by Janet Woods
She cast a derisive eye over Nicholas, smiling and nodding to himself. What a vain fool he was to imagine Angelina Wrey loved him. Had it not been for the retraction, safely concealed in the bag she carried, the chit wouldn’t have given him a second thought.
Still, the money would sweeten the deal, and perhaps she could induce one of her more experienced friends in London to seduce the girl. All it would take was a small amount of laudanum to keep her quiet. She nodded maliciously. It would be amusing to watch her corruption.
Neither of them saw the highwayman until he laid a hand on the bridle and brought the cart to a halt. Nicholas’s face turned the colour of clay at the sight of him, and Constance thought he might faint dead away.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she said coldly. “Only a coward would rob a defenceless woman and her son?”
The man edged his way towards the cart, his eyes a dark glitter as he aimed his pistol at Nicholas. “Empty your pockets.”
Twittering in fright, Nicholas did as he was told. The felon inspected the displayed objects, then said curtly. “Get down from the cart and disrobe to your breeches. Pass every piece of clothing to me, including your shoes and hose.”
Five minutes later Nicholas lay face down, naked and blushing. The highwayman’s eyes flicked to Constance.
“You, madam. Get down from the cart.”
“You would force a lady to disrobe, sir?” Her eyes wandered to the man’s thighs and narrowed a little. She stood so she was level with him, inviting softly. “Perhaps you’d rather search my body with your hands. I have no weapons concealed about me.”
Derision flared in his eyes, the mouth beneath the mask stretched in a smile. “You’re old enough to be my mother, madam. Pray, do not make a fool of yourself. Get down from the cart.”
Constance’s eyes narrowed at the slight, her face mottled red. Stepping to the ground she stared up at him, her face twisted and ugly in anger.
“Hand me your reticule.”
She clutched it tightly against her. It contained her jewellery, and she had no intention of handing it over without a struggle “I refuse.”
The highwayman turned his pistol on Nicholas. “I’ll count to five, then I will kill this skinny peacock. One...two...”
Nicholas gave a terrified moan. “For God’s sake! “ he cried out piteously. “Do as he says.”
“Three...four...”
Constance threw the reticule at him with considerable force. Her jewellery scattered on the road when he rifled through its contents. He plucked the piece of paper containing the retraction from the bag and quickly scanned it.
There was a shout from behind, and the sound of a horse. The highwayman cursed as his glance followed hers. She’d thought he’d slipped the retraction up his sleeve, but she was obviously mistaken, for he thrust it back into the reticule.
The oncoming rider was dressed in the uniform of the local army regiment, and he drew his pistol as he came. Dropping the bag, the highwayman turned and headed for the forest. Constance heard him curse when a shot rang out. Then he bent low over his mount’s neck and disappeared into the trees.
The officer was young, and had bold, dark eyes. Skidding to a halt, he leapt from his mount with the lithe grace of a cat. His eyes roved over her for few moments. “You’re unharmed I hope, madam?”
She forgot about Nicholas whimpering in the dirt. Pressing a hand to her chest, she swayed. “I feel a faint.” Seconds later she was supported by a strong pair of arms. Fluttering her eyelashes, she gazed up at an interestingly sensual mouth and her headache suddenly seemed to disappear.
“I declare, you are strong, sir,” she simpered. “I would be indebted, should you escort us to the next village. And if you’d care to visit me at the inn before I return to London, it will be my pleasure to reward you in some small way.”
The soldier smiled back at her. She was a older than he usually liked, but seemed to know what she was about. Perhaps he would visit her at the inn, then again, perhaps not. There was a new girl installed in a house at Winchester, he was quite taken with the fetching. sloe-eyed Ellen. The soldier compared Ellen’s charms with the woman in front of him. It was no contest. Nevertheless, he smiled as he pressed her hand to his lips. One or two of the older fellows might appreciate giving her a gallop around the paddock.
William was reeling in the saddle as he reached the appointed spot. “I have it, Rafe!” he shouted in jubilation, almost tumbling from his mount’s back. “I palmed the retraction from under their very noses. The painted old hen had it in her bag.”
Rafe tried not to laugh at his description of Constance Snelling. “You’re bleeding.”
“The damnedest luck, a soldier came along the road and fired on me. The ball passed through my shoulder, but you’ll have to bind it. Scrambling from the stallion he shrugged off his coat. “Use my stock and bind it tight.”
Two minutes later, clad in brown breeches and with a fawn coat to replace the cloak, William mounted the gelding he’d picked out for Frey. He was grinning from ear to ear as he smacked the black stallion on the rump. “He’ll find his own way home. Go and rescue Angelina from the clutches of the perfumed bard. We’ll split another bottle when I get back from London, to celebrate.” Leaning forward he whispered in the gelding’s ear. “Come on, my beauty, let’s see what you’re made of. We go to rescue your master from the gallows.”
Within minutes, Rafe was galloping in the opposite direction. Fleetingly, he remembered the ugly wound in William’s shoulder and hoped the bandage would be sufficient to stop the bleeding. But Rafe didn’t worry about William for long, he had Angelina to rescue, and very little time left to do it in.
* * * *
Angelina and Rosabelle sat in the front pew of the church. They’d been waiting almost an hour and the rector paced up and down impatiently. A secret marriage was not to his liking, but the girl was probably in trouble, and the parents disapproving of the match.
She seemed a nice child, nonetheless. He darted her a glance, approving her
neat gown of brown taffeta shot through with gold. The bodice was modestly filled in with cream lace at the top. Her only attempt at frivolity was a bonnet of straw with yellow daisies around the brim. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, an expression of serenity on her face. Her eyes told a different story.
Her companion was from a different mould. She had none of the bride’s daintiness, but bold eyes, a full sensuous mouth and an air of petulance. She gazed at the bride with barely disguised hostility and they seemed to have nothing to say to each another.
Rosabelle was not only hostile she was racked with jealousy. Her saintly sister had spent two nights alone with Rafe, and had calmly told her they were in love. Only Angelina wasn’t her sister, she reminded herself. Angelina was the true daughter of the house. She now the outsider, and she hated the thought.
How cold her mother had been. She shivered, knowing she’d deserved it. Will had been just as cold. He’d made it clear to her that both of them believed that Angelina’s accident had been intentional. He’d seemed like a stranger to her.
Rosabelle sighed. She’d been forgiven when Angelina was discovered to be safe. But from now on, she would have to do as she was told if she wanted to remain part of the Wrey family. Her position had suddenly become very tenuous.
Will had made it clear the offer to take her to America was withdrawn. It was either marry George, or end up back where she’d come from. That was the gutter by all accounts. She shuddered. Raised in luxury she took for granted she couldn’t imagine being impoverished.
George wasn’t so bad, she mused, her eyes narrowing, and once she was mistress of his house she knew very well how to keep him interested. But now she’d given him a taste, she would keep him waiting until their wedding night, which suddenly couldn’t come soon enough for her.
Glancing towards the door she suppressed a smile when Nicholas and his mother appeared. In love or not, Angelina hadn’t managed to
catch Rafe. The slimy Wrey footman who’d driven them to the church exchanged an intimate smile with Nicholas. She sniggered when she realised Angelina would have a rival for her husband’s affections.
Angelina didn’t smile when she caught sight of her groom. “You’ve brought the retraction?” she asked, straight away.
Nicholas blinked, then took her hand and clasped it to his bosom. “My mother has it safely in her reticule, my love.”
The hand was withdrawn. “I would like to see it, please,” she said to Constance in a business-like manner.
Constance gave a thin-lipped smile. “After the wedding, my dear, I’m not such a fool as Nicholas.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” She calmly nodded to the rector. “I’d like you to bear witness, this wedding is performed under duress. Should this women not give me a signed statement testifying to the innocence of Frey Mellor, I intend to apply for an annulment.” She looked suddenly vulnerable as she appealed. “Is that possible?”
The rector had met Frey, and considered him a fine young man. He felt sympathy for the girl. “I cannot marry you under the circumstances.”
“You must,” she said desperately, “Else my brother will hang for something he had no part of.”
“I could call in the local regiment to sort the matter out.”
“There’s no time.”
“Then I’ll bear witness to the fact this marriage is made under duress. If called upon to do so, I’ll give testimony.”
“Thank you, sir.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and glanced towards the door as if seeking help. “I pray you, then, let us delay this mockery of a marriage no longer.”
Nicholas glanced at her in confused consternation.
* * * *
The rector was halfway through the first part of the marriage service when there was a commotion outside. It was a sound of a horse coming along the path. To his annoyance the door swung open and the figure of a horse and rider was framed in the doorway.
“This is a house of God, sir,” he muttered, wondering what he’d done to deserve such intrusion into his peace this day.
Angelina smiled as the sound of a softly whistled tune filled her ears. It was the strange, haunting notes of Pan’s pipes. Her heart became alive again. “Rafe?” she whispered, her face alight with radiance when she turned towards the door, “Rafe, my dearest love.”
Sound echoed in the empty church when Rafe picked his way down the aisle. He held out his hand to her. “Come, Angelina, Frey is saved.”
Rosabelle’s eyes widened as her glance swung from one to the other. Rafe had never looked at her like that, and Angelina had never appeared so beautiful and alive to her. A lump rose to her throat. Angelina had offered her the hand of friendship and she’d thrown it back in her face. Now it was jeopardised, she realised how much she loved the family she’d grown up in, and she swore to redeem herself in their eyes if it took her the rest of her life.
About to comply with Rafe’s request, Angelina’s arm was grabbed by Constance Snelling. “He’s lying,” she snarled. “I have the retraction.”
Angelina gazed from one to the other, uncertain when Rafe mocked. “Are you sure of that?”
Springing from her seat, Rosabelle snatched Constance’s reticule up and pushed the woman back into a pew. Pulling out a paper, she triumphantly waved it in the air. Take it Rafe, and take Angelina.”
“Perhaps you’d care to read it to us,” he suggested with a pleasant smile.
Constance’s face dropped when Rosabelle read its message. “Compliments of the highwayman?” she spluttered, her eyes mean. She’d been out-smarted, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“I shall sacrifice my love for one greater,” Nicholas bleated, turning his defeat into triumph. His eyes shone with a strange light. “What romance! What inspiration! A knight on a white horse has come to rescue the fair maiden in distress.”
“You have no choice, and my horse is a chestnut,” Rafe pointed out.
“No matter, I shall write an epic about this day. Go with your love, my chaste Aphrodite. I shall remember you for the rest of my life.”
Angelina giggled when Rafe winked at her.
“You fool,” Constance ranted, and snatching up her reticule, smacked her son about the head with it. “She’s worth a king’s ransom.”
“Must you be so vulgar, mama?” Nicholas drawled when she controlled herself. He straightened the high dressed wig his mother had knocked askew. “I was never interested in her fortune. She was my muse, my inspiration.”
“Thank you, Nicholas.” Giving him a hug, Angelina said. “I’ll keep a memory of you in my heart.”
And no doubt laugh at it, Rafe thought. She took hold of his outstretched hand and he pulled into his lap. He kissed her tenderly, announcing his feelings to anyone who cared to see.
“I knew you’d think of something heroic,” she whispered, her eyes shining with love. “I was counting on you.”
“I know you were.” Without giving a backward glance, Rafe turned his horse about, and with his love cradled in his arms, rode out into the sunlit morning and set his horse towards Ravenswood.
He wouldn’t enlighten her to the fact it was William who’d been the heroic one, at least, not yet. He wanted to bask in her admiration for just a little while longer.
* * * *
They parted at the crossroads. Thomas, Earl of Winterbourne clasped his youngest
son’s hand and wished him well.
“Are you sure you wish to stay in London with your mother, Frey?”
“Aye, sir. She intends to buy herself a pie shop. If I’m not here to keep the books she won’t be able to manage it. I can pick up plenty of work here in my profession.” The glance he gave James held gratitude. “James has offered to recommend me to a few clients.”
James’ farewell was shorter, but sincere. Frey appreciated the fact James had believed in him, and knew his respect for him would last, always.
Frey glanced at William, who caught and held his gaze. The animosity was still there, flickering in the dark eyes. William had been responsible for saving his life, so Frey felt obliged to say stiffly. “It seems I’m in your debt, William.”
William smiled a little mockingly at Frey, then held out his hand. “I owed you something for the beating I gave you.”
“So you did,” Frey said. Taking William’s hand in his he gently squeezed it, enjoying the pain momentarily clouding his eyes.
William’s eyes narrowed as the squeeze became a relentless pressure. His shoulder was inflamed where the bullet had passed through it, and Frey knew it. Their eyes locked. He gritted his teeth when pain lanced down his arm, perspiration flooded from every pore in his body. Just when he thought he could bear it no more, Frey gave a wolf-like grin and released him. William’s mouth curved in a grudging smile. “Try that when it’s healed and I’ll knock your bastard head off!”
Frey returned the smile. “There’s nothing to stop you trying, but don’t count on beating me a second time.” He drew a small, wooden carving of a bird from his pocket and handed it to James. Its wings were slightly lifted, as though poised to fly. “Give this to Angelina, with my love. I carved it for her whilst I was imprisoned.”
There was something symbolic about the bird, and James knew Angelina would appreciate the sentiment Frey had been expressing.
* * * *
The three men came into the grounds of Wrey house at sunset.
James and Thomas supported William between them. Slumped in the saddle of a grey mare he’d purchased in London, his face was slicked with perspiration and scored with fatigue and pain.
The Wrey women were waiting for them on the steps. Elizabeth had a loving smile of welcome for Thomas, concern in her eyes for William. Her arms circled the waist of Rosabelle on one side, Angelina on the other. Celine stood a little to one side, her eyes seeking those of James, her fingers threaded through Angelina’s.
There was a certain close
ness women have when they share secrets, Thomas mused. A nurturing of each other when they were in need of support. They had that air about them now. He turned to James, remarking somewhat wryly. “Mark my words, James, I think we are to receive some news later on.” Thomas watched the women flutter about William, making soothing, cooing sounds like doves as he was borne to his chamber. They were too exotic for doves in their fine plumage, yet Thomas felt strangely contented that William’s wellbeing was in their capable hands.
God willing, the boy would survive to achieve his dream of a new life in America.
* * * *
The next morning, James and his father watched the Marquis of Gillingborn come towards the house. He cut a stately figure in his fine suit of clothes. His father smiled and murmured. “Your friend has the look of a suitor about him.”
And Angelina the look of a new bride, James thought, when she hastened to greet Rafe. The smile the two exchanged was too intimate for comfort, and when Rafe casually kissed her upturned mouth James was hard put not to gasp.
His father’s face was set in an implacable mould, and he was very much the Earl of Wrey when he murmured. “It seems you’ve been negligent in your guardianship of your sister, and I intend to relieve you of it.”
“But, sir –”
“Enough! I have no intention of discussing the matter further.” The earl frowned as he strode towards the door. “Send Angelina to her mother, and instruct the Marquis of Gillingborn to attend me in my study, at once.”
“As you request, sir.”
“And, James?” His father stared at him for a moment, a tiny smile edging across his mouth. “Would the Marquis object if I suggested it might be judicious to arrange the wedding sooner, than later?”
Copyright © 2002 by Janet Woods
Originally published by Robert Hale [9780709069799]
Electronically published in 2010 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228