The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman

by Kasey Michaels

  Well, his marriage to Clarissa would give him the perfect excuse he needed to visit his brother again. How could Nigel turn him away if Hugh had a weary little bride in tow?

  They could marry at Hartcastle and dispense with this ridiculous junket to the Scottish border. Then recalling his last visit with Nigel, he reconsidered. It might be better if he arrived home already wed to her.

  “The family’s old heap of stones is far from what you are used to, Clarissa.”

  “I understand. But I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Nigel is not what you are used to, either,” he warned.

  “I will be glad to meet him in any event. Will he object to our marriage, do you think?”

  “With Nigel, one can never tell,” Hugh told her truthfully. His older brother was an enigma, even to him.

  “Is he married?”

  “No, there is no countess,” Hugh said simply. “In fact, I am currently his heir. Not that inheriting would change much other than my name. There’s nothing left of his estate but the building and that’s hardly worth having.”

  “Tragic,” Clarissa muttered, shaking her head in sympathy.

  Little did she know. But Hugh did not expound on it.

  THOUGH THE SPEED of the chaise continually surprised Clarissa, the hours crawled by, their journey broken only by the requisite change in teams every ten or fifteen miles. She would climb out of the coach, assisted by Hugh, and return to it when the fresh team was hitched and ready to go. The novelty had quickly subsided into monotony with the repetition. It seemed they would go on forever this way.

  Hugh had coaxed her to sleep, but Clarissa was awake when night fell.

  The chaise halted in the courtyard of the large inn that surrounded it on three sides. “Ah, at last,” Hugh said with a weary exhalation. He stretched his arms wide and yawned. “This is Trelawny. A nice enough village and quite safe,” he informed her.

  “You are famliar with it?”

  “I had a school friend from hereabout whom I used to visit often as a lad. I know several others from here who served with me. We’ll rest, then resume our journey in a few hours’ time.”

  “We could go on,” Clarissa suggested.

  “Not possible,” he argued, then patted her gloved hand. “You needn’t be afraid. I don’t see how anyone could be following us, but even if they are, they will have to stop and rest, as well.”

  Clarissa nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Hugh smiled, his gaze gone soft. “We should be well ahead of anyone who might have guessed where we’re off to. Besides, who would ever believe us bound for Scotland?”

  She shrugged. “The Dicksons might. But even if they did and informed my uncle or Trenton, it wouldn’t have been immediately done.”

  When they entered the inn, Hugh seated her in the dining room, made arrangements for their overnight stay and then joined her at the table. “I hope you won’t mind, but I have sealed your fate. There is no way out of this now.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked warily as she folded her gloves into her reticule.

  “Push has come to shove, my girl,” he told her with a helpless shrug. “Tonight we must share a room.”

  “No!” she cried, then clamped her lips closed, glancing around to see whether anyone had heard her. She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you daft? I am not sharing a bed with you now!”

  “Of course you won’t. But the only thing available was their best accommodation, which contains a large four-poster and a servant’s cot. Guess where you’ll be sleeping.”

  “The bed,” she announced. “If I am paying for this, then I should—”

  “But you are not paying,” he said with an arch look.

  Clarissa gasped, clapping a hand to her face. “Oh. Oh, I am so sorry. I haven’t given you any money. I simply forgot! But how did you pay for the chaise? Our food? The teams? I simply wasn’t thinking!”

  She quickly pulled open her reticule, but he closed his hand over both of hers and smiled at her. “Save what you brought until we need it.”

  “But—”

  He shook his head. “I was only teasing about the bed, Clarissa. You may have it and welcome. God knows I’ve slept on worse than a cot before, though I doubt you have.”

  “That’s unfair. I slept on a cot for years!”

  “I am a cad, remember?” he said with a short laugh. “I needn’t be fair unless the mood strikes me.”

  She couldn’t help laughing with him. “You are the most absurd man I have ever met, Richfield.”

  “Could you call me Hugh, do you think? No one has in a long while and I find I like it when you do.”

  “Hugh,” she said with a nod for emphasis. “But only if you cease calling me Clary. You’ve done that a time or two. I despise nicknames.”

  “Heartfelt apologies for the offense. Clarissa it shall be.”

  Just then a man approached their table. Not the publican, Clarissa noted, but a large, dark fellow dressed all in black save for his linen. And there was blood in his eye.

  “I know you,” he growled at Hugh.

  Hugh pushed back his chair and stood, meeting the stranger’s look with one just as fierce.

  Clarissa wondered what had raised the man’s ire, for neither she nor Hugh had noticed or spoken to him. She rose, too, looking from one man to the other.

  “You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Hugh said evenly.

  “You knew my brother well enough, I reckon. Trod these meadows together as lads along with his lordship’s whelp and the Elmore boy. Then all the fools had the misfortune to call you commander in the field.” He spat angrily to one side. “The field where Will died, I might add. Had you known what you were about over there, he’d be home now where he belongs.”

  Hugh’s eyes closed and his lips drew tight. “Tasker Oldham. I should have noted the resemblance. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about William. Did your family receive my letter?”

  “Aye, and here’s my answer to it,” Oldham rumbled as he reached for the weapon tucked into his belt.

  Clarissa quickly threw herself between the men and laid both hands on top of Oldham’s right one, stalling it on the butt of his gun. “Stop! I know you are heart-stricken for your brother, but there is no call for violence!”

  She felt Hugh grasp her arms from behind, but she stood firm, clasping her fingers even more securely around the stranger’s.

  Oldham glared down at her, but left the gun in place for the moment. “Get out of my way, lady. Who are you to interfere with this?”

  “It hardly matters who I am. What does matter is that you are not thinking, Mr. Oldham. How can you blame Mr. Richfield for your brother’s demise? He fought beside, not against your William. Mr. Richfield has suffered greatly, too, I assure you. You said yourself that your brother was his childhood friend. Think how you would feel in his place!”

  “What the hell would you know about—”

  Clarissa pinned him with a look of sympathy and tightened her grip on his hand even further. “Listen to me, please. If you must lay blame, lay it to the French, but not to this brave man. Surely you have heard how valiantly he fought. His fellow officers and men will tell you of it if you have not.”

  Oldham gritted his teeth and shot Hugh a look over her shoulder, then faced her again. “He did not protect my brother as a commanding officer should have done! I ought to kill him for it now I have the chance!”

  “Reason with your grief, sir,” she said with a bittersweet smile. “Truly, I believe you are more angry with yourself than with Mr. Richfield. You must sorely regret that you were not there yourself to save William. Where were you? Safe here in England? You must feel awful that you live while your brother died. But I’m certain he’d not have wished you to blame his good friend…or yourself. You loved him very much, didn’t you, sir?

  Oldham’s dark eyes began to tear just as hers were doing, and he turned away rapidly so that she lost her hold on him.
She heard a strangled “Yes” as he stalked hurriedly from the room and disappeared outside the inn.

  Hugh cleared his throat and Clarissa slowly turned to face him. “You’re angry with me for that,” she guessed.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “But I would like to know why you did it.”

  “What? Interfered?”

  “Defended me in such a way. How could you possibly know what took place on the Continent? How did you know Oldham remained in England instead of fighting on another front?”

  Clarissa shrugged. “He looked grieved and distraught, but he also looked guilty. I did not intend you to remain the object of a wrath he refused to turn on himself.”

  “I see,” Hugh said. “Not that I deserved any absolution, but you probably did save him from a charge of murder.”

  She smiled. “It was Oldham’s immediate survival I worried about. He would never have gotten that pistol out of his belt. I remember well how quickly you can move when the mood strikes. I figured you had seen bloodshed enough to last you awhile.”

  “Just so,” he said quietly, looking away. “I should be furious, even somewhat ashamed, letting a woman fight my battles.”

  “But I guess you are not,” she said with a saucy tilt of her head.

  He looked directly at her then, his gaze burning into hers. “You have exceptional courage, Clarissa Fortesque.”

  “For a woman, you mean?”

  Hugh shook his head. “For anyone at all.”

  “Be that as it may, if you would please order up some ale. My knees are pudding and my heart’s still in my throat.” She glanced toward the door, worried. “You don’t think Mr. Oldham will come back, do you?”

  “No,” Hugh replied with a sad look and a sigh. “He won’t be back.”

  THAT NIGHT and the next, Clarissa slept surprisingly well considering there was a man in her room. It should not have been so different from sleeping in the chaise beside him. But it was. Even though they were both fully dressed, there was something about lying prone in bed as one normally did when retiring for the night that somehow made it seem more intimate.

  She supposed it would not have mattered if they had been intimate. In the eyes of the world, she was compromised beyond redemption. If anyone bothered to ask, there were witnesses aplenty to their cohabitation. Oddly enough, Clarissa felt safer because of that.

  Fully committed, she could not turn back, and no one could stop events from unfolding as she had planned. She must marry Hugh now whether she wished to or not.

  All that considered, she had to confess she was a bit put out that he had not even tried to kiss her.

  BY THE END of the next day’s travel, she had completely lost her fear of their being followed. Tomorrow they would reach Scotland.

  Hugh had worked hard to distract her with entertaining stories of his youthful scrapes—some Banbury tales of the highest order, she was certain—and pulled from her a recounting of her own school days. They shared their memories of times spent with the Dicksons, the antics of Phyllis, Harry and the others who had visited there. The conversations remained light and amusing, never touching on his days as a soldier or her worries about her future.

  But Clarissa realized he was putting up a cheerful front for her benefit. Something weighed heavily on his mind. Something tragic, and it took no great intelligence to decipher what that must be. The awareness did nothing to help her resolve it. Perhaps dealing with the aftermath of the war was a thing Hugh must deal with himself.

  After their fourth stop of the day, they dozed, his head resting against the wall of the coach, hers lying against his shoulder. She realized he was holding her hand and smiled at the warmth of their position, the sweet suggestiveness of it.

  Suddenly the chaise lurched sharply to one side. The wheels bumped wildly as they left the road. She grabbed onto Hugh as they halted, tilted perilously, rocked side to side and then settled with a bone-jarring thump.

  Someone shouted but with the jerking of the chaise and frantic neighing of the mounts, she understood nothing.

  “Stand and deliver!” a deep voice boomed, much closer by and readily comprehensible. Clarissa cringed.

  “We only needed this to make a perfect day,” Hugh muttered, disentangling himself from her clutches and reaching beneath the seat for his pistol.

  Before he could retrieve it, a wicked silver barrel appeared in the window. “Out!” the voice commanded.

  Hugh complied, muttering darkly, “There goes my watch.” He seemed less than upset, more angry about the inconvenience and probable loss of his timepiece. “You, stay right here,” he ordered her.

  Clarissa remained where she was, hoping the highwayman had not seen her, huddled as she had been, practically beneath Hugh. She risked a peek and saw Hugh standing well away from the door of the chaise, most likely to draw the mounted man’s attention away from her. Indeed he had. The black-garbed, masked man did have his back to her, his pistol pointed directly at Hugh as if he planned to shoot him dead. Where was their driver? Where were the post boys?

  Since the robber was speaking to Hugh and not looking her way, she stood and leaned out the door. Their driver and his sons lay prone on the grass beside the road, but she could see they weren’t dead and most likely not even wounded.

  The best she could discern, they must have fallen when the coach lurched and had been ordered to stay where they were.

  “Lie down on the road!” the highwayman was demanding of Hugh. The dark horse danced closer to the chaise as the fellow aimed and repeated his order.

  Oh, no! Clarissa could see Hugh’s intent. He’d bent his knees and was about to leap. Close as he was, he might manage to unmount the brigand, but there was the pistol! If only she could—

  The horse danced closer. Clarissa thought of jumping. No, she’d probably land in the dust and be trampled. The dark mount’s tail twitched high, brushing her hand. She grabbed it and yanked hard.

  Simultaneously, the pistol discharged and the horse kicked, catching the bottom of the doorway where Clarissa stood. The chaise rocked and she pitched forward, landing on the man’s back with a screech of terror. Her legs dangled to one side of the horse’s rump. She clung to the man’s throat with one arm and batted at his gun arm with the other, determined to foul his second shot.

  Its report echoed through her. She prayed he’d missed Hugh. The highwayman shouted and struggled wildly to dislodge her. Clarissa clawed at his neck, losing purchase as the horse reared.

  She screamed as she fell. Thundering hooves beat the ground nearby as strong arms caught her. She landed atop Hugh and they rolled from the roadway into the grass.

  He shoved her aside like flotsam and dashed to the chaise. In seconds she saw him level his own weapon and fire. The fleeing horseman jerked, yelped and leaned forward, tearing around a curve in the road and disappearing.

  “Damn! He’s escaped,” Hugh cursed. Dusting angrily at his trousers, he turned to her. “Have you lost your mind?”

  She ground her teeth, then retorted, “Have you lost your watch?”

  The driver’s laughter boomed as he scrambled to his feet and helped up the lads. “Godamighty, I never seen nothin’ like it!” He threw back his head and howled. The boys joined him, gleefully slapping their knees.

  Hugh strode over and offered his hand to her. She could see he was biting his lips together. Whether to suppress laughter or to keep from blistering her with foul language, she couldn’t say. He helped her to stand and examined her visually. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “Oh, such sudden concern, sir? What prompts it, I wonder.” She yanked her hand from his and stomped back to the chaise.

  “Look,” Hugh said as he lifted her inside from behind, “you scared the hell out of me. I could have had him off that horse in another two seconds if you’d stayed where you were.”

  She glared at him over her shoulder. “And had a bullet in your chest for your trouble. You’re quite welcome, by the way.”

  He po
cketed the pistol, climbed in behind her and all but collapsed, rocking the chaise. When she opened her mouth to chastise him, he grasped her face with both strong hands and kissed her.

  All the fight drained right out of her and she melted against him like a puddle of wax. His mouth stole every thought in her head, every single, solitary thought except how dreadfully glad she was to have saved him for this. Oh, my, their one other kiss paled in comparison to this. How desperate it was, how invading, how totally inappropriate. How gloriously wonderful.

  His mouth ground against hers, demanding and forceful. The kiss went on forever and she prayed he’d never stop. She slid her palms along his chest and felt his heart beating strong and true beneath her fingers.

  At last he drew away, leaving her wanting, waiting for more. Finally she opened her eyes and saw him regarding her with consternation. “Wh-what is it?” she gasped.

  “You,” he whispered. “You are magnificent. Foolish…but magnificent.”

  He looked quite serious. She felt a swelling of pride that very nearly outstripped the disappointment that he’d stopped the kiss. “Me?”

  “You,” he said softly. He frowned then. “But you could have been killed!” He brushed her forehead with his lips.

  “So could you,” she argued, but without heat. “I couldn’t let him shoot you.” She traced a finger along his cheek, following the line of his jaw.

  His arms slid around her and held her close, his face buried in the curve of her neck. For some time he simply held her as if he would never let her go.

  Clarissa memorized the feeling, held it like a precious jewel to be swathed in silk and hidden away, to be taken out and treasured for the rest of her life. No one had ever, ever held her like this and might never again.

  Surely today’s occurrence was rare as an eclipse of the sun and what else could ever move a hero like Hugh Richfield to hold a woman this way?

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED at Peven’s Close where they were to pass the night, Clarissa decided she was completely comfortable with the idea of spending another night with Hugh. After all, she had watched him sleep, had allowed him to fasten the buttons at the back of her neck, which she had loosened in order to sleep, and had even seen him shed his waistcoat and shave his face. She fancied they were almost like a married couple already.