“I am in great haste, lad, there is a gentleman, you see, that I must kill.”
Primrose looked at him in shock. Kill Barrymore? Had she directed him to be so precipitant? She thought not. She swallowed a protest in her throat and regarded the luxurious finish of the beechwood floor.
“He has abducted the woman I love and I intend to have vengeance.”
Primrose looked up, then, for her heart smote her badly Love Lily? She did not know my lord knew Lily, let alone loved her! She flushed, for in her fluster she could not remember all that had passed between them in the chaise and she wondered if she had revealed herself—or her love—to him. If she had, she must take care to hide it from him in the future.
My lord, regarding her in silence, for a moment, despaired of any response but the rising color to her temples. Now was the time, if ever, for her to admit her trick, yet like some wanton, she did not! And still he loved her, those copper lights peeking out from that appalling headgear....
“I love my lady dearly, and I shall avenge her myself, but if ever I catch her entangled in a web of deceit, I shall punish her as I shall punish you now.”
Still, there was no response, but for a strangled choke my lord found hard to interpret.
“Come here, lad, for it is time that you felt the sad effect of your carelessness this day.” Primrose was not so naive as to misunderstand his meaning. She almost choked, even as she felt her heart beat miserably faster.
“Not now, sir! After!”
“What, afraid to take your punishment like a man? Be thankful I have not called the coachman to drag you outside and whip you with the cold lash of his carriage crop. That, and likely worse, would have been your fate had I not rescued you this morning.”
Primrose nodded, for she was not too green to know that in this, at least, Lord Rochester spoke the truth. She felt a strange trembling, though, as he continued on ruthlessly.
“I promised Josiah Hadley that you would be punished, and punished you shall be, though your rear end smarts two days from the enterprise.”
Primrose colored. Though Grandfather had certainly schooled Lily and Daisy upon occasion, that fate had never, thankfully, come upon herself. It had always been a blessing, moreover, that no matter how wrathful Grandfather’s birch had been, the sisters had always been singularly well cushioned by a plethora of hoops and useful linen petticoats. Though Raven had grumbled about this feminine advantage, he had never been so fierce as to order them removed. Primrose’s garments suddenly seemed absurdly scant, the boy’s breeches hugging her curves in a manner she had hardly paid attention to when hastily dressing. Now, she was aware of my lord’s eyes upon the thin, lightweight cloth. His hands, encased in excellent doeskin gloves, seemed large and uncomfortably forbidding.
The man’s eyes were upon her, his chin firm and uncompromising. She bit her lip. If Gareth truly loved Lily, then revealing herself to him in these rags would be mortifying. He would take her instantly in disgust, be forced to have her for sister-in-law. Primrose tried not to think of all that had passed between them. To do so would be to weep. Her face must have revealed something of her turmoil, for Rochester’s eyes softened.
“Hush, child.” The tone was gender, but when Primrose hesitated, the frown reappeared. He had stopped his carriage that she might confess. And still, despite all threats, she did not. The silence seemed endless. His lordship, at a loss, summoned up his anger like a mantle of protection against this woman who had wreaked havoc in his life without so much as a by-your-leave. Now, of course, she was willfully deceiving him. He stubbornly ignored his impulse to kiss her into oblivion.
“Come here.” Again, the steel in his normally pleasant accents. His intention seemed appallingly clear.
Primrose quaked. “Can you not school me after?”
“After what, if I might be permitted to inquire?” The tone was suitably scathing.
“After you have killed that gentleman?”
“After I have killed the gentleman I shall doubtless be caught up in embracing the lady.” No, he would not spare her blushes. If she would have him believe her a boy, then he would talk to her as one.
The honorable Miss Chartleys barely refrained from squirming, whether from the vision he conjured up, or from the threat to her person, it is not possible to accurately conclude. Suffice it to say that her color was high when he finally touched her. It was a clasp quite different from that which she had previously encountered. Her eyes were impossibly bright as she struggled for the words that would secure her instant release.
My lord continued. “And you, you varmint, will have made your escape. No, I do not drive one mile more until I have fulfilled my promise to Josiah Hadley. You will find, to your discomfort, that I am a man who keeps my promises.”
He tapped on the chaise and gestured to the coachman. “Have a break, Simon. There is a stream but a few steps from here. Take up your lunch and wait for my call.”
The coachman tapped his cap at Rochester, grinned curiously at the urchin within, and needed no second bidding. They waited in silence until the man was gone. Now Primrose could certainly not tell him the truth, for they were miles from anywhere and entirely unchaperoned. Rochester waited, hoping that Primrose would quail under his glare and yield first. He had no taste for this type of bullying, but his anger was still high, and she persisted in this charade, allowing him to think hellish thoughts of what might be becoming of her at the hands of the good Viscount Barrymore.
“Tell me your thoughts.”
Primrose’s eyes widened and her throat ached. How could she tell him? Tell him that she loved him, that she was miserable, mortified, maddened with hopelessness? Impossible. So, she said nothing. He called her to him quietly. Misunderstanding his intention, she rebelled.
“No!”
“No?” The marquis stared at her hard, so Primrose remembered his earlier threat about the coachman and his lash. Heart beating faster than ever she could dream, she questioned him unsteadily. “After . . .”
“Yes?”
“After you have done this thing, you will continue your chase?”
“Of a certainty.”
“Then I shall do as you say.”
Rochester sighed. And still, she did not trust him. Then there was the veriest touch of warm pink skin brushing against his shirt as she moved toward him. It was outrageous, this teasing of his. He would have to yield defeat and release her, for she was now, in truth, trembling. He was being grossly unfair—a cad, he supposed, but oh, how he wished she would trust him! Still, confidences could not be forced; they were precious gifts to be given freely or not at all. Sighing, he shook his head, dark curls lingering over his temples. Then he pressed her back into the velvet cushions. He was disappointed, but disappointment could not overshadow his admiration. She was both brave and true, not to mention very, very, very lovely. He had been unwise to send Simon away. She offered a terrible temptation.
Primrose regarded him steadily, her huge eyes asking more than she knew. They were wet with unshed tears, yet she held herself calmly. She was admirable. Oh, admirable! He would be blind not to see it. The marquis relented. It was time enough for the charade to end. No matter how she teased and troubled him, yet she was indomitable in spirit. Suddenly, all of the anger was gone. His lips twitched.
“You may stop trembling, my dear, for, though I am loath to admit it, I swear that I shall never lay hands on you so long as I live.”
Primrose stared at him. His words were simple, yet so sincere that she forgot his previous rather dire threats to the contrary and regarded him closely. Her heart soared at his altered tone, though she was still abundantly confused.
“I do not understand, my lord.”
“Oh, but I think you do, my little urchin. Come here, while I remove that despicable headgear of yours. A pearl-trimmed bonnet from a decent French milliner will become you more. I shall see to it just as soon as the banns have been posted.”
Primrose, for once, was
speechless. Could he be mistaking her for Lily? But surely not, when Lily was so strikingly featured and unmentionably beautiful. Was he run mad, then? She had little time to ponder this possibility, for she found herself on his side of the chaise, again. This time, in a singularly fast but entirely maidenly fashion she had no objections to at all.
“My lord!”
“I thought we had agreed on Gareth.”
His voice was soft and mischievous as he removed the offending hat and cast it on a vacant seat.
Primrose gasped, for he was certainly not mistaking her for Lily, now. She had just time enough for air before he was kissing her ruthlessly and his hand, once more, was on her spine.
“Stop!”
“Good God, Primrose, you are a strange creature! When I threatened to spank your pretty little derriere, you say nary a word, but when I kiss you, you yell stop!”
“In truth, my lord, if my wits are wandering you have only yourself to blame! And when I think what you have put me through, this day . . .”
“Yes?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I believe I shall marry you after all. It will be fit punishment for you to be leg-shackled to an ill-tempered termagant.”
He released her, then, and laughed. “But why the charade, Primrose? I received the most urgent note from one of your sisters, saying Barrymore had ridden off with you. I was beside myself with rage and worry. Then I find you masquerading as a street varmint and nearly causing yourself grief of the first order . . .”
“I had no notion you would respond so quickly. And the letter, my lord, was from me.”
Light dawned. “From you? But why so cold, my little love? You signed it a curt ‘Miss Chartley,’ for all the world as though we were strangers.”
Primrose blushed.
“We were.”
“After what passed between us at Almack’s we were strangers?” His voice was incredulous and so harsh Primrose began to think, again, about the nagging ache to her rear.
“You might have wished it so, my lord.”
“Foolish girl! I went directly over to Raven Place and formally acquired permission to court you.”
Nineteen
There was a moment where the wind blew into the carriage and the horses whinnied, but Primrose heard none of these things. She stared, instead, at Gareth, Lord Rochester, and asked herself quietly whether she was dreaming. She thought not, for the man was regarding her with such a smug smile upon his distinguished countenance that she felt ready to throttle him. One did not wish to throttle in dreams.
“Permission to court? From Grandfather Raven?”
“The very same.”
She digested this news in silence. “How did you tell him we’d met?”
Gareth’s eyes gleamed a little. “I did not. It infuriated him mightily.”
Now Miss Chartley was pleased to chuckle, for it seemed to her that Lord Rochester was more formidable by day then he was by night. She had a taste, she found, for formidable men, especially ones that were wickedly handsome and glanced at her as though at any moment she might expect to find herself bedded. She flushed furiously at the thought.
How the mighty had fallen that she, Miss Primrose Adelaide Chartley, fabled for her common sense and prosaic character, should have come to this. She disentangled herself from his grasp and sat up.
“Did he curse you?”
“I believe so.”
“Did he throw a pitcher of barley water at you?”
“No, but I believe, at one time, he threatened to.”
Primrose sighed in satisfaction. “Then it is well. He must like you exceedingly.”
My lord smiled and would have proceeded with the delightful task he had set himself—poor Simon by the river would have had a long wait—but for a sudden urgency in Primrose’s eyes.
“We must set off at once!”
“Whatever for?”
“Barrymore still has Lily in his clutches. Nothing has changed.”
“Oh, but it has. It was you, you see, that I thought he had set his sights on.”
“What matter it? One of us is still at risk.”
“Only of being wedded out of hand. Barrymore warned me he might do such a thing. I thought he was speaking of you and nearly split him with my own dueling sword.” Rochester’s tone grew suddenly grim and Primrose could not help smiling.
“Yes. Laugh, but I tell you it was a close-run thing for him. But for the fact that he is a rather beguiling character that I actually quite admire, I would probably even now be up before the assizes.”
“For his murder? Come, come, you exaggerate. But pray, don’t let me stop you. Continue with this fascinating tale at once!” Primrose’s heart was now brimful of joy, for she knew that Rochester would not dally thus if there was true cause for alarm.
“Being a civilized soul, I merely agreed to invest a fortune in his coal mines and assist in whatever way I could with the design and implementation of a steam-based rail engine. Primrose, we shall be pioneers of a new era, for I believe that very soon there will be a railroad across the length and breadth of the country. Imagine that—what will it mean for our postal systems, for our ability to travel without changing horses, without . . .”
“Intriguing, my lord, and one of my pet interests, as I think I may have informed you the other night. However, if you can just veer, possibly, more to the point . . .”
“Shrew!”
Primrose allowed herself a small smile. “So instead of running him through with a sword . . . ?”
“... I gritted my very fine teeth and rather icily informed him to withdraw his claim. I also mentioned that you were all removing, shortly, to my town residence, there to be sponsored by my mother.”
“Thus increasing his haste! My lord, are you sure it is wedding he intends?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“For his stab at the Raven’s Ransom?”
“Very possibly.”
“Then let us make haste at once!”
Rochester cleared his throat. “I can tell you, however, that whether or not he is influenced by the ransom, I believe him to be wholly in love. Therein lies his salvation, for I had it in me to pity him. I know what it is like to love a Chartley sister.”
“But not the same one.”
“Not the same one.”
Primrose sighed. “A lifetime ago it was Lily I thought you loved.”
“A lifetime ago? Only a carriage ride ago, you silly girl.”
“It felt like a lifetime.”
“Is that why you did not reveal the truth to me?”
Primrose nodded.
“My poor girl! You nearly got spanked for that.”
“Right properly, too, I warrant.”
“No, I have not the temerity.”
“Fustian! I was quaking in my boots. It is very thankful I am that you made me that promise. I shall hold you to your word.”
“I nearly always keep my promises. I believe I told you that several times this ride.”
“And very ominous it sounded to me, too! Now let us get going, sir, before I change my mind and select myself a meeker husband.”
So saying, my Lord Rochester moved forward and very gently, teasingly, did something to mistress Primrose that caused a blush to rise to her forehead and a soft “Oh!” to escape her lips.
“You prove your point, my lord. I hope you are not always so inventive in your arguments.”
“Oh, but I am.”
“Then we shall be arguing a lot when we are wed.”
Gareth stopped his rather seductive actions and grinned.
“Indeed, I count on it!”
“Very good. But for the moment, you shall meekly oblige me and get going!”
“Why?”
“Because I have a mind to see Lily wedded.”
“She is likely that already.”
“Then I have a mind to wish her happy.”
Gareth regarded her, for a moment, warmly. “We shall make haste, then, for I doubt
Barrymore will be pleased to see us if we arrive toward nightfall.”
“It is not comme il faut, you mean, to break in on an abduction?”
“No, I believe that is perfectly acceptable so long as you do it politely. Etiquette, however, does not permit breaking in on ... pardon your blushes . . . postabduction seduction.”
“I see. How remiss of me not to have perceived that finer point for myself.”
“Yes, very remiss. Simon!” The marquis raised his voice.
“My lord?”
The voice came from a suitable distance.
“Make haste, if you please! We continue!”
Whilst the coachman leapt up to obey Lord Rochester’s command, Primrose tidied what she could of the jerkin and knee breeches and looked ruefully at her erstwhile captor.
“I never thought I would be so vain as to wish fervently for a gown. A gown, a gown, my kingdom for a gown!”
“Yes, well I don’t deny you look comelier in one!”
“Brute!”
“. . . But you feel infinitely better in knee breeches. I shall insist upon them in the bedroom.”
“You don’t try to spare my blushes, do you?”
“No, why should I? They are delightful.”
Primrose ignored him, though she felt a delicious happiness creep into her heart.
“Remember, to the coachman I am still a street urchin.”
“Very well, you whippersnapper! And what shall I tell Lily?”
“Oh, Lily will know at once! She will be in peals of laughter at this escapade, for she has always said that since I have ever been good and proper and commonsensical, I shall one day fall into the very devil of a scrape!”
“She was right, then.”
“Yes, she was right.” Smiling amicably, Primrose scanned the road for any sight of the inn.
“Damnation!” Sir Rory cursed as the team was brought to a sudden halt. It jarred Lily terribly, for the chaise was not well-enough sprung and she had pins and needles from sitting with her back rigid and her fingers clenched for a good half hour at the minimum.
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