Winning the Mail-order Bride & Pursued for the Viscount's Vengeance & Redeeming the Rogue Knight (9781488021725)

by Robinson, Lauri; Mallory, Sarah; Hobbes, Elisabeth

  Harris shook his head. ‘His lordship wouldn’t thank me if I did that, Miss Meltham. He charged me with getting you and Lord Kirkster away safely and that is what I must do.’

  He took her arm and almost hustled her towards the carriage. A footman was holding the horses’ heads and a second, sitting on the box, jumped down to open the door as they approached. There was something about their appearance that struck her as odd. Their livery was straining at the seams and they looked more like pugilists than footmen. When Harris stood back to allow her to climb into the carriage Deb caught his arm.

  ‘You could take your hirelings back to the warehouse and free the Viscount,’ she said urgently. ‘We will wait here—we might all escape!’

  ‘And we might all end up at Bow Street.’ Gently Harris eased her fingers from his sleeve. ‘That’s not what they was hired for, Miss Meltham, and not what his lordship would want. He made me swear that I would get you out o’ the country, whatever happened. In you get now, we will collect your maid from Piccadilly and get you to Dover as quick as we can. Once you are all safely aboard the packet I’ll come back and look to his lordship. Trust me, madam, the Viscount has a full purse with him; he won’t come to no harm for a day or two without me.’

  With that she had to be satisfied. She climbed in beside her brother and his valet, Harris scrambled up on to the box and they set off at a smart pace. Deborah stared out of the window, her thoughts bleak. The charges were serious; counterfeiting notes was high treason and carried the death sentence, as did murder. Gil’s rank and money would buy him a modicum of comfort while he was in gaol awaiting trial, but in the end, it would not save him from the executioner.

  She closed her eyes, knowing now with a blinding, heartbreaking clarity that Gil loved her. It was for her sake that he had sacrificed everything—his good name, his honour, his freedom, his very life—to protect her and Randolph. She had thought no one could ever love her, but Gil was proving she was wrong. With his life.

  * * *

  They drove back to the White Horse to collect Elsie and Deborah ordered Miller and her maid to fetch several flasks of water from the inn.

  ‘We need to flush the laudanum from Lord Kirkster’s body, if we can,’ she told Harris as they waited for the servants to return.

  ‘We must crack on if we are to reach Dover this evening, so I was planning only to stop to change horses,’ said Harris. ‘However, if you want me to stop more often I can do so.’

  ‘On no account,’ she replied quickly. ‘The sooner we are out of the way the sooner you can return to the Viscount.’

  ‘But Lord Kirkster—’

  ‘We shall look after him, but he shall have no more of that poison, nor wine or spirits while I have him in my charge.’ She saw Harris glance at Randolph and she added, with far more confidence than she felt, ‘My brother has the constitution of an ox. He will recover from this addiction, given time and good nursing.’

  She clung to that thought for the rest of the day, as the carriage rattled on for mile after mile and Randolph came out of his stupor, demanding that they return to London. When it was explained to him that they could not go back he was by turns resigned, maudlin or angry. She encouraged him to drink the water or to take a hurried cup of tea or coffee from the various posting houses where they stopped to change horses. It was then that Deborah was most thankful for the help of their two devoted servants in preventing Randolph from obtaining anything stronger to drink from the inns.

  * * *

  As the day wore on Ran became more desperate and they were obliged to physically restrain him to prevent him from jumping from the moving carriage. He screamed at Miller, damning him to hell and dismissing him from his service. When Deborah tried to apologise for her brother, Miller merely shook his head at her and smiled grimly.

  ‘Nay, miss, we’ve seen this before, when his lordship has partaken too heavily of laudanum. I don’t take any notice of it. And you know as well as I that this mood will pass.’

  Deborah did know it, but when her brother’s anger faded she found his self-pity just as wearing. They stopped to dine at Canterbury, where Harris arranged a private parlour for Deborah and her brother.

  Ran picked at his food, finding fault with everything, and she began to wish they were eating in the main dining room along with the servants. When she refused to allow Ran to drink anything other than small beer he slumped in his chair, muttering. Suddenly Deb could stand no more.

  ‘Stop it!’ she cried, almost dropping her tea cup in its saucer. ‘For heaven’s sake, Randolph, you are not the only one who is suffering! None of us wishes to go to France, I can assure you, and if you knew the damage your addiction has caused—!’

  She broke off, clapping her hands to her mouth, horrified at her outburst. Ran looked up and frowned at her, a gleam of understanding brightening his dulled eyes.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said, hunting for a handkerchief. ‘I should not have spoken.’

  She turned away, wiping her eyes, and heard Ran give a shuddering sigh.

  ‘Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry.’ he said quietly. ‘I have been a crass fool, but one day I will make it up to you, Deb. I will make you proud of me, I swear it.’

  ‘Yes, of c-course you will, my dear.’ Deb blinked back her tears and tried to sound cheerful, to tell herself they might be happy again, once they were settled abroad, but she knew now it was too late. Her heart would remain in England.

  * * *

  Gil was taken to Bow Street, where he maintained his innocence of forgery and insisted that Sir Sydney Warslow’s death had been an accident. Unfortunately, the Bank inspector recognised him as Mr Victor, whom he had seen coming out of Lord Kirkster’s Liverpool house.

  ‘And don’t think of denying it,’ the inspector continued, when Gil did not respond immediately. ‘There can’t be too many men with a scar like that on their face. Now you tells us you are not Mr Victor, but a viscount, and you have been found standing over a dead man, in a warehouse containing a quantity of forged bank notes. Things is looking pretty black for you, my lord.’

  Yes, thought Gil. Things looked black and, once it was discovered that Kirkster had fled the country, they would look even blacker.

  * * *

  News of Deborah and Randolph’s flight reached Gil in the early evening. He learned from one of the gaolers that the Bank inspector, scenting that his quarry might escape him, had sent officers to check the ports. Gil could only hope that Deb and her brother would be safely out of the country, but until Harris returned to London he could not be sure, so he clung tenaciously to his story and refused to add anything to his previous statement.

  A meeting with his family lawyer the same evening brought Gil little comfort. The man told him bluntly that unless he laid the blame for Warslow’s death squarely upon Lord Kirkster and confessed everything he knew of Kirkster’s involvement in the counterfeiting scheme there was no possibility of acquittal, but Gil was adamant that he would not say anything to incriminate Randolph.

  Eventually the lawyer went away, shaking his head at his client’s obstinacy and hoping that a night’s reflection would bring the Viscount to his senses.

  * * *

  Left alone to consider his fate, Gil realised his prospects were bleak indeed. His spirits sank lower as he tossed and turned restlessly on the hard bed, watching the darkness turn into a grey and windy dawn. If this weather had blown in from the south there was every possibility that the packet had not sailed, so he could not even be certain that he had achieved his aim of keeping Deborah and Randolph safe.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gil stirred and opened his eyes, looking up towards the square of light where the sun struggled to shine through the small window set high in the wall. His first thought was for Deborah. Was she safe? Had John managed to get them to Dover in
time for the evening packet, or perhaps they had sailed at first light. That is, if they had avoided the law officers sent out to bring them back to London for questioning. He lay still for a moment, calculating how soon he could expect Harris to get back to London and tell him. If his man had not been arrested along with the rest of the party.

  He closed his eyes again, finding solace in the last look he had seen on Deb’s face. There had been no hatred for him then. True, there had been sorrow, but there had also been concern. It might not be love, but it was certainly a confirmation of the bond he had always felt existed between them. That alone made it worthwhile. He could never regret meeting Deborah Meltham, and not only because she had taught him what loving someone really meant.

  If they had not met, if he had not agreed to help her, Deborah and her brother would even now be here in Newgate, awaiting trial at the next sessions. He prayed now, as he had never prayed before, that they were safely abroad. That the pain his disgrace would inflict upon his family, and in particular his mother, would not be in vain.

  ‘All for love,’ he muttered, quoting Dryden’s most famous play. ‘And it is indeed the world well lost.’

  Forcing away such dismal thoughts, Gil sat up and stretched. His rank and wealth had enabled him to secure a room to himself with a few basic amenities, but a straw mattress was no substitute for his own feather bed. He called for the gaoler, demanding hot water for shaving, and at the same time he reached into his pocket for his purse. One could get anything in Newgate. For a price.

  The square of sunlight moved across the wall, indicating that the morning was advancing. With the discipline borne of years of military service, Gil made his bed, then washed, shaved and dressed himself in the clean clothes he had ordered to be fetched from his house. Whatever the day brought forth, he would look his best. He was just putting the finishing touches to his cravat when he heard the door open and a rough voice invite someone to enter. At last, Harris had returned. Now he would learn the truth!

  He turned, expecting to see his man, but the vision that met his eyes stopped his breath. Deborah stood in the doorway, her dusty travelling cloak around her shoulders. She held her bonnet in her hands, turning it nervously between her fingers. The gaoler was looking on with interest and Gil knew he should remain indifferent, treat her as a mere acquaintance, but it was beyond him to hide his smile at the sight of her and he knew his eyes were shining with all the love that would not be denied.

  Her anxious look faded, she ran into his arms, saying with a sob, ‘I could not go. I could not leave you.’

  Gil held her tight and rested his head on her hair, closing his eyes. He had dreamed of this moment, but given up hope that it would ever happen.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she murmured against his chest.

  ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

  He threw a coin to the gaoler, waited until the heavy wooden door was closed and they were alone before putting his fingers beneath her chin and tilting her head up for a kiss. It was as sweet as he remembered, the shock of desire striking through him with as much intensity as it had the first time.

  She did not resist. Her hunger matched his, the kiss was full of longing and desire and regret for the time they had wasted. Gil did not want it to end, he wanted to lose himself in her, but she fluttered in his arms and immediately he lifted his head, although he could not bring himself to release her. She looked up at him, her eyes beseeching.

  ‘Ran has gone on to France. He is implicated so deeply in Sir Sydney’s plans that he will almost certainly face execution if he is caught. I could not insist he come back with me, can you forgive me?’

  He put a finger against her lips. ‘Hush now. We know Randolph never intended any harm. If he is safe in France now, then we shall be thankful for it. Tell me instead how you come to be here.’

  He guided Deborah to the bed where he sat down with her, still holding her hand. She placed her bonnet carefully on the bed before clutching at his fingers again. She leaned against him, as if she was as desperate as he not to break contact.

  ‘We had reached Canterbury before I realised I could not leave you to carry the burden for us all. Harris took my brother and Miller on to Dover and Elsie returned with me on the night mail.’

  ‘Then where is your maid now?’ He frowned. ‘She should be here. You do your reputation no good being here alone with me.’

  She looked up at him, a shy, teasing smile in her eyes. ‘I was afraid you might not kiss me if I had my maid with me.’

  ‘You are wrong. Nothing would have stopped me kissing you!’

  She blushed adorably at that and nestled against him with a sigh.

  ‘We reached town very early this morning,’ she said. ‘I was so fatigued that we took a room at a nearby inn. Elsie is there now, waiting for me.’ Her smile disappeared as she turned her head to look at him, suddenly serious. ‘I was not sure if you would wish to see me.’

  ‘Oh, my dearest heart!’ He kissed her again. ‘I should have sent you away,’ he muttered, holding her close. ‘I told the Runners I hardly knew you.’

  She gave a soft chuckle. ‘Impossible to deny it now, my love.’

  My love. His heart lurched.

  ‘Is that true?’ He cupped her face, gently raising it so he could look into her eyes, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. ‘Am I your love?’

  The glow in her eyes told him it was so.

  ‘I did not want to love you,’ she said, smiling mistily up at him. ‘But from the moment we first met I felt the connection. Nothing could break it.’

  He kissed her again, gently this time. His heart was thudding so hard against his ribs that he could scarce speak.

  ‘For me also,’ he confessed. ‘It was not a choice, you are a part of me, as necessary as breathing.’

  ‘My dear love!’ With a sob she buried her face in his coat. ‘This is all my fault. I should never have asked for your help. I have embroiled you most disastrously in our affairs.’

  He rested his cheek against her hair, his mouth twisting into a wry smile. ‘I was embroiled from the first moment I saw you, at great cost to yourself. And my actions against you were wholly unjustified. I can never forgive myself for that.’

  ‘But if you had not come seeking revenge, we would never have met. And until I met you I did not think I could love, or be loved, ever again.’ Her arms tightened around him. ‘If only…’

  ‘Yes. If only.’

  She sat up. ‘I will speak for you,’ she said. ‘I will tell them what really happened. That Sir Sydney coerced Randolph into helping him.’

  ‘And will you also tell them that your brother killed him?’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Oh, my darling, do you think anyone will believe that?’

  ‘They will, when I explain it all,’ she said fiercely. ‘I will convince them that you are innocent.’

  He shook his head. ‘And do you think, when word gets out that you have been here with me, that a jury will believe we are not all involved in this? No. The best we can hope for is to keep you out of this scandal.’ Reluctantly he let her go and went to the door. ‘If you leave now we may yet succeed.’

  ‘I am not going.’ He turned to stare at her and she put up her chin, saying obstinately, ‘I shall remain here with you.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘Not at all. I have seen women staying with prisoners in the other cells. The gaoler told me it is perfectly possible. There is a charge, of course, but that is not an insurmountable problem.’

  He swore under his breath. ‘Deb, you cannot stay here. Those other women…’

  ‘I know exactly what they are and it does not concern me.’

  ‘Well, it should,’ he exclaimed wrathfully. ‘You are a lady.’

  ‘I am your lover—!’ She broke off
, colour rushing to her cheeks. She looked shocked by her own words, but it was quickly followed by uncertainty. ‘It was only one night and perhaps it did not mean so much to you.’

  Her eyes were large and luminous in the dim light and he felt the rush of desire heating his blood.

  ‘It meant everything to me,’ he said, his voice low and shaking with raw emotion. ‘That is why you must go. Perhaps, when the trial is over, we could meet. We could start again.’

  She gave a little huff of exasperation.

  ‘I have told you before I am not a child, Gil. I know as well as you what the outcome of your trial is likely to be. I want to be with you, here, now. For as long as I can.’

  She moved towards him and pressed her hands against his chest. His heart reacted to her touch, pounding as if it would break through the ribs to reach her. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists at his sides to stop himself taking her into his arms again.

  ‘No, Deborah. Don’t do this.’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice was so close, caressing, like silk against his senses. ‘We have a little time left together, Gil. Time to make up for the months we have lost.’

  She put her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder. He could smell her perfume, fresh and light with the subtle hint of summer flowers. It transported him away from Newgate, out into the fields and rolling hills around Fallbridge where he had walked and ridden with Deborah. Where he had fallen in love with her.

  ‘Please, Gil, do not deny me the comfort of being with you, of loving you. Even for the short time we have left.’

  * * *

  Deborah closed her eyes and prayed he would not send her away. Pressed against him, she knew his body wanted her, but he was holding back, resisting. She waited, clinging to him, listening to the thud of his heart, the ragged breathing that gave the lie to his silence.

  ‘You should go now, Deborah.’

  With an angry cry she pushed herself away from him.

  ‘How can you say that?’ she demanded furiously. ‘You are perfectly ready to sacrifice your pride, your honour and your family name to save my brother. You tell me it is for my sake, that you are doing this for my happiness, but do you not see that the only happiness I have is with you?’