Karen Harbaugh (4 page)

Rothwick lifted his head and looked at Miss Ashley. She seemed calmer now but still watched him carefully. “I promise I won’t do anything to you,” he said soothingly. “I believe you are who you say you are. I am sorry I did not believe it before.”

“I am sorry, too, my lord.” She looked at him curiously. “What made you decide I was not a, ah, fallen woman?”

Rothwick grimaced. “Ladies who are, er, used to entertaining gentlemen may put up a bit of a struggle if it is what they think the gentleman wants, but they do not protest with as much vigor as you did.” He indicated the carriage door with a wave of his hand. Miss Ashley nodded, but he was not sure she fully understood. He preferred not to explain it further, however.

“Well,” she said at last. “Perhaps all this can be remedied. You need only return me to Lady Boothe’s and...” She trailed off as she caught the look in his eye.

“Not likely, ma’am,” he replied dryly. “It is late, much later than it would take anyone to go from Lady Boothe’s house to Lady Strahan’s. By the time we arrived at your cousin’s door, they would have already missed you for some time. You would be thoroughly compromised. How would you explain your long absence?”

She looked a little frightened. “I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “Perhaps I could say I was lost.”

“For almost an hour?” Rothwick replied sardonically. “It would take another hour to get back, you know.” The lost look returned to Miss Ashley’s eyes, and she rubbed them wearily. A faint pity stirred within him. “I think you had better come with me,” he said. She looked at him suspiciously and glanced at the carriage door handle again.

“No, no!” he said, irritated. “I told you I don’t mean to ravish you. I promise it—on my word of honor!” A wry smile twisted his lips. “My sister, Lydia, would comb my head with a stool if she found out I had injured a friend of her daughter’s.”

Miss Ashley still gazed at him warily but seemed to relax. “To tell you the truth, I do not know what I would say to my cousin,” she said. She looked down at her dress, a little torn and rumpled from her encounter with the two drunkards. “I do not look at all respectable, do I?”

“As well as anyone can look after what you have been through.” Rothwick pulled out his watch. “It is very late—past midnight, by the way. There is an inn close by. I think we should go there to discuss what we are to do, and depart in the morning for my sister’s house.” The earl caught her alarmed look and said testily, “And I will also hire a maid to sleep in your room.”

Miss Ashley gave him a determined look. “No,” she said. “I will choose the maid.”

Rothwick let out an exasperated breath. “My dear girl, surely you don’t still think—”

“I do not know what to think of you,” she said simply. He felt his face grow warm and was glad the carriage light was still dim enough to hide the red he was sure was rising in his cheeks. “Well, as you wish.” He sat back against the squabs of the carriage and looked out the window. A light shone in the distance. Lord Rothwick sighed. It should be the Lion’s Stone, where the innkeeper was known to be extraordinarily discreet, thank God. They would have to stay there for the night.

Chapter 3

Linnea felt sure she was in a nightmare. Though she felt she managed to cover it, confusion reigned in her mind, and her fatigue was such that she had no spark of energy left to speak or even to think. The carriage rumbled up to a well-lighted inn, and the innkeeper bowed and scraped until, she thought a trifle hysterically, that his round little body would burst. He gave her a curious look, but that was all; at his lordship’s orders they were shown to a private parlour.

A knock on the door made her jump, and a yawning chambermaid came in with a food-laden tray. That heavenly scent rising from the covered plate—yes, it was pheasant, Linnea marveled as Rothwick lifted the cover. She was very hungry. Her cousin had given her so many errands the past two days, she had scarce time to dine. Her stomach uttered a protesting growl at her hesitation, and, embarrassed, she laid her hand upon it as if to stifle the noise. Linnea glanced at the maid, wondering if she could ask her for assistance in escaping this inn, but the girl’s eyes only slid past her as she left the room. No help there.

The scent from the food tray called to her. Perhaps she would be able to think of a way to escape after a few bites. She could not think with a growling stomach, and when she did think of a way, she could not be fainting with hunger when she tried it. Linnea picked up knife and fork.

The bird melted deliciously on her tongue, and she ate far more than she thought she would under such upsetting circumstances. Linnea smiled wryly to herself. True abducted heroines would refuse all food and no doubt stab themselves with any sharp object available to escape the villain’s clutches. She glanced at the earl, who concentrated on carving. Lord Rothwick looked more like a hero than a villain, with his clean good looks and strong frame. She sighed. This merely proved, despite all of her novel reading, that she was without any sort of sensibility and not romantic at all. Perhaps that was why her father let her read novels. He always did say he should have named her Prudence. Linnea sighed. She had not been prudent tonight.

The maid appeared again and removed the remnants of their meal. The earl and Linnea sat looking at each other for a few moments. For the first time she could examine his face in detail: in all, he was nothing short of handsome. His hair was a raven’s-wing black, and his face was composed of sharp, strong planes from chin to cheek to high-bridged nose. For some reason she had thought his eyes were blue at first, but they were not such an insipid color. Slate gray they were, and set in his face like chips from that stone. She imagined they could be as hard; but they were not now. They gazed at her with a frustrated yet—could it be?—embarrassed expression.

“Well,” he said finally. “Well. I think the first thing I shall do is take you to my sister’s house. From there, we will see what we can do about you.”

Linnea felt a rising anger. “I assure you, sir, you need not do anything about me at all.”

Rothwick frowned. “And I assure
you,
Miss Ashley, that as I am responsible for your predicament, I need very much to do something about you.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “I could go back to Miss Brinkley’s as a schoolmistress.”

“And when it becomes known you disappeared and were in my company for a long period of time, how well do you think you will be received, even there?”

“I assure you, Miss Brinkley has always been very kind—”

“And I assure you it is not Miss Brinkley’s kindness that will decide whether you stay or not. How many families, do you suppose, will send their daughters to a school which has amongst their faculty a man’s cast-off mistress?” he said harshly.

Her hands clenched. “But I am not your mistress.”

“It matters not.” He sighed. “You have spent a considerable time in my company, and will spend the night in this inn—granted, with a maid, but society will overlook
that
for the sake of titillation. It is what they will assume, will you, nil you.”

Linnea stood up abruptly then, feeling the heat of anger and frustration burning within her. She faced him. “So, you!” she said furiously. “You, who have effectively ruined my reputation and any means to earn my bread—what do you suggest? What do I do with myself, your high and mighty lordship? You have left nothing for me. Nothing!” She pounded her fist upon the table and turned her back on him, facing the fireplace. She bit her lip, shaking with the effort to suppress her sobs.

She heard his high and mighty lordship draw a deep breath. “You could always marry me, you know,” he said.

Linnea whirled around again, almost stumbling over a chair, and stared at him, astonished. There was nothing in his face to deny the sincerity in his voice. She sat down abruptly. “You must be joking.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I never propose in jest, my dear. And it is a possibility you must consider
if
—and I emphasize
if—
word of our, ah, situation becomes known.”

“But this is absurd!” she cried. “Why, you do not even know me—you can’t have fallen in love with me.”

“No,” he admitted. He smiled at last. “And I trust we will not have to resort to such extremes. Yet I sun not without a certain amount of honor, and as you pointed out, I have effectively ruined your reputation and owe you at least my name. It is, therefore, important that we—especially you—consider it. You would be provided for, and need not find employment, and your reputation will not, frankly, be in shreds.”

She eyed him in disbelief. “And how would you benefit from it, sir?”

The earl’s voice was equally cool. “Of course, it is not as if I had not an interest in the matter. My sisters have often pointed out to me that it is time I considered marriage to, ah, secure the succession. You are a gently bred young woman and quite attractive, which makes my proposal much easier to make, believe me. I think you are also quite intelligent, and thus we should get along quite well.”

“Impossible!” Linnea shook her head. His bland tone and words nettled her—he spoke of her as if she were a brood mare!—but she contrived not to show it. “There must be some other answer—should our association be known, of course.”

“Of course. But if there is, I would like to hear it,” replied the earl. He looked at her with expectant politeness.

“I could tell my cousin I was kidnapped by a madman,” Linnea ventured. She caught a derisive look from Rothwick. “Well, it would be not far from the truth, after all!”

“And she would believe you, of course.”

Linnea knew it did not matter whether her cousin believed her. They had no real use for her except as an unpaid servant; they would throw her disgrace in her face every day until they were rid of her. Her present predicament would merely be a good excuse to use her harder than they had been or throw her out into the street altogether. “Oh, heavens. I—I cannot think of anything right now.” Her shoulders slumped, then she looked up at him again. “I am sure there must be a solution to this mess.”

“I am sure there is, Miss Ashley. As I have said, we shall see if we can find one when we arrive at my sister’s house. If it is any comfort to you, I seriously doubt anyone of importance will come to know of our stay together. You must be prepared, though, to accept my proposal should we need to.” He leaned back on his chair and clasped his hands around a knee.

“Absolutely not.”

His face became morose. “Alas! I had not thought it! I am repugnant to you!”

Linnea put out her hand. “Oh, no! Not at all—that is to say—”

His expression brightened ludicrously. “Then you accept.” He grasped the hand she had inadvertently held out.

“No! Really! I cannot—” She stopped then, for she had glanced at his face. His mouth wore a lopsided grin, his brows were raised in wistful hope, but his eyes danced with laughter. “You are laughing at me!” she cried angrily. “How dare you make fun of me by making me an offer!” She tugged at her hand, caught in his.

He held on firmly. “No, I was not making fun of you, merely seeing if the idea of marriage to me is really odious to you. My offer of marriage stands: I cannot do otherwise, in honor. But—you do not find me repugnant; can you not perhaps find me tolerable? There are many arranged marriages made with the partners actually disliking each other. We, at least, may come to like each other comfortably.” He paused and looked at her downcast face. “Or am I mistaken? Have I sunk below any hope of redemption? Have my actions made me seem a monster in your eyes?”

Linnea did not know how to answer. What did she think of him? She had thought him odious at first, then mad, then kind, then mad again.... She did not know. She laughed tremulously. “You must acknowledge, sir, that your actions since I entered your coach were not of a quality to inspire confidence. Even if I were to pretend it had not happened, why, I hardly know you. For all I know, you may deem it a virtue to beat one’s wife on a regular schedule.”

“Come, this is better!” Rothwick laughed. “You now have one less objection to my proposal: I can promise you upon my honor that I believe no such thing. I have always held it is better to kiss a wife on a regular schedule than to beat her.”

She retorted, “Your own or someone else’s?” before she could stop herself.

His eyebrow lifted, and Linnea’s cheeks grew hot. She should not have said such a reprehensible thing, but were these not unusual circumstances? And what did she know of him, after all? She stared at him steadily.

“Since I have no wife, that question is really unanswerable, is it not?” he said, but he smiled. “I can tell you, however, that I have never trifled with what belongs to another.”

Linnea believed him, but a faint dissatisfaction rose within her. She suppressed it out of embarrassment. What business was it of hers, after all? He was not proposing to her out of love. And she need not accept him; certainly there must be other solutions. She must think of another way out, but she could not think of anything now; her head ached with weariness, and she wanted only to sleep.

“I will take you to my sister’s house tomorrow; it is but ten miles from here. If marriage with me is that repugnant to you, perhaps Amelia or Lydia or my other sisters can find a situation for you. Or would you rather I return you to your family?” His voice was gentle.

Linnea looked away from him, her hands clasping together tightly. The kindness in his voice almost undid her, for she could not bring any anger to bear against it. “I have no family—or rather, Lord and Lady Boothe are the only family I have. My father died five years ago, not long after my brother fell at Ciudad Rodrigo.”

“I am sorry,” replied Rothwick, but Linnea thought she heard a note of relief in his voice. She almost smiled. No doubt he had little taste for confronting a justifiably enraged father or brother. “But you are tired,” he continued. “You need not decide now. Rest, I think, would be best for you now.”

Linnea looked at him gratefully. “Yes, I am tired. Perhaps I can think more clearly tomorrow.” She glanced at him uncertainly.