Regency Sting (27 page)

She listened at the door again. All was silence. Even Coyne and Orkle, who had been given strict orders from Jason never to wait up for him beyond midnight—must have gone to bed. Jason was, of course, not at home and it was unlikely that he would return from his nightly carousing early enough to interfere with her plans. By the time he
did
return, she and Arthur would be well along on the Old North Road.

Anne checked over in her mind the various tasks which were to be attended to before her departure. She had packed all the clothing and toilet articles necessary for the trip. She had closed the portmanteau and tied the bandbox. She had left for her abigail a list of other things to be sent to her in Shropshire. And she had written a note to Cherry and sent it out earlier in the evening.
By the time you read this
, she had written,
I
shall be on my way to Gretna. It is only to you, my dearest friend, that I can admit my unhappiness on this occasion. Life in a cottage in Shropshire will be nothing more than an Exile for me. I would not for the world hurt Arthur by admitting to him my overwhelming doubts about my ability to Exist in such surroundings, but to you I do not hesitate to confess that my expectations for my future Happiness are small indeed. My only comfort will be the hope of seeing you again in the near future. Please, dearest Cherry, promise to come to me in Shropshire before the month is out! If you do not, I shall undoubtedly die of Loneliness and Despair. Until we see each other again, I remain your Loving and Devoted Anne
.

There was only one task left, but it was the most difficult of all. She had to write to her stepmother. What could she say that would not cause dearest Harriet a great deal of unhappiness? Biting her underlip in distress, she sat down at the writing desk and picked up her pen.
Dearest Mama
, she wrote,
I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me for what I am about to do. Arthur and I are leaving for Gretna Green. Because of his mother's Opposition, we have agreed that this is the only way. Please wish us Happy, and believe that I love you too much to have done this unless I was Certain that you and Peter will go on quite well without me. I know that you will be Happy and Secure, for Lord Mainwaring is devoted to you both and is certain to take excellent care of you. In time, when you've forgiven me, I hope you will come and visit us at the Vicarage in Shropshire where we will be living. In the meantime, you and Peter have my
Undying Love. Your Devoted Anne
.

Wiping away a tear, she sealed the note and placed it on her pillow. Then, with a last fond look about the room, she picked up her portmanteau and the overstuffed bandbox and stealthily crept from the room.

She had great difficulty in carrying the heavy boxes down the stairs, but she was almost at the bottom when the front door opened. Jason stood on the threshold, his hat set at a precarious angle on his tousled head, his neckcloth loosened, his cheeks flushed and his eyes overbright with drink. And under one arm he carried what Anne eventually identified as the parts of a complete suit of armor. “Ah! 'S
you
!” he exclaimed thickly. “Evenin', ma'am. Look at th' present th' Prince has given me!”

He stumbled into the entryway, shut the door with a thump and proceeded to assemble the armor noisily. As Anne stood frozen on the stairs, Jason clumsily connected the parts and hung the entire apparatus on a stand especially made for that purpose. “There!” he crowed. “Won'erful, ain't he? Always dreamed of havin' a suit of armor.” He put an arm around the metal figure. “Goin' t' take 'im back t' America with me.”

“You're
foxed
!” Anne exclaimed in disgust.

He put his index finger to his lips in a gesture of exaggerated caution. “Shssssssh!” he whispered hoarsely. “You'll wake everyone. An' don't look so fierce, ma'am. I'm … only a bit … disguised …”

“
Disguised
? You're completely cast away! I've never even
seen
anyone so drunk!”

Jason executed an elaborate and unsteady bow. “Happy t' con … tribute to y'r education, ma'am.”

“I think,” she said in cold reproof, “that you'd better take yourself to bed at once!”

“Tha's jus' what I intend t' do, ma'am. If you'll be … good enough … t' step out o' the way …” He came toward the stairs unsteadily.

Anne stepped hastily aside, and for the first time Jason noticed the baggage on the stairway. His eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to get them to focus, and he stared at the portmanteau with unblinking concentration. Then he turned to look at Anne, who found herself flushing hotly. “Goin' somewhere, m' dear?” he asked with frightening intensity.

“I can't discuss it with you now,” she retorted nervously. “You're in no condition to understand. Go to bed. It will all be explained in the morning.”

He came to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at her, the movement causing his high-crowned beaver to fall off his head and roll away across the floor, completely unheeded. “No need t' explain. I'm not so drunk that I can't … tell wha's happenin.' Y'r runnin' off wi' Claybridge.”

“Please, Jason,” she entreated, the smoldering look in his eyes making her distinctly uneasy, “go up to bed.”

He shook his head. “Won't let you!” he declared mulishly.

“You won't let me? Don't be foolish—you don't know what you're saying.”

“Yes, I do. Y' don't really
want
t' go, so I won't let you.”

Anne frowned down at him, nonplussed. She was well aware that the hour of midnight had already struck. Arthur must be waiting. She could not stand here and argue with a drunken
sot
. Squaring her shoulders with determination, she picked up her bags and went down the few remaining steps. Avoiding his eyes, she attempted to brush past him. “No!” he snapped. He grasped her by the shoulders so fiercely that she dropped her bags. “I tell you y' can't go! Won't … permit it!”

Before she quite realized what was happenin', he pulled her to him in a crushing embrace. She was lifted quite off the ground, and his lips were pressed furiously against hers. It should have been quite revolting—he was hurting her, and he reeked of liquor. She should have fought him off like a tiger. But for a moment, while her pulse raced and her head swam, and a tremor of something she'd never felt before swept over her from head to toe, she lay against him unresisting. Then her good breeding and her sense of decorum reasserted themselves, and she began to pummel his chest with angry fists. For all the effect her struggle had on him, she might as well have been beating upon a wall.

But eventually, without releasing her from the clasp of his arms, he set her on her feet and lifted his head. “L'il fool,” he muttered, “don't y' see y' can't run away?”

“You are out of your mind,” she said breathlessly. “Let me go.”

He tried to clear his head by giving it a vigorous shake. “Damn, I'm too befuddled for this sort o' thing. But I can't … Are you going to pretend, after all this … that you still
want
to marry Claybridge? Can I have misunderstood …? This thing between us just now … was it
nothing
?”

“Jason, you're drunk. You didn't know what you were doing. I don't even think you know who I am. Perhaps you think I'm someone else … someone like … like Lexie—”

Jason threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. Then he pulled her to him again. “You're
idiotic
!” He lifted her up so that their faces were so close they almost touched. “Listen to me, you ninny! I know who you are! I'd know you if I were a … a thousand times drunker than I am now. I'd know you if … if I were blin'folded … an' had to pick you from among a thousand girls!” He looked at her with a crooked, slightly hazy but tender smile. “I … know the sound of your footstep … the curve of your cheek … the feel of your hair … that gurgle in your laugh … an' I even know how that … strangely muddled mind of yours works. So don't start thinkin' you can make me b'lieve you
want
to run off wi' that Claybridge fellow. Fine fellow, I grant you … but not for you …”

Anne stared at him dumbfounded. Her throat was choked with tears. Could he really have
meant
all that? Was he trying to tell her … Could he possibly
love
her? She couldn't bring herself to believe it. It was the liquor he had drunk. He'd never spoken to her like this when he was sober. She must go, before he weakened her resolve. She struggled in his arms. “Jason, please … put me down,” she begged.

He merely shook his head and pressed his lips to hers again. But this time the kiss was gently urgent. It asked for, but did not demand, a response. She closed her eyes. She felt as if every bone in her body had begun to melt. And like her bones, her will, too, became limp. If only she could remain like this forever. Oh, Jason, she thought in helpless confusion, I do love you so! But she couldn't let herself surrender to this feeling. It was all unreal—a fantasy built on her longing and Jason's drunkeness. She pushed against him and wrenched her head free. “Oh, God, Jason,” she cried, “
let me go
!”

At that moment, Arthur, who had been waiting outside for an agonizing half-hour, stealthily opened the door to see what was keeping his betrothed. He was just in time to hear her pitiful cry. The sight of his affianced bride struggling in the arms of her enormous, would-be seducer made him wild with fury. Ignoring the fact that Lord Mainwaring was more than a head taller and a good deal heavier than he, he gave an animal cry of rage, lowered his head and stormed toward his target like a maddened bull.

On hearing Arthur's shout, the bemused Jason released Anne and turned to see who had intruded. Before he could grasp what was happening, Arthur hurtled, head first, into Jason's middle. Jason, the breath knocked out of him, tottered backward, falling heavily against the suit of armor. With a terrible noise, the armor, Jason and Arthur went crashing against the wall. The armor broke apart, its pieces clattering loudly upon the stone floor, the helmet hitting Jason's forehead before bouncing off across the hallway.

Arthur, unhurt, managed to maintain his balance by holding on to the wall. But Jason fell to the floor, where he lay sprawled on his back, unconscious, a great bloody gash just above his right eye already dripping its red fluid down his cheek and onto the floor.

Anne screamed in horror. Arthur, still clinging to the wall, turned slowly and stared, aghast, at the havoc he had wreaked. “Arthur, what have you
done
?” Anne asked in a fearful whisper, her eyes on Jason's pale face. “Do you think he … he's …?”

“Dead? No, of course not,” Arthur said quickly. “He
couldn't
be …!”

Anne walked slowly to Jason, knelt at his side and leaned over him. “He's breathing!” she murmured in intense relief.

“Thank God,” Arthur breathed fervently.

Anne sat down on the floor and gingerly lifted Jason's head to her lap. “We must do something to revive him …” she said helplessly.

“Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know quite—”

“I'll fetch some brandy,” said a voice from behind the stairs. They turned quickly to see Coyne, followed by a number of the household staff, peering at them from the shadows. They were all in their nightclothes, and a number carried candles. And suddenly, from the top of the stairs, came other voices. “What's going on down there?” Peter inquired sleepily.

Lady Harriet, her nightcap askew and a light robe thrown hastily over her nightdress, came down the stairway holding her candle aloft. At the sight of the metal apparatus strewn all over the hallway, the discarded baggage, Arthur's white face, Anne in a traveling cloak, and Jason lying on the ground, his head in Anne's lap and his blood trickling down his face, her candle began to tremble. “Oh, my God!” she mumbled. “Oh, my
God
!”

“It's all right, Mama, really,” Anne said, unconvincingly. “Never mind the brandy, Coyne. I think his lordship has already had enough of that sort of thing.”

Mr. Orkle pushed through the press of servants and marched firmly to his employer's side. “Wot we needs is a basin o' warm water, a sponge an' some bandages, I says,” he remarked calmly.

“Yes, right away, Mr. Orkle,” said Coyne, shaking himself into activity. “Hop to it, George,” he said to one of the footmen. “The rest of you, off to bed now. This is none of your business. And don't let me hear any gossiping, mind!”

Lady Harriet and Peter came down the stairs. “Good heavens, Claybridge,” Peter demanded, “did you and Jason have a mill? And what's all this stuff strewn about? Armor?”

Before Arthur could answer, Jason stirred and opened his eyes. Anne's face swam mistily into his view. “Y can't go,” he muttered.

“No, no, of course not,” she said and smiled down at him comfortingly.

“I m-must remain c-calm …” Lady Harriet whispered tremulously, bending over the fallen warrior.

“I say, Jason, is this your armor? What did you try to do?
Joust
?” Peter asked, amused.

Jason painfully turned his head and squinted in the direction of Peter's voice. “M' armor! Is 't ruined?”

Peter began to gather up the pieces. “Dented a bit, I imagine, but we'll be able to fix it,” he announced cheerfully.

“I don't know how you can worry about armor with Jason lying there
wounded
,” Harriet said querulously.

“Not … wounded,” Jason assured her thickly. “Jus' a bit … disguised …”

“But you're
bleeding
!” Harriet informed him.

“Oh?” Jason queried foggily. “Tha's nice.” With a sigh of contentment he turned his head back to Anne, snuggled comfortably in her lap and went promptly to sleep.