by Lauren Smith
“You called the masked man Lord Lennox,” Claire said quietly. “It couldn’t have been him, could it, Your Ladyship?”
Rosalind hesitated. “I thought it was. The eyes were like his, but the way he talked… I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s foolish. Lennox has no reason to rob anyone at gunpoint when he does it so well with solicitors and banks. I suppose that cad is simply foremost on my mind of late.”
Claire said nothing as they drove onward.
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Not tonight. For now, we must focus on food and shelter. I can’t seduce Lord Lennox into giving me back what is mine unless I’m able to rest and get some food in me.” Claire handed Rosalind her shawl to act as a towel to wipe herself dry as the coach jerked forward once again.
By the time they reached the little inn, Rosalind’s dress was still heavy and damp and her skin was chilled. Mr. Matthews unloaded their bags and brought them to the common room before he left to find someone who might repair or replace the wheel. Her stomach grumbled at the aromas of soup and bread.
Peering around the dim room, Rosalind glimpsed too many people, too many faces. Most were men who stared at her in mild interest, unused to seeing a lady of quality stopping at such a small inn. They were on a single road with many travelers. What if the inn was full? She shook her head. What did it matter? She and Claire had no money to pay for a room.
“How can I help you ladies?” A stout woman with a cheery face ambled over to them.
Rosalind inhaled, then slowly blew out a breath at the plea she was about to make.
“We are hoping you might have a spare room for the night?”
The pleasant woman’s smile faded. “’Fraid not. Just booked the last one.”
With a sinking feeling in her chest, Rosalind’s head dropped in defeat. “I feared as much, given the storm. What about some food?”
“Plenty of that, thank heavens.” The innkeeper smiled at them. “What would you like?”
For a brief moment, Rosalind was relieved, but then she remembered they were still broke. She was not the sort of person to take anything without giving something back.
“Thank you, ma’am, but we’ve no money to pay,” Claire interrupted. “Her Ladyship and I were accosted by a highwayman who took everything but the clothes in our trunks. Is there any way we could earn our supper? I can cook and wash dishes.”
Rosalind stared at her maid. Such a simple solution hadn’t occurred to her. When she got control of her own tongue, she hastily added, “I can help as well.”
The innkeeper smiled. “We’ve been short-handed tonight on account of the storm.” She nodded at Claire. “You can help in the kitchens. And you”—she looked to Rosalind—“can serve the tables. I’ll have you get started, and in a few hours, the three of us can eat.”
Rosalind removed her gloves and scarf, handing them to Claire before she followed the innkeeper to meet the bartender. Then she set to work, rushing back and forth from the dozen tables in the room to the bar and the kitchens.
Arms laden with trays of food or pints of ale, she had to concentrate on not spilling anything. Most of the men treated her with a decent amount of respect. Only one or two tried to pinch her inappropriately. It wasn’t the first time she’d had men make a pass at her, and one steely gaze sent their way made their wandering hands drop.
By the time the inn had quieted for the evening, she collapsed on a nearby chair at a now vacant table. Her feet ached, and she knew she’d have blisters where her ankles had rubbed against her boots.
“Here we are, dear. You’ve earned it.” The innkeeper set a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of her and then turned to wave at Claire, who was just leaving the kitchen, her dress covered in flour and stained with grease.
“Now, eat up you two.” Their host went to fetch her own bowl. When she returned, Rosalind was licking her spoon clean and feeling a little drowsy.
“Where were you ladies headed before you were robbed?”
“We were headed to Lennox House. How far is that from here?”
The woman thought for a moment. “Lennox House? You’re still a ways off. About an hour by coach. Three by foot.”
So far? “I don’t suppose anyone would allow us to ride in the back of a cart on their way past the house?”
The innkeeper looked disappointed. “If I hadn’t sent my son off to the village, I would have had him take you. But he’ll not be back for two days.”
“Thank you. We appreciate all you’ve done for us.” Rosalind meant it. This woman had done far more for them than she’d needed to.
“We women must help each other.” The woman chuckled, but Rosalind sensed she had worked hard in life for a reason, and earned her little inn without help from anyone. As a fellow businesswoman, she admired the innkeeper for it.
“I have some sacks of grain in the storage room, and you can make pallets out of them for the night. If you need to, you can stay till my son gets back.”
Rosalind glanced at her maid and then nodded. “That would be fine.” Lord knows she’d slept on worse in her youth. They followed their hostess to the storage room and helped her lay the sacks of grain down before she and Claire crawled over on top of them. Claire puffed her sack once and then promptly fell asleep.
It was not nearly as easy for Rosalind. The sounds of the grain shifting in the bags, hissing in the dark, clawed at her nerves. The wood walls of the inn creaked, and the scuttle of rodent paws scratching away kept her restless. A cold draft slipped in through the cracks beneath the storeroom door. She punched at the grain beneath her, but she couldn’t get comfortable.
Have I gotten so soft since I married Henry? Before then, she’d slept on the stony floors of the stable on more than one night, with naught but a bit of hay to keep warm. This was far better than those days had been.
Every time she closed her eyes, thoughts of the highwayman, his cold smirk and arrogant blue eyes, were all she could see. It made her heart slam hard against her chest all over again. But his voice—it wasn’t Ashton’s. An echo, perhaps, but not the same. Each leap in her pulse was not because of the robber himself but because of whom he’d reminded her of.
Am I being a silly peahen? To be imagining Lord Lennox as a masked robber? It was utter nonsense. The man had no need to rob ladies upon the road, and it didn’t seem like the sort of activity he’d engage in for amusement. And knowing him, if he’d robbed her, he would have taken his mask off and lorded it over her.
Still…something about him reminded her of Ashton. Perhaps it was simply because she’d felt robbed by him already and was clearly determined to associate all villains with that bloody baron. She paused, her thoughts circling around something that startled her. Ashton’s plan to take her businesses had been cunning, brilliant, and she had to admire the tactics he’d used.
Somewhere around midnight, Rosalind’s shoulder was jostled and she rolled over, half-asleep, to stare at the innkeeper.
“The storm’s let up, dear. One of my lads is willing to take you half the distance on his horse, but he can only carry one of you.”
Rosalind blinked, looked at her sleeping maid and sighed. I should let Claire sleep until the coach can come for her. She couldn’t afford to wait two days to confront Ashton.
“I’ll go. Would you mind letting my maid stay here until I can send for her? Our coach should be repaired before your son returns. She’ll work for room and board in the meantime, and I should be able to pay for any deficiencies once I reach Lennox House. Please let her know to wait for our driver.”
The innkeeper nodded. “That’d be fine. I’d love some help in the kitchens. I’ll tell her when she wakes. Now come on, the lad’s waiting for you.”
Wiping her hair back from her face, Rosalind brushed off the dirt from her carriage dress and followed the innkeeper through the quiet common room.
A restless young man waited by the door, and he bowed bashfully when he saw them walking his direction.
&nb
sp; “Hello, Your Ladyship.”
“Thank you for letting me ride with you.” Rosalind meant it. When the lad opened the inn door, rain was still coming down, but it had softened to a drizzle. The young man offered her a foot up on the saddle, and she kept the horse steady as he mounted up behind her.
“What’s your name?” she asked as he reached around her to take the reins.
“Rolfe, Your Ladyship.”
“Thank you. I won’t forget this, Rolfe.” She’d find a way to repay him and the innkeeper. She may be ruthless against someone like Ashton but not these folk. They reminded her too much of home and the wonderful people in the villages near her family’s castle.
As they rode for the next half hour, her hair fell loose and her barely dry dress was soon soaked again. By the time she reached Ashton’s estate, she would look like a drowned cat, not a woman ready to seduce a man for revenge.
She still wasn’t convinced that Emily’s plan would work. Was Ashton even the type of man who could be seduced? He was so cool and dispassionate…yet that night at the opera she’d seen another side of him, one that had given her power over him in that moment of blind passion. Perhaps he could be seduced…
“Here we are.” Rolfe tugged the reins to halt the horse at a pair of old stone columns marking the entrance to Ashton’s lands. “You’re lucky. Seems the storm barely touched here.”
“How far is it to the house?” Rosalind’s feet were sore just thinking about the trek in this weather in her black boots.
“About three miles.” Rolfe slipped off his horse and lifted her to the ground with the grace of a gentleman. “I’m sorry I cannot take you farther. Will you be all right?” He waited for her to respond, eyes wide.
“Yes, thank you. I’ve managed longer walks.”
“Stay on this road and you can’t miss the house,” Rolfe called out. He got back on his horse and rode away as fast as he’d come. “Safe journey!”
Rosalind squared her shoulders and began the long, agonizing march down the dirt road, hoping she’d see the house soon. The rain picked up, and the road turned thick as mud. The once beautiful skirts of her carriage gown were soon ripped, sodden and caked with mud. It dragged, heavier and heavier, weighing her down until she felt as though she were wading knee-high upstream through a river.
Her feet burned as the leather chafed against her thin stockings. Trees dotted the roadside ahead, forcing an endless line pointing to her goal. A sneeze caught her off guard and she stumbled, almost fell, but managed to catch herself.
I must keep going. No matter how much she wished she was curled up in front of a fire with a good book and a bowl of hot soup.
Ashton’s face filled her mind. A driving force to push her onward, even if it killed her.
Chapter Six
Jonathan leaned over a billiard table and prepared to take a shot. “It’s a damned good thing Cedric wasn’t home when I brought Audrey back from Fives Court.”
Ashton idly rubbed the tip of his cue against his booted foot, not missing the way Jonathan’s face was intense as he talked.
“You are planning to marry that woman, aren’t you?” Ashton asked as he waited for his turn.
He’d been relieved to have his friends arrive this evening after dinner. He’d spent the entire meal trying not to give poor Miss Merton the impression she was to receive a marriage proposal. Between his friends’ wives and his mother’s schemes, it was getting damned hard to stay a bachelor these days.
“I intend to propose once I’ve had time to settle into the new townhouse and get everything prepared. No sense in rushing.” Jonathan smacked a red ball into a corner pocket.
“Nicely done,” Charles said. “But let’s be honest, Jon. That little sprite is too much for any man to handle and still keep a grip on his sanity. I doubt you’d be able to keep up with her. She even had me on the run once, as you’ll recall.”
Ashton watched Jonathan’s face redden. He had his older brother’s jealous temperament, it seemed, but he kept it far better hidden than Godric.
“I swear,” Charles continued, “I’ve never been chased by a woman before, and yet there she was, tackling me on a settee. What’s a man to do, I ask you?”
“I still can’t believe you let her kiss you like that,” said Ashton. “She’s a lady, not a lightskirt. I’m not at all surprised Cedric blackened your eye for it.”
Charles gave an indignant huff. “You’ve never been accosted by her. You have no idea how strong her delicate little hands are, or how she can tackle a grown man right to the floor. She’s a menace to every decent bachelor. I’m keeping my distance until you marry her.” Charles lined his cue and took a shot, missing wide enough that he cursed.
“Distance? Then why on earth did you let her attend your match at Fives Court? That was dangerous and you know it! What if she’d been recognized? Or worse, what if a man had taken her while you were in the ring? Linley wouldn’t have been able to protect her—that lad’s too scrawny for that.” Jonathan bristled.
“Tom’s just young. He’ll fill out. I was smaller than a lot of men until I turned twenty-three, wasn’t I, Ash?”
“You were,” Ashton agreed. Charles had indeed been slim as a young man; it was one of the reasons he’d needed help that night in the river. Waverly had needed no help in overpowering Charles. The dark thoughts and memories swirled close to the surface, and Ash buried them.
“I’m sure Tom’s a capable lad, but Jonathan has a point about Audrey. It was not wise to let her come to Fives Court.”
Charles sighed dramatically. “She’s assisting Lucien’s brother, Avery, in his…occupation, as you know. A clever lady is worth her weight in gold, but one who can also disguise herself is that much more valuable. Audrey was merely trying to see if she could fool a crowd. She was pulling it off.”
“No, she wasn’t. I recognized her,” Jonathan insisted.
Charles snickered. “Because you stare at her little backside far too much not to recognize it.”
“Have a care, man,” Jonathan warned.
Ashton saw the younger man’s temper building up and decided to intervene. “As soon as Jonathan marries Audrey, I’m sure we won’t have to worry about her running off and getting into trouble. Problem solved.”
“Ha!” Charles was clearly not convinced.
“Regardless, whose turn is it?”
“Hell if I know,” Charles muttered and stalked over to the window facing the front of the house.
“I believe you’re up, Ashton.” Jonathan leaned against his cue, still scowling at Charles.
Charles leaned against the bay window, peering out in the darkness. “I say, do you get many beggars on this road, Ash?”
Ashton propped one hip on the edge of the billiard table. “Out here? Not particularly. Why?”
Charles pointed to the windows. “You seem to have one, and he’s headed straight to your front door. Muddy little thing, it seems.”
Ashton set his cue down and joined Charles at the window. It was nearly an hour past midnight, and only the light from the windows provided any illumination upon the poor figure trailing its way up to his house.
“It’s a woman, I think,” said Jonathan.
“I think you’re right,” said Charles. “Hard to tell with all that mud, however.”
“Perhaps you ought to check on the poor creature?” Jonathan suggested.
Ashton nodded. “Yes. I’ll only be a moment.” He left his two friends and headed for the front door. When he reached it, he heard a faint scratching sound and then a heavy thump as though something heavy had hit the door. Or someone.
Ashton pulled the door open and stepped back as the entrance hall lamps colored the pathetic, crumpled form of a woman on his doorstep. He knelt down and reached for her shoulder and rolled her over. His mind went blank for a second as he stared down at the person at his feet.
Lady Melbourne was lying unconscious at his feet, soaked and chilled to the bone.
&nbs
p; “Good God!” He recovered and dug around until he could get one arm under the woman’s knees and his other arm under her back. What was she doing here? No, that he knew well enough, but why like this? How had she traveled in this weather on foot?
Charles appeared on one side and Jonathan on the other. “What’s the matter?”
Ashton grunted as he rose and carried the heavy, water-logged, muddy woman inside.
Charles tried to peer over Ashton’s shoulder. “Wait a minute. I know that face.”
“I can’t believe she’s here,” Ashton murmured to himself. He cradled the woman close, oddly protective of her. But of course he was. This was his fault. Whatever had driven her to this, he was ultimately responsible for it.
“Who is she?” Jonathan asked.
“Lady Rosalind Melbourne,” said Charles.
Ashton ignored the men following at his heels. He headed straight to his bedchamber. Jonathan rushed ahead to open the door.
“Jon, fetch my sister and her lady’s maid. I know it’s late, but we have an emergency.” Ashton called for Charles to lay out a blanket on the bed before he placed the wet, muddy woman on it. Her dark, heavy hair was thick and sticking to her face. Ashton brushed the locks back. Rosalind looked like a half-drowned kitten, and damned if the sight wasn’t upsetting.
He had expected her arrival eventually, but in a coach, accompanied by solicitors. She was not supposed to endanger herself in a storm like this. It stirred within him two emotions he tried to avoid: pity and tenderness. And he knew this creature was generally strong enough to need neither.
“What on earth were you thinking?” he said to himself, taking in her features. The creamy pale skin that glowed like alabaster and the long lashes that fanned across her cheeks. Her heart-shaped face and soft rose-colored lips seemed ready-made for smiles and kisses.
“Ash?” Joanna’s weary voice came from the doorway. She was clutching her dressing gown, her blond hair in waves about her face. He hastily sidestepped away from the bed.