Lady Allerton's Wager (16 page)

‘Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me if there is a ship sailing past Fairhaven that might be prepared to land me there?’

‘There’s a ship sailing for Fairhaven on the morrow, ma’am,’ the captain said, peering through the dusk. ‘Moored just down the quay, past the square rigger. Over there, see—’ And he pointed to a ship that was tied up some fifty yards away. ‘Tidy craft, is that,’ he said approvingly. ‘Lovely job. Built originally as a French privateer, they say, and quite old now but as neat and as quick as they come…’

Beth stared, transfixed. The ship was very trim indeed and on the port side could be read the name
Marie Louise
next to a painting of seagull in flight. At the back of Beth’s mind a voice echoed, the voice of her nursemaid all those years ago at Mostyn:

‘Your grandfather had a beautiful ship called the
Marie Louise
, named for his French mother…It has a drawing of a seagull on the side,
La Mouette
, in French…’

So the evil Earl of Trevithick had stolen the ship along with the island and the sword. Beth let out a small gasp of shock and the captain looked at her in some concern.

‘Are you feeling unwell, ma’am?’

Beth did not—could not—reply. She had seen two men, who were standing on the quay beside the
Marie Louise
, deep in conversation. One was thin and almost concave, dressed in an old-fashioned brown waistcoat and serviceable dark trousers. The other was tall and elegant despite his working garb of a rough frieze coat over his white linen shirt. The sea breeze ruffled his black hair. Beth pressed one hand to her mouth and took an instinctive step backwards, almost tripping over the coil of rope. Her movement caught the eye of the thin man, who caught his companion’s arm and swung him round.

It seemed impossible to Beth that the man whom she had locked in a wine cellar only a few hours ago could be here on the quay at Bridgwater, seeing to the provisioning of what could only be his own yacht. How could Marcus possibly have escaped in the first place, let alone reached the port before her when she had a head start? All this went through her mind even while she spun around, ready to run away. Marcus
was too quick for her. He had already halved the distance between them and when she bumped clumsily against a stanchion and nearly fell, Marcus’s arm went around her, scooping her clear of the ground.

Beth gave a small sob of mingled fear, annoyance and strangely, relief. ‘Lord Trevithick—’

‘Lady Allerton?’ Marcus sounded savage.

The thin man came running up, panting. ‘My lord…’

‘All right, McCrae.’ Marcus’s tone was clipped. He did not put Beth down. ‘Would you call off the search, please? And take care of Lady Allerton’s luggage. I will see you in the Sailor’s Rest later…’

He looked down into Beth’s face and she saw that his eyes were blazing with fury. She instinctively shrank back from the anger she saw there.

‘As for you, Lady Allerton,’ Marcus said smoothly, ‘I will settle with you now! And in private! You are about to wish you had never been born!’

The inn was not like any that Beth had previously encountered in her travels. Although it was only late afternoon it was already full and smelled overwhelmingly of ale and tobacco. The noise was deafening—there was raucous laughter and loud conversation that quickly became lewd repartee when Marcus pushed his way thorough the throng, still carrying her.

‘That’s a pretty little moppet you have there, my lord, and no mistaking! When you’ve finished with ’er, pass ’er on…’

Beth struggled in Marcus’s arms. ‘Put me down at once, Lord Trevithick! How dare you subject me to the comments of these people—?’

‘You have brought all this and more upon yourself
through your own behaviour,’ Marcus said, through shut teeth. ‘You will oblige me by keeping still, my lady, or I shall drop you into the nearest lap and let them have their way!’

This dire threat led Beth to turn her face into Marcus’s shoulder, close her eyes and try to blot out the coarser comments of the crowd. In a moment the noise faded and Beth realised that they had left the taproom and were going upstairs. Marcus was carrying her with about as much consideration as a sack of potatoes—her feet bumped against the wall and she scraped one elbow painfully on the banister. She opened her mouth to protest, saw the look in Marcus’s eye and closed it again.

Marcus pushed open the door of a tiny chamber and dropped her unceremoniously on to the bed. Beth bounced on the mattress and came to an undignified rest with her skirts all tumbled about her and her hair falling from its pins.

‘Oof! Is it really necessary to treat me with such lack of consideration, my lord? And what can you mean by bringing me to this low place? I demand to return to Ashlyn at once—’

‘No, madam,’ Marcus said, still through gritted teeth. ‘You were the one who was so determined to be here that you would take any steps to achieve it!’ He kicked the door closed and turned to survey her, his glittering dark gaze raking her ruthlessly.

‘I have no real wish to speak to you now, but there are a few things that I must say. Leaving aside your inexcusable behaviour in locking me in Theo March’s wine cellar, you have the gross folly to try to run away and arrange passage for yourself to Fairhaven! Alone!’ Marcus ran a hand through his hair. ‘Have
you any idea of the distress you have caused your cousin? Do you even care? You have no more sense than a spoilt brat and you deserve a good spanking!’ Marcus drove his hands into the pockets of his coat as though to prevent himself from doing her an injury. ‘I would administer one myself were it not for the fact that I should probably enjoy it far more than I ought!’

Beth blushed bright red. ‘My lord!’

Marcus shot her a furious look. ‘My lady? It is about time that someone told you a few home truths! You are easily the most infuriating and exasperating woman that I have ever met! Now, I am going to meet with McCrae to arrange tomorrow’s sailing, and I shall be locking you in here for your own safety! Do you object?’

Beth stared at him, quite cowed into silence. ‘I…Marcus, I am sorry—’

‘I do not wish to hear it!’ Marcus stalked over to the door, then turned back to her. ‘Speaking of keys, I should be obliged if you would hand over the key to Theo’s cellar—at once!’

Beth fumbled clumsily in her pocket, aware that Marcus was watching her efforts with the same angry, implacable regard. When she put it into his hand she heard him make a noise of disgust, and he took it from her without a second glance.

‘We shall speak later, if I regain my temper sufficiently to do so without shouting!’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘In the meantime I suggest that you draw as little attention to yourself as possible. No leaning out of windows and begging for rescue! Do you really wish for that pack of villains to come upstairs for you? It is about time you learned some sense, Lady
Allerton!’ And, so saying, he slammed out of the door and Beth heard the key turn with finality in the lock.

Marcus had not returned by eleven o’clock that night. Shortly after his departure a slovenly maid had appeared with a tray of greasy beef stew and Beth ate some half-heartedly whilst she listened to the noise swell downstairs as even more seafarers joined the throng gathered below. The tiny room was cold and dirty, but she had absolutely no wish to effect an escape and go straight from the frying pan into the fire. It was unnerving not knowing what Marcus intended. She did not believe that he had locked her in in order to take advantage of her, but she felt uncomfortably vulnerable.

She still could not understand how Marcus had reached Bridgwater before her, but then it seemed that there was a lot that she had overlooked. It was apparent now that Marcus had intended to sail for Fairhaven right from the start, either with or without her, for he had had a boat and a crew waiting. Beth stared miserably into the meagre fire. He had told her only that morning that he intended to escort her to the island, but she had only half-believed him. Yet perhaps his intentions had been honourable all along. She had already begun to regret her impetuous flight and particularly her lack of trust, and now she felt ashamed. But the damage was done. Marcus was deeply angered by her behaviour, and with good reason.

Beth shivered miserably. If Marcus had been acting honourably all along, her lack of trust would have been particularly wounding to him. Locking him up would hurt his dignity but distrusting him went
deeper, much deeper. And just at the moment he was so angry he would not even let her apologise.

The fire had burned out and Beth slowly prepared for bed by the light of the one candle. The bedding looked none too clean and she was almost certain that she saw a flea jump from the mattress when she turned the sheets down, so she decided to lie under the bedspread and try to keep warm as best she could. This proved none too satisfactory; even fully dressed she was cold and uncomfortable, and had only drifted into a light doze when the door opened and Marcus came in.

‘Lady Allerton? Are you awake?’

Beth opened her eyes and tried to discern whether or not Marcus was drunk. Certainly a strong scent of spirits had entered the room with him, but when the candle flame flickered briefly on the expression in his eyes, she saw that he was frowning and looked sober enough. His tone of voice was as abrupt as when he had gone out hours previously and Beth’s heart sank as she realised that his temper had not improved. She struggled to sit up as Marcus sat down on the edge of the bed and started to pull off his boots.

‘Oh, what are you doing—?’

Marcus shot her an irritated look. ‘What does it look as though I am doing? I am coming to bed!’

Beth clutched the bedspread to her. ‘Here? But what will people think?’

This time the look that Marcus gave her combined exasperation and a certain grim amusement. ‘Believe me, Lady Allerton, none of the occupants of this alehouse care a jot for your reputation! They already believe that I have ravished you thoroughly and have been pressing me for the details!’ He threw his boots
into the corner of the room and started to unbutton his jacket. ‘Besides, it seems a little late for you to be worrying about such things! A hoyden who dashes about the countryside barely chaperoned, who tries to run away in the middle of the night, locks gentlemen in wine cellars and wanders about a port alone after dark clearly has no consideration for propriety!’ His frown deepened. ‘Just tell me one thing—do you have so little faith in me that you disbelieve everything I say to you? I had thought that there was more trust between us than that!’

Beth stared at him in the candlelight. His face was set in hard, angry lines, but behind that she thought she glimpsed another emotion: hurt perhaps, or disappointment. It made her feel wretched, doubly so for mistrusting him and for causing him hurt. A big lump came into her throat and she looked at him, unable to speak. For what seemed like a long moment they stared at each other, then Marcus turned away with a sigh.

‘Just why are you fully dressed and why are you
on
the bed rather than
in
it?’

Beth let out her breath on a sigh. Marcus was evidently so cross with her that he would find fault with anything.

‘It is cold and there are fleas in the bed! Not that it is any concern of yours, Lord Trevithick! Why do you not sleep on your ship?’

Marcus laughed abruptly. ‘What, would you have me leave you here all night unprotected? Is that the lesser of two evils?’

Beth turned away from him. ‘Well, if you must stay, I am persuaded that you will find the chair comfortable enough.’

Marcus made a rude and derisive noise. ‘Do not be ridiculous! And kindly move over! You are taking up all the space!’

Beth squeaked and rolled away quickly as the mattress sank under his weight. He was still in shirt and pantaloons, but he suddenly seemed too big and far too close. He was even closer once he had put out a lazy hand and pulled her back to his side. The treacherous mattress tumbled her into his arms.

‘Why, you
are
cold…’ Marcus’s voice had softened as he felt the chill in her body and tucked it closer to his. He pulled the bedspread over the two of them. ‘There, we shall warm up soon enough and be asleep…’

Beth was warming up far too quickly. Her head was on his shoulder and she could feel the heat of his skin through the thin shirt where the palm of one hand rested against his chest. His breath stirred her hair. The prospect of sleep now receded as she became acutely aware of every line and curve of Marcus’s body against hers and felt the beat of his heart strong and steady against her ear. She had never gone to sleep in such a position before. Frank had never shared her bedroom and seldom her bed. On the infrequent occasions he had troubled her for his marital dues, he had left immediately afterwards.

Beth lay still, torn between arousal and comfort. She was keenly aware of Marcus’s arm about her, his hand resting just below her breast. The awareness kept her awake whilst the corners of her mind started to cloud with warmth and drowsiness and comfort. Marcus turned his head a little and spoke drily.

‘Try to breathe a little, Lady Allerton, or you may find yourself in difficulties. Unless…’ his voice
changed subtly ‘…your clothing is too tight to allow ease of breathing? If you wish to take anything off—’

Beth gave a protesting squeak and tried to pull away, but he held her tightly. ‘Never fear. I do but tease you. But you should try to get some sleep, for the voyage tomorrow will take the best part of the day.’

Beth’s eyes flew open. ‘Tomorrow? So we do sail for Fairhaven?’

‘Of course.’ Marcus sounded sleepy. ‘I said we would and so we shall.’

‘But—’

‘No buts…’ He shifted slightly so that Beth’s head was more comfortably pillowed on his shoulder. ‘And no more discussion. I am exhausted, even if you are not. Talking can wait until tomorrow.’

Beth heard his breathing deepen almost immediately and realised that he had fallen asleep. Part of her, a very small part, was affronted that he could so easily ignore the fact that she was in his arms. Evidently he was used to being in such a situation, whereas she was tormented by his proximity. Another part of her mind was grappling with the implications of sailing for Fairhaven in Marcus’s company the following day. She tried to think about it, but she was so weary with the events of the day that drowsiness overcame all resistance. At last she was warm, comfortable and safe, and she soon fell asleep.