Nicola Cornick (2 page)

The coachman had managed to extricate the carriage horses from their harness and had led them on ahead whilst the groom was now
retrieving as much as he could of the luggage. Little could be done for the carriage itself, however, and the coachman and groom, after a muttered discussion, had decided to abandon it until daylight might bring the chance of salvage or at least the opportunity to consult with their employer.

The ill-assorted group had gone about half the way towards the village in silence when Alicia Carberry stirred. The chill of the rain against her face was the first sensation she recognised. She had no notion of where she was, or what had happened to her, but she felt the arms about her tighten in response to her involuntary movement and was obscurely comforted.

‘Lie still,’ Mullineaux instructed in a low voice. ‘You are quite safe.’ The last thing he wanted at this point was for her to regain consciousness for it would make matters too complicated. The sooner he could deposit her at the inn and leave her, the better.

Alicia immediately relaxed and did as she had been told. She did not know who had spoken and did not really care. There had been something reassuringly familiar about the voice although she could not place it. Her head ached abominably and it was pleasant to rest it against the broad shoulder so invitingly close. For the first time in a long while she relaxed into an unfamiliar feeling of safety and security.

Mullineaux glanced down at her nestling so confidently in his arms. Old passions and memories stirred instinctively within him again and he could not avoid a rush of protectiveness, followed swiftly by a greater rush of anger. Damn it, after all she had done to him, how could he still feel this way? He had not even seen her properly yet, but already he could feel that insidious pull of attraction there had always been between them reasserting itself and threatening to make a fool of him again.

He had been a man of twenty-five when they had first met, no mere stripling, and for some reason the fact that she had so thoroughly duped him then rankled more than if he had been a youth in his salad days. James, Marquis of Mullineaux, with his looks, title and reputation for wildness, was hardly a flat to be taken in by the pretty face of an adventuress. For that was what Alicia Carberry had been.

An adventuress. He faced it squarely. She was the granddaughter of an Earl and under the patronage of her redoubtable grandmother, she was the heiress to a fortune, she had beauty and to spare, but it had not been enough for her. He could still recall with bitterness the last words she had written to him to terminate their betrothal:

As evidence of a grasping nature it could scarcely be surpassed, and after the first blinding flash of disillusionment James Mullineaux had had time to be shocked by both Alicia’s sentiments and the fact that she had damned herself so eloquently in writing. That she had only loved his title, not his person he could just about accept, although if he had not seen the letter with his own eyes he would not have believed it of her. She had seemed so innocent, so devoid of conceit or greed. He had thought that he had found a kindred spirit in her, recognising instinctively a bond between them, and yet he had been totally mistaken.

The Mullineaux title was an old one and although in recent years the family’s fortunes had dwindled considerably James had still been hunted exhaustively by the matchmaking mamas and their resourceful offspring. He had thought Alicia Carberry different and had been sadly disenchanted. He had been in love for the first time since his youth and not only had his feelings been engaged but his pride had been seriously dented by her defection. His judgement had always been good and he’d found his confidence severely impaired by the way in which she had so cleverly duped him. She had snared him, then ruthlessly dismissed him when a richer prize had come her way.

Such bitter reflections on the past served only to reinforce his antipathy towards Alicia, and by the time they reached Ottery he had his feelings well in hand and viewed her with nothing but strong dislike. The village itself hardly lifted his spirits, for it was the merest huddle of cottages down each side of the road, and though there was indeed an inn its peeling doors were very firmly closed. This did not dissuade Mullineaux, however, who was resolved to rid himself of his burden, and strode firmly up to the main entrance and pulled the bell with determination.

A harsh peal sounded somewhere in the depths of the building and it seemed an unconscionably long time to Miss Frensham, shivering on the doorstep, before there was the sound of footsteps on stone and the bolts were drawn back reluctantly. The door opened a crack to reveal a villainous-looking individual.

‘Horses! Carriages! And now this!’ the man began indignantly. ‘I tell you, we’re not open—’ But James Mullineaux cut him off ruthlessly.

‘There has been an accident on the road,’ he began, in tones which brooked no refusal, ‘and we are in sore need of shelter. Be so good as to show us to your best parlour and call your wife to attend to these ladies. I take it that my groom and curricle are already in the yard?’

Then, as the landlord still stood gawping on the threshold, he lost his patience.

‘Come along, man; we are like to die of cold if you keep us standing here any longer!’

Whatever alarm had previously been raised by the arrival of the curricle, it had not stirred any concern within the landlord, who now sniffed loudly and opened the door only a crack wider. He stumped off down the dimly lit corridor, grumbling at the whims of the gentry and leaving them to follow if they chose. With ill grace he opened one of the doors off the hallway to reveal a dark, mean little room with peeling walls and the unmistakable sound of mice in the wainscot. The stale smell of beer seemed to have seeped into the very fabric of the building. The light was faint, and there was no fire in the grate. Mullineaux looked about him with incredulity, distaste, and a sinking heart.

‘It’s the best I ‘ave to offer,’ the landlord said, with no trace of apology. ‘Curricle an’ horses are out back, but they ain’t in no state to travel. Soaked through, the lot of them!’

He gave the bedraggled trio a look which clearly told them that beggars could not be choosers, turned on his heel, and disappeared down the corridor.

Mullineaux, meanwhile, won a brief but violent battle with his temper. It could be some miles to the nearest alternative hostelry and they currently had no means of transport. Lady Carberry might well require the services of a doctor, and Miss Frensham was beginning to look decidedly unwell. He could go out in the rainstorm to search for shelter in a vicarage or sympathetic manor, but he did not know the area well and to approach strangers in that way would involve him in precisely the complicated explanations he wished to avoid. Anything which associated him with Lady Carberry or kept the two of them together for any length of time was anathema to him. He would have had no compunction about abandoning her there and then had it not been for the miserable spectacle of Miss Frensham, dripping onto the taproom floor as she waited in vain for the arrival of the landlady.

No, all he could do for the present, Mullineaux thought with resig
nation, was to make sure that the ladies were attended to and see what better alternatives presented themselves. He had still not given up hope that he might be able to leave them and travel on further, thereby avoiding all embarrassing confrontations with Lady Carberry, but for now he could not in fairness abandon Miss Frensham alone to the mercies of the landlord.

He deposited Alicia Carberry somewhat unceremoniously in the parlour’s only armchair and straightened up. It seemed that she had either lost consciousness once more or fallen asleep, for when Miss Frensham hurried over to her she did not stir. After hovering ineffectually for a moment, Miss Frensham had the happy idea of extracting her smelling salts from her bag and waving these vigorously under Alicia’s nose. A few moments later their pungent smell began to have the desired effect.

‘She’s awake!’ Miss Frensham exclaimed excitedly and somewhat superfluously as Alicia moved slightly and opened her eyes, only to close them again immediately. ‘Oh, sir—’ she turned to Mullineaux, who had been watching her efforts with sardonic amusement and no offer of help ‘—do you think we should send for the doctor? My poor Alicia, she will be very shaken you know, and perhaps the best thing would be for her to lie down at once!’

‘I am perfectly well, Emmy.’ Lady Carberry spoke for the first time, making her companion jump. Her voice, normally low and unhurried, sounded a little strained. ‘Pray do not trouble to send out for a doctor. You know how I hate fuss! A little rest and perhaps a cup of sweet tea will suffice. I shall feel completely better directly.’

She rested her head on one hand and kept her eyes closed. Miss Frensham, used to her ladyship’s decisiveness through long experience, did not trouble to contradict her but pursed her lips with disapproval. She caught the tail-end of an ironic smile from James Mullineaux, which prompted her to look at him more closely. It had begun to dawn on her that the gentleman appeared in no hurry to offer Lady Carberry any further assistance, but still she felt a sudden shock as she assimilated the expression in his eyes as they rested on her charge. She was used to gentlemen surveying Alicia with every shade of expression from shy admiration to blatant lust. She could remember no one, however, who had looked at her with such a very cold, hard dislike. Miss Frensham unconsciously drew herself up straighter.

It was the first opportunity that the companion and the gentleman had had to consider each other properly, and there was some curiosity in the look which they now exchanged. The dim light revealed Miss
Frensham to be a little wisp of a lady. Of indeterminate age, she was sensibly dressed in a practical grey cloak over a black bombazine gown, which spoke her calling more clearly than any words. Fussy rows of beads, her only concession to adornment, clashed with each other about her neck. Her hair, which had no doubt started the day neatly curled, was now hanging in damp white strands under her bonnet. She was shivering occasionally and appeared soaked to the skin. Her eyes, large, anxious and grey, moved from Alicia Carberry to James Mullineaux with a puzzled appeal.

Mullineaux turned abruptly to the doorway and gave vent to his feelings by shouting peremptorily for the landlord to come to light the candles and make the fire up immediately. That might at least be achieved, though the cup of sweet tea was looking an increasingly unlikely prospect.

Miss Frensham, for her part, desiccated spinster though she was, was not completely indifferent to the appearance of the gentleman before her. She was familiar both with the gentlemen of
ton
society and with the heroes of the marble-backed books from the circulating library, and James Mullineaux appeared to combine the attributes of both. He had a tall, broad-shouldered physique which any man of fashion would envy, setting off to perfection his immaculate tailoring. Both his eyes and hair were black, which combined with his tanned face to give him an almost piratical air, Miss Frensham thought, a little faintly. She had never seen any pirates, but she knew they would look like this. He might almost be said to possess classical good looks, were it not for the fact that some air of arrogance suggested that he would scorn such an accolade.

His bearing had both the easy assurance of authority and a latent elegance in its economy of movement, but the hint of amusement showing in his eyes at her scrutiny was belied by the hard line of that firm mouth, which betrayed no humour at all. Indeed, there were lines around his mouth which suggested bitterness and unhappiness, rather than a willingness to laugh. Yet a moment later Miss Frensham was obliged to revise that opinion when he smiled at her with quite devastating charm.

She dropped a prim, disapproving curtsey. She was a stickler for convention, and felt instinctively that this man would not conform to any recognised conventions at all. The knowledge was disturbing, but good manners had still to be observed.

‘I do not believe that I have thanked you, sir, for your prompt rescue
of myself and Lady Carberry,’ she said, a little uncertainly. ‘Nor have I introduced myself properly. I am Miss Emmeline Frensham, one-time governess and now companion to Alicia, Lady Carberry.’

The gentleman took her hand and raised it to his lips in a gesture so gallant that Miss Frensham felt a most unexpected shiver along her nerves. His smile, she reflected dizzily, was wickedly attractive.

‘Although I deplore the circumstances of our meeting, I am most happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Frensham,’ he murmured. ‘As I mentioned earlier, I am James, Marquis of Mullineaux, very much at your service.’

Miss Frensham’s memory had always been tiresomely unreliable, and now at last it suddenly presented her with the reason why James Mullineaux’s name had seemed vaguely familiar to her. Her recollection of who he was and his precise connection with Alicia Carberry followed swiftly. Her hand fell from his grasp, her eyes widened to their furthest extent, and her mouth formed a perfectly round, horrified ‘O’.

It was at that exact moment that Alicia opened her eyes.

Alicia Carberry was generally held to be a diamond of the first water, although her looks hardly conformed to the accepted standard of beauty of the day. Even James Mullineaux, who held her in such strong dislike, could not deny her physical beauty and now found to his annoyance that he could not tear his gaze away from her.