Karen Harbaugh (26 page)

Linnea’s heart lifted, and she half thought of turning the carriage around but remembered Rothwick’s accusations. She pressed her lips together briefly, then smiled politely.

“I give you my congratulations, then. When, may I ask, did she accept?”

“She has not—yet.”

“Do you not think that is somewhat presumptuous, Sir James?”

“No. However, it will be less possible if you do not have dinner with me.”

“And how can that be?”

Sir James smiled at her. “I will tell you when we have our dinner.”

Linnea stared at him, twisting her lips in suspicion. She felt he was quite sincere somehow, and that despite his previous importunity, she could trust him this time. Her stomach rumbled gently and gave strength to her curiosity. How would he manage it, though?

“I will not suffer for it, or be taken advantage of, shall I?”

“No. And you may have your footman outside the door and your maid with you at all times for propriety’s sake.”

“Very well. I am quite hungry, I confess, and shall be glad of refreshment, and would not like to dine alone.”

It was but a short distance to the inn at the crossroads. After escorting her to a private parlour, with Thomas the footman just outside the door and Betty the maid within, they sat down to a very fine table of roast capon and asparagus.

Linnea looked at her companion curiously. “So now will you tell me what part I am to have in your supposed future marriage?”

“Of course.” Sir James took a sip of wine and gazed at her, smiling. “I have sent a letter to Miss Amberley, to be delivered at dinner. In it, I told her I have absconded with you—as she desired.” The little maid at Linnea’s side jumped up with a gasp, hastening to her mistress’s side.

Linnea paled and rose from her chair. “You said—”

“Sit down—both of you—if you please!” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of steel in it. Betty stood stubbornly next to her mistress, but Linnea sat down again.

“Yes,” he continued. “I did say you were quite safe, and despite my other... attributes, I keep my word. I expect your husband and Miss Amberley to arrive”—he took out his watch and looked at it—”oh, within the half hour.” He slipped his watch back into his pocket and sipped his wine again. “Of course, there is always the chance that Miss Amberley will show your husband the letter and not come herself, in which case I shall have to think of another scheme. But that is life, is it not? Full of risk and challenges.” He chuckled gently.

“You are mad,” Linnea said.

“Oh, no. I know exactly what I am doing.”

“And how do you know Lord Rothwick will come here?”

“It was in Miss Amberley’s original plan to show him how unworthy you were—nonsense, of course. Regardless of what she may feel for me, she will show him the letter I sent her.”

“He may very well not care.”

Sir James smiled kindly. “But he does, of course. He is a proud man, your husband. And he loves you.”

Linnea blushed and turned her head away. “Then you have seen something I have not.” They were conversing on very private matters indeed, and she was uncomfortable, but she felt compelled to talk to Sir James. She did not want to believe it, lest her heart gain another tear in it, but if there was a chance at all...

“Oh, come now, my lady. I have seen the way he has looked at you—he is a man besotted!”

“He accused me of all manner of insulting things.”

“He was jealous.”

She raised her gaze to him. “Do you think so?” she asked hopefully.

Sir James grinned. “I barely escaped being thrashed to a pulp after he saw me kiss you. Lord Rothwick is a persistent man. I had a deuced difficult time eluding him this morning when he was storming about, wanting—I am sure—to kill me.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Linnea’s eyes were suspicious again.

“Think of it as recompense for my, er, excess of civility to you this morning.”

She raised her brows skeptically.

“Well, then, let us say I lack an audience for my, ahem, genius.”

“Ah,
that
I can believe.” Linnea relaxed and nodded to her maid to sit down again.

Sir James put a hand to his heart. “Lady Rothwick, you wound me. I—” A pounding on the door interrupted him, the door crashed open, and Lord Rothwick strode into the room. Sir James pulled out his watch and nodded gravely. “How gratifying. Precisely to the minute.”

But he was not given much time to appreciate his prophetic powers, for Rothwick grabbed him by the neckcloth and pulled him out of his chair.

The earl had found them easily; Sir James’s letter even said they would be at this inn. He had a temper, it was true, but never had he felt such rage as he did now. Linnea was
his,
and no one would take her from him. His thoughts had boiled over at the sight of Sir James, and his morning’s frustrated anger converged upon his present wrath. Rational thought left him, and he became a primitive, seething mass of impending violence.

“Good. You are here. Now you will die.”

“How crude,” Sir James managed to croak through the grip on his neck. “I would not have thought it. And you have such an impeccable reputation for elegant address in London. Gakk!”

With a jerk, Rothwick let him go, apparently recalled somewhat to a sense of civilized rules. “You will name your seconds, sir!”

“No!” cried Linnea. Both men ignored her, although Betty went to her side and put an arm around her shoulders.

Sir James smiled at him genially. “I think not.”

“You admit your wrong, then.”

“I only admit I might have been misleading in my letter to Miss Amberley.” He looked past the earl to the doorway and sighed. “Alas, I see she is not with you. I shall have to think of another plan.”

Rothwick stared at him, baffled, then contempt grew in his eyes. “You are a coward.”

Sir James’s smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. “Oh, no,” he said softly. “You are quite wrong.”

“Prove it, then.”

A fist shot forward, and Rothwick jerked his head, feeling the rush of air past his jaw. He returned the punch, but Sir James was just as quick. Rothwick grinned fiercely. This was just as good. Better, in fact. Sir James avoided another hit and struck upward to the ribs. It landed, but only enough to make Rothwick stagger a little.

“Stop it! Stop it, I say!” cried Linnea. She looked around frantically and saw Thomas the footman watching the two men with fascinated attention. “You! Thomas! Stop them, please!”

Thomas scratched his head thoughtfully. “Pity to do it, your ladyship. Never seen such a good mill in all my life. Lots o’ science, hardly any windmilling atall.”

“You looby! Do what her ladyship says!” Betty shouted.

Thomas shrugged helplessly. “Can’t. I might get hit.”

“Silly coward!” hissed the maid.

“Yes, mum!” said Thomas, and settled down on a chair to watch the fight.

Rothwick was tiring fast. The rage that had pumped his blood full of energy was leaving him, and a touch of the fatigue he’d felt after the influenza seeped in. His mind was clearer now, and he knew he should have simply issued his challenge, taken Linnea home, and fought at a later date. As he dodged another blow, he noted that a small crowd had appeared at the door of the parlour. He almost groaned.

A feminine shriek pierced the air, and Sir James glanced away. Rothwick’s fist drove toward his jaw in a flush hit, he felt a deluge of cold water across his face, and then he saw Sir James slump senseless to the floor.

Rothwick felt a hand shove him aside, and he pushed his wet hair from his eyes. Sophia had rushed to Sir James and was on her knees beside him.

“No! Oh, no!” she sobbed, cradling his head to her bosom. “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean it to happen like this, truly I didn’t.” She turned fiercely to Rothwick. “You beast! You’ve killed him!”

“Good flush hit, yer lordship.” Thomas peered at Sir James’s purpling jaw. “Don’t think he’s going to stick his spoon in the wall, though. Still breathing.”

Rothwick ignored him. He gazed at Linnea, who was still holding the water pitcher in her hands. She blushed and looked away. He moved toward her, then noticed the interested crowd at the parlour door.

He eyed them coldly. “This is not a rare show. I would appreciate it if you all—including my servants—left us alone. Except the innkeeper.” The innkeeper, who had been torn between his admiration for what appeared to be a bout between two superb athletes and the ruination of his best private parlour, shuffled toward him. Rothwick whispered something in his ear, and the man’s face brightened considerably.

“Of course, your lordship, anything you say, my lord,” he said, bowing profusely. He turned to the inn’s guests, still hovering about the threshold. “You heard His Lordship! Out! Out!”

The guests moved away, reluctant, amidst much grumbling that their entertainment was at an end. The innkeeper shut the door firmly behind him.

Sir James’s eyelids fluttered, then opened to stare dazedly at Sophia. “Ah! Miss Amberley,” he murmured. He nestled his head more comfortably on her bosom. “How delightful.”

Sophia burst into fresh tears.

“Do stop drowning me, sweet one, and kiss me.”

“I, I can’t, I—”

“Silly chit. Kiss me now.” He pulled her down to him. They parted at last, and he said abruptly: “Where is your brother?”

“He... he did not want to come here. He said it was foolish of me to interfere.”

“You were quite right to interfere, my sweet, but do so in a less startling manner next time. I need to see your brother, to inform him we are to be married.”

“M-married?” Sophia stuttered, and blushed bright red. “I have not said I would marry you!”

“But you will, of course. We have witnesses that you have more than a slight affection for me.” Sir James grinned.

“Ohhh! No, no, I will not!”

“Your reputation is quite ruined now, my love. You must marry me.” He looked at Linnea and Rothwick for confirmation.

“Well—”

“I think—”

“You see?” said Sir James, cutting them off. “They agree with me. You really have no choice.”

Sophia gazed at him in consternation. “But, but—”

He cut her off with another kiss. “Say yes.”

“Yes, oh, yes!”

He smiled at her tenderly. “That’s a good girl. We shall be married as soon as I have talked with your parents.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Who the deuce is it?” shouted both Rothwick and Sir James at once.

“Er, it is I,” came the muffled voice of Richard Amberley.

Sir James and Rothwick exchanged a look. “Come in,” Rothwick said.

Richard peered cautiously around the door as he opened it. “Er, ah, I thought I would see if I might be of any help.” His eyes widened at the sight of his sister kneeling next to the prone Sir James.

Lord Rothwick went to Linnea and grasped her wrist, pulling her toward the door. “I think, Amberley, you’ll want to be alone with your sister and her betrothed.”

“Betrothed!”

Rothwick shut the door behind him. He turned to Linnea. “Now, my dear, we will do what we should have done some time ago.” He kissed her firmly, then pulled her along the hallway and up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” cried Linnea, struggling. They stopped by a chamber door.

“We are going to consummate our marriage, my dear,” he said calmly. “I am going to make mad, passionate love to you until both of us collapse from exhaustion.” He opened the door, picked her up, closed it behind them, and carried her to the bed.

“No!” Linnea said, attempting to sit up. He pulled her down again and gazed at her.

“Why not?”

“You have not said you love me at all.”

“Oh, is that all?” replied Rothwick. He smiled at her tenderly, and her breath caught in her throat. “My foolish wife. Why do you think I want to kiss you? Why do you think I wanted to rip Sir James’s flesh from his bones when I thought he had taken you away from me?”

She turned her face away but could not avoid the kisses that followed the unbuttoning of her cloak. “Knowing you, my lord, it could well be in a dog-in-the-mangerish frame of mind.”

An impatient sigh burst above her head. She looked up at his amused and frustrated face. “I love you, my sweet simpleton. And if it takes me a hundred years to make you feel the same toward me, I will most certainly try. Now, kiss me.”

Linnea put her hand to his lips and smiled. “You may try all you like, my love, but I already do.” She pulled him down to her and kissed him.

They heard a tentative knock on the door.

“What in God’s name is it now?” roared Rothwick, collapsing on top of Linnea in frustration. She stifled a giggle.

“‘Tis me, Betty, your lordship. I was wondering what Thomas and I should do.”

“Go to the dev—”

Linnea stopped his words with her hand. “Betty, I want both of you to take the coach and come back in an hour—”

“Five,” growled Rothwick.

“Five hours, Betty,” Linnea said, turning pink.

“Yes, my lady.”

Rothwick sighed and kissed his wife once more. A fiery light grew in his eyes. “And now, my love...”

“Ohh, William...”

Linnea’s little maid had not quite left when this last sighing moan drifted through the chamber door. She froze, blushed furiously, then ran swiftly down the stairs.

Copyright © 1995, 2011 by Karen Eriksen Harbaugh

Originally published by HarperCollins Regency (ISBN 0061083356)

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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