The de Valery Code (13 page)

“John!” She surged past Rhys, jumped down to the road, and rushed to the lad lying in the ditch. Kneeling beside him, she cradled his head. “He’s bleeding. Oh, John.”
Now
she sounded concerned. Not for her safety, but for this boy who hadn’t been able to protect her.

John groaned as his eyes fluttered open. “Miss?”

“Yes, I’m here. The danger has passed. You were quite brave.”

The lad smiled faintly. “Did I hit me head?”

“I think so,” she said. “But I think you’ll be fine.”

“Craddock,” Rhys snapped. “Please help John into the coach and drive him back to the Knight’s Arms. We’ll follow in the curricle.”

Craddock helped the boy to his feet while Margery stood. She brushed off her skirt as John wobbled alongside Craddock. They passed the second would-be-thief, whom Craddock had shot in the leg. He moaned piteously and clutched his thigh.

Rhys ignored the injured man and turned his attention to Miss Derrington. “That was the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a good thing I was following you.”

Her eyes flashed. “I didn’t ask for your help. I had things quite well in hand.”

“You had nothing in hand.” Rhys could barely find words amidst his overwhelming anger. “That brigand was going to take the book at any cost. Not to mention the second brigand Craddock dispatched in the road.”

She looked over the curricle and wrinkled his nose. “You shot him. I don’t think he’ll bother me anymore. And that one,” she tossed a glance to the wounded man in the lane, “can’t follow me either.”

“You’re just going to jump back in the curricle and drive yourself to who-knows-where?” He crossed his arms lest he decide to shake her. “I never took you for an imbecile, but I clearly need to revise my opinion.”

She pursed her lips. “There’s no need to be rude. Fine, you can drive me.”

He
could drive her. She was going to allow him to help her after she’d lied to him and put herself in unnecessary danger. He moved closer, backing her up to the side of the curricle. “You think you’re safe right now, but I would caution you not to be too comfortable. You see, I’m furious and I was scared. ” All the emotion of the last quarter hour erupted inside of him. “Oh, to
hell
with it.”
 

Rhys snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. Her mouth formed an O just before his lips descended on hers. He wanted to unleash his anger, his desire, his utter need. When their mouths connected, he held her close, pressing his hands into her back.

He expected her to pull away, but her lips softened against his and he nearly dropped to his knees. Her hands came up to his shoulders and settled there, neither encouraging nor denying. But her mouth told a different story as he angled his head and slid his tongue along the crease, begging for access. She opened slightly and allowed him into her wet heat.

His tongue searched for hers, met its sweet softness and coaxed her to play. She was timid at first, then became bolder. She was the most courageous woman he’d ever met, and he wanted her like no other.

I’m kissing a young woman in the middle of a road in broad daylight. What in the devil has she done to me?

Reason drew him to pull away. He loosened his hold and she sagged back against the curricle. Never before had his passion overtaken his logic and caused him to completely lose control. There was a sense of liberty, but also fear. He couldn’t let it happen again.

However, for the first time in their acquaintance he felt as though he had the upper hand, and he liked it. Swallowing back his apprehension he held out his arm. “Come along, Miss Derrington. While we journey back to Leominster, you can tell me all about your failed attempt to cheat me out of the treasure.”

After returning John and the curricle to his uncle, they traveled to Church Stretton as Lady Stratton had directed. The journey took longer than expected due to having to double back, which meant suffering Mr. Bowen’s brooding anger for an extended period of time.

Margery had tried to explain her position—that the book was hers and that she didn’t owe him anything. He hadn’t argued with her, just grunted occasionally and shot her resentful looks.

As they drove into town, he sat straight on the opposing seat. “When we arrive at the Crooked Cat, you’ll let me do the talking with the innkeeper.”

She’d told him the name of the inn where she’d planned to stay in an effort to demonstrate that her scheme hadn’t been ill-conceived. His directive made her suspicious, and stoked her ire, given the tone he employed. “What do you plan to say?”

“I’m not letting you or that book out of my sight. As of right now, we are officially married.”

Married?
“No.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and arched a brow. “I wasn’t asking. For your protection and for the safety of the book, you will masquerade as my wife.” He looked away. “I don’t expect you to behave like it—at least not in private. There will be no more kissing.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”
Liar.
She’d rather liked his kiss. That thing he’d done with his tongue had heated her in places she never imagined could burn. Her only regret was that it had been over too quickly. But he was right—they couldn’t do it again.
 

Yet that didn’t keep her from being disappointed. She began to imagine, for the first time, how Aunt Agnes could’ve chosen ruination. If her gentleman had kissed her like that as well as treated her kindly and with charm, he would’ve been hard to resist.

Wait.
Was Margery actually thinking she could do the same if properly motivated?
No.
She wouldn’t become a pariah, even for a life-altering kiss.
Definitely not for a life-altering kiss.

Her anger rekindled and she tossed a glare at her captor. “You realize you’re kidnapping me.”

“I am not. You are free to return to Gloucester at any time.” He smiled coldly. “I’ll even fund the trip.”

She was tempted to take him up on it, but she was desperate to see Lord Nash and his book. And at present, Mr. Bowen was ensuring that would happen. Still, she couldn’t resist provoking him and disturbing his aura of superiority. “What if I did just that and took my book with me?”

His dark eyes smoldered. “You won’t.”

“You’re awfully certain of my behavior. I don’t think you know me that well.”

“I know you aren’t to be trusted, which is why I’m not letting you out of my company until we arrive at Westerly Cross.”

So the marriage ruse was only for their stop at the Crooked Cat? They’d go back to being whatever they were when they arrived at Lord Nash’s estate? She supposed she could put up with him for one night. “You’re sleeping on the floor.”

He arched a brow at her and sat forward as the coach came to a halt. “If the bed is large enough, you just might have to share.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he exited the coach and she refused to shout after him like some harridan. No, she needed to compose herself. Long ago, she’d learned to keep her emotions in check and Mr. Bowen wasn’t going to be the one to unharness them. In fact, no one but Margery would ever have that power.

Craddock helped her from the coach, and as she stretched her muscles, she watched her “husband” speak to the innkeeper, a stout man with a shock of white hair. The letter of introduction from Lady Stratton was pressed between the pages of Margery’s book, where it would remain, unused. Pity, for she’d been rather excited about undertaking this adventure on her own. Instead, she was saddled with Mr. Bowen, his superiority, and his outrage.

They took dinner in the small dining room on the ground floor. Mr. Bowen invited Craddock to join them and the two men shared stories and conversation while Margery ate in silence. If Mr. Bowen sought to make her feel isolated and excluded, he’d be sorry to know that she was content to be left out of their discussion. She busied her mind with how she might evade him once they arrived at Westerly Cross.

After the sun set, he led her to their room, a large, comfortable accommodation with a table and two chairs, a cheery fireplace, and an unfortunately wide bed. It looked as if she was going to have to sleep with him.

“Mr. Bowen.” It seemed a touch odd to be addressing him so formally after the way he’d kissed her earlier, but she didn’t want to encourage further familiarity. “I’d rather not share the bed with you.”

He removed his hat and shrugged out of his coat, hanging both on hooks set into the wall by the door. “And where shall I sleep? On the floor?”

“If you don’t, I will.” She went to the bed and removed the coverlet. There was only a sheet, so that if she took the quilt, he’d have no covering. Not that she cared. “You can ask for a blanket if you desire.”

She pulled the coverlet from the bed and laid it near the fireplace, where the poker would be within reach in case there was another invasion. Or in case Mr. Bowen decided to renege on his no-kissing edict.

He gave her a bemused stare. “I
desire
you to be logical. It’s silly of you to sleep on the floor. I
will
ask for a blanket, but I shall roll it up and place it between us. The bed is plenty wide enough for us to share without touching. I’ve already promised to keep my hands to myself.” His gaze was icy. “Wild dogs couldn’t drag me to touch you again,” he muttered.

Since their room was the finest in the establishment, it contained a bellpull to summon a member of the inn’s staff. Mr. Bowen rang for them, and when the innkeeper’s wife arrived, he asked for a blanket, which she delivered moments later.

Mrs. Walters hesitated after setting the blanket on the bed. “Would you care for assistance with your clothing, Mrs. Bowen?”

Margery had considered whether she wanted to disrobe in front of Mr. Bowen, since he’d made it clear he refused to leave, but the notion of sleeping in her stays made her cringe. Even so, she could manage them without Mrs. Walters’s assistance. “Thank you, but no.”

Mrs. Walters nodded, then left.

“I can help you,” Mr. Bowen offered. “If you need it.”

“I do not,” she said frostily. “I do, however, require you to turn away.”

He did as she requested, presenting his back without a word.

Margery tugged at the laces of her gown and loosened it enough to pull over her head. She laid it over the back of the chair. “I look forward to having a room to myself at Westerly Cross.”

“Too bad that won’t happen,” he said.

Her fingers stalled before she could move on to her stays. “What do you mean? You said you weren’t taking your eyes off me until we reached Westerly Cross. I presumed you meant to abandon this ridiculous charade after tonight.”

“I meant no such thing. If you misunderstood me, that’s your problem.”

She hadn’t misunderstood him! Glaring at his back, she worked the laces of her stays until she was able to wriggle free of the garment. “You can’t order me to play your wife at Westerly Cross. Furthermore, Lady Stratton sent a note to her father and he’s expecting
Miss
Derrington, not
Mrs.
Bowen.”

“That’s
his
problem.”

Her frustration bloomed into full anger. “You’re being beastly. I
promise
I will not try to leave with the book. I want to review it with Lord Nash’s book as much as you do.”

“Your promise holds little credibility.” His tone was vexingly even, as if he were orating a lecture. “Actually, it holds
no
credibility.”

Margery fought the urge to throw something at his back. She kicked off her shoes and retrieved a robe from her valise. After shaking the garment out to the best of her ability, she wrapped it around herself. “You may turn.”

He did so, his gaze landing on her for a bare moment before diverting toward the fire.

She went to the table and began removing pins from her hair. She eyed him warily, coming up with a new tactic. “You do realize this book belongs to me? That without this book you won’t be able to solve the code, which means you won’t be able to find the treasure.”

He glanced at her, again keeping it brief. “And you realize that without me, you won’t be able to solve the code?”

He was probably right, but she would never agree. “So you say.”

“So it
is
.” Oh, his smugness was maddening.

Searching through her hair, she located another pin and dropped it onto the table. “I had thought you to be merely smug, but it happens that you are domineering as well. You would force me into a contentious alliance.”

“No, you forced it by lying to me.”

She supposed she had, but Lady Stratton’s situation had quite persuaded her to the advantages of establishing her independence, and now that she’d had just a small taste of what that could be, she was afraid she couldn’t relinquish the idea. Still, she’d made an agreement with Mr. Bowen, and she supposed she owed him an apology.

“I regret deceiving you,” she said quietly, hating that he would probably respond with his typical haughtiness.

“Thank you.”
 

The simplicity and solemnity of his response rattled her. And provoked her to keep the discontent between them alive. “It seems to me you aren’t in need of the treasure. You appear to be a wealthy gentleman.”