by Lyn Stone
“Sam flew forward when we hit summat in th’ road. Th’ carriage tongue snapped clean in two. His hands was wrapped in th’ ribbons, puir sod. Likely got drug aways afore he got loose.” Wrecker hawked and spat to one side, then shook his head sadly. “If he got loose.”
Nick was already making his way up to the road. “Assist Lady Emily. I’ll go and find him and the team.”
“Be careful!” Emily called as she watched him hurry away.
She picked up Nick’s leather case and began making her own way through the briars and vines while Wrecker followed, wheezing under the effort.
When they finally reached the road, neither Nick, Herring, nor the horses were anywhere to be seen.
“There ’tis,” Wrecker said, pointing to the log lying across the road. “Summat spooked them horses just round that bend in th’ road. Rabbit, most like. They reared and took off like a shot. We was already leanin’ when we hit that thing.”
Emily walked over to examine the obstruction. The branches and foliage of it lay well out of the path. Only the trunk, which had roughly the circumference of one of Wrecker’s stout legs, lay crosswise the road.
She walked over to the base of the fallen tree. However, it had not broken naturally, she noticed immediately. The stump of it stood a few yards from the edge of the road, hack marks from an ax clearly apparent on the light-colored greenwood. Someone had deliberately felled this, then dragged it to where it now lay.
Her gaze flew to Wrecker’s knowing one before he quickly glanced away to scout the surrounding area. He did not appear to be surprised, and she saw that he already held a pistol in his hand.
“Thieves?” she questioned in a near whisper.
He shrugged, moving closer to her. “Let’s us go o’er there, by that rock, ma’am,” he suggested, pointing with his free hand. “Least our backs won’t be exposed.”
Emily wasted no time. Shivers ran down her spine at the thought of robbers nearby, men who would cause a wreck to relieve the passengers of their wealth. It made no sense to her, when she thought about it. “Why didn’t they simply hold up the carriage as highwaymen usually do?” she asked.
Again Wrecker shrugged. “Don’t know. Hope we don’t get no chance to ask ’em.”
As it happened, they did not have that chance, for which Emily would be eternally grateful. Nothing else happened until she heard the jingle of harness a half hour later.
Down the road from the direction of London rode Nick on his mare and Herring mounted bareback on one of the team that had broken free and run away. Nick was leading another of the horses. She and Wrecker heaved tandem sighs of relief.
The first thing Nick noted was Wrecker holding a weapon. The footman and Emily were backed up against a huge rock as if to ward off an attack. Wrecker left Emily where she was and came forward to meet Nick as he halted and dismounted.
“Warn’t no happenstance, m’lord,” Wrecker said immediately, looking pointedly at the chopped end of the tree.
“Damnation.” Nick cursed himself for not checking that before he took off after Herring and the horses. If there had been thieves waiting…He looked around at the sparse cover available.
No one could be hiding nearby unless they were secluded behind one of the low outcroppings of rocks that dotted the landscape. One or two people might conceal themselves, but not a group of mounted highwaymen. There was hardly a place large enough to hide even one horse near the spot where the tree had been placed.
“Well, I suppose whoever planned this decided not to follow through.” He glanced at Wrecker’s pistol. “Do stay alert, however.”
He went over to Emily and put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the horses. She must be frightened out of her mind. Any other woman of his acquaintance would already have succumbed to hysterics.
“We will ride on to the inn and get you settled,” he told her gently. “I’ll hire someone to come back here and try to collect our things from the wreck if they can get down there.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide and lips trembling. “Someone attempted to kill us,” she whispered.
Nick smiled, shook his head and squeezed her closer. “No, no, of course not! The tree across the road was merely meant to force us to stop the carriage. That’s all it would have done if something had not stampeded the horses. There would have been plenty of time to stop. The highwaymen would have stepped out of hiding and demanded our money. A simple robbery attempt, that’s all it was. The wreck of the carriage must have put them off.”
He wondered whether she believed him. It sounded plausible, even if it wasn’t true.
Someone had deliberately spooked the horses somehow. Any coach or carriage traveling behind a runaway team and encountering such a large obstruction would certainly overturn.
If it had tumbled end over end on the hard surface of the road instead of rolling side to side down the brush-cushioned slope, the conveyance would have broken apart. And if he had been inside the coach with Emily, they would never have made it out of there without going over that cliff. Neither of them would have survived.
No highwayman with any sense would arrange to halt a carriage where there was no place to conceal himself until the moment of approach. There were much better places down the road to set up a robbery. But this place, with that curve in the road so that the tree would not be seen until too late to avoid it, was altogether too well thought out to suit Nick.
He hated to consider that the person or persons intent on his demise had followed him from Gujarat, or else had agents here in England. World trade was cutthroat these days, especially when one delved deeply into the politics involved in it.
When he had left India, Nick had resigned his active role in gathering intelligence and keeping the ministry informed of political problems in the countries he visited as a merchant. Obviously, his enemy or enemies either had not received word of his planned retirement in that area, or they held ill will against him for what they might consider spying.
It was spying, of course, consisting of an involved network of local informants he had recruited himself just for the purpose of informing the government, through him, of changes that would affect world trade. He also had ensured that the flow of information would not cease, though he would no longer be the one in charge of reporting it through channels.
The attempt on their lives might have been made by a business competitor. One in particular came to mind. Julius Munford had been the primary suspect in the two attempts on Nick’s life before he’d left India. It would not take long to find out whether Munford had followed.
One thing Nick did know: he must find out precisely who wanted to get rid of him and why, and then institute some countermeasures. And he had to do it soon.
He wished he had been able to persuade Emily to remain at Bournesea. However, now that he considered it, she might be safer with him than left there with so little defense and unaware of the danger. Kidnapping was a grave possibility, one he could scarcely stand to think about.
There were few men he trusted here in his own country to offer her any protection, and the ones he felt he could rely on were either about to set sail again, with him at the moment, or waiting in London.
Yes, he decided firmly, Emily probably would be better off by his side despite this latest attempt. Now that he knew to expect trouble, he would be prepared for it.
The inn proved far more comfortable than Emily had expected. The charm of the white-washed, half-timbered exterior also lent itself to the inside where a portly innkeeper greeted them.
Obsequious, yet cheerful, their host bowed and scraped, then scurried up the stairs ahead of them. All the way he nattered on and on, apologizing in advance for the humbleness of the accommodations and promising to make up for it with the evening meal. Apparently, the man’s wife boasted French blood somewhere along the line. Emily supposed he’d concluded this somehow aided her culinary skills.
She could not discern whether the inn met Nick’s
expectations. He still seemed preoccupied by the wreck.
He dismissed the innkeeper the moment they entered the chamber, then addressed her. “Please remain here until I return. Wrecker will be waiting downstairs in the public room with Herring. Lock this door and do not open it until I return.”
Nick started to leave, then turned with a further admonishment. “And be certain that it is me before you unlock it. A public inn is not the safest place in the world for a woman alone and Wrecker is none to swift on his feet at the moment if you should call for help.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” she snapped, a bit put out by the sharpness of his tone. After all, he was not the only one affected by the devilish upset.
One hand resting upon the door frame, the other propped on one hip, he summoned an unexpected grin. “Applying for the job of first mate?” he asked.
“Only mate,” Emily replied seriously.
He laughed. “Seems you’re already hired. I’ll see you in a while.”
“Take care, Nick, and please hurry back.” Emily watched him nod, wishing they had time to discuss all that had happened. When he closed the door, she approached it and turned the key.
There were things he had not yet shared with her about the attempted robbery that caused their wreck. Emily wished he would not try so hard to spare her worry and simply tell her what the problem was.
She also thought they should address what had almost happened between them earlier in the carriage. Though she had not planned to give in to her attraction to Nick quite so soon, Emily had to admit that he had certainly made an excellent case for doing so.
Matters between them had grown more and more congenial to the point where she was quite ready to take the next step in solidifying their marriage. More than ready, if the truth be known. So, apparently, was Nick. Remembering those daring caresses of his made her hum with anticipation.
“First things first,” she muttered to herself as she sat down and began to remove her muddy half boots and her stockings.
Though there was no fresh linen with which to wash, she found a half-filled pitcher of water beside the basin on the table. She should clean off the mud as best she could and at least make herself halfway presentable for Nick when he returned.
She retrieved her drawstring reticule from the chair beside Nick’s satchel where they had set them when they entered. Stretching the small purse open, Emily fished out her handkerchief. The tiny square consisted of more lace than soft linen. It hadn’t helped much in mopping up blood from the scratch on her head and would not do much in the way of cleaning the mud off of her, either.
Perhaps Nick carried a supply of extras in his satchel. She had read somewhere that gentlemen always brought along extra gloves wherever they went, so there were probably handkerchiefs in there, too.
She laid the leather case on its side in the chair and proceeded to figure out how to operate the metal fastener. Men were much more practical than women when choosing accessories, she was thinking as the latch popped open.
Her glance flicked to the door, prompted by the tiny niggle of guilt she knew she would feel if he knew she was plundering through his things. She sighed. It wasn’t as if he could walk in and catch her at it. The door was locked. Besides, he would know that she had opened it, anyway, wouldn’t he, if she used one of his handkerchiefs?
Shoving aside her overactive conscience—as well as the memory of his anger when he’d caught her at his desk—Emily opened the case wide and began to examine the numerous pockets positioned along the sides. Three pairs of gloves. A comb and brush. An extra neckcloth…
“There,” she remarked to herself when she located several folded squares of pristine linen. Slipping one out, she started to close the case when something caught her eye and held it.
A long brown envelope rested on top of a bundled sheaf of other papers. On the front in large letters was written Betrothal Contract.
She sank to her knees before the chair, the wind sucked right out of her sails. This could not be.
Maybe it was not what she thought. It could be something Nick was holding for someone else, perhaps one of the men. Couldn’t it?
Gingerly, as if the thing contained something dangerous, she lifted the envelope upright and examined the words on it.
She noted that it was not written in Nick’s distinctive, slanted handwriting, but in a more upright scrawl and quite large as though to draw attention to what was inside. Well, it had certainly grabbed her full attention, she thought with an angry twist of her lips.
With a disgusted sigh, she quickly opened the unsealed flap and drew out the document.
Upon unfolding it, she saw that it was exactly what she feared it was. Proof that Nicholas had lied to her outright. He had been betrothed to Dierdre Worthing since his eighteenth birthday, long before he had courted Emily, long before she was even old enough to be courted.
All those years ago when she’d thought they were such good friends, he had never once mentioned his betrothal. And then he had kissed her, pretended love for her and, though he had never proposed, he had certainly left the impression that he was free to do so.
Worst of all, when she had asked him directly before the wedding if he was engaged to Dierdre, he had sworn there was nothing official. A blatant falsehood. Why?
His lies of omission before he’d left for India, she could understand, though not condone. He had wanted her even though he was not free to offer her marriage. But what purpose did his denial of the betrothal serve when he was about to wed Emily in spite of it? Perhaps it was because he did not want her to know how he had intended to use her, then cast her off when it came time to marry someone else.
Emily realized she had clutched the paper so fiercely the edge of it was quite crumpled. Deliberately, she smoothed it out, wishing she could rip the blasted thing to shreds.
The document in its original intent was worthless now, of course. But it served one purpose: it had dashed all her hopes of eventually establishing a happy marriage with Nicholas.
How could she ever trust his word when he had deliberately lied to her more than once about something this important?
The furor Dierdre’s family might raise over this breach of honor could affect them the rest of their lives. Entire fortunes had been lost in lawsuits over such things. Nicholas surely knew that better than she did, yet he had not warned her.
Her imagination began to run wild.
Perhaps Nick had never expected her to reach London.
Chapter Nine
Nick entered the inn midafternoon after assisting the local men he had hired to salvage what they could from the wreck. The carriage itself was a total loss, of course, smashed beyond repair. He refused to think what would have happened had Emily gone over the cliff along with it.
He had retrieved a change of clothing from her battered trunk before having it loaded upon the private coach he had hired to carry them on to London.
Nick debated about whether to stay here the night. Emily might be too upset to travel on. If they did so, it would put them long after dark arriving. Yet, if they did not, it would mean sharing a room at the inn. He would leave it up to her.
“Wrecker, go and tell Herring that he can take the team horse and return to Bournesea. He’ll be able to ride if he goes slowly, but with that injured arm, I know he can’t drive. I have hired someone to take his place.”
“I could drive,” Wrecker informed him. “But we might need us a lookout what can shoot.”
“Just so,” Nick agreed, meeting Wrecker’s knowing gaze. “I will explain later why I did not involve the local constable in this matter. But for now—”
Wrecker interrupted. “Got to do wi’ troubles brung wi’ ye, ain’t it? Never you mind, I’ll keep a eye out and a ear open. You see to Lady Em. She took a right good shaking.”
Nick clapped Wrecker on the shoulder and nodded. Then he went up the stairs to the room where Emily waited. He hoped she had gotten some rest and was recovered enough to go
on.
He knocked on the door and she asked immediately, “Who is there?”
“Nick. Open up.”
She did so, stepping aside as he came in. “I brought you clean clothing,” he told her, laying her gown and things on the foot of the bed and setting the small slippers beside them. He tossed his own clothes down next to hers and turned, flexing his right arm and shoulder as he asked, “So, how are your aches and pains? I feel as though someone dragged me all the way here by the boots. We had quite a climb down to the carriage to fetch the baggage.”
“I am doing well enough, thank you,” she said in a clipped voice. She did not meet his eyes. And her fair skin appeared mottled with red as if she had been weeping.
“Are you certain?” he prodded, stepping closer, reaching out to tip up her chin.
Moving away, avoiding his hand, Emily clasped her upper arms and turned so that he could only see her back.
“Something is wrong,” he guessed. “What’s happened? Did someone come to the room while I was—”
“No, no one.”
Then what? he wondered. Was she upset that he had been gone for several hours? Maybe she was hungry. “We need something to eat. I’ll go down and order a meal for us while you dress.”
She said nothing.
“Will you be able to travel on today or should I arrange for us to stay the night here?”
“We can go now,” she said, her voice curiously devoid of inflection.
“Are you afraid, Emily?”
She shook her head, the movement jerky but emphatic.
Nick studied the stiff line of her back and shoulders. Something definitely was amiss here, but at the moment she did not seem inclined to tell him what it was.
How unlike Emily to be so closemouthed about anything. Little chatterbox that she was, he could count on her letting loose before long, he would wager. And when she did so…
Nick let it be. He let her be. He would allow her to freshen herself, then he would feed her a belated luncheon, load her into the hired coach and wait until she grew weary of giving him the silent treatment.