Marry in Scandal

by Anne Gracie

  He said nothing, but his expression confirmed it. Through cracked lips he said, “Do you think I can sleep while some bastard has my little sister in his power?”

  “Do you think you can search for her effectively without sleeping?” she countered. “You told me once that a person who gets insufficient sleep does not think clearly. They make mistakes. Remember? We were talking about the war.” She gently rubbed his rough-stubbled cheek with her palm. “Be rational, my darling. Sleep tonight, and make clearer decisions in the morning.”

  He hesitated, and she added, “If Gretna is the villain’s destination, the men you sent to search for her on the road will be there. They might even have found Lily by now.”

  “But they might not, and—”

  “Did you not tell them that if they failed to find her on the road, one of them was to remain at Gretna and watch for her until further notice while the other one returned with whatever news they had?”

  “Yes, but—”

  There was only one way to deal with such heroic stubbornness. “Very well, if you don’t go to bed and get some sleep, then I won’t, either.”

  He gave her a shocked look. “But you must!” His gaze dropped to her burgeoning middle. “You need to sleep for the baby’s sake.”

  She shrugged. “I couldn’t possibly sleep knowing you were riding off into the night, worn to the bone and not having slept for the last three nights. Besides, you know I sleep better when you’re in bed with me.”

  There was a long silence. “Stooping to blackmail, love?”

  She smiled. “You give me no choice. Besides, you know I’m right. You’ll do better after a sleep.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I’m going to muddy up this frivolous garment again.”

  She held him tight and lifted her face to receive his kisses. “I’ll be taking it off soon anyway.”

  Chapter Eight

  But far more numerous was the herd of such,

  Who think too little, and who talk too much.

  —JOHN DRYDEN, “ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL”

  Ned passed a cold, uncomfortable night on the stairs, sleeping fitfully and waking often. When he did sleep he was disturbed by dreams of owls and kisses and fur rugs that kept slipping off pale, silken skin, which didn’t help. Then at some ungodly hour, after he’d finally drifted off, Elphingstone tripped over him.

  “What the hell—?”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry, needed to visit the privy and can’t find the poky blasted cubbyhole where they put me,” the man babbled, backing away. “Didn’t see you there in the dark, Galbraith.”

  A likely story. The fellow’s curiosity was legend. Perhaps Ned should have let Elphingstone think he was traveling with his mistress, instead of whetting the man’s curiosity with a mystery. But if he had discovered Lily’s identity then, she would have been ruined for certain. This way, there was at least a chance.

  For the rest of the night Ned dozed on and off, but he rose at dawn with a plan in mind. He went in search of hot water, shaved and made his ablutions, then went to find Mrs. Baines. Big, bluff and hearty though the landlord was, Ned had earlier decided that Mrs. Baines was the true general in that family. He explained his scheme to her.

  The good lady took a little convincing, but he offered her a handsome payment and she finally agreed to his proposal. That achieved, he went upstairs and found Lily and Betty already awake and dressed. He explained his plan to them. Betty went in to strip the beds.

  In the morning light the bruise on Lily’s cheekbone was dark and livid against her creamy skin, and there were faint lilac shadows beneath her eyes. But her eyes were clear and bright and lovely, with no shadow of a drug in them and for that he was thankful.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked her while Betty bustled about in the next room.

  “Surprisingly well, thank you.”

  “No nightmares or other problems sleeping?” It would be perfectly understandable if she did suffer a reaction to her ordeal.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s odd. I thought I might have bad dreams or wake up with night terrors of some sort, but I didn’t.”

  “Perhaps the drug helped blot it from your mind.”

  She considered the suggestion. “You know, that might be it. Thinking back, it’s almost as if that part of the journey—the part when I was shut in that horrid box—it’s almost as if that were the dream. The nightmare. The bit that’s clearest in my mind is when I was out of the coach, in the cold air, hiding in the ditch, running away from Mr. Nixon, and . . . and . . .”

  “And fighting him off very bravely,” he finished for her. Not to mention being hit across the face by the filthy brute.

  She blushed at his praise. “You’re the one that fought him. But, if the drug has helped me forget it, and allows me to sleep through the night without nightmares, well, that’s something to be grateful for, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed.” Again he was impressed by her quiet courage. Most ladies of his acquaintance would be milking the situation for all it was worth, not trying to shrug it off. “Now, breakfast will be here in a few minutes. You’re clear on what to do when you go downstairs?”

  She nodded, and Betty, coming back into the room, added, “Yep. I’m goin’ to enjoy this.”

  As he went downstairs he ran into Elphingstone. As he expected. He’d swear the fellow was usually the type to snore the morning away, but this morning he was up bright and early in order to sniff out the mystery.

  “Morning, Elphingstone. Sleep well?”

  “Not in the least. I passed a very disturbed night,” he snapped. “I’m sure there were fleas in my bed!” Either his valet had not yet attended him—which seemed unlikely—or he was displeased with his master: Elphingstone’s hair had lost a good deal of its puff and was distinctly lopsided.

  “Join me for breakfast in the taproom?”

  Elphingstone hesitated, and glanced up to the landing outside Lily’s room, but Ned left him no choice. “I’ll order for us both. Meet you in the taproom in five minutes.”

  Ned ordered breakfast for two and, while he was at it, quietly informed Mrs. Baines that Elphingstone was a notorious London gossip, out to make trouble for himself and his sister. He told her he planned to smuggle Lily out of the inn as soon as possible after breakfast.

  “A nasty gossip, is he? I thought as much,” Mrs. Baines said in a voice that boded no good for Elphingstone. “Driven us all mad, he has, with his finicking ways and fussing about this and that—nothing is ever good enough for Lord Fancypants. Well, who asked him to stop here, I ask you?”

  Ned added fuel to her already smoldering fire. “He told me there were fleas in his bed.”

  “Fleas!” Mrs. Baines’s already impressive bosom swelled mightily. “How dare he! I’ll give him fleas! Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll make sure he stays well away from your sister. Fleas indeed!” She marched away.

  After a large and sustaining breakfast, Ned sent for his carriage to be brought around. “Leaving, eh?” Elphingstone said.

  “Yes, you’ll be able to rent the room tonight.”

  Elphingstone snorted. “Not if I can help it. Demmed wheelwright ought to have my carriage ready by now. Sent my man around to check.” He remained loitering in the hotel entryway, feigning interest in a collection of horse brasses displayed on a wall and peeping curiously up the stairs from time to time.

  Waiting for Ned’s “young relative” to appear, no doubt.

  A few moments later a female figure, enveloped in a faded blue cloak, appeared at the top of the stairs, peered out from beneath the capacious hood as if to check that the coast was clear and then hurried downstairs.

  Elphingstone sprang forward. “Let me help you, my dear. My name is Elphing— Oh!” he exclaimed as Betty pulled back the hood.

  She grinned. “Mornin’, sir, I hope I’ll be
gettin’ my bed back tonight.”

  “Yes, yes,” he muttered crossly. “Get along with you, girl.” He returned to demonstrate further fascination with the horse brasses and ignored Betty as she collected a large knotted bundle from her mother and went outside.

  A moment later another cloaked and hooded figure tiptoed cautiously downstairs.

  Again Elphingstone sprang forward. “May I assist you, my dear?” He seized an arm.

  The hood fell back and Betty’s younger brother Jimmy glared up at Elphingstone. “I ain’t nobody’s dear, and certainly not yourn.” He wrenched his arm from Elphingstone’s grasp and stepped away. “That basket for me, Ma?” he said, and collected a large covered basket from his mother.

  “Very considerate of you to be so helpful toward the inn’s staff, Elphingstone,” Ned commented casually. “Though I’m not sure the landlord will take to you roughing up his son. Or his daughter, for that matter.”

  “I wasn’t—I—oh, forget it,” Elphingstone muttered, just as another young woman came down the stairs, half buried beneath a large bundle of laundry.

  “Want me to strip your bed, sir?” she asked Elphingstone as she passed. Her soft Yorkshire burr was muffled by the load she carried.

  “No, no, get along with you,” he snapped, stepping back ostentatiously to let her pass.

  “I’ll be off now,” Ned told him after the young woman had disappeared. “Good luck with getting your wheel fixed.”

  “Eh, what?” Elphingstone glanced around. “But where’s your—” He broke off, realizing he’d been tricked, and hurried to the entrance to try for a glimpse of Ned’s elusive companion.

  Mrs. Baines stepped into the breach, blocking his exit. “Now, my fine gentleman, what’s this I hear about fleas? I’ll have you know there’s never been a flea yet in my inn, and by all accounts you have a reputation for spreading nasty rumors, so . . .”

  As Ned swung lithely into the carriage, he heard the sound of raised voices, a grim female one and a light male voice babbling in protest. He grinned. “Your mother is a redoubtable woman,” he told Betty.

  “I dunno what that means, sir, but she ain’t one to be crossed, right enough. Serve him right for spreading nasty rumors. Me bed’s as clean as a whistle—all the beds are—and I changed his sheets meself.” She added with a grin. “The wheelwright he’s waitin’ on is me uncle Billy—Ma’s brother—so Lord Fleabit’ll be lucky to get his wheel fixed anytime this week.”

  They all laughed. He glanced at Lily. “That wasn’t a bad Yorkshire accent you did before. I was almost fooled myself.”

  She smiled. “Betty coached me.”

  He suddenly realized there was one passenger less in the carriage. “Where’s your brother, Betty? I promised your mother—”

  “Jimmy’s up on top—mad about horses, he is. Wants to drive a coach when he grows up. Mr. Walton said it was all right by him as long as it was all right by you.” She bounced excitedly on the seat, almost dislodging the large covered wickerwork basket beside her. “London, eh? Jimmy and me are that excited. We never been farther than Leeds. I want to thank you, sir, for takin’ us up. Ma said you need me to chaperone Miss Lily, and Jimmy is comin’ to look after me.”

  “Yes, and I promised your mother I’d put you on the coach back home myself.”

  “But not before you’ve seen the sights of London, eh, Betty?” A tiny smile hovered on Lily’s mouth. He couldn’t look away. “Until this year, I’d never been to London, either, so I’ve promised to show Betty and her brother all the famous places and sights she’s heard about. Only not—” She glanced at Betty, her eyes dancing.

  “Turns out the streets ain’t paved with gold, after all,” Betty said in disgust.

  Ned smiled faintly at Betty’s naïveté. She’d never been twenty miles past her village, and travelers at the inn had filled her ears with some very tall tales about the nation’s capital. He leaned back in the corner of the coach and let the female chatter wash over him.

  They had a grueling journey ahead of them. Normally he wouldn’t attempt to cover that distance in one day, but the longer Lily was away from home, the more likely it was that the story would get out.

  He pretended to be gazing out the window, but at a certain angle he could see the pale shadow of Lily’s reflection in the glass. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  He was glad he’d arranged for Betty to come in the carriage. Being alone in the carriage with Lily would have been . . . unbearable.

  She would fall asleep eventually—it was a hellishly long journey to make in a day—and if they’d been alone, he would have been obliged to hold her again, to prevent her from falling. He’d have to feel her softness against him, smell the fragrance of her hair and body.

  At least she was fully dressed this time. He wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for that or not.

  He watched her face in the glass, fascinated by the changing of her expressions, and the sweetness of her. Anyone would think she really was interested in a tavern maid’s conversation.

  He’d hired Betty to ensure that everything would be drearily and safely proper and respectable. Everything meaning himself.

  What had he been thinking of, kissing Lily last night? And why could he not put the memory of those kisses out of his head?

  He’d kissed scores of women, slept with dozens and moved on from them all without regret. Why was this one girl so impossible to dismiss? He was aware of every movement she made, every shift in position. His ear was attuned to the timbre of her voice. And whenever she moistened her lips it was as if he could still taste her.

  Fifteen more hours to London.

  It occurred to him suddenly that the girls had fallen silent. He focused on Lily’s reflection in the glass and found her staring back at him, or at least his reflection. Or was she staring through his reflection, and beyond to the passing scenery? He couldn’t tell.

  She cocked her head and gave him—or the window—a little smile. Did she know he’d been watching her?

  He gazed thoughtfully out the window a moment longer, pretending fascination with a flock of sheep, then turned away from the window. “Ah, the bucolic pastoral life. So”—he glanced from one to the other—“run out of things to talk about? It’s going to be a very long journey. I have some things here to help while away the hours.” He opened a small compartment set into the framework of the carriage.

  Lily leaned forward eagerly. “My father’s carriage—my brother’s now—has a similar compartment with all sorts of entertainment—card games, puzzles, backgammon and draughts.”

  Betty frowned. “Don’t the pieces slip off the board with all this bumping around?”

  “No, they’re specially made for traveling,” she explained. “They come in a little wooden box that opens out flat with hinges to form the board. All the pieces have little pegs, and they slot into tiny holes in the board so they don’t slip or fall off when the carriage hits a pothole or bump. Cal’s set has chess pieces too, from India I think, carved in ivory and ebony. It’s beautiful, but I don’t play chess.”

  “I have something similar,” Ned said. “But since I was planning for a solo journey, I left the games at home. I think you’ll enjoy these, though.” He pulled out a small stack of books.

  To his surprise, Lily made no attempt to examine the titles. She sat there with a frozen half smile, saying nothing. Her expression gave him a sudden, unwelcome thought. He glanced at her companion. “Can you read, Betty?”

  “Course I can,” Betty said scornfully. “Went to the school in the village for three years, didn’t I?” She examined the books eagerly. “Got any scary stories?”

  That was all right then. For a moment he thought he’d embarrassed the girl, but of course an innkeeper’s daughter would have some schooling. He selected a small gray volume and handed it to Betty. “Try this—Mr. Lewis’s The Mon
k. It’ll curdle your blood.” Betty seized it gleefully and curled up with it in the corner of the carriage.

  He selected a book bound in pretty blue leather and offered it to Lily. “This one might appeal to you. It’s called Persuasion, by the author of Pride and Prejudice, who I know all the ladies love. By all accounts it is—”

  “No!” The word almost burst out of her.

  He frowned. What the—?

  “Sorry, but no thank you.” She avoided his gaze, her color a little heightened.

  “Already read it? Then what about—”

  “No! I—er, I cannot—” She took a deep breath and seemed about to say something, but then she hesitated, slumped a little and said in a defeated-sounding voice, “I get sick if I try to read in a moving carriage.” She sounded almost ashamed, but plenty of people suffered from travel sickness in a carriage.

  “Never mind, I used to have an aunt with the same problem,” he said easily. “I’m sorry now I didn’t bring any games or puzzles.”

  There was a short silence, and then he added, “Have you actually read Persuasion?”

  “No,” she said stiffly.

  “Then what if I read it aloud to you?”

  She blinked. “Aloud? You’d read it aloud—for me?”

  He nodded. “It would be my pleasure. I never get carriage-sick, and I’d quite like to read this. So how about it?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.” She gave him a brilliant smile.

  He opened the book and began to read: “‘Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage . . .’”

  As he read, his voice deep and clear, even over the rattle and creak of the carriage and the sound of the horses’ hooves, Lily’s panic slowly subsided.

  Can you read, Betty? Of course, ask the innkeeper’s daughter that. Don’t bother asking the earl’s daughter—no question that she could read.

  I get sick if I try to read in a moving carriage. It was perfectly true—except that she felt sick whenever anyone asked her to read.