The Outrageous Belle Marchmain

by Lucy Ashford

  She despised him for making that bargain with Jarvis for his railway land—hell, he despised himself. He’d tried to tell her he’d cancelled the agreement, but she wouldn’t even listen. He couldn’t blame her and she clearly hated him even more for making her accompany him on this journey. But he’d been truly afraid at the thought of what Jarvis might try to do to her if Adam left her in London.

  It would be interesting to know, he found himself wondering bleakly as the miles rolled by, which of the two men—himself or Jarvis—she hated more.

  He felt as though during the past few weeks she had hurled his whole existence into a disturbing state of tumult—so much so that he was just beginning to wonder if his iron-hard heart wasn’t as impervious to stripes and brightly coloured ribbons as it damned well ought to be.

  And he had something else to worry about. He guessed they were being followed.

  * * *

  They dined that night in the private parlour of a Newbury inn; the yappy little dog had fallen asleep in its basket in the corner, thank God, but now Adam almost wished it would wake up and distract her because he’d quite forgotten that the dark-panelled walls in here were hung with old regimental prints and battle scenes.

  Seeing her glance at them, then turn quickly away, he chose a chair for her that meant she wouldn’t have to stare at them all through this damned meal. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, after the deferential waiter had brought in the food, then departed. ‘You must find reminders of the war painful.’

  ‘Such a terrible waste of so many lives,’ she answered quietly.

  And that was it, though he thought he saw her hand tremble a little as she put down her fork. He’d already noted that Belle barely ate enough to keep a bird alive. As soon as the waiter had cleared their plates away she rose and went over to the basket where the dog lay. ‘Come, Florry,’ she trilled. ‘It’s time to go up to our room!’

  But Adam asked her to stay with him, just for a few moments.

  She sat down again on the edge of her chair, clutching the dog. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve reason to believe, Belle, that we are being followed.’

  ‘Followed...?’

  ‘When I’ve looked back at the road behind us today,’ Adam explained, ‘I’ve sometimes seen a lone horseman come into view, only to disappear again. Have you noticed anything?’

  She gazed at him blankly. The little dog yapped in her arms. ‘Why would anyone wish to follow us? Hush, Florry, it’s all right...’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But will you make sure your bedroom door is locked and bolted tonight?’

  ‘Most definitely,’ she asserted, with the most spirit she’d shown all day.

  No doubt she meant she would bolt it against him. Adam clenched his teeth and said, ‘That’s all. Goodnight, Belle.’

  * * *

  They set off early the next morning and Adam got out some business documents which clearly absorbed him. He didn’t mention their follower again.

  He’s getting ready for his important meeting. Belle shivered. They stopped for an early lunch; by mid-afternoon, Joseph reminded her, they would reach Chippenham and would transfer to the curricle Adam kept there, which he would drive himself.

  Belle was sitting as far as she could from him with her nose jammed in her fashion journal. But after a while she realised that he was leaning over to look at it.

  ‘That violet day gown would look marvellous with your hair,’ he pointed out.

  Too close. Oh, Lord, he was too close, she could feel the warmth of his body. ‘Violet is not considered fashionable at present, Mr Davenant!’ she declared breezily. Florizel, in his basket at her feet, woke up and started yapping. Belle leant over and stroked his fluffy ears. ‘Hush now, Florry, Mr Davenant is trying to be nice to me.’

  She heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. ‘It’s a business suggestion. You should make violet fashionable,’ he observed. ‘Only the waist should be tighter. With your figure, it would look wonderful.’

  How could he talk so lightly? When he planned... Lord knew what he planned, but one way or another he seemed bent on destroying her. Florizel whimpered; she pulled the puppy up on to her lap and said, in as smooth a tone as she could manage, ‘I thought, Mr Davenant, we were agreed on one thing at least—that nothing personal, of any kind, would pass between us ever again. Compliments, insults, or anything else for that matter.’ She looked directly at him, her eyes burning. ‘You could do me that kindness, at least.’

  ‘Belle,’ he said. His voice was different. Something in his eyes made her heart shake. ‘I know you will find this difficult to believe. But I would give a great deal, if we could only start again from the beginning, you and I.’

  Something broke inside her. He was her enemy, he had to be, just as Lord Jarvis was; Adam was using her, and she... Florizel chose that moment to start whining for attention; quickly she bent to fuss over the little dog. Adam went back to reading his damned papers and said no more.

  * * *

  For Belle the next few miles went by in an agony of apprehension. When they stopped at the busy Chippenham coaching inn just after two, Adam prepared to transfer the two of them and a single valise each to the light curricle he kept there, leaving Joseph to follow on with the coach and remaining luggage at a slower pace.

  Belle walked with Florizel round and round the inn yard, desperately watching every traveller, every horseman, until Adam fetched her and made her get on board. ‘We can leave the dog,’ he said icily, ‘but I’m not leaving you.’

  She jutted her chin, but said nothing. Adam took the reins, so Belle was left to sit inside with just Florizel and La Belle Assemblée for company. But to be honest she hadn’t read a thing for the past few miles. Suddenly, with a clattering of hooves, the horses swerved violently. She could hear Adam shouting a warning to her; her heart hammered. The horses neighed frantically as the curricle, with a dreadful creaking sound, lurched sideways and settled itself at a lopsided angle halfway over the right-hand ditch.

  Belle stumbled outside. The horses reared and fretted in their traces. And Adam lay very still, on the road. Oh, no. She’d only meant to make him miss his meeting. Not this. Please, God, not this.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Feeling sick, Belle crouched at Adam’s side in the mud to check beneath his coat for his heartbeat. He was still breathing, but his eyes were shut and there was a livid bruise on his forehead. Her own pulse was hammering. She had to get help. The two horses were terrified, pulling at their harness, tossing their heads, and no wonder; just ahead of them a sapling tree lay right across the road.

  Hurriedly she went to tie Florizel’s leash to the curricle’s wheel and tried to soothe the horses. Adam must have swerved to stop them crashing into that sapling. But Matt had said...

  She ran back to kneel at Adam’s side; he still lay prone, helpless. The curricle needed righting and the horses might try to bolt any minute. Should she unharness them? Walk for help? But where? Her stomach lurched again. This had all gone so horribly, terribly wrong.

  Just then the sound of a horse and rider coming up fast set her pulse thudding anew—especially when she realised that the rider galloping up was her brother.

  She scrambled to her feet. ‘Edward. Oh, God, Edward—what are you doing here?

  Edward was jumping from his horse and staring at Davenant. His face was pale. ‘I meant to make the arrogant bastard stop, that was all.’

  Oh, no. ‘You don’t mean—oh, please, you’re not saying... Was it you who caused his curricle to overturn?’

  ‘Damn it, Belle, I didn’t mean to hurt the man! But I couldn’t think how else to make him listen to me. I just had to have this out with him when I heard he was on his way here with you!’

  Belle was white-lipped. ‘For God’s sake, what did you have to have out with him, Edward?’

  He was bracing his shoulders now, with that look half of fear, half of defiance in his eyes that she remembered so well. ‘Why, I was defending your honou
r, Belle. I’d heard you were betrothed to him and I knew he must have somehow forced you into it!’

  She found she was trembling with shock and distress. Yes, he had, but...

  Belle cast another anguished look back at the unconscious man. Whatever he’d done, whatever his plans for her—she couldn’t bear to see him hurt. ‘For God’s sake, Edward. We can’t waste time talking. Tie up your own horse and see to Adam’s pair. Calm them down, will you?’

  She was down at Adam’s side again. Please don’t be badly hurt. Please. She called out to Edward, ‘We passed an inn a mile or so back. If I can drive him there, they will surely know of a local doctor—’

  She broke off at the sound of more hoofbeats coming along the road. A solitary rider was drawing near. Belle scrambled to her feet. It was Matt.

  ‘Mrs Marchmain. And Mr Hathersleigh...’ Matt jumped off his sturdy horse and took in Edward, the curricle and the frightened horses. Suddenly he saw Davenant’s prone figure and looked horrified. ‘What’s happened here? I thought you wanted me to follow you, ma’am, and make Mr Davenant late for some meeting of his—’

  Belle broke in sharply. ‘I did, Matt, yes. But my brother’s taken some action of his own, you’ll observe, and he’s been rather over-thorough... Please. Both of you. Help me!’

  * * *

  For Belle the next few minutes passed in a haze of anxiety. While she held the horses Edward and Matt together hauled the curricle upright—it was still roadworthy, thank goodness—and got Adam’s prone body inside, laid awkwardly out along the seat. Belle

  put Florizel back in his basket and into the curricle while Matt climbed on to the driver’s seat to take the reins.

  Her brother still looked stunned. ‘Honest to God, Belle, I didn’t mean to actually harm him. But—I still don’t understand why you let yourself be betrothed to him...’

  ‘Edward. Mr Davenant bought up your gambling debts. Five thousand guineas, wasn’t it? What else could I have done, when my getting betrothed to him was what Davenant required in return for keeping you out of prison?’

  ‘Prison? He didn’t say that, did he?’

  For heaven’s sake. ‘Where else did you think your debts would lead you?’

  ‘But—to force you...’

  ‘Edward, I’m not wasting any more time discussing this. Whatever’s happened in the past, you’ve only made things a thousand times worse. I must get him to a doctor.’

  * * *

  Matt drove the curricle back towards the little roadside inn while Belle sat beside Adam’s body and tried to cushion his head against the jolting. Edward followed them on his own horse, also leading Matt’s mount.

  Adam had not opened his eyes. Belle watched his drawn white face and felt as wretched as she’d ever felt in her life. When the inn finally came into sight half a mile away, she called to Matt to stop and said to her brother, as he drew up alongside, ‘It’s best if you go now, Edward. We don’t want anyone to know you had anything to do with this, least of all Mr Davenant. You, too, Matt.’

  Matt looked stubborn. ‘But, ma’am—’

  Edward was running his hand through his hair; she saw the old childhood scar on his temple. ‘Belle. You won’t actually tell Davenant, will you, what I...?’

  Her throat tightened with emotion. ‘Heaven help me, Edward, I’ll protect you as ever,’ she’d said with bitter resignation. ‘Now go. Both of you. I can drive the curricle at least as well as you, Matt. You, Edward, go home to your wife; Matt, go back to London. Oh, and Matt, will you take Florizel? You can strap the basket to the back of your saddle, can’t you?’

  Matt looked prepared to argue, but she said, rather desperately, ‘Please.’

  Matt and Edward rode off together. Belle drove at a steady pace towards the little inn, but her mind was in utter turmoil.

  She’d been terribly afraid that Adam might have been taking her to Somerset to use her to bargain with Jarvis over that land he so desperately wanted. So she’d ordered Matt to follow them and use his ingenuity to delay Adam once he was driving his own curricle—loosen a wheel, perhaps, or tamper with the harness a little. Just enough to make Adam miss his vital meeting and give herself the choice, perhaps, of making her own decision as to what to do next.

  She’d never intended such harm to him. Whatever he’d done to deceive her, he didn’t deserve this.

  * * *

  Within half an hour of their arrival at the inn a doctor had arrived and was giving Belle his verdict in the small parlour where she waited, tense with anxiety. ‘He’s got a bruised head from his fall, but no bones broken,’ said the doctor in his calm voice. ‘Your husband came round as I examined him and I gave him some powders to soothe him. He’s sleeping calmly now. I would advise him to rest for the night before you travel onwards, of course, but there’s really nothing to worry about, ma’am.’

  From their arrival at the inn it had been assumed they were married; Belle nodded, outwardly calm, but the relief she felt at the doctor’s words frightened her with its intensity. ‘What else can I do, doctor?’

  ‘You should go to him now,’ he encouraged. ‘He’ll sleep a while, but he’ll be relieved when he wakes to see you at his side, ma’am.’

  Oh, wrong there. If Adam knew everything—about Edward, about Matt—he would not be relieved in the slightest. But she nodded. ‘Thank you. I will go up to him.’

  She thought she had her emotions under tight control. But she stopped with a low cry when she entered the room. The doctor had said he was all right.

  Well, he wasn’t. Any fool could see that. He just—wasn’t. His eyes were closed and the dark stubble on his jaw emphasised the pallor of his face. His shirt had been ripped apart—to allow the doctor to examine him, presumably—and Belle could see that his muscular chest was gleaming with perspiration. To witness this strong man so helpless clawed at her insides like some almost unbearable torment.

  If he caught a fever, had a relapse... Oh, she should have asked the doctor for more advice before he left!

  Seeing a jug of cold water on the wash stand, she quickly dampened a clean towel and sat on a chair beside the bed to carefully bathe his face. She could see the bruise on his temple, already darkening.

  His breathing had become easier, but Belle felt helpless and wretched. She sat there at his side, her mind in turbulence, until as the sun started to sink over the Somerset hills the innkeeper’s wife knocked and came in with a tray of soup and bread rolls.

  ‘Oh, is he still asleep? So shocking, your accident. But Dr Molloy said your husband’ll be all right, don’t you fret now, ma’am.’

  Belle let the soup go cold. Instead she tried to smooth his pillow and stroked the damp towel once more over his temples and hard cheekbones. Oh, my. How very sensual his mouth was; how well-shaped those firm lips that had kissed her to distraction, and more...

  He stirred. His slate-grey eyes opened, but they were burning now with dark-gold flecks as he gazed at her. ‘Belle. What...?’

  Her chest tightened. ‘You were hurt,’ she whispered. ‘In an accident.’

  His intent gaze never wavered. ‘Don’t go,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Of course I won’t go.’ Her voice sounded ridiculously calm and normal. They were—supposedly—man and wife, so she’d have rather a lot of explaining to do to the innkeeper if she did. She pulled herself away from him. ‘You need to rest, Adam. I’ll take a pillow and a blanket—there’s a sofa there that I can sleep on...’

  ‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘I’m afraid someone is after us.’ His hand closed around hers. ‘You must stay next to me, so I know you’re safe. There’s a pistol under my coat, on this chair just here. If I can’t get to it, you must use it.’

  ‘But Adam—’ Now was the time to tell him. Now. But she couldn’t, because his powerful, heavy arm had curled tightly around her.

  ‘Use it,’ he repeated.

  His eyes had closed and his grip relaxed a little. She undressed over in the corner—she could not sl
eep in her shoes or in her stays, for that matter, and God knew she had to have her sleep tonight; she’d need all her wits around her to deal with tomorrow.

  The innkeeper had brought her valise up here; she delved in it for a huge white nightgown. If Adam had any lingering intentions towards her whatsoever, the garment would extinguish his ardour.

  So that was all right. Except—why was her pulse starting to beat so hard when she scrambled into the bed, at the very far side from him? You’re completely safe—he’s scarcely able to move. And whether or not he’d meant what he said in the carriage about wishing they could start again from the beginning, she was surely justified in hating him for making that loathsome bargain with Jarvis?

  But she couldn’t hate him. Just the opposite.

  She lay in utter despair, listening to his breathing, slow and deep. Then she slept, too, at the far side of the bed, bone-tired from the events of the day. Yet she woke up in the dead of night. Not because of any intruders, but because she’d become aware that she was curled snugly in his arms, her back against his broad chest.

  Her white shroud of a nightgown wasn’t much protection here. His breath was falling warm on her neck, his body was hard and solid against hers and a honeyed warmth made all her flesh languorous. Dear Lord, how long had she been lying like this in his arms? There was just one answer to that—too long.

  * * *

  Adam wakened in time to see Belle jump out of the bed and grab her shawl, her dark curls tumbling round her shoulders. Hell, he thought. What was she doing in his bed, dressed in that white shroud? Come to that, where in damnation was he?

  Gradually the memories crowded in, prompted by his aching head. The curricle. The tree in the road followed by blackness, until he’d come round to the sound of the doctor’s calm voice in this unknown room. Then Belle had joined him. Willingly? Damn it, no—he’d practically forced her to sleep in his bed, to keep her safe. And here he was, he thought bitterly, practically preparing to ravish her luscious body in his dreams...