His letter was brief.
Dearest Katie,
Please forgive me for leaving you here. But I love Violet Lockhart and have done so since the moment I saw her at Vauxhall. By the time you read this, we will be well away; I’m sure you can guess our destination. I doubt Lord Stanton will catch us, and you can tell him so from me. I intend to take my new wife to Fenwick House for Christmas. And if the weather permits speedy travel, we shall join you at Hollystone Hall for the New Year’s Eve Charity Ball.
Love,
Freddie
P.S.: The account at the Black Nag has already been settled, and I have left sufficient funds for you to hire another carriage so that you can safely make your way to Hollystone Hall. You’ll find the money in the top drawer of your bedside table. Tell Stanton I’ll pay him back one day… Well, everything except for the sum we donated to White Church House for repairs.
Kate swallowed and handed the letter to Lord Stanton. A muscle flickered in his jaw as he read it. “I’ll say one thing for your brother, Miss Woodville, he’s a cocky bastard.”
Kate gasped at the viscount’s use of course language. Though she couldn’t dispute what Lord Stanton had just said. “What are you going to do?” she asked faintly.
“Of course you really mean is what are we going to do?”
“I don’t take your meaning, my lord.”
Lord Stanton’s expression was as fierce as it was resolute. “We are going to stop them.”
“But how? I am expected at Hollystone Hall. As part of the planning committee I have duties to fulfill. Surely you don’t expect me to chase after them with you—”
“That’s precisely what you will do. Your brother mentions he will be spending Christmas at Fenwick House. Isn’t that your uncle’s home in Cumbria? Perhaps they will also stop there on the way to Gretna Green. I can’t imagine that they’re taking the Great North Road to Paxton Toll or Mordington or any of those other towns along the eastern border.”
Kate folded her arms again. “You seem to know everything there is to know about Freddie and me. I’m sure you can find Fenwick House without my assistance.”
“You will come with me, Miss Woodville. I suggest you start preparing to leave straightaway. You have twenty minutes.”
“What will the Duchess of Haverford think when none of us arrive for the house party?”
“I’ll send my stepmother on. She’ll know what excuses to make to prevent any sort of scandalous whispers.”
“To protect Violet’s reputation, of course. And what of my reputation? I’m a young, unmarried woman, unrelated to you. I can’t go haring across the country on my own with you. What if Mrs. Brooke or anyone from the academy board hears about this exploit? My good name will be ruined. My teaching reputation will be in tatters.”
Lord Stanton drew very close. His gray eyes glittered in the light of the flickering candle he still held. “You’d best worry about the state your reputation will be in if your brother ruins my sister, Miss Woodville. Now get dressed. The clock is ticking. If you are not downstairs in precisely fifteen minutes, I will come to fetch you, ready or not.” With that, he passed her the candle and then strode back to her room; the door slammed shut after him.
Kate stood frozen to the spot for a good minute, her thoughts a wild tumble as she frantically tried to consider all of the options.
She doubted they’d catch up to Freddie and Violet before they reached Gretna Green. It surely was a hopeless enterprise. But when Lord Stanton did cross paths with Freddie… Kate trembled at the thought. There’d been murderous anger in his cold gray eyes when he’d read Freddie’s letter. Perhaps she should go, if only to save her brother’s neck. Despite his foolishness, despite the risk to her reputation, she would do anything for Freddie.
She just prayed she could make Lord Stanton see reason before anything terrible happened.
Chapter 7
Cheshire
Three days later, 23rd December
Anthony stretched his legs, stiff with cold and inactivity, and attempted to stifle a yawn. Not that it really mattered if Miss Woodville caught him yawning. Wrapped up in a thick woolen blanket, she was currently asleep—or feigning sleep—in the opposite corner of the carriage. After so much traveling, he was thoroughly sick of these constrained conditions. The biting cold. And the constant knot of frustrated anger in his gut whenever he thought of Freddie Woodville and what he was doing with Violet.
His betrayal.
He clenched his gloved hands into fists and imagined what he would do to the blackguard’s face when he, at last, caught up to him.
He cast another glance at Miss Woodville. Kate. A small part of him felt guilty for dragging her along on what had been a wild-goose chase of a journey so far. She’d borne the dragging, uncomfortable hours with nary a complaint. He’d believed her when she’d told him she’d had no knowledge of what her brother had been planning. She didn’t seem the sort to mince words or play games; indeed, from what he’d seen of her so far, she wasn’t afraid to share what was on her mind at all.
She certainly wasn’t afraid of him.
She was a refreshing change from the usual fawning females he came across at social events. Women who were all simpering smiles and fluttering eyelashes and false praise because they were trying to ensnare an unattached nobleman for a husband. After a season of fending off their unwanted advances as well as chasing away unsuitable male suitors from Violet—at least he’d been successful until Woodville came along—he was thoroughly sick of the whole damned marriage-mart business.
Kate murmured and shifted in her sleep, and the blanket slid to her lap, revealing the bodice of her dark green pelisse and matching gown. He’d noticed she’d taken to wearing clothes of a far superior cut and quality. Unlike the dull gray dress she’d worn at Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy, her traveling ensemble hugged her slender curves to perfection. His mouth curled into a sardonic smile at the thought his money had probably been used to refurbish her school teacher’s wardrobe. Although the pale green gown she’d worn on the night of the Vauxhall masquerade had been of good quality too—silk, silver tissue, and fine lace. It made him wonder how she’d come by it.
Perhaps her brother, her uncle, or her well-connected friend, Miss Tessa Penrose, had helped her out.
He couldn’t account for it, but he was beginning to find Kate Woodville quite intriguing, as if she were a complicated puzzle he wished to solve. His gaze drifted to her face. After the Grand Masquerade and their second encounter at the school, he’d grudgingly acknowledged that this feisty, sharp-tongued bluestocking was attractive in a most unconventional way. Her mouth, which was usually compressed into a disapproving line whenever she looked at him, had relaxed in sleep. Her soft, full lips were slightly parted, and a fine, rose-gold curl of hair fluttered upon her smooth as cream cheek as she breathed. Over the past few days, he’d also observed that she wore neither powder nor rouge in an attempt to hide her freckles as some women might do. He didn’t know why that should please him so much, but it did.
The carriage suddenly jolted and lurched violently. Uttering a string of oaths, Anthony reached for Kate as she was thrown from her seat. Her eyes flew open, and she cried out as he caught her against his chest. Then they both tumbled back onto his seat in a tangle of arms and legs, her skirts, and the woolen blanket.
The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and Anthony’s breath froze as he looked down upon Kate’s pale face. She lay beneath him on the leather seat, chest heaving, her green eyes wide with alarm as she stared back.
“Are you all right?” He should really check on what had happened, but at this very moment, all that seemed to matter was the young woman in his arms. The soft, warm body beneath him, the feel of her sweet breath against his mouth, and her scent—a beguiling combination of orange blossom and vanilla—were most distracting.
“Yes. I think so,” she said in her deliciously husky voice. Her gaze flickered to his mouth only inches from hers,
and she blushed. “Thank you for catching me, but perhaps you could let me up.”
“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Anthony pushed himself upright just as there came a knock on the carriage door.
“My lord.”
Anthony recognized the voice. It was Graves, the footman. He opened the door.
The young man bowed. “Wilmot apologizes for the sudden stop, my lord. One of the traces snapped.”
Damn and blast. “How far away is the nearest village?” It was mid-afternoon, and an icy wind was tearing at the bare trees beside the path and the footman’s greatcoat. They weren’t far from the foothills of the Pennines, and Anthony suspected it would snow before nightfall.
Graves clutched at his periwig. “About a mile off, my lord. Wilmot says he can walk the horses there safely enough. Hopefully there’s a decent inn with an ostler and a blacksmith.”
Anthony nodded. “Let’s hope so. Continue on.”
The door closed, and he settled back in his seat. Kate had returned to her spot; the blanket was once again across her lap, and her attire, if not her composure, had been set to rights. Her cheeks were still flushed, and several more of her unruly curls had escaped their pins. She was steadfastly examining her gloved hands that were clasped primly in her lap.
He’d love to know what had been going through her mind when she’d focused on his mouth. He certainly knew what he’d been thinking. Could still feel the heat coursing through his veins.
Good Lord. Was he really beginning to develop an infatuation for the fearsome Miss Woodville? It must simply be a result of sharing the same small space for hours on end. The forced physical proximity and the unrelenting tension were playing havoc with his thoughts as well as his body. And he couldn’t afford to have a soft spot for Miss Woodville. Or hard for that matter. He was grateful his great coat hid his inopportune bodily reaction to lying atop her.
Misplaced lust aside, at least he was a better man than Freddie Woodville. He might have threatened Kate with social ruin to enlist her aid, but he wouldn’t really do so by deed.
Not unless he absolutely had to… It all hinged on whether he could stop Violet from making the worst mistake of her life.
* * *
When Lord Stanton’s carriage at last drew to a halt in the yard of the Cat’s Whiskers Inn, Kate breathed a huge sigh of relief. The last three days had been torturous—not only had she been fraught with worry about Freddie, she’d been constantly uncomfortable, and not just because she’d been confined to a freezing cold carriage for hours on end. The worst part was having to deal with her most unwanted physical attraction to Lord Stanton. An attraction that seemed to be growing daily, if not hourly, despite the man’s cold, forbidding manner. Despite his shabby treatment of her by threatening to ruin her. Despite his threats to harm Freddie.
Whenever his cool gray gaze settled on her, her cheeks warmed, and her heart rate began to gallop. Her breathing grew shallow, and her stomach flipped over. She’d tried to fan the flames of her anger by focusing on how abominable he and his stepmother were. But it seemed her efforts had been all for naught considering how her body had reacted to having Lord Stanton lying on top of her when they’d fallen, when he’d tried to save her from tumbling to the floor.
The hot, hard weight of him; the closeness of his wide, sculptured mouth as it hovered just above her lips; the way his eyes had searched hers, the light within soft, perhaps even warm as if he had been concerned for her… As if he had contemplated kissing her… It had made her feel and think the wildest things. Unseemly, unladylike but terribly appealing things. Things she’d never felt before.
Yes, Kate was relieved beyond measure to be escaping Lord Stanton’s overwhelming presence. She accepted the footman’s hand rather than his lordship’s as she alighted from the carriage. His mouth tightened, and the expression in his eyes grew hard again at her slight. Nevertheless, he didn’t say anything other than to issue his usual instruction not to wander too far. They would be on their way again as soon as possible.
The Cat’s Whiskers Inn was small, which was understandable given its isolated situation near the foothills of the Pennine Mountains. Kate shivered as she picked up her green wool skirts and made her way carefully across the muddy, churned-up yard toward the low-roofed, gray-stone structure. Once she’d attended to her immediate physical needs, there wasn’t much chance of her wandering anywhere at all, considering the vicious gale that tore at her clothes and bonnet.
The interior of the inn was dingy and smoky, but at least it was dry and warm. But for a sullen-looking serving woman who greeted her with a grunt, it was also quite deserted. Kate decided she would risk ordering a cup of tea and something to eat for once; surely it would take a little time to repair the carriage.
She took a seat at a heavily-scarred wooden table by the fireside, and after her tea and meal arrived—a bowl of winter vegetable soup, a large crusty roll of dark brown bread, and a hunk of crumbly yellow cheese were deposited in front of her without ceremony by the serving woman—she set about eating it with gusto. It had been a long time since breakfast, and whilst Lord Stanton always made sure there was a basket of food in the carriage—Kate was certain he simply didn’t want to deal with the inconvenience of her fainting due to hunger—she was heartily sick of pickle-smeared ham and beef sandwiches or fatty brawn pies.
She’d just begun to butter the second half of her bread roll when she caught sight of a pinched little face at one of the grimy windows. A girl’s face, pale but for the windburn on her cheeks and the smudge of dirt across her little pink nose. Kate’s heart clenched at the naked longing in the child’s eyes as she focused on the food. However, when she saw Kate looking at her, her dark eyes widened with fright, and she disappeared from view.
Poor thing. Kate couldn’t stomach the idea of eating her roll and the remains of her cheese, not when she knew there was a starving, freezing child only a few feet away. There’d been times when she had been cold and hungry as a child—times when her father had spent all of her mother’s housekeeping money on drink and the gaming tables—but at least they’d had rented rooms, and Kate had never been forced to brave the outside elements on an abominable day like this. Determined to help, she wrapped up the bread roll and cheese in her napkin and slipped it into her reticule, donned her bonnet and gloves again, and then braced herself to go outside.
The girl had looked through a window facing a small stand of wind-blasted fir trees; it was on the opposite side of the inn to where the yard lay. Lord Stanton’s carriage had been moved closer to the stables, and even though she couldn’t see anyone, she caught snatches of male voices on the wind as she skirted the edge of the building.
Turning the corner, a blast of icy sleet hit Kate full in the face, stealing her breath as well as her bonnet. The gale snatched it clean off her head with frigid fingers and sent it flying toward the copse of firs. Kate squealed and, ignoring both the mud and propriety, hitched up her skirts and dashed after it.
“Miss, is this wha’ ye be chasing?” The urchin emerged from the trees with her bonnet in hand. Her rag thin skirts snapped about her bare legs, and Kate shivered on her behalf.
“Why, yes… Thank you… so very much.” Breathless with cold and exertion, she bent down and took her proffered hat. The dark green ribbons were a little muddy but aside from that, it was unscathed.
The little girl smiled shyly through the wind-whipped curls of her dark hair. “’Twas no trouble at all, miss.”
“But I will thank you all the same.” After tucking her bonnet beneath her arm, Kate retrieved the napkin-wrapped bundle from her reticule as well as a few sixpences from her coin purse. “Your assistance is truly appreciated,” she said, offering the items with a smile.
The child’s mouth curved into a bright grin. “Thank ye, miss.”
“Yes, thank ye.”
The gruff male voice beside her ear made Kate’s heart jump like a startled rabbit’s. Turning, she came face to face with a large, roughl
y dressed man with the look of a vagabond about him. Strands of greasy, black hair were plastered across the harsh planes of his face, and his glittering dark eyes ran over her with a hunger of a different kind to the little girl’s.
Her heart began to skitter about in earnest. “It’s quite all right,” she croaked in a voice that was unmistakably tight with fear. “I’ll be going now.”
Before she could take a step away, the man grasped her upper arm in a vice-like hold. “Right after ye hand over yer pretty little purse.” His gaze shifted to the child. “Get ye gone, now, Tansy.”
The child disappeared into the nearby trees, and bright anger lanced through Kate’s chest despite her rising terror. She hated to think the girl had been part of a plan to lure her outside, but perhaps she had been. “How dare you!” she snapped in her best school teacher’s voice. She refused to let this tramp steal her reticule and virtually all the money she had in this world. “Take your hands off me at once.”
“Now why would I want to do tha’, sweet darlin’?” crooned the man as he pulled her closer and lashed a bulky arm about her waist. The smell of wet wool, unwashed male and some kind of sour liquor assaulted her senses, and Kate’s stomach roiled.
“Let me go, I said,” She twisted and kicked at the man’s shins, but he simply laughed, his breath a hot, foul gust in her face. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. What if he really did want more from her than her money?
A cultured growl, low and menacing like thunder, reverberated behind them. “You heard what the lady said. Let her go.”
Lord Stanton. Until this very moment. Kate had never thought she’d welcome the sound of that odious man’s voice.
Her assailant stiffened but nevertheless released her. “I meant no ’arm, sir,” he said, hands raised in a placating gesture as he turned to face the viscount. “The lady an’ me, we were just ’avin’ a bit o’ sport.”
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