“Yes, I will,” Mallory assured him. “Thank you.”
“Goodnight to you, ma’am.”
As Mallory shut the door, her knees almost buckled beneath her. She moved quickly into the parlor, then stopped at the candlelit scene in front of her.
John still knelt on the floor, his arm around Mrs. Daniels’s shoulders, his other hand over her mouth. The lady’s eyes were wide with fright and she leaned back in her chair, her arms stiff at her sides, as if she didn’t want to get closer to John.
“Did she hear all of it?” Mallory asked, understanding now that her fate was completely tied to John’s. The realization made her angry. “John, please, you are frightening her. Let her go.”
He didn’t move, his expression serious. “If I release my hand, she’ll scream.”
Mallory made an exasperated sound. “Well, you can’t sit there all night with your hand over her mouth.” She bent down to Mrs. Daniels’s eye level. “I know you are upset about what you may have heard, but you must understand, Lord Craige and I have done nothing wrong. We mean you no harm. Now, please, promise not to scream, and Lord Craige will remove his hand. May I have your promise?”
Mrs. Daniels nodded her head.
Mallory looked at John. “Remove your hand.”
“Mallory—”
“Remove your hand. She’s a frail, old woman who shouldn’t be treated this way. Furthermore, she’s given her word of honor.”
John started to disagree with her, but Mallory silenced him with a glare. She could be as stubborn as he.
For a second, they fought a silent war of wills, then, with a small sigh of resignation, he removed his hand from Mrs. Daniels’s mouth.
The woman burst out screaming, demonstrating a very healthy set of lungs for her advanced years.
Shocked, Mallory was about to tell Mrs. Daniels she’d broken her promise, when John jumped up from the floor, grabbed Mallory’s hand, and pulled her toward the door. Mrs. Daniels rose, too, still screaming.
Together, the three of them ran out into the hall. Mrs. Daniels ran for the front door; John charged down the narrow hallway toward the back quarters of the house, half-dragging Mallory with him. He led them into one room, then another, before finally reaching a door that opened onto a small porch.
Fresh night air signaled freedom as they burst out of the door, then ran down a set of wooden steps and into a small yard, enclosed on all sides by a six-foot wooden fence.
“Where’s the gate?” John whispered in annoyance, just as the Runners’ watch rattles started shaking. Apparently Mrs. Daniels had managed to capture Bertie’s attention.
John didn’t worry about a gate. Instead, his long arms reached for the top of the fence and he pulled himself up, the sleeves of his jacket ripping in the process. Seated precariously on the edge, he reached down for Mallory. “Grab hold and I’ll pull you up.”
“No,” Mallory said. She couldn’t climb a fence; she couldn’t.
Then the back door slammed open and from the stoop, Bertie shouted, “Stop, in the name of the Magistrate of Bow Street!” and she did the impossible.
She reached for John’s hand, and before she could draw a second breath, he pulled her up beside him. For one wild second, she felt as if she were sitting on top of the world, until he gathered her in his arms and jumped down to the hard dirt of the alleyway on the other side.
John grunted as he broke the force of her fall with his body. “Are you all right?” he said in her ear. He didn’t wait for an answer but rolled easily to his feet, bringing her with him.
On the opposite side of the fence, Bertie was shouting at Mrs. Daniels to open the gate. But the landlady was so busy screaming, her voice loud enough to wake the dead, that she didn’t hear him. Her cries of, “The wicked Lord Craige has broken into my house!” set neighborhood dogs to barking.
A man’s gruff voice yelled from a neighboring window, “Be quiet out there!” Several lights appeared in various windows as homeowners investigated.
“Come,” John commanded. He took Mallory’s hand and started in one direction, just as Mallory pulled in the opposite one.
Their clasp broke. John stopped abruptly, his expression almost comical.
“This way,” she urged him. “Bertie posted a Runner in that direction.”
“And this is the closest way out of the alley,” he shot back. “The Runner has moved to the front of the house or else we would see him by now.” He caught her hand and through sheer masculine domination propelled them in the direction he wanted—only to stop abruptly when a man wearing a glossy, hard hat appeared in the alley entrance.
“Damn, you were right,” John said. They ran back the way Mallory had chosen.
Under her breath, Mallory mimicked his words, “I’m certain the Runner has moved to the front of the house.” For her impertinence, he squeezed her hand.
They ran with the Runner hard on their heels. We aren’t going to make it, Mallory thought. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Her heart pounded against her chest.
“Hard-headed lads, aren’t they?” John asked, and Mallory wondered how he could tease at such a moment.
Just as they left the alley and emerged onto the street, Mallory heard the distant clacking sounds of more watch rattles coming from another direction. More Runners!
“John,” Mallory called, trying to get his attention. He had to see that it was no use. They couldn’t run all night. They must give themselves up.
She started to call again, to pull on his hand and force him to stop, when a team of horses pulling an enclosed wagon charged around a corner. The driver practically stood in his seat to pull the wild-eyed team to a halt.
“Craige!” the driver yelled. “Get in, man! Hurry!”
“It’s Peterson!” John shouted, and pushed Mallory toward the wagon while he turned to confront the Runners.
Mallory ran to the back of the wagon. Her trembling fingers felt along the lacquered wood for the door handle. From the other side of the wagon, she heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Then another.
She threw open the door, but, suddenly uncertain, didn’t move. What if John needed help? Holding the door open for protection, she peeked around the corner.
John swung one fist and knocked a Runner into the arms of his other three comrades. He ran to join her, skidding before she climbed inside.
Without ceremony, he gave her a boost up with a hand to her rump, practically throwing her into the wagon. Peterson didn’t wait for them to slam the door shut before he set the horses in motion with a crack of his whip. Mallory started to rise, lost her balance, and tumbled back against the side. Over her head in the dark were hooks with different tools hanging from them. A peculiar odor permeated the interior.
Peterson’s driving was far worse than John’s as they charged down empty streets. She and John were bounced every which way until Bertie’s cries for them to halt and the watch rattles faded in the distance. Eventually, Peterson slowed the horses.
Mallory’s heartbeat gradually returned to normal. She sat up from her place on the floor. Then John sat up, reached for her in the dark, pulled her to him, and gave her a big, smacking kiss right on the lips!
“You were wonderful!” he exclaimed.
Mallory blinked, dazed by his enthusiasm. Her lips tingled, warmth radiating throughout her body. She’d been kissed only three times before—twice by John on their wedding day; once by Hal, when she’d said she’d consider his marriage proposal as soon as she’d obtained a divorce.
But this one was different from all the others.
Before she could gather her addled wits, John dropped his hands and scrambled over her to pound his fist against the wall next to the driver’s seat. “Peterson! Peterson, hold up.”
The wagon came to a complete halt. John made his way to the back of the wagon and opened the door.
The fresh air smelled wonderful. Mallory wondered again what the peculiar odor was. It smelled of chemicals, like
the sort used in a druggist’s shop.
John jumped to the ground. “Lord, Peterson, what a bruising ride.” He started to shut the doors—in Mallory’s face! He’d forgotten her presence already!
“John,” she said with fierce control.
“Oh, Mallory, here, let me help you.” He held out his hand.
Mallory ignored it. How dare he give her a push on the rump, kiss her, and then forget her? She hopped down from the wagon on her own.
John frowned at the hand he still held out to her, his expression puzzled. “Have I done something wrong?”
“What would make you think that?” Mallory asked crisply. She straightened her skirts and used her fingers to try to restore some semblance of order to her hair. Even in the dark, she knew she looked a fright.
John shut the doors. The man he called Peterson had climbed down from the driver’s seat and now rushed back to them. “Are you two all right?” The nervousness in his voice suggested he truly regretted driving like a lunatic.
“We’re whole and in one piece, thanks to you,” John replied. “Oh, please meet my wife, Mallory, Lady Craige. Mallory, this is Major Victor Peterson, one of my most trusted friends.”
Major Peterson made a short, proper bow in Mallory’s direction before saying, “Actually, John, I may be the only friend you have left. At Lady Ramsgate’s, someone ran in with the news that your house was surrounded by a battalion of Runners and bill collectors.”
“I imagine that cleared the party.”
“In an amazing fashion.”
“Even Applegate?”
“Applegate was with me when I rushed over to your home, but he turned tail when I decided you needed to be rescued. By the way, Hadley won’t be happy with you. His coach flipped over and is smashed.”
“Are the horses all right?”
“Yes, they’re fine, but Hadley will want your head on a platter.”
“He deserves it,” John agreed soberly. “By the way, Peterson, where did you get this wagon? It smells damned funny inside.”
“It was standing behind one of your neighbor’s houses, John. It’s an undertaker’s rig. Guess one of the servants died. You know how it is, no one wants a dead body in the house. I’m just relieved the body hadn’t already been loaded into it. Could have been a mess during the chase.”
Mallory looked in horror at the black lacquered wagon where she could now make out in the gloom gold letters on the side proclaiming “Frederick Breward, Undertaker.” She turned on Major Peterson. “You stole this wagon?”
“I didn’t steal it, Lady Craige. I borrowed it,” he said politely.
He turned to John as if to continue the conversation, but Mallory was fed up to her eyeballs with their cavalier attitude. “You stole this wagon, and the horses, and you call that borrowing?”
Major Peterson’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “It was an emergency, Lady Craige. I had to rescue you and your husband.”
“Rescue us for what?” Mallory demanded. “Our hanging?”
“Lady Craige—”
“Before, we were guilty only of being bankrupt,” Mallory said reasonably. “Now, we’ve moved on to crimes such as evading the law, breaking and entering, assaulting a Runner, and stealing horses!”
“Mallory,” John said in a low voice, “you are getting worked up over very little—”
“Very little? Do you gentlemen still believe you are on the battlefield? That you can just take command of whatever you wish? This is London, sir, not some remote village in Portugal!”
Major Peterson took a step back. “I thought it was an emergency, Lady—”
She whirled to face John. “And you should turn yourself over to the Magistrate. Now, before any more crimes are added to the list.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Have you gone mad?”
“I believe I’m close to it,” Mallory said with perfect frankness. “Please, we can’t spend the rest of our lives running all over England. Go to the Magistrate, explain that you will need some time to sort out your affairs…and that we didn’t mean to take the undertaker’s rig and horses.”
“He’ll order me slapped in irons before I get the first sentence out of my mouth. Mallory, in the eyes of the law, my uncle’s actions were as good as my own. He had a legal right to act as my agent, and I’m responsible, even if the man stole all my money. Based upon what you’ve said about the accounts at Craige Castle, I believe the man has been stealing from me for years, starting from the day I entered the army.”
Mallory felt a rush of relief. “This is even better! The Magistrate will have your uncle arrested—”
“No. If anyone finds Louis, it’s going to be me, and it will be me he answers to.”
“You?” Mallory echoed. “You don’t even know where he is!”
John’s mouth flattened and his eyes glittered. “I’ll find him.”
She turned on her heel, needing to put space between them, and found herself face to face with Major Peterson, who dropped his gaze as if suddenly very interested in the toe of his boot. All of a sudden she realized how shrewish she must sound to him.
She whirled around on one heel and started walking away from the two men.
“Mallory.” John was following her.
“Go away! Please.”
“No.” He caught up with her, took hold of her arm and pulled her around to face him.
She refused to look at him. A terrible sadness suddenly weighed her down. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her wedding ring. She held it out to him, the sapphire black in the moonlight, the diamonds twinkling like stars. “Here.” Her voice sounded dry, hoarse. “Take this and apply it to your debt.”
“Mallory—”
“This marriage is not going to work, John. We are too different.”
John ignored her outstretched hand. “Mallory, believe in me; I will get Craige Castle back for you.”
“It’s not the castle!” She turned away from him. “The castle is gone.”
“Then what is it, Mallory?”
“I said take the ring.”
“The ring is yours. I gave it to you.”
“I don’t.” want it. Can’t you understand—?”
“No! I don’t.” He stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him, and it proved her undoing.
Tears burned in her eyes. She fought to hold them back. “I’m not the person you married.” Her voice was hoarse with pent-up emotion. “Not anymore.”
“Neither of us is.”
“Take it, John.” She pushed the ring toward him.
“Mallory, it is not over between us—”
“John, it never started—”
“You’re all I have left. You and the title.”
“I am not a possession, John. I’m a person. A person you don’t even know.”
“I’ll learn to know you,” he said with confidence.
Mallory frowned at him. He truly believed what he said, that he could erase years of neglect for no other reason than because she was all he had left. “I’ve met someone else. He wants to marry me after I’ve obtained a divorce from you.”
Her words seemed to hang in the air between them.
John didn’t move. He started at her as if he was uncertain he’d heard correctly. Surprised by his stunned reaction, Mallory felt a wave of guilt. “John, I…I didn’t mean to burst out with it—”
He held a hand up for silence. His jaw tightened and he turned away. For long moments he appeared to study the building across the way.
You’re all I have left.
Dear Lord, what had she done? Nothing, she told herself…she’d only spoken the truth.
Finally he faced her, the hard planes of his face unreadable in the moonlight. “Will he be good to you, Mallory?”
The question caught her by surprise. She drew a deep breath. “I believe so.”
“Better than a husband who runs out on you?”
She didn’t answer. What could she say?
John
seemed to come to a decision. “All I ask is that you stand beside me until I find my uncle and clear my name. Do this…” He paused a moment. “Do this, and I will not challenge you if you wish to divorce me.”
Mallory opened her mouth in surprise. “You’d agree to a divorce?” she asked, still not certain she’d heard him correctly.
He nodded, his eyes watchful.
Mallory took a step back, dazed by the sudden turn of events—and by her own confused reaction. John was willing to give her a divorce. Wasn’t that what she wanted?
After what they’d experienced together this night, he seemed a far cry from the jaded Corinthian she had confronted earlier at Lady Ramsgate’s party—but no less devastatingly handsome.
In fact, if anything, she found him more appealing than the cold, distant person she had thought was her husband.
John’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “What is his name?”
“Whose name?”
“The man who has taken my wife from me.”
Mallory was glad for the derision in his voice. This was familiar ground. She shook her head. “I was never a wife to you.”
“I disagree, Mallory. According to the laws of man and the church, we are truly married. We have witnesses to that fact.”
Mallory felt her cheeks grow warm at the reminder of their wedding night. “John, there’s more to marriage than one night. We haven’t been with each other for years.”
“Ah, but during those years, I’ve been serving my country. In the eyes of the law—”
“In my eyes, John. We’re talking about what I think. I already know what you want. I’ve been living that life for the last seven years. Well, I want children. I want companionship and someone I can talk to. I want what my parents had.”
He looked confused. “What your parents had?”
Mallory made an exasperated sound. “I want to be loved. Is that so hard to understand?” There, she’d said it, the innermost desire of her heart. And now that the words were out in the open, they didn’t sound trite or silly.
Falling in Love Again Page 8