The Lord and the Wayward Lady (20 page)

‘I will leave you here. Just for a little, Helena, while I make sure the coast is clear. And then you will come with me and learn how to please me.’ The dark man’s voice dropped into a caress like velvet on her skin, and he came up onto his knees beside her, one long brown finger tracing the line of her cheek as his lips just brushed her own. ‘Wait for me, Helena,’ he said as she recoiled. ‘Wait and think of your lover’s suffering when he imagines what will pass between us.’

Nell strained her ears as the door closed behind him, listening. Even in the deep snow around the hut he made no sound. She counted in her head—one minute, two, three—then stood up, her arms awkwardly behind her, and knelt down on the pallet with its thin covering of blankets. Somehow she had to get her hands in front of her.

For what seemed like an hour, but was probably only fifteen minutes, Nell rolled and twisted and swore, hampered by her heavy coat and thick skirts. Finally, at the cost of wrenched shoulders and sore wrists, she
managed to get her arms under her bottom and thread her legs through.

She sat on the pallet panting for a moment, then used her fingertips to pull out the knife she had concealed in the side of her half-boot. It had seemed wildly melodramatic when she had selected the sharp little fruit knife and slid it into its hiding place; now she was grateful for the impulse. It was far more useful than any pistol would have been; with it wedged between her feet she sawed through the bonds easily.

It was not until she looked more carefully at the loops still tied around her wrists that she realized it was more of the silken rope, spun this time into a thin cord. Nell started to tug at the knots, then realized she was wasting time. She had to get back to the house, tell Marc what Salterton had said, and hope he and Lord Narborough and Hal could make some sense of it.

All I have to do is elude him,
she thought ruefully as she opened the door and peered out. Salterton’s tracks led back behind the hut—he had gone into the woods. Nell took a moment to get her bearings, then set off along the edge of the trees, hugging the hedge line. It was at least a mile back to the house, more likely a mile and a half by this route.

Nell ran and walked alternately, stumbling as she kept turning to check around her for pursuit. How long would he take on his errand before he returned for her? Where was Marc?

Then out of the corner of her eye, in the distance, she saw movement. Nell stopped, squinting against the dazzle of sun on the snow, and realized it was the top of a carriage—and with this snow, the only route
a carriage could take was the turnpike road. If she cut across the meadows, across the frozen river and up the other side, then there was a good chance she would find another carriage, a cottage, a farm. Refuge.

But it meant leaving cover and going into the open. Nell hesitated, then turned her back on the woods and ran, the snow kicking up behind her, her throat raw with the cold air. For a moment she thought she had done it, then a dark figure burst from the woods by the hut, threw off its hampering greatcoat and began to run diagonally across the meadow to intercept her.

He had farther to run but he was stronger, his legs longer, and she was battling her clinging skirts. Nell wrenched off her bonnet and struggled with buttons as she ran, gasping with relief as she left hat and coat behind her. But the advantage was not enough; as she reached the river and launched herself across its treacherous slippery surface, she could hear Salterton behind her.

Sheer terror took her across the ice as though on skates but her very speed betrayed her. At the far bank Nell tripped, tried to stop, felt herself falling and was jerked upright.

‘You spurn my hospitality, Helena?’ The dark man pulled her round to face him. He hardly seemed to have exerted himself at all, his breathing calm compared to her panting breaths.

‘Oh! I am going to be sick!’ She doubled up as though retching and he freed her arm. Frantic, Nell’s groping fingers found the knife in her boot again and she straightened with it held out in front of her. ‘Let me go or I swear I will use this,’ she gasped, meaning it.

Salterton moved so fast his hand seemed to blur. Nell screamed in fear and fury and slashed at him, but he caught her wrist with one hand and wrenched the knife from her with the other.

‘Hellcat,’ he snarled, all his control gone, and she stood there transfixed, the blood from his slashed hand dripping onto the frozen river as the knife pressed against her throat.

‘Y
ou said you did not kill women,’ Nell said, the blade moving against her windpipe as she spoke. With her mind she tried to reach out to Marc.
I’m sorry, so sorry, I love you…

‘I do not.’ Slowly Salterton lowered the blade. ‘Not even wildcats like you.’ The knife vanished, the grip on her arms changed as he pulled her back towards the centre of the river. Under their feet the ice gave an ominous creak. It was deep water here, Nell remembered, the outflow from the dammed millpond.

‘Back across to the woods, and this time, if you try anything, I’ll knock you out and carry—’

The shot was explosive in the cold air. Salterton spun round, Nell held before him like a shield, to face the horsemen galloping towards them. It was all three of the Carlow men, she realized, both Marc and Hal riding with rifles in their hands.

Nell blinked back tears and smiled through trembling lips.
He has come for me.
The horses skidded to
a halt on the bank in the flurry of snow, and the three riders held them back, their faces set.

‘He’s armed,’ she called. ‘He has a knife.’ And it was in Salterton’s hand again, the hand that was not clasping her in front of him in a cruel parody of the way Marc had held her when they skated together. The blade lay against her breast.

‘Nell, are you all right?’ Marc’s voice was calm, but under it she could hear the killing rage.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’

‘Let her go,’ Lord Narborough said, his face set in lines of fury. ‘What sort of coward hides behind a woman?’

‘One who has some sense,’ the dark man retorted, apparently amused by the older man’s anger. ‘And besides, I haven’t finished with her yet. She is a woman of spirit this one. I shall enjoy having her in my bed.’

There was a snarl, and Hal flung out an arm and seized the barrel of Marc’s rifle. The brothers exchanged a long look, then Hal released his grip and Marcus lowered the gun.

‘Let her go, come here and I will fight you, man to man, with a damned knife if that is your weapon.’

‘Why should I?’ Salterton was edging Nell closer to midstream, perhaps eight feet from the bank. Under their feet the creaking became cracking. ‘She’s mine. You won’t touch me while I hold her—you think I care for your foolish notions of duels and honour?’

‘No, it is plain you do not,’ Marc said, his voice contemptuous. ‘You are no gentleman.’

‘But I have the woman,’ the dark man pointed out. ‘You will not attack me while I hold her, and soon, very soon, she will be where you will never find her, enjoying
a man who is just that—a man, not some aristocratic parasite hiding behind his valet and his butler.’ He pulled Nell back as he spoke and rubbed his cheek possessively against hers. ‘Mine, you see?’

Nell jerked away as far as his hold would let her, and the long barrel of Marcus’s rifle came up, unwavering. She stared at the tiny black hole of the muzzle.

‘I’m sorry, Nell, I cannot let that happen,’ Marc said.

Nell gasped. He was going to shoot her rather than let Salterton ravish her? She wanted to shout out, but her voice was dry in her throat.

Beside her the dark man chuckled. ‘Bloody fool, with his gentlemanly dramatics. He thinks you would rather be dead than dishonoured? You have not changed at all, Marcus.’

‘I love you, Nell,’ Marc said, his deep voice projecting across the still air. ‘Remember how I held you on the ice when we skated? Remember that, how it ended?’

The skating? What on earth?
Nell stared back at the rifle and realized what he meant. She let her feet slide out in front of her and dropped like a stone through Salterton’s clutching arm to land heavily at his feet.

And as she fell she heard the shot, its sharp report mingling with the sound of the ice. Above her there was a sobbing gasp. She scrabbled with hands and feet, seeing the long cracks beginning to radiate outwards, and Salterton fell, landing even more heavily than she had, and the cracks opened, the world tilted and she slid down, hitting icy water that knocked the breath from her lungs.

Beside her, Salterton thrashed, twisted, and got one brown hand up and onto the edge of the ice and the other locked into her hair. There was blood in the water and
his face was distorted in a rictus of pain and effort as he fought the current that was dragging them both under, away from the hole.

‘Nell!’ And Marcus plunged in; his hands supported her as he fought to lift her. She felt her hair freed, then the other man had his hand under her armpit and was pushing, working
with
Marcus, and she was lifted towards the surface and Hal’s reaching hands as he lay on the ice.

Marcus kicked against the pull of the river, his boots filling with water, his coat a dead weight around his shoulders. But Nell was half out now; he glimpsed his father kneeling beside Hal, reaching for her.

‘Together,’ a voice rasped, and he realized it was the dark man. With a great effort he lifted, and Nell slid out onto the ice. Hal pushed her towards their father, then leaned in again, his hand closing over Marcus’s wrist.

‘Here, hold the edge, we’ll get you out.’ Marcus turned in the water, reaching for the other man with his free hand.

Like a gaffed fish, the dark man twisted away, his face stark with rejection.

‘Don’t be a fool, you’ll drown.’ But he had gone, swept away under the ice into the green gloom.

‘Can you get out or am I going to have to come in and get you?’ Hal demanded through gritted teeth. ‘My bloody arm is half out of its socket.’

Marcus took the other hand held out to him, kicked, and was hauled out onto the ice. ‘The damn fool wouldn’t let me save him,’ he gasped, sprawled on his belly, coughing up water.

‘That’s an economy then,’ Hal said, his tone at odds
with the urgency with which he was dragging Marcus’s coat off him and wrapping him in his own. ‘No trial and no hanging.’

‘Nell?’ Marcus turned to find her cradled in his father’s arms, his greatcoat round her as the earl chaffed her hands.

‘She’s fainted,’ he said. ‘We need to get her back, now.’

‘We all need to get back,’ Marcus said, finding his feet and limping towards the horses. ‘Hal, can you lift her up to me?’ he asked as he got up onto Corinth. He wasn’t sure how he kept going, but he was damned if anyone other than himself was taking Nell home.

She came to as he snuggled her against himself, one arm around her, one hand for the reins. ‘Marcus? I knew you’d come. I’m very sorry. I thought I could find out…’

‘And I thought I’d lost you,’ he said gruffly.

‘Not when you can shoot like that,’ she murmured against his sodden shirt front. ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he? Under the ice?’ she asked, her voice stronger as she turned to face the river.

Marcus saw his father and brother looking at him, their eyes reflecting the hope—and the doubt—that he knew was in his. ‘Yes, he’s gone,’ he said firmly, with a shake of his head to the other two to keep them silent, and sent Corinth into a smooth canter towards home.

‘Where am I?’ Nell asked, confused. She was in a room that was not her own, surrounded by a babble of voices and bundled up so tight in a cocoon of blankets that she could not move or see properly.

‘In my room,’ Marcus said beside her. ‘Will everyone please go?’ he added, raising his voice to somewhere just short of a parade ground bellow.

‘Marcus, my dear, it is hardly seemly. Nell should be in her own room and Miss Price and I will see to her.’ Lady Narborough sounded uncharacteristically flustered.

‘Go and look after Father, Mama,’ Marcus said firmly. ‘He got cold and has probably overexerted himself.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. But Miss Price—’ Nell heard her voice die away down the corridor, still protesting faintly.

‘Thank you, Diana, if you could just take the staff with you. The fire is lit, the tub is filled.’ With ruthless efficiency, Marcus cleared the room and came back to Nell. ‘Now then, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.’ He started to peel back the blankets.

‘And you,’ Nell protested, trying to pull herself together and be practical and sensible, and just feeling as though all she wanted was to melt into Marc’s arms and never to let go. ‘You must change.’

‘I have,’ he said, throwing the last damp blanket aside, and she saw he was wearing a heavy silk dressing gown over loose trousers and a shirt.

‘Now, out of these clothes.’ He swore under his breath as the sodden fastenings refused to cooperate, picked up some scissors from a side table and ruthlessly cut everything off her.

‘Marcus!’

‘My God, you are cold right through,’ he said, ignoring her flustered efforts to shield her white, goose-pimpled body. ‘Into the bath with you.’

‘Marcus,’ she tried again as he lowered her into the warm water. ‘Your mother, Miss Price—everyone knows I am in here with you! Oh, oh that is wonderful.’ The blissful warmth distracted her for a moment. ‘What are they going to think?’

He rolled up his sleeves, knelt by the tub and began to wash her, his big hands sure and gentle. ‘They will think that I love you and don’t want anyone else looking after you.’

‘Yes, but Lady Narborough—’

‘Hush.’ He silenced her by the simple expedient of kissing her, his mouth gentling over hers until she stopped trying to talk and simply relaxed back against the towel he had draped around the rim of the tub.

‘Sleepy,’ she heard herself murmur as he freed her lips. ‘So sleepy.’

‘You are warm now, it is safe to sleep. To bed with you, Nell.’

She was vaguely aware of being lifted, of the embrace of soft linen and strong arms, then sound and feeling faded away and she slept, knowing only that she was safe.

Nell woke slowly in a strange bed. The room was unlit except for the cool wash of moonlight turning everything stark black and silver. In the grate the fire burned low, a dull, deep red that told her she had slept for hours. The curtains must be open, she reasoned, blinking her eyes into focus as she turned her cheek on the pillow.
Marcus.
She could smell his cologne, that faint tang of citrus, and beneath it the scent of his skin. She was in his bed. Now she recognised the room from that night when she had slept there chastely in his arms.

Her reaching hand found no other body in the bed, only a dip in the mattress beside her and a faint residual warmth. He had been there, she thought, looking after her through the night. She lay still for a while, letting the events of the day wash over her, ab
sorbing them, hearing again Marc’s voice.
I love you,
he had said as he had fired the shot that freed her, his aim as true as his heart, she thought, her own heart catching in her breast.

She sat up, and found she was wearing a nightgown, even though she had no recollection of putting one on. ‘Marc?’ He was standing by the window looking out.

‘Are you all right?’ He turned and strode to the bedside, dropping whatever he had been holding onto the covers. ‘Were you dreaming? A nightmare?’

‘No.’ She let him take her hands, cupping them in his as though to reassure himself that she was warm. ‘I was thinking of you, how you saved me.’

‘I have never been more afraid in my life,’ he admitted, sitting down beside her. ‘I saw the knife at your throat, the blood—’

‘His blood, my knife,’ Nell said, daring to boast a little. ‘But you shot true.’

‘One of the few things Hal will admit I do better than he can,’ he confessed. ‘Why did you do it, Nell? Why did you go out alone to meet him?’

‘Because I felt responsible. I am sorry. I know I deceived you, I know I asked for your trust and then betrayed it.’

‘No, never that. I never thought that, Nell. I was angry that you had put yourself in danger, but my trust in you never failed.’

Comforted, immeasurably relieved, she pushed the pillows up and sat so they were shoulder to shoulder, Marc’s body a comforting bulwark. ‘I brought the first rope to you. I am my father’s daughter. I had to go.’

‘And I am my father’s son,’ Marc said dryly. ‘But you
are no more responsible for your father’s actions than I am for mine, Nell.’

‘I know. And you know I understand why your father did what he did. But if Papa
was
innocent, then there is still a murderer and a traitor at large.’

‘Nell, it is history now.’ He put an arm around her shoulders and held her tight.

‘It is not. How can it be? Salterton, or whoever he was, said that he was the agent of an old foretelling. He called me
Helena.
I asked him what he meant and he said,
You will find out. All of you. The children will pay for the sins of their fathers. It has been seen and it has been said
. And he knows you—did you hear him say you have not changed?’

‘I don’t know
him,
it is more of his tricks. He has gone, Nell, and the threat with him.’

She knew every tone of his voice, the feel of his body, and something did not ring true. ‘You don’t believe that, do you? You do not truly believe he is dead.’

‘He should be. I hit him square in the shoulder, the water was deep and fast and bitter cold.’ Marcus paused, then said, ‘I’ll not lie to you, Nell. I will not be sure until I see his dead body.’

‘Then we must take precautions,’ she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘I will need a large footman-bodyguard at my new shop.’

Marcus got up abruptly and began to light candles until the room was ablaze with light.

‘Marcus?’

‘I want to see your face, Nell. Look.’ He held out the thing he had been holding by the window, a cut and frayed length of silken cord. ‘I took this off your wrists. I faced
what it would have felt like to lose you and I cannot bear that again. I love you, Nell, you know that. Marry me.’

‘Your parents,’ she said hopelessly. ‘The scandal.’

‘My father adores you, my mother enquired tartly when I was going to make an honest woman of you, commenting that I did not deserve you.’

‘Oh.’ Unable to look at him, Nell picked at the frayed ends of the cord. It had dried and the intertwining colours showed vividly: deep rose-red, periwinkle-blue, golden yellow. ‘But—’