Hugh stared at her as if he had never seen her before. He reached for her hand and held it with both of his. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
He was lying. Now was no time to play the blushing virgin and go all mishish, she decided. As with her students, she knew that confronting a problem at the outset went a long way toward preventing its escalation. This called for plain speaking.
“I was in that bed with you, Hugh. Even given my status as a novice in the ways of intimacy, I know what happened between us affected you adversely somehow.”
He withdrew one of his hands from hers, brushed it over his face as if to wipe away the miasma that had him in its grip, and managed a small laugh. “Trust you to cut straight to the heart of things. And to think I once believed you shy.”
At least she had him talking to her again. “So, what is the problem then? Had you had rather I had been more reticent? Did I disappoint you?”
“God, no!” He turned slightly and leaned his forehead against hers, kissed her cheek, a perfunctory peck. “I neglected to tell you how wonderful you were. How sweet and giving. While we loved, I thought of nothing but how precious you are, how generous. I was humbled, happy…” His voice drifted off as he drew away from her, squeezing the hand he still held and caressing it with his thumb. He carried it to his heart and held it there.
“And then?” she prompted softly.
“All of a sudden, I knew that I loved you,” he replied. “And that I have no right.”
“Ah. Well, that makes a great deal of sense. Who would want to love their wife, for heaven’s sake? Not the thing at all. Chances are that would create a scandal worse than this elopement of ours when we return to town. Society would crumble all around us!” She forced a laugh. “Why, all the husbands in London might suddenly follow your lead and then what would happen? No adultery, no beatings, no overindulgence in drink! How horrid!”
He smiled.
She returned it. “There’s no need for you to dissemble, Hugh. I am perfectly capable of enjoying you just as you are, fair moods and foul, without any lies to justify our sharing a bed. I will be your wife regardless of whether you love me, praise me, ignore me or shoot me daggers.” She held her smile to show him she was sincere.
He looked at her and shook his head, her hand still clasped to his chest. “You have no earthly idea what you have done to me and I’m not even certain I can explain it myself.”
“Well, I suppose we had best address it before we proceed any further. I need to prepare another course for myself if you plan to bow out at this juncture.” But she knew he would not. His crisis, whatever it had consisted of, seemed to be over or at least eased for the present. “You won’t renege, will you?”
“And have you sue me for breach of promise as I threatened to do to you?” he asked, his good humor partially returned or at least well pretended. “We’ll see this through, Clarissa. I apologize for my megrims. Will you forgive me?”
She straightened her skirts with her free hand and tossed her head. He was pretending. She might as well risk all and demand the truth. Otherwise they could be dancing this particular tightrope for years. “I’ll forgive only if you make a clean breast of it. Does this falling into despair have to do with your experiences these past few years? Don’t bother to lie. I know it does.”
He released her hand, sat back against the squabs and stared out the window at the passing scenery. “Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
“I cannot. It has nothing to do with you.”
“So you said before, but I think it must. Why else would that dark time intrude during the…consummation of our, uh, betrothal?” She paused, then added, “For lack of any finer way to phrase it.”
“Not during. After. The instant I realized how deeply I felt for you, it loosened some restraint inside me. The admission of it seemed to demand I recognize all sorts of other, not-so-fine feelings I had apparently…shut away.”
She pondered that for a moment, then met his gaze. “That was difficult for you.”
“But certainly not your fault,” he hurried to add. “And again, I am so sorry I did not stay to praise and comfort you.” His eyes softened even more. “Instead, it was you who came to comfort me throughout the night. I shall never, if I live to be two hundred, forget that, Clarissa. But I will make it up to you, I promise.”
She grinned and pinched the hand that held hers. “Selfish man, I daresay I shall hold you to it.”
He slipped his arms around her and kissed her soundly, waking her need for him so that she did not notice the slowing of the chaise until he drew away and looked out the window. “It appears we are near our destination.”
“So soon?” she asked, and he laughed, sounding comfortingly like her merry Hugh.
The chaise came to a stop and he opened the door and got out. “Here we are at last,” he said, holding out his hands to lift her down.
They were in a courtyard surrounded by several buildings, including the requisite blacksmith’s shop where she understood all those clandestine weddings she had read about had taken place.
“Where are we to go?” she asked, studying at length the small, quaint structures that surrounded them. The whole of it looked rather bleak, she decided. Not at all the sort of place one would think to begin a happy life together.
A lad still in short pants had appeared out of nowhere, ostensibly to greet them. “Welcoom, sar, leddy! Lookin’ fer a priest, are ye?” he asked with a gap-toothed grin.
“Aye, we are,” Hugh said, reaching into his pocket for a coin that he flipped in the air. The urchin caught it and tested it with his remaining teeth.
“This way,” the little fellow said, darting past the chaise. Clarissa realized that there would probably be no overnight stay, no lingering at all. Couples came here to say vows and hie off elsewhere to spend the wedding night, she supposed. She felt faintly disappointed at the thought of resuming their travels immediately afterward. The post boys had alighted and were fetching water for the team.
At the door of the cottage where the boy led her and Hugh, a portly man of about seventy years greeted them. “Come to marry?” he asked with a gentle smile.
“That we have,” Hugh said.
The man nodded as he invited them in, propping the door open to take advantage of the warm breeze. “I’d be Laing, who’ll see to yer ceremony.” Without delay, he took a sheet of paper from a simple unadorned box on the table, unstoppered the inkwell and picked up a pen. “And you’d be?”
“Hugh Richfield and my bride, Clarissa Fortesque,” Hugh replied.
Scratching words that would serve as the written record, he slid the paper toward them. “Go on and make yer marks.”
After they signed, he entered their names in a clothbound ledger, stoppered up the ink and replaced the pen in its holder. “I’ll summon th’ witnesses. Have a tot while ye wait. Water of life. Settles th’ dust.” He gestured idly at the bottle and glass sitting beside the ledger.
He seemed in no rush at all as he limped over and retrieved his hat from a hook on the wall, then took forever settling it just so on his wild shock of white hair. He smiled at them, then crossed the room yet again at a snail’s pace and exited through the back door.
On the table, to one side, a Bible lay open. “I wonder if we’ll be married in here. Better than over the anvil, I suppose,” Hugh said with a smile. “Perhaps they’ve discontinued that practice in favor of something a bit more in keeping with the occasion. In any event, he doesn’t strike me as a smithy.”
“No,” Clarissa mumbled. “None of this is what I expected.”
“Truth to tell, I’d pictured worse,” Hugh commented as he perused the label on the bottle of spirits. He set it down again without pouring any out. He paced, glancing around at the contents of the comfortable, if humble, cottage.
Clarissa remained still. She felt if she moved at all, she might turn and run as far and fast as her legs would take her. Could she really do this no
w that she was here? Could she not do it, now that she had shared a bed with this man, promised him a small fortune to accompany her here, and foolishly grown to love him in a few short days?
But it had been more than the time they had spent together as adults that made her care so much, she knew, else she would not have dreamed of him so often during the intervening years since her childhood. She would not have built this plan around him, never seriously considering another for it.
Hugh was examining a small plaque attached to the wall when a shadow fell across the main threshold. He turned to face the new arrival, as did Clarissa.
Trenton stood in the doorway, holding a pistol aimed at Hugh’s heart. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Richfield, but I believe you have abducted my cousin. Not a soul in Christendom would deny I have the right to blow a hole in you the size of my fist.”
Hugh held out his hands to the side as if inviting his fate. “Or you could hang for it. I do believe we met on the road.”
“Did we?” Trenton asked with an evil smile.
Clarissa saw the scratches she had inflicted on his neck during the incident. The blackguard would not admit he was the one. That was why he had not faced her when she was in the coach. He had meant to kill Hugh then, ride away and claim her later, thereby hiding his identity as the highwayman. She knew it was so!
Trenton sneered. “I expected you here sooner. I’ve been waiting.”
“How…how did you know we were coming here?” Clarissa asked.
Hugh remained motionless. “He was in the corridor at Dickson House, outside the library, and heard us making plans.”
“How clever of you. How else would I have known? Even after she nearly unmanned me, I still wanted her. I’ll have her, too.”
“Like to wager on that?” Hugh asked calmly.
Trenton snorted. “Your infamous bets. This is one you’d lose, Richfield. By the way, what delayed you? Stop along the way to have a taste before your grand meal, did you?”
“How coarse of you, cousin,” Hugh taunted. “Where are your manners? If you put away that nasty cannon you have there, we’ll invite you to the wedding breakfast.”
Clarissa could not find her tongue. Why on earth did Hugh keep provoking Trenton? Did he want to die? Oh, God. Perhaps he did! She had to do something. But what? If she rushed at Trenton, the surprise might cause him to fire. She could never reach him this time to deflect his aim.
“Here now!” thundered a deep voice from the back portal. “We’ll have no shootin’!” exclaimed Mr. Laing. “Lads?” He said, moving inside so that the two burly fellows behind him could enter.
“I’m afraid you’re too late, anyway,” Hugh announced to Trenton. “I, Hugh Richfield, am here to take Clarissa Fortesque as my lawfully wedded wife and she intends me to be her husband. Is that not true, Clarissa?”
When she merely gaped at him, he prodded her. “Well go on, say it’s true. Loudly, if you please.”
“I…yes, that’s true,” she stuttered, nodding, looking from one to the other, dreading what might come next. Trenton looked fit to kill, his breath rushing in and out between his teeth as he scowled. The pistol shifted dangerously, as if his hand trembled trying to hold it steady.
“Done and witnessed,” Laing said gruffly, apparently recognizing the need for speed and lack of formality. He shuffled around them and shoved the paper they had signed into Hugh’s hand. The priest, as he called himself, now stood directly between Hugh and her cousin.
With a growl, Trenton rushed farther into the room, attempting to get Hugh directly in his sites again. He snarled at Clarissa. “You stupid little fool! I’m trying to save you! Now I’ll have to kill—”
Hugh leaped and struck. His hand came down so fast on Trenton’s wrist, she hardly saw the move before it was over. The cocked pistol hit the floor beside her foot, discharged and blew a hole in the wall.
Trenton cried out in agony as Hugh grasped his arm, twisted it behind his back and dropped him to his knees. Hugh’s other hand grasped Trenton’s hair, forcing the head back at an unnatural angle.
“Stop!” Trenton cried. He groaned and began to sob.
Hugh huffed in disgust. “Control yourself, man. You’d think I broke your arm the way you carry on!”
“It’s the bullet wound! My shoulder,” Trenton gasped. His breath hissed inward. “You can have the chit! For all she’s worth, take her and be damned!”
“I do have her,” Hugh growled. “And you’d be wise to not forget that. Mr. Laing, summon your constable.”
“No need. No need,” Trenton pleaded. “You have my word—”
“Worth spit, I’m sure,” Hugh muttered, giving Trenton’s pomaded hair a hearty yank.
“I’m quit of this. Of her!” Trenton promised, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Let me go. Just let me go.”
Hugh released him with a shove that dashed Trenton prone on the floor. “You’re a lucky man, Fortesque. It’s my wedding day and I feel benevolent.” He raised one eyebrow and hefted Trenton’s empty weapon, holding it out, butt first. “I might still change my mind if I ever see you again. Get out of here.”
Her cousin raised a hand, palm outward, and took the pistol. He scrambled to his feet and cradled his arm protectively. “I should have known it was pointless, trying to save her.”
“Save me?” she asked with a scornful laugh. “Was that what you were trying to do? As it happens I’m here doing this because I needed someone to save me from you!”
He glared at her with what could only be described as malice. “Don’t come crawling to me in tears when he abandons you for someone who actually has money. Just remember, I would have taken you without it.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded, the fear she should have felt before now hitting her full-force. “What are you saying?”
He straightened his coat and brushed at his sleeve, trying unsuccessfully to keep his eyes off the threat that was Hugh. “That our dear, mad uncle has poured every pound you had and all that is left of his in some stupid venture that cannot possibly succeed.”
“In what did he invest?” Hugh asked.
Trenton spat to one side, then answered, “Steam travel. Yachts! Can you fathom that? Foolish old addlepated fart. Now the money’s tied up in the building of the damned things. The novelty will have worn off completely by the time they’re done. If they ever are.” He sneered at her. “So you have nothing, little cousin! Nothing for you or for him.” He bared his teeth at Hugh.
“That…that can’t be true!” she exclaimed, looking from him to Hugh and back again. “How could he?”
Trenton laughed bitterly. “Easily enough. Uncle lies there in that pillowed nest of his reading scientific journals, dreaming his dreams of quickly made wealth, and corresponding with all manner of charlatans he believes will provide it. His man of business must be in league with them. It’s gone, Clarissa. He has put it where neither you nor I have a prayer of getting it back.”
“He…everything?” she asked in a small whisper.
“I had a bit put by, so I could have afforded you.” He shot a dark look at Hugh, then fastened his angry gaze on her again. “But you’re ruined now. Even I won’t help you. You’ve made your bed. Go and lie in it.” With that, he strode out the front door.
“Wait!” Clarissa called, running after him, fully aware that Hugh was right behind her. “Trenton, wait!”
He halted abruptly and whirled around to face her. “It’s too late, Clarissa. You can’t come with me. I’ve given him my word.”
Hugh threatened him with a pointed glare, promising more of what Trenton had so recently escaped. “You will hear her questions and you will answer, Fortesque. Are we understood?”
Trenton inclined his head. “So ask away for all the good it will do you.”
“Why did you pursue me at all if you knew I had nothing to inherit?” Clarissa demanded.
He grimaced, paused and finally said, “I fancied you, as badly as I hate
to admit that now. Since we were children, I thought of you as mine.”
She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him with disbelief. “A fine way you had of showing that with your pawing and threats! All you succeeded in doing was making me despise you!”
“All women wish to be mastered!” he argued hotly.
“Not this woman! I thought my knee should have made that perfectly clear!” She ignored the gasp of the men behind her as well as Trenton’s chest heaving anger.
“Why did you not simply tell me what Uncle had done?” she asked, spreading her arms wide. “I could have declined your offer. All of this…this subterfuge would not have been necessary if you had simply talked to me in a civilized way!”
He tugged impatiently at his too high collar. “Explain finances to a woman? Ha. You would not have understood. Hell, you don’t understand even now what a pickle you’re in! And this subterfuge, as you call it, is all your doing. I told you outright that we must marry, that you had no other course! But you found one, didn’t you? Flying off to Gretna with a penniless, cutthroat soldier!”
Hugh pushed her aside and planted his fist in Trenton’s jaw. “That was for the insult to my wife.”
He waited for her cousin to struggle to his feet before addressing him again. “One more word to Clarissa—save for your apology, which I now demand—and I’ll be requiring the ultimate satisfaction.” He narrowed his eyes, grasped Trenton’s foulard in his fist and gave him a shake. “Evenly armed, you’d not like to face down a cutthroat soldier trained to kill, now would you? I promise your choice of weapons would hardly matter.”
“No,” Trenton croaked, backing away quickly as Hugh released him. He spat on the ground, then touched his bleeding lip with one finger. “I won’t chance death for any woman, especially her.”
“No chance involved,” Hugh promised. “Now leave before I change my mind.”
Trenton risked shooting him a nasty look, then sketched a small bow in her direction. “My apologies, Clarissa,” he snapped. “May I be the first to wish you happy.” His words were bitter, his expression even more so. She did not even bother to acknowledge either.
The Wedding Chase: In His Lordship's BedPrisoner of the TowerWord of a Gentleman Page 25