dare had been a young man put on earth to make others smile, and Sarah Yeovil had not even begun to recover from his loss, especially as there had been no body to bury. It had taken months for her to accept that he was gone.
Con Somerford hadn’t deceived himself that way, but apparently, despite all reason, he blamed himself, as if he could have nursemaided Dare through the battle and kept him safe.
He couldn’t afford to lose another friend.
Chapter Twenty-one
Tollgates, thought Van, were a very useful institution. Not only did they provide the funding for decent roads, they marked the passage of travelers, especially unusual ones such as a man with a lady up behind him.
When he joined the London road, the keeper of the first tollbooth north told him that no such couple had gone that way, on horse, by carriage, or on foot. Of course. Hawk would hardly try to outrace him on the direct route, double-laden.
He had to turn back toward Brighton to check the side roads, but there were dozens of them weaving off into a complex network linking village to village. Damn Hawk. He was going to have to waste hours, and he didn’t have the patient nature for this kind of work.
Con might follow, so he left a quick note with the tollkeeper explaining his actions, and saying that he would leave a clue on the signposts of the roads he went down. It would be one of their old boyhood signs. A twist of wheat. The fields were full of it.
Then he turned back, stopping to ask anyone he passed if they’d seen the couple, and also to cut a handful of wheat from the edge of a field. He turned off onto the first side road after sticking a crude wheat dolly in a crack on the top of the signpost.
Damn Hawk! He’d throttle him when he caught him. And yet a part of him hoped his friend would get away, marry Clarissa, and that it would all somehow work out for the best.
Hawk followed side roads and did some cross-country work, though he couldn’t jump hedges with Clarissa at his back. They didn’t talk and he was glad of it. He didn’t know what to say.
Speed wasn’t important at this point; concealment was. At an out-of-the-way village he stopped at a small inn and asked if anyone in the area would have a gig to hire out. Luck was with him, and Mr. Idler, the squint-eyed innkeeper, admitted to having one available himself. “Mostly used to go to market day, sir.”
Despite the squint, Hawk assessed the man as honest, and the type to hold his own counsel. “May I hire your gig, sir, for a week or more?”
The man pursed his lips. “A week or more, sir? That’d be a bit of an inconvenience.”
“I’d pay very well. And I’d leave my horse as security.”
The man’s eyes sharpened, and he went over to give Centaur an expert scrutiny. “Nice beast,” he said, but he still looked suspicious. “Where you and the lady be going, then, sir?”
Hawk gave him the true answer. “Gretna Green. But I’ll only take the gig as far as London. Perhaps not even so far as that. I won’t be able to return it until we come back, though.”
The man looked between them, then fixed his eyes-more or less—on Clarissa. “You going willingly, miss?”
Hawk watched her response. She smiled brilliantly. “Oh, yes. And I’m not being duped by a worthless rascal, either. My companion is an army officer who served well with the Duke of Wellington.”
Mr. Idler was not impressed. “There’s many a gallant soldier no sane woman would want to husband, miss, but that’s your affair.” He turned to Hawk. “Right, then, sir.”
They settled terms quickly, then Idler added, “Your lady might want a cloak, sir. I could sell you one my daughter left behind for a shilling.”
The deal was struck, and Clarissa climbed into the gig wearing a typical hooded country cloak of bright-red wool over the shambles of her fashionable gown. She smiled down at the innkeeper and said, “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
“Aye, well, I hope so.”
Hawk extended his hand to the man, and after a surprised moment, Idler shook it. “I’ll take good care of your horse, sir. But if you’re not back here in a few weeks with my gig, I’ll sell it.”
“Of course. I make no demands on you, but if my lady’s brothers should happen by, we would appreciate it if you didn’t tell them of our business.”
But Idler didn’t make any promises. “Depends on what they say, sir, and what I make of them.”
Hawk laughed. “As is your right. My thanks for your help.”
He climbed up, accepted Clarissa’s bright smile wishing he were worthy of it, and set a rough course east to pick up the Worthing road north of Horsham and work his way to London by that roundabout route.
They went four hours on the Worthing-to-London road, able to make only a steady pace because of the one horse. He wanted to push closer to London, but the sun set and then darkness crept in, with rain threatening. Hawk turned off into a narrow road to a village called Mayfield, which he hoped would have some sort of inn.
He halted the gig partway, however. “We’ll have to stop here for the night. Any regrets?”
She looked at him with a calm, direct gaze. “None, except that you can’t tell me why.”
He was tempted, but he said, “No, I can’t. But we’ll stay here as brother and sister.”
She smiled as if she was hiding laughter. “No one will believe it. We look completely unalike. We might as well stay as husband and wife. It is what we will be, isn’t it?”
His heart began to thump, but she was right. “Yes, it is.” He dug in his pocket and took out the rings he’d brought—a plain gold band, and the one with the smooth ruby between two hearts.
“It’s been the betrothal ring in my family since Elizabethan times,” he said, taking her left hand and sliding the ring onto her finger. “A perfect fit. We do seem to be fated.”
“I think so.” She blinked away tears. “I didn’t know I could be so happy as this. And the other?”
He held it in his fingers. “My mother’s wedding ring. I’m not sure we want to use it. She wore it all her life, but apparently refused to be buried with it.”
She closed his hand around the ring. “You are not your father, Hawk, and neither am I. We are marrying because we love each other. Nothing else matters.” She opened his hand again to look at the ring. “I wish I could wait until we say our vows, but I suppose I should wear it.”
Her complete trust was undermining him, but he’d known how it would be. Rather as a man facing amputation knows how it will be. Knows it has to be.
He slid the ruby ring back off her finger and put the gold band on. “With this ring,” he said to her, “I promise that I will always cherish you, Clarissa, and will do everything in my power to make your life happy.”
He meant every word, but even so they were tainted by what was really going on.
She shone without reservation. He put the ruby ring above the other and clicked the tired horse into motion again. “We’ll wait until the real vows are said before we go any further with this, of course.”
She didn’t say anything, but when he glanced at her she was smiling in a damned mysterious manner.
The Dog and Partridge was small, but the buxom landlady admitted to a room for the night. He didn’t think she believed for a moment that they were married, even with the rings, but she was willing to mind her own business.
He saw Clarissa blush as they were led upstairs and into a clean, surprisingly spacious bedroom, but she showed no sign of doubt or hesitation. What would he do if she did begin to get cold feet? Compel her to go through with it?
Impossible.
The woman lit a lamp and wen
t to arrange their washing water and their dinner. Then they were alone.
As well as the bed, the room contained a table and chairs, and two good-sized armchairs with cushions on the seats. A washstand occupied one corner and a chamber pot another, both with screens, thank heavens, though he would use the outside convenience.
Clarissa hung up her cloak, then sat in a chair. “I’m astonishingly happy. But, then, you know I have an impatient nature. Waiting weeks for a church wedding would have been torture. I only wish it were possible to fly to Gretna Green.”
Hawk laughed, wondering if it sounded like a groan. “I wish that too.”
He meant that he’d not have to worry about pursuit anymore, and would be sooner done with deception, but he saw her take it as a longing for her delightful body naked in a bed with him.
Another groan threatened. He did long, and from her slight, totally wicked smile, he feared his bride longed too.
How the devil had it come to this? And yet this was the only option that would save the village and give at least a fragile chance of winning Clarissa too. But if he didn’t win her…
He could shoot himself. Hawk in the Vale would be saved.
But then it would end up sold when the squire died with no heir. Damnation. He had to get her with child to see this through?
After a knock, the door opened to admit two maids with their meal and jugs of washing water. He gave them their vails and they curtsied out.
Hawk pulled himself together. He’d never been one to do things halfheartedly. These moody silences didn’t serve at all. He smiled at Clarissa. “Do you want to wash first, or eat?”
“Eat,” she said with a grin. “But I’ll wash my face and hands at least. I am starving, though. I was in too much of a tizzy to eat much at lunch.” She looked at him, rosy with some kind of humorous guilt. “I’d vowed to propose to you, you see, if you didn’t get around to it. I wasn’t leaving Hawkinville without trying to capture you.”
He could not resist. He went over and kissed her. “I am certainly thoroughly snared.”
“No regrets?” she said to him, direct and sober.
He couldn’t flat-out lie. “Given a different world, Falcon, I would rather have married you in a church before your friends. But I do not regret the marriage.”
It was enough to make her smile. Soon they sat to their meal, divided by large amounts of very welcome food.
It seemed almost inappropriate to be so hungry at such a time, but life marched on in the midst of even the most extraordinary events.
Clarissa considered it unfortunate that the chairs had been placed at either end of the table. It put five feet between them. All the same, they were alone, and in a more steadily intimate situation than they’d ever been.
And, by some miracle, on their way to their wedding.
With only one bed for the night.
Her heartbeat was already fast, but she was willing to wait for the first seductive moves.
Hawk poured wine into her glass and indicated the plates. “It’s probably best if we help ourselves.”
Though she’d honestly claimed hunger, now she wasn’t sure she could eat, but she took a chicken breast and some vegetables, then sipped her wine, watching him in the pool of lamplight.
It touched gold in his hair and picked out the handsome lines of his face and the elegance of his hands. Was it kind to her? A flutter of uncertainty at her appearance started inside. The small mirror had told her that neatness, as usual, had totally escaped her. Perhaps she should have asked to borrow his comb. He’d used it to restore his usual elegance.
Then he looked up, and something heated danced in his eyes that smoothed the flutter away. He raised his glass to her. “To our future. May it be all you deserve.”
She raised her own. “And all you deserve, too.”
As she sipped, she saw a twitch of expression.
“Hawk! Don’t you think you deserve happiness?”
“You forget. Any future is built on the past.”
It was as if Deveril were trying to bully his way into the room. She should tell him before he committed himself…
But she thrust it away. “Tonight, can’t we forget about the past?”
“The past is always beneath our feet. Without it, we walk on nothing.”
“Perhaps without it, we fly.”
And he smiled as if the shadows fled. “Perhaps we do, wise Falcon. Perhaps we do. Eat. You’ll regret it later if you don’t.”
“Advice from experience?” she asked, but she cut into the tender chicken and made herself eat a mouthful. Then she discovered that she was hungry, and she ate a few more forkfuls of food in silence.
“See?” he said, his lips twitching.
Lamentably, she flicked a piece of bean at him.
He caught it in his mouth. “Army tricks. Never waste food.”
They laughed together and she thought, friend.
She’d had friends at school, some of whom she’d felt close to, but she’d never felt as she did about Hawk. She didn’t know how to say it—it seemed almost childish— but it was a warm glow near her heart. Something steady and dependable. Unlike the rather frantic burning of her love.
She talked a bit about Miss Mallory’s and he shared some of his time at his school, Abingdon.
“Van, Con, and I went to different schools,” he said.
“Different family traditions. And I think our families thought a little variety would be good for us. Part of the purpose of schooling is to make useful connections, after all.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Time away from the manor was always pleasant.”
She sensed a hard truth being delivered. “We won’t let your father destroy our happiness, Hawk.”
“I pray not.” But he didn’t seem to believe it.
She chattered for a while about Brighton matters, but something was disturbing that warm glow of friendship like a chill draft playing on a candle flame.
They might as well talk of serious matters. “How long will it take us to get to Scotland?”
“Three days, with good speed.”
“Can we elude pursuit?”
He pushed away his plate still half full. He hadn’t touched it for some time. “I hope so. Van doubtless has murder on his mind.” He picked up the decanter of claret. “More wine?”
She wasn’t used to a lot of wine and had already drunk two glasses, but she accepted more. “He’ll never catch us on this route.”
“It will be luck if he does. He does, however, have amazing luck.” He shrugged and filled his own glass. “We’ll be in London tomorrow and can arrange some disguise and then speed north.”
She looked down at her stained and muddy dress. “I’ll treasure this dress, though. It has very special memories.” That flicked her mind to something else. “Do you know, during the journey I’ve been thinking about the horrible Mrs. Rowland. I know her from somewhere.”
“Where?” he asked, eyes suddenly alert. “Is there anything else to the feeling? Any connection?”
She laughed. “Always the Hawk! It wasn’t anything dire or suspicious. Just curious. I wish I could pin it down.”
He’d relaxed again, but she thought his eyes still seemed intent. He’d told her he couldn’t resist a mystery, and it seemed to be true. She was definitely right to be binding him.
“Well, then,” he said, “where might you have met her?”
“That’s it. I have no idea. You have to understand, Hawk, I haven’t led a very adventurous life.”
He laughed, and she protested, “I haven’t! Things have happened to me recently, but most of my life has been positively boring. The only place I might have met her was last year in London.”
“More or less at the time of Waterloo, when Lieutenant Rowland was in Belgium fighting and being wounded. It would be strange if his wife and children were in London then.”
“And I’m sure I never encountered a Belgianwoman. I was restricted to fa
shionable circles, and rarely escaped my mother’s eye.” She shook her head. “It’s probably a mistake. Some people look like others.”
“But you aren’t confusing her with someone else, are you?”
She could only shrug. That faint sense of recognition was becoming less substantial by the minute. The talk had passed some time, but she was no longer interested.
“Never mind,” he said, one finger stroking the long stem of his glass. It reminded her of his stroking of Jetta, and of how very much she wanted him to be stroking her.
She couldn’t bear it. She stood and carried her wineglass around to his side of the table.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and then he pushed back his chair, inviting her to sit on his lap. An invitation she took, heart racing, heat surging through her.
It must be the wine, but it was magical.
“Another adventure,” she said, adjusting herself and looping her free hand around his neck. “I’ve never sat on a man’s lap before.”
“As usual, you get the idea very quickly.” He accepted her daring kiss, then one hand rose to cradle the back of her head. His lips opened and she settled, melted, into a deep joining.
After a languorous time, their mouths parted and he whispered, “Do I want to know what other adventures you have planned?”
“Plan?” she said, exploring his jaw, his ear with her lips. “I’m a creature of impulse.”
“Heaven protect me. What impulse drives you?”
“I think you know.”
He moved her apart a little. “Clarissa, I promised Van that I wouldn’t seduce you.”
“I didn’t promise anything.”
She swooped in for another kiss, but he held her away. His face was flushed, his breathing unsteady. “I think perhaps you’re unaccustomed to wine…”
“Not that unaccustomed.” She cradled his face, feeling the roughness of a day’s beard on his cheeks. “Why wait? What if they do manage to stop us?”
“Then it would be better.”
“Or our marriage would be essential.”
He captured her hands and held them away. “Clarissa—”
“There’s only one bed. Where are you going to sleep?”