Tempting Torment (The McClellans Series, Book 3) Author's Cut Edition

by Jo Goodman

  "I love Hilary, Mama," Noah had said. He had not mentioned passion and his mother hadn't persisted. Noah appreciated his mother's delicacy in not pressing the issue. He wouldn't have liked to tell her that he was intimately acquainted with Hilary's passion. He couldn't count on his mother's discretion and soon everyone would be nudging him in the ribs and casting sidelong glances at Hilary's waistline.

  Noah became uncomfortably aware that he was staring at the widow's bent head, wondering what color hair was hidden by her bonnet. He looked around, saw that the other passengers had lapsed into their own individual thoughts now that they felt secure, and reluctantly tore his eyes away from the widow and her child. Dammit, he thought testily, if Hilary had accompanied him he wouldn't be entertaining these musings about the widow. It was easier to blame Hilary than to examine the reasons for his roving eye.

  If Hilary had not been so stubborn, they would have been married already, enjoying a wedding trip to England. But England was the last place she wanted to go and Noah had respected her wishes. Neither did she want to marry and have her husband leave almost immediately. Since his business trip to England had been arranged for months, there was no putting it off. In point of fact, he had put it off a number of times, hoping someone in his family would go in his stead. They knew how he hated even the thought of a sea voyage. For a while it looked as if Salem and Ashley would go, then Ashley announced she was pregnant and did not want her child born in England. Jericho and Rae had no desire to visit Stanhope or Linfield again. Noah could not hold that against them since their only contact there had been both dangerous and deadly. No one else in the family knew the intricacies of the law well enough to handle the affairs of both estates. It was left to Noah and he finally surrendered. He was not unaware that his family had an ulterior motive for sending him to England. Their eagerness to have him away from Hilary was a near palpable thing. Obviously they did not know him very well if they thought distance and a few months absence were going to make a difference in his feelings for Hilary. He was not a McClellan for nothing. He bore the same stubborn streak and unbreakable will as the rest of them.

  Noah came out of his reverie, feeling the widow's eyes on him. She looked away immediately, embarrassed at being caught in a bold stare. Noah reflected that the curiosity he felt about her was returned, though she would have denied it, as would he. What did she see when she looked at him? he wondered.

  Noah was not unaware that some women found him attractive, but perhaps that was not the reason the widow stared at him so. He had never wanted for female companionship, and until his commitment to Hilary Bowen he had been quite happy not to bind himself too closely to one. All around, it was an amicable arrangement, but Noah did not fool himself into believing all women were drawn to his face. He could think of any number who showed no interest in him, probably thought he was quite ordinary looking. Certainly there was nothing special about his dark chestnut hair unless one remarked, as his mother did, that it was uncommonly thick and as lustrous as a girl's. His eyes, well, he had two of them. More than that he couldn't say. They were neither green nor gray nor gold. Somewhat to his disgust, they were a mixture of all of that with a few flecks of sable brown thrown in for good measure. That both his sisters had been moved to say they envied him his thick dark lashes, Noah didn't care to think about. He had the McClellan jaw, with its firm and implacable thrust, and he had also inherited the McClellan height which was to say he stood nearly a head again taller than most of his contemporaries. Perhaps the widow found his height disconcerting or perhaps she was wishing he had the refined features of the young lord at her side. Noah knew there was nothing delicate about him if one discounted his damnable lashes. His nose was straight, strong, even bold. His mouth was not softened by the McClellan dimples. The high cast of his cheekbones could make him appear formidable, which was all right in the courtroom but not necessarily a good thing when he wanted to make a young lady's acquaintance.

  Dash it all! What did he care what the widow thought? No doubt she was comparing him to her husband and found him lacking on all counts. Even if she wasn't, nothing could come of it any...

  The thunderous report of a pistol brought Noah up straight and effectively shattered every thought he had about the widow except those concerning her well-being. Another shot was fired, the stage slowed dramatically as the coachman reined in his team of four horses. There was shouting beyond the confines of the coach, but little of it could be heard as the shouting within the carriage was almost deafening.

  "Told you the roads weren't safe," the farmer said grimly to no one in particular. "Ain't this just the way of things."

  "Blast and damn!" said the old gentleman, coming awake at last. "What's toward?"

  The soldier and the tradesman were peering out their windows, each shouting at the coachman to outrun the bandits. Gideon had awakened and added his screams to the others. In his corner, the vicar had taken up prayer, and the fop was cursing the fates loudly. Noah alone had nothing to say. He extended his hand across the narrow aisle and placed it on the widow's arms. She was trying to console her son and was close to tears herself.

  "Everything is going to be fine," Noah told her. "Just fine. No one is going to harm either you or your son."

  The widow shook her head fretfully, tilting her chin in the direction of the soldier and the fop. "But they mean to use their weapons."

  Noah understood her concern immediately. Any sort of resistance on their part could put the child in grave danger. He told the men to put their weapons beneath the seat just as the call came from outside to stand and deliver. "Just do it," he whispered urgently. "Your money is safe enough. Don't do anything to provoke them. You might lose a few shillings, but what's that compared to coming away with your skin?"

  The young lord still hesitated, watching the soldier hide his sword. He stared down his finely arched nose at Noah, nostrils flaring slightly. "How simply you state the alternatives when you have no valuables to speak of. I, on the other hand, still retain some priceless rings on my person. And I have a reputation as something of a marksman. There is no reason to suppose I shall miss my target."

  Noah was done arguing with his lordship, though no one suspected the end of his patience had been reached. The bare-knuckle facer he delivered to the young man's delicate jaw put a period to their conversation. The fop slumped in his seat, his chin resting on his chest. Noah relieved him of the pistol and hid it under the leather cushion just as the coach door was thrown open.

  "Everyone out!" The order was issued gruffly and showed a singular lack of regard for its victims. So much for gentleman robbers, Noah thought grimly. A flaming torch was brandished in front of the open doorway, lighting the exit. "Come on! Out with ye!" It was then the thief noticed the condition of his lordship. "Here now, wot's this? This good fellow faint at the thought of having his pockets picked?" He laughed gleefully at the idea. "Hurry now. Ain't got all night."

  The passengers alighted from the coach and faced the highwaymen. Noah counted only two men on horseback in addition to the man who stood by the coach door. Torchlight flickered across the travelers but never rested for more than a moment upon the thieves. Noah had to credit them with knowing their business. They had stopped the coach on a particularly deserted section of the post road where the forest abutted both sides. Although the night was clear, very little moonshine penetrated the overhanging boughs, thus wreathing the robbers in darkness. Their identity was safe even if they hadn't sported low-slung hats and black kerchiefs across the lower portion of their faces. Noah felt the presence of the widow at his side and he edged closer, determined to protect her.

  The highwayman nudged the passengers into a semicircle several paces away from the coach. The driver was encouraged to come down from his perch, which he did with surprising quickness, in spite of the limp he had recently acquired.

  "He's been hurt!" whispered the widow.

  Noah nodded, following the driver's halting progress to the group.
In all likelihood the man's leg had stopped a pistol ball when the first shots were fired. He heard the driver swearing eloquently under his breath. "I think there is little cause to worry. It's his pride that's been injured more than his leg."

  "No talkin'," called one of the men on horseback. "Not unless yer asked to speak." He dismounted hastily and made his way to the semicircle of travelers. Doffing his cap in a gesture filled with contempt, he turned it over and presented it to the passengers. "Yer donation to the poor is strongly suggested and greatly appreciated."

  "I'll get the bloke in the carriage," offered the other thief. "I saw a ring or two that took my fancy." He planted the butt of his torch in the ground, illuminating a small area which encompassed the passengers, then swaggered toward the coach.

  Had it not been for the widow, Noah realized he would have taken the opening given to him. He could have easily wrested the pistol away from the highwayman in front of him. That man was more interested in what was being dropped into his hat than in protecting his pistol.

  None of the passengers spoke as they parted with the few coins they had kept on them. The rogue was thorough in his search, patting down their pockets, making them remove their shoes, and checking their hands for jewelry. Silently they all gave thanks for the widow and her baby. The highwayman passed over her after dumping the contents of her reticule on the ground and sifting through it with the toe of his boot.

  "Can't you stop that squawling?" the highwayman demanded irritably of the widow. He searched Noah's pockets, found nothing, then relieved him of his hat because he fancied it, and went on to the soldier.

  "Do you want me to take Gideon?" Noah asked lowly.

  The widow shifted the baby in her arms. "No." Her voice was nearly inaudible. "I'll manage." She stroked Gideon's back but her movements were agitated and the baby merely cried harder.

  "No talking, I told ye!" yelled the man on horseback, steadying his restless mount as well as the ones on either side of him.

  Noah realized that Gideon's incessant crying was playing havoc with everyone's nerves. Without thinking of anything but quieting the infant, Noah reached inside his jacket to pull out the flask of whiskey. He had his hand over the flask when he felt the barrel of a pistol in his side. Startled, he jerked away, prepared to reveal he was not attempting to bring out a weapon. The flask glimmered briefly in the torchlight and in the next moment there was another flash of light, the deafening report of a pistol, and the acrid smell of gunpowder. The sequence of events was clearly defined in Noah's mind. He blocked out the pain in his side, the force that threw him backward, and his ignominious fall to the ground.

  "Oh, dear God!" cried the widow. Her pained voice shattered the silence that had followed the shot. Even Gideon had been startled into quiet. She dropped to her knees beside Noah. "You've shot him!" She lifted her face, framed by the black bonnet, and stared accusingly at the thief who had fired his weapon. "Damn you! He wanted nothing more than to comfort my baby! He never meant to harm you!" She carefully laid Gideon on the ground and slipped her hand inside Noah's jacket. Her fingers were immediately wet and slick with his blood. With her other hand she felt for a pulse at Noah's neck. It was faint, but definitely there. "Give me your scarf!" she demanded imperiously of the thief who had fired at Noah. "I need to stem this flow of blood."

  Above his kerchief the highwayman's eyes widened. He jerked his pistol at the semicircle of frightened passengers causing them to huddle together. No one stepped forward to help the widow. "Not bloody likely with them lookin' on!"

  The man on horseback moved forward, herding the passengers toward the coach. "In with ye!" The horses shuffled close, kicking up a light spray of dust. The widow was intimidated, but she did pick up Gideon and hold him closely. Her jaw was set stubbornly. "He's not fit to travel," she told the robbers. "We must get help."

  All three highwaymen laughed at that. "You can stay 'ere with 'im if you've a mind to," said the one who had taken the fop's last valuables. "In fact jest to be safe, you'd better stay here. With us. That'll give these gents pause about fetchin' the authorities. Eh?" He picked up the torch and waved it threateningly in front of the driver's face. "You understand? Anyone comes after us we'll have to hurt the lady."

  "That's unconscionable," protested the old gentleman.

  "She must come with us," said the tradesman trying to subdue the frantic note in his voice. He stared pointedly at Gideon's blankets which held the sum total of the passenger's wealth. "You can't mean to abduct her and the child."

  The man who had shot Noah already had one hand firmly at the back of the widow's slim neck and was pulling her to her feet. The gruff order was repeated. "In the coach with ye."

  "Release her," demanded the soldier, taking a menacing step forward and reaching for his absent saber.

  The highwayman grinned beneath his kerchief as the soldier's hand came away empty. "Be advised to seek the safety of yer coach," he said tightly. "An' quickly."

  The driver ascended to the box awkwardly and picked up his whip. "You'll go to 'ell fer this."

  "That's a certainty."

  The widow lost her footing and fell against the highwayman. His obscene remark drew her stiffly upright and her voice was unsteady. "What about Mr. McClellan? He will die without help."

  "Ain't our affair."

  "Then I'm staying," said the vicar as the tradesman stumbled into the coach. "He has a right to clergy."

  A pistol was leveled at the vicar's chest. "Yer goin' with the others! The guvnor here lost his rights."

  The vicar backed toward the coach, his face pale. His eyes were not resting on Noah now, but on the baby cuddled in the widow's arms. "I can't go. I must stay! That man's soul..." His voice drifted off as he read the intent in the robber's eyes. "But my money..."

  "Eh? Wot's that?"

  The vicar swallowed hard. "Nothing," he said nervously, climbing into the carriage. "Nothing at all."

  One by one the travelers were made to enter the coach. "At least let us take the child," the farmer said.

  The widow shook her head, plainly horrified by the suggestion and the greed which she suspected prompted it. "No. Gideon stays with me." Her voice broke as she turned her attention once again to Noah. "Really, they've said they won't hurt me as long as you don't bring the authorities."

  "Ye heard her! It's a good lot we are. Leave her off in the woods, we will. She'll find her way back." The coach door was slammed shut and the driver was given the signal to take his leave. The faces of the vicar and the tradesman were pressed against the window as the carriage jerked forward then took to the road with ever increasing speed.

  The passengers looked at one another uneasily and finally elected to stare at their laps. The young lord remained slumped in his seat, oblivious to what had taken place. No one mentioned their money now.

  "Do you think she'll be safe?" ventured the old gentleman. "Can't like it above half that she's back there with those brigands. Would have liked to help. Thing of it is, I didn't know what to do."

  The farmer snorted and mumbled something under his breath.

  "What was that?" asked the older man.

  "I said, she's got our money."

  The vicar cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's a shame about that American fellow. I doubt there is anything a physician can do for him. We'll bring one back, of course. We must, no matter what those rogues said, it's our duty. But..."

  Everyone agreed that a physician must be found. No one admitted aloud that it was a mere excuse to return to the place of the crime and get their money. Each man thought it likely that the widow would not be found alive. With varying degrees of horror they imagined her raped and murdered. And on the heels of that thought they wondered about the child. Would the baby be left unharmed? Their valuables intact? This last thought brought a flash of guilt and it was resolutely extinguished. No, the infant would not be harmed. That sort of heinous crime did not happen often, for it quite naturally commanded the attention of e
very citizen, from lord to commoner, and brought down the wrath of crown and constable alike.

  Still, it was not unheard of. None of the travelers had to search their memories long. It hadn't been many months ago that young Adam Penberthy had been abducted from the Penberthy estate, from his own nursery. Not much above a week later, the infant lord was found dead in the woods adjoining the property. The child had been left in the wild and died of exposure to the elements.

  The thought chilled them and hardened their resolve to bring help and see that the highwaymen were brought to the crown's swift justice.

  Two hours later, when they returned to the site of the robbery with a physician and a small force of the King's troops, they were no longer certain justice would be swift. Other than a splash of blood on the ground where Noah McClellan had lain, there was no sign that anything untoward had taken place. The highwaymen had made their escape, taking the widow, her child, and, it seemed, the American as well.

  Chapter 2

  Jessa touched the tip of her forefinger to Noah's temple, smoothing away a dark, damp lock of hair. His beautiful eyes remained closed to her and though he stirred, he did not wake. His small movement was enough to make Jessa pull back her hand sharply. Dipping a cloth into the basin on the bedside table, Jessa soaked it and twisted out the excess water, then washed Noah's face with the same gentleness she would have used with Gideon. Beads of perspiration were wiped from his forehead and upper lip, only to reappear a moment later as his fever continued to rage.