Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance (10 page)

The vase whistled through the air and landed on Blythe’s skull with a solid thunk.

He went down to his knees, stayed there for what appeared to be a long time, then slowly fell forward. A tray dropped from his hand, dishes scattered every which way. Food splattered. Tea spilled.

Claire dropped her weapon and quickly closed the door. The man—who was most certainly
not
Lord Blythe—was wearing the red and silver livery of the Marquis de Marchant.

“Oh dear. Oh my. Oh no. Oh. Oh.” She knocked out a
servant.

She dropped to her knees to place a hand on the man’s head and felt a large lump forming behind his ear.

“Oh my goodness.” She closed her eyes in mortification. The poor man. All he was doing was bringing her food and drink and she
struck
him.

She stood, looked down on him, looked at the closed—unlocked—door, then back at the man. She bit the corner of her lip. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He was already unconscious and the door
was
open.

She yanked the bedsheets from the bed and grabbed a few pillows. Gingerly she rolled
him over, relieved to see that he was breathing normally and his eyes were fluttering beneath closed lids. Hopefully that meant he was coming around. But not too soon.

Carefully she lifted his head and cushioned it with the pillows, wincing when he bled on the expensive fabric. Then she covered him with the blankets. Standing, she looked down at him, hands on her hips, and nodded. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

On the floor.

In the middle of the room.

With a broken tea service scattered around him.

Claire chewed on her lip some more, then turned and walked out of her prison. Quickly she made her way down the hallway and descended the steps, following the sound of voices. She wasn’t quite sure how she was going to make it to the front door without being noticed. Then again, she was only concerned about being noticed by Blythe—damn his miserable, gambling, drinking hide—and Gaudet. Blythe would no doubt be involved in some card game, which left Gaudet as the only threat.

She hurried across the open expanse of the entryway, past the naked statues doing unspeakable things, with her breath held, eyes forward, ears tuned, but all she heard was the laughter of the ladies of the night in the room to her right and the low murmur of the men in the room to her left. It was that room that she was most concerned about.

A shriek from one of the ladies had Claire quickening her pace until her hand was on the knob to the front door. She looked around furtively then yanked the door open and stepped outside.

The cold, spring air nipped at her heels as she hurried down the stone steps toward the carriage. Claire hadn’t planned this far ahead, but if she was anything, she was ingenious. After all, her brothers told her so on numerous occasions.

She stopped at the carriage and looked up. The driver was asleep, his chin resting on his chest, rising and falling at regular intervals. She rubbed her chilled arms and cleared her throat but that didn’t elicit any response. She cleared her throat again, louder this time, and shot a nervous glance at the house.

It would be some time before Blythe discovered she was missing. It would be sooner than that before the staff realized one of their servants was missing. When they discovered him lying unconscious in her room, a hue and cry would go up, alerting Lord Blythe to her disappearance.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Excuse me.”

Nothing.

With a sigh she climbed up onto the box, bunching her skirts in one hand while she pulled herself up with the other. The conveyance rocked to the side and still the driver slept on.

She poked him. “Excuse me.”

Goodness, the man could sleep through anything.

She shook his shoulder.

“Huh.” He jerked, snorted and looked around with bleary eyes, his hat askew, one corner of his mouth wet with drool.

“My apologies for waking you, but we’re ready to leave now.”

He looked around him, twisted and looked behind him, then pierced her with a red-eyed glare. “Where’s the gent?”

“You mean Lord Blythe? He’s in the carriage.” She leaned close and wrinkled her nose. “Inebriated, I fear.”

“Ah.” The driver cleared his throat and unhooked the ribbons. “Well then. Get on in. Where’re we going?”

“Um.” Good question. Where
were
they going? “Place Dauphine.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Place Dauphine? ’Tis the middle of the night. ’Tweren’t nothing to be open now.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s nearly morning. Something will open soon.”

A shout erupted from the house. She looked at the driver, panic climbing into her throat. He looked back suspiciously, heavy brows drawn over skeptical eyes.

“One more thing,” she said. “Lord Blythe … Well. He cheats sometimes at the gaming table. So if someone chases us, continue driving and don’t stop for
any
one.”

Quickly she climbed off the box. The carriage took off. Claire had to grab hold of the door handle and hoist herself in or be left behind. Before she shut the door, she looked at the house. Men were emerging, pointing at the carriage.

Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.

One broke away from the pack and took off running after the conveyance. Claire folded her hands in her lap and prayed to the carriage driver god that the man would take her at her word and drive like the devil was after them. Because, Lord knew, the devil
was
after them.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she chanted, closing her eyes, not willing to see how close Blythe was.

People began shouting and Claire opened her eyes. Sure enough there was a crowd following the carriage, led by Blythe himself. For such a large man, he certainly could run fast.

He came within feet of the conveyance. Claire resisted the urge to pound on the ceiling and plead with the driver to urge the horses faster. After all, Blythe couldn’t possibly outrun the horses.

He leapt. Claire squeaked. He grabbed on to the door handle and pulled himself up. Claire lunged for the lock, too late realizing that she hadn’t even thought to secure it. Before she could fully engage the lock, the door was jerked open and Blythe tumbled in, landing in a very large heap at her feet.

He leaned halfway out of the carriage to grab the door and slam it shut before he lurched to the opposite seat and collapsed into it, his chest heaving, his glare ominous.

Several heartbeats of silence passed. Claire began to fidget until she finally blurted out, “I told you I was going to escape.”

“That you did. You didn’t tell me you were going to render Gaudet’s servant unconscious in the process.”

She looked away and chewed on her lip for a moment. “I thought he was you.”

Blythe barked out a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “I have that to be thankful for at least.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You left me locked in a room in a brothel. What did you expect me to do?”

“What any sensible woman would do. Stay there until I came to fetch you.”

“So I was to bide my time until you saw fit to finish whatever illicit activity you were engaging in?”

“Yes.”

“I am not your luggage, my lord. I don’t sit in a closet until you decide you need me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I put you there to keep you safe and that was not a brothel. That was Marchant’s residence.”

“You could have fooled me.”

He leaned forward. “And what would you know about brothels, my lady?”

She turned away from him, too furious to speak. She knew about brothels because Richard loved to frequent them then return home smelling of liquor and women. He bragged that he got more satisfaction out of paid services than he did with his wife. The humiliation still stung.

“Where are we headed?” Blythe settled into the squabs, long legs splayed, head resting on the back, hands folded on his stomach, as if he were ready for a nap.

“I am headed for Place Dauphine. Let me know where you would like to be dropped off and I’ll ask the coachman to stop for you.”

“Place Dauphine? What business do you have there?”

It infuriated her that he completely dismissed her not-so-subtle hint that he leave. But what else should she have expected? Compliance? “I have something to sell, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your concern.”

His eyes twinkled and she marveled that his anger had so quickly dissipated. Surely he was still furious over her escape, yet he seemed to have forgotten all about it. “Selling your wares, my lady?”

Her shoulders straightened. “I don’t believe I like your tone of voice, my lord. Nor your insinuations. If I’d wanted to sell my
services
, I would have done so quite easily at Marchant’s.”

His mouth thinned and anger snapped in his eyes. Ah, so the anger was still present. She instantly regretted poking the beast yet refused to take back her words.

“That is nothing to jest about,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Yet wasn’t that what you were insinuating?”

He shifted and didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“Did you not say you were traveling to Italy?” he asked.

Wary of the sudden change of subject, Claire watched him, waiting, unwilling to answer his question for fear there was a purpose to it.

Blythe suddenly sat forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped loosely as he stared at her closely. “I have a proposition for you.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard it.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Hear me out.”

“No.”

He sighed and sat back, tapping his fingers together as he contemplated her. He could contemplate her all he wanted. She was
not
granting him whatever boon he’d thought up.

“My meeting this evening—”

“Ah, yes. The mysterious meeting that forced you to imprison me for hours on end.”

A jaw muscle twitched. Claire knew she was pushing him, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t one of her brothers. He wasn’t her husband—thank you, Lord. She had no ties to him and therefore didn’t have to bend her will to his. Yes, he could return to England and tell Sebastian she was traveling without a maid and had lost all her papers, including most of her money. But even if he did, she would arrive in Italy long before Sebastian came for her. Besides, she very much doubted Blythe would want Sebastian to know he’d locked her in a room at a brothel.

Very well. It wasn’t a brothel, but it may as well have been.

“My meeting has led to another meeting,” he said, apparently choosing to ignore her caustic remark.

“How nice for you.” She infused all of the sweetness she possessed into her voice. Admittedly it wasn’t much at this point, but quite enough that he narrowed his eyes.

It took him a few heartbeats to reply, no doubt because he was chewing on his anger. She hoped he choked on it.

“You have no chaperone. No maid. No money.”

She eyed him pointedly. “If the purpose of a chaperone is to dictate to me, then I reject your services as my chaperone.”

“That’s not what I was going to suggest.”

“Lord Blythe, even you, a degenerate gambler and drunkard, understands that two adults of the opposite gender cannot travel together without raising eyebrows. It’s unseemly. And while you may not care about your reputation, I do.” That was a lie. She didn’t care one whit about her reputation, which was already in shreds if anyone discovered what she’d been about the last few days. All of the busybodies in London, Paris and Venice could hang for all she cared. Too many years she lived under the fear of her reputation. Her brothers threatened her with it. Her husband pounded it into her—literally. And what did it get her? Vapid friends who cared only for the latest scandal and fashion, who turned a blind eye to her predicament or suddenly disappeared when she needed help.

“If you would let me speak, my lady. Please.”

She pressed her lips together. She would let him speak but that didn’t mean she had to listen.

“I have urgent business in Venice.”

Oh, she was
not
going to Venice with him.

“And as you pointed out, I cannot be a suitable chaperone for you. I think it best that you return to England—”

“Absolutely not.” Her blood ran cold as all her fears came to fruition. She just knew this was going to happen. From the moment she discovered who he was, she
knew
this didn’t bode well for her adventure. “I will find a chaperone, my lord. You need not concern yourself with that.
And
I will continue on my journey while you continue on yours. There is no reason either of us has to be put out.”

He sighed. She would like to think it was an exasperated sigh because he certainly was exasperating her.

“I would not be a friend to Sebastian if I allowed his sister to roam all over France and Italy unchaperoned and unguarded.”

She surged forward and planted her finger in his hard chest. “Oh, no you don’t. You will
not
bring my brother into this. And what is this
allowed
? You aren’t my brother. You aren’t anything to me besides a barnacle and a … a … a
blight.
You don’t
allow
me anything. No one does anymore.”

Her finger ached from coming up against the hard muscles of his chest that twitched every time she poked him. An odd look came into his eyes and she sat back, pushing away the fear crawling through her.

She had enough experience to know not to speak her mind so plainly, yet she couldn’t help herself. And she didn’t want to stop. It felt good to thumb her nose at convention and all the rules her brothers and her husband instilled upon her. If she wanted to travel to Italy alone, she would travel to Italy alone. If she wanted to sail a ship by herself, she … Well, she couldn’t do that because she didn’t know how. But Emmaline did and if Claire asked, Emmaline would certainly teach her.

The point was that a whole world was open to Claire and she had every intention of enjoying every bit of it.

Nathan stared at Claire, a little awed, a lot frustrated and, much to his bemusement, a bit aroused. She was … magnificent. Full of fiery purpose, something he’d found sorely lacking in himself the last few years. She spoke her mind without thought to the consequences, which he firmly believed most people should do.