by VJ Dunraven
The faint light of the fading moon just as the blackness of the early hour turned into gray provided some illumination to the path where the archway of roses leading to the structure stood. He dismounted and tied the gelding loosely to a nearby tree along the bank, where it could graze and drink water from the pond.
"Anna!" he called out, as he hurried towards the gazebo partially hidden from view by the lush willow trees.
His expected answer did not come forth.
"Anna?" He craned his neck in the semi-darkness as he reached the side of the gazebo, taking the short flight of steps two at a time.
Silence greeted him.
Allayne's heart sank. Had she thought he wasn't coming and had decided to leave?
He moved closer to the settee and chairs grouped together in the middle. No sign of occupancy dented the seat cushions. The matching pillows were perfectly arranged. Perhaps Anna was running late.
Allayne sat on the settee and stretched his long legs. What time was it anyways? He pulled his fob watch from his pocket. Five minutes after five in the morning. Yes—she was probably delayed. Poor darling. He shouldn't have ravished her so exhaustively last night. She was probably chafed and too frazzled to get out of bed early.
He rubbed his hands on his face and plunged his fingers through his disheveled windblown hair. He could use some coffee and toast just about now to revive his sluggishness. Lack of sleep never agreed with him. It fogged his mind and made him crabby. He propped a pillow behind his shoulders and rested his head, feeling his lids grow heavier by the minute.
The sound of voices and garden shears penetrated his stupor. He opened his eyes to find that daybreak had broken the gloom, bathing the gardens in the twilight gray glow of dawn. The countess' gardeners had already begun their tasks for the day, pruning the roses and bushes around the gazebo.
Allayne abruptly stood up, cursing as he snatched his fob watch from his jacket pocket. Five and thirty! Where the hell was she? He debated with himself if he should keep waiting in the gazebo or look for her in the house.
He favored the latter.
Locating his mount, he rode towards the back entrance of the house. But as he passed the stables, he noticed that most of the carriages had been saddled with horses and were now parked alongside the manor. He reined his gelding to a slow trot. If Andy left with the earl's daughter straight from the theater early yesterday afternoon, then the Weston carriage would still be here because the countess' servants had ridden it to and from the fair last night. And if indeed he found it here, then Anna could not have gone anywhere without it.
He swept his gaze at the long line of gleaming coaches. None of them bore the distinctive red and gold Weston crest. He turned his mount back to the stables. It was empty save for the countess' flamboyant white carriage and white horses.
Allayne flagged the groom working in one of the stalls. "The Weston coach," he asked with urgency, "where is it?"
"Weston ... Weston ... aye—I remember," the groom replied after a brief contemplation, "it ain't 'ere no more."
Allayne flinched with a sudden flash of panic. "What do you mean it's not here? Who took it?"
"Aye, me tells ye the truth—some dark-haired gel—damn tall as a lamp post—came 'ere an' made a ruckus wakin' up the Weston coachman and footman. All o' them left like the devil 'imself were at them 'eels."
"What time did they leave?" Allayne asked in disbelief.
"I dinna knows—me was too sleepy to care," the groom scratched his eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder at the young lad rubbing down one of the horses whom Allayne recognized as the same boy who had hailed him earlier.
"A'ey, Tommy!" The groom beckoned to the lad who immediately stopped his chore and hurried over. "The man 'ere was askin' 'bout the Weston rig—d'ya 'ave an idea wot time it left?"
"Aye, I know 'im. Work fer Mister Carlyle, 'e does." Tommy nodded. "T'was 'is gel—the tall an' pretty maid ye saw, who took it. Woke me wit' them noise saddlin' four big grays 'round past two in the mornin'." Tommy shook his head with an irritated sigh. "Yer gel had them coachman an' footman load a mountain o' luggage. Kept me up all night—they did, 'till they fin'lly left at three in the morn."
Allayne felt the burn of anger in his throat. Here he was, waiting for Anna, and the wench had sneaked off, most likely to Weston Court in Oxfordshire, where she said her employer resided—if his memory served him right.
He tossed a couple of half-crowns to the lad and groom on his way out of the stables, wondering what had possessed Anna to go. She had a lot to lose—why would she leave without a note or saying goodbye? Whatever her reasons were, they must be substantial enough to compel her to flee.
A bad feeling stemmed in his gut. He'd known her only for a fortnight—hardly enough time to be truly cognizant of her situation in life. She was hiding something, he was certain of it.
Good God. Perhaps she was already betrothed to someone else—and he had taken her virginity! Or perhaps... a sharp sting of disappointment lanced in his chest—perhaps she didn't really care for him like she'd said. If she had the predetermination to pack up and leave hours before they were set to meet, then she must be steadfast in her decision to leave him. He was, after all, a mere valet. A man with dim prospects.
She did not want to be with him—it was as simple as that.
Allayne gritted his teeth at the sudden onset of pain in his chest caused by her rejection. He urged his horse to a fast gallop out of the Penthorpe estate, letting the cold morning air bite into his skin to deaden the increasing ache in his heart.
Perhaps, this was the way it should be. Except for the intense attraction they had for each other, everything had been wrong from the start. He had embarked on this journey with deception in mind, concealing his true identity and dallying with a maidservant to amuse himself for a fortnight—nothing more. The whole affair had gotten out of hand. He shouldn't have proposed to her on a whim; he shouldn't have been intimate with her in the first place. What he should have done was ended it between them—just as he had planned—instead of troubling himself with all the repercussions of a future with her.
Yes—it must have been meant to be this way. She not knowing his true identity worked out for the better. He should be thankful that Anna had given him a way out of his predicament. Now, he could resume his carefree life as it had been.
The thought should have given him some degree of relief, but instead, a great sadness washed over him. Somehow, the rest of his devil-may-care life had lost its appeal. He could clearly see its shallowness and lack of purpose; its ostentatiousness, routine idleness and frivolous amusements. The absence of the true essence of a man's existence: a home and family of his own, a gaggle of children, a son who would be his heir someday—a wife whom he loved and was equally devoted to him.
Anna.
Allayne shook his head to rid himself of the image of her face. No. Not Anna. Anna was gone—together with all the complications she could bring if he married her. Everything between them was done and over with.
The village loomed into view. He reined his horse to a canter as he spotted his carriage in front of the hostelry where he had left his servants earlier.
A feeling of dread to see his mother and answer her questions gripped him as the stable boy approached and held the horse's bridle while he dismounted from his rented gelding. The last thing he wanted, was to talk about what had happened in Bath. He needed some space. To think, to grieve, to restore himself—to forget.
Allayne went inside the hostelry and requested writing implements from the innkeeper.
"Take the carriage back to Rose Hill and give this note to Morton, our butler," he said to his footman who came with the coachman to greet him, as he sealed the vellum with wax and embossed it with his signet ring. "Inform my mother that I have gone on to stay at the townhouse in London. I shall see them there when they come up for the season in a few days." He took some coins from his purse and handed them to the coachman. "Lease a fresh mo
unt for me and use the rest for your food and accommodations on your way to Cornwall."
"Right away, sir," the coachman took the money and went out the door to the stables.
Allayne dismissed his footman and ordered some repast from the innkeeper. If he ate quickly and left within a quarter hour, he should make it halfway to London before he had to stop somewhere to have the horse fed, watered, and rested.
He pulled out his fob watch as the innkeeper's wife served his breakfast. Six o' clock in the morning.
He should be in London by nightfall.
~
Alexandra dismounted in front of the rose archway leading the path to the gazebo, without waiting for her footman, Thomas, to help her.
"Andrew!" She called out, brushing away the long willow leaves that dipped low in her face as she rushed towards the structure.
The morning sun had risen high in the clouds, casting gentle rays that twinkled against the rippling water in the pond. They had ridden into Penthorpe manor just as she had predicted—at exactly six o' clock in the morning.
"Andrew?" Alexandra burst into the airy deck of the gazebo, her excitement plummeting as she realized that the place was empty.
Her gaze alighted on the dented seat cushion and tumbled pillows on the settee. Someone had certainly been here. She moved towards the long chair and placed her hand on the crease in the seat cushion. It no longer held the warmth of whoever sat there, but the lingering dent on the cushion told her that the person had stayed for some time.
She noticed the sprinkling of dirt on the coffee table. It had been pushed away from the sofa far enough for her to know that whoever had sat there had long legs and had propped his boots up on the table.
Andrew. Alexandra's heart thumped in her chest. He had been here—waiting for her. How long did he stay? How many minutes had passed before he had decided to leave?
A crunch on the graveled path made her swivel and run towards the railing. But it was only Thomas, her footman, leading the horses down to the pond.
Alexandra couldn't settle on what to do. She could run quickly into the house and look for him, but he might come back to the gazebo and they would miss each other altogether. Perhaps she should stay here for a few minutes. Andrew would not leave without her. By now, he should have discovered that his master had eloped with her lady's maid. She had no idea what hour during the night the two had left while they were with the servants at the fair, but she was quite certain that the viscount's son would have brought his carriage with him and Andrew would not have any means of transport. He would assume that she would likewise not have the means too, since her mistress would have surely taken her coach with her even if she was riding with the viscount's son.
No. Andrew would never leave without her. He knew she was alone and laden with luggage. She needed his help. He would wait for her.
Alexandra eyed the settee. She was bone tired and her body ached all over from the long ride. It would be nice if she could lie down for a minute to ease the stiffness in her joints and relieve the throbbing pressure in her groin. She slid into the blissful softness of the cushions.
The gentle warmth caressing her face woke Alexandra. She had been dreaming of Andrew. He had come to the gazebo and found her sleeping on the settee. He had kissed her lids and trailed his lips along her cheeks down to the corner of her mouth. She reached for him—but he was not there.
Alexandra sat up with a wince. It felt like forever since she'd closed her eyes. She looked around the sun-brightened gazebo. What time was it? She searched for her pocket watch inside the reticule secured to her waist. Her eyes widened as she stared at the timepiece. A quarter hour before seven in the morning!
She went to the railing and hailed the footman, who was lounging under the shade of a willow tree, watching the horses graze.
"Are you ready to leave, my lady?" Thomas asked as he approached with their horses in tow.
"No, not yet. I need you to go to the house and look for Mister Carlyle's valet," Alexandra said, not wanting to leave the gazebo just in case Andrew ventured out to their meeting place to check on her again. "His name is Andrew."
"Ah yes, my lady—the tall, blond, handsome chap all the maids are chasin' about—I know him," Thomas said with a grin.
"Yes, that's the one." Alexandra nodded. "Tell him that Anna is waiting in the gazebo for him."
"Anna? Your maid, my lady?" Thomas raised his eyebrows in befuddlement. "But you just told me and Harry the coachman this morning that she ran off with the viscount's son."
"Just do what I tell you to do," Alexandra said in a firm tone, encouraging no further arguments. "Hurry!"
"Yes, my lady." Thomas tied the horses to a tree and took off running in the direction of the house.
The footman returned twenty-five minutes later, sweaty, and panting with exertion.
"Did you find him?" Alexandra ran down the short stairs to meet him on the path.
"No, my lady." Thomas paused to catch his breath, before adding, "I searched the entire house and asked the servants, but no one's seen him." He paused again to catch another breath. "I went to the stables and asked the grooms if they saw him and some lad—Tommy—that's his name—said he'd left an hour or so ago."
Alexandra's heart dropped to her knees.
He left. He did not wait for her. She wanted to think that he'd given up, but she could not bring herself to. Giving up easily did not fit his personality. If he left an hour ago or so ago, then he departed on or before six in the morning—just as they were arriving. That meant he'd waited an hour and a half for her. A substantial amount of time enough to cause worry and disappointment. Still—he must have gone looking for her afterwards, if the lad saw him at the stables.
"D-did Tommy know where he was going?" Alexandra felt the hope rising in her again.
"No, my lady," Thomas replied as he wiped the sweat off his brow. "But he did say he was askin' for the whereabouts of the Weston coach and looked mighty furious when he learned we'd left at three in the morning."
A mixture of urgency and alarm assailed her. Dear God—Andrew had discovered that she'd deserted him! She could not allow him to believe that—not when she'd come back to marry him. And if society tipped its snooty nose in the air and snubbed them, she didn't give a damn—they could all go to hell and roast their poisonous tongues!
"We must go back to the inn and get the carriage," Alexandra said, regretting the fact that the chore would set them off by another three hours. "We are going to Cornwall."
"Cornwall is over a hundred miles away, my lady!" Thomas exclaimed in bewilderment. "It will take us three days or more to get there."
"Not if we travel fifteen hours a day with a constant change of horses," Alexandra said with a tenaciousness she'd never felt before. If they traveled at that rate with all the meal stops and a few hours of rest, they could make it to Cornwall within two days at most. It should not be difficult to find the Viscount's estate when they got there.
Alexandra formulated her plan as they rode back to the inn where they'd left the carriage. She would have to make up some excuse and send a note to her father explaining her delay. Then, they would begin their journey to Cornwall. If the coachman begged too fatigued, Thomas could take over the reins and if needed, she would likewise take her turn. They would probably need three changes of horses, aside from meals and accommodations for two nights. It would be costly, but Alexandra did not care—she had enough blunt to finance their travel. She needed to get to Andrew as soon as possible—and if it meant spending the money she had in her reticule to the very last shilling, then so be it.
~
Allayne stumbled into his bedchamber at the Carlyle townhouse in Grosvenor Square, London. Dirty, hungry, bone-tired and in a black mood, he'd snapped at the housekeeper to bring him a hot bath and supper. When the footmen and maids arrived to deliver his orders, asking if he needed anything else, he'd practically snarled at them to be done with it and leave. They'd all scurried like mic
e out the door, tripping on each other as they went—no doubt shocked that their usually jovial master had a secret beast of a temper.
He just wanted to be left alone, Goddamnit! Some peace and quiet—that was all he needed to catch up on sleep and clear his head. He ate quickly, then, tore off his dusty clothes, sinking into the blissful comfort of the soothing fragrant water in the tub.
Only a minute of solitude had passed before he began to fantasize about Anna. She was crouching over him, impaling her wet, slick heat on his cock. Her luscious breasts bounced before his eyes with every silken glide of her hips, her taut nipples brushing against his lips, teasing him to take each distended, ripened bud in his mouth.
Christ! Allayne shifted abruptly in the tub, causing a wave of water to splash over the edge and spill onto the floor. Just what the fuck was he thinking? He groaned at the sight of his massive erection jutting out of the water's surface. Anna was like a plague that had infected his blood. He could not get her out of his system. Her scent, her body, her tight virginal sheath had become permanently ingrained in his memory, torturing him with the taste of what he had taken—but would never have again.
He angrily grabbed the soap and scrubbed himself until he was certain he'd gotten rid of the feel of Anna from his skin. Then, he brushed his teeth until his gums bled and washed his mouth with Mint Wine Rinse to flush away the sweetness of Anna's kisses that had been driving him mad since he'd ridden out of Bath.
God, but he missed her! he furiously admitted to himself. He'd gotten used to seeing her every day and spending lazy afternoons with her—talking, touching and kissing in the little haven they'd made for themselves in the gazebo. The knowledge that those days were over, made him sigh heavily with regret. But, he knew he shouldn't give in to this melancholia. Her early departure had made it clear she wasn't interested in spending the rest of her life with him. Well—if that was the case—then neither was he.
Allayne climbed into bed. Sleep. He needed lots of it. It would make him feel so much better—saner—in the morning.