The Reluctant Suitor (57 page)

Dusting his hands off, Colton grinned. “Now let’s get to Bath before we find our way again hampered, this time by a rainstorm.”

He was just approaching the stump of the tree when he realized it had not collapsed beneath the force of the wind as they had supposed. Rather, it had been chopped down and, from what he could ascertain, fairly recently from the sap that was still oozing from its firmly rooted base, around which lay a pile of fresh chips.

Continuing on a short distance beyond the stump, Colton paused as if to consider the sky overhead and then turned, lifting his head a slight degree to keep his searching eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his brim. Listening intently, he carefully scanned the woods from right to left. The gravel on the well-worn road crunched slightly beneath Bentley’s boots as the hulking man strode past the team, but another sound, the clicking thud of a rifle misfiring, set Colton’s nerves on end. It was too close for comfort!

“Get down!” he bellowed toward his driver as he, himself, raced as swiftly as he could toward the landau, the door of which he had left open. Besides a few saplings, it alone offered the closest cover for him. In the next instant, a loud explosion of gunpowder, ignited by a firing pin, produced the forceful trajectory of a leaden ball. The resulting, ear-splitting sound snatched a start from Bentley, who promptly

ducked in wide-eyed alarm.

The leaden missile met its intended mark, boring a hole into Colton’s back and sending him sprawling forward with a sharp gasp. On the heels of that report, a barrage of exploding gunfire was unleashed upon the pair, most of which pelted the landau with lead shot very near the place where Colton had gone down. As painful as it was for him to move, he was forced to drag himself beneath the conveyance, which at best afforded him little security.

“Milord, are yu hurt?” Bentley cried, having made his way past the front wheels. He squatted down on his haunches on the far side of the landau and craned his neck to look underneath. When he saw the glistening red on the back of the redingote, his heart plunged to morbid depths as fear pierced it. He could only believe the nobleman was either dead or dying. “Milord, are yu alive?”

The piercing agony of his wound delayed Colton’s answer a moment as he lay with his brow braced on a forearm. Finally he rolled his head on his arm, enabling him to peer sideways at Bentley, who clasped a hand over his swiftly pounding heart as his breath escaped in a sigh of relief.

“I’m wounded but far from dead, Bentley. Have you a weapon and shot with you?”

“Aye, milord. Brown Besses, both o’ ’em. I gots plenty o’ shot, too. Yu might says I likes bein’

prepared at all times.”

“Should we escape alive from these brigands who’ve attacked us, I’ll see that you’re supplied with more accurate weapons in the future. As for now, we can only hope our attackers are within range of the shot.

Can you reach them without getting your head blown off?”

“Well, considerin’ the trouble we’ll be in if’n I don’t, milord, I’ll be doin’ ‘at very thing right away. I just checked the loadin’ this morn’n, just like I’ve been doin’ e’er since yur cousin an’ ’er family were killed.”

No sooner were the words out of Bentley’s mouth than he was again on his feet, scurrying alongside the carriage, this time toward the front. Shots liberally pocked the wood and fine leather sheathing the conveyance as he climbed onto the spokes of the wheel and reached behind the dickey seat. He cursed loudly as the leaden balls sprinkled the landau, sending sharp splinters flying into his face, but upon reaching the weapons and a bag of shot, he clasped them firmly in one arm and hastily began his descent, though not fast enough. An enraged snarl was wrenched from his lips as a ball sliced across his cheek, leaving a groove that readily spilled blood over his dapper livery. The wound gave him impetus. He promptly dropped out of sight and, hunkering down low, scampered back toward the spot where his lordship had taken shelter. There, he delivered two of the weapons into the capable hands of the retired colonel.

Bentley squinted against the stiff breezes that flowed beneath the carriage as he watched the younger man reposition himself. “Do yu ken how best ta take ’em, milord?”

“Go to the front of the carriage, and see if you can drawn them out, but stay out of sight,” Colton bade. “

It’s bad enough that I’ve been wounded without having you incapable of getting us out of here. I’ll see if I can pick off one or two while they’re watching you. Hopefully that will send the rest of them fleeing in fear of their lives.”

“How many do ye make ’em out ta be, milord?”

“From the shots pelting the landau while you were getting the rifles, more than we can repel without reinforcements. You’d better start praying for a miracle.”

While on bended knee, Bentley bent his head, muttered a few words, and then, after a breathless “amen,

” scurried forward.

A brief curtailment of gunfire had followed his disappearance, spurring Bentley to pop his head into view again. “Yu bloody bastards!” he railed. “Show yur ugly faces.”

Quickly he ducked out of sight again, just as several leaden balls pelted the landau. On the heels of this new barrage, Bentley heard the fairly loud roar of a Brown Bess discharging from underneath the wheel base. On its heels came a distant scream. He chanced a peek through the windows of the landau in time to see a man clasp a hand to his profusely bleeding throat and then tumble forward in a senseless heap.

Another gurgling cry was evoked from another of the villains soon after Colton drew bead upon a tattered red coat visible through the brush. The man staggered into an opening, causing Colton to suffer a deep regret as he recognized the coat as one worn by foot soldiers of the English infantry.

“Bentley, stay down!” he bellowed. “I’ve got to talk with these men!”

The coachman was certain the younger man had taken leave of his senses. “But, milord, they’re tryin’ ta blow us ta kingdom come!”

“Do as I say! Stay down, and don’t draw any more fire!”

A sorely garbled comment, closely resembling an oath, sufficed as a promise of compliance. Petulantly, Bentley folded his arms across his chest, convinced his lordship was courting disaster.

Colton endured the piercing agony centered around the hole in his back as he dragged himself closer to the front wheel. The effort cost him a fair measure of his remaining vigor, and after completing the excruciating task, he was forced to rest a moment. By dint of will, he took firm hold of his resolve as well as his rapidly dwindling strength and called out to the rabble, “Men, why have you attacked my coach?

Are you not some of the same fighting men I fought alongside against our enemies? If you have no real ken of the men you’ve attacked, let me introduce myself. I am Colonel Wyndham, recently retired from His Majesty’s armed forces.”

“Colonel Lord Wyndham?” Surprise was evident in the voice of the one who answered, but it was one Colton recognized.

“Sergeant Buford, is that you? Good heavens, man! Why have you repaid me for saving your life by attacking my coach?”

“Milord, I ne’er dreamt for an instant it were yu we’d been stirred up ta attack! Please, yur lordship, yu’

ve gots ta believe me! A fella told us ‘at a Lord Randwulf was bootin’ out families o’ dead soldiers who’

d been his tenants afore the war an’ were forcin’ their children ta do his drudgery in his work houses in order for ’em ta eat.”

Colton didn’t know which galled him more, his wound or the vicious slander. “Who tells those lies against me? I am Lord Randwulf. I assumed my father’s marquessate after his death. He owned no work houses, and the tenants residing on our lands have been living there for many a year. As for the widows and families of dead soldiers, they are secure in their cottages, doing what they can for their own betterment.”

“Don’t knows the bloke’s name, milord. Nor ‘is face, neither. He wore a mask whilst ’e were wit’ us.”

“Is he among you now? I would speak with this man who has taken it upon himself to fabricate these lies against me.”

“ ’E were just ’ere, milord.

’E’s the one what shot yu. . . . Took ’em two tries ta do it ta ye, too, aftah ‘is own weapon fizzled.”

Cautiously Buford rose to his feet, fearing he’d be shot. After realizing he was fairly safe, he stood upright and glanced around the area. “Why, the gent’s taken ‘is bloomin’ leave, milord. Maybe ’e lit out wit’ the idea o’ lettin’ the rest o’ us be ‘anged for what ’e started. ‘Twould ‘peer ’e duped the lot o’ us, milord, an’ for ‘at, I must beg yur pardon.”

“Your apology is accepted, Buford. Now I urge you and your cohorts to go back to your homes and families, and stop this chicanery. If you do not desist in this foolishness, I can assure you that eventually you’ll pay for what you’re doing. If you need work, then by all means, come to my manor. I’ll see what can be done for you, but for heaven’s sake, cease this idiocy ere you’re arrested and strung up for killing innocent people.”

“Are yu wounded, milord?” Buford asked worriedly. “I saw yu fall when the bloke shot yu. ‘Twould be a bloomin’ shame if’n yu died from somethin’ we’d been involved in. Can we ’elp yu, milord?”

“The conniving bastard shot me in the back, all right, but I haven’t time to see to my wound. It’s crucial that I get to Bath.”

Bentley stuttered in sharp surprise before he launched into a vehement protest. “Milord, Bath’s an hour away, an’ the manor only a few moments. Yu could die if’n we don’t turn back. Once a physician looks at ye, then if’n ’e says yu’re able, we can go on as before.”

“Just help me into the carriage, Bentley, and continue on to Bath. We’ll find a doctor there in good time.”

“Milord . . . please . . . I’d be deeply grieved should yu expire along the way. Yur mother’d ne’er forgive me. Yur sister’d likely ‘ave me scalp, jes’ like I been ’earin’ ’bout from ’em far-off places in the Colonies.”

“Dammit, Bentley, do as I say! I won’t be swayed by your arguments. My future happiness may well depend on our ability to reach the city in good time.”

“Well, what ’bout yur life?”

“I’m not ready to give it up just yet, Bentley, and the longer you stand there arguing, the longer it will take you to get me to a physician. Besides, it’s only a scratch.”

“Only a scratch,” Bentley mumbled morosely, climbing to his seat.
“Humph
, wit’ a ‘ole like that, ’e’ll likely be bleeding ta death afore I e’en gets ‘im ’ere.”

T
he city of Bath was exactly the place where she wanted and needed to be at this precise moment in time, Adriana decided dejectedly as she gazed out on the lantern-lit city from the second-story

bedchamber of her aunt’s town house, where she had been ensconced shortly after arriving with her parents. That had been several days ago, and, since then, her aunt had taken them on lengthy walks, accompanied them on visitations to old friends and distant relatives, encouraged them to shop frugally, dress tastefully, and follow the very pleasant customs of the city, for it was here that divisions between aristocrats and gentlefolk had ceased to exist, that is, if one minded one’s manners, a requirement if one wanted to be accepted. Yet, in spite of her aunt’s vivacious and clever wit, which frequently evoked well-deserved chortles from guests, Adriana still struggled to subdue the tears that quickly began to flow whenever she let down her guard and relented to the agonizing pangs she had been suffering since terminating her courtship with Colton Wyndham.

The distance between Bath and Randwulf Manor had allowed her to separate herself, if not emotionally from the handsome man, then surely in actuality. Even so, regrets continued to press down hard upon her, especially when she was alone. She wished now she had had the foresight to release Colton from the contract ere their courtship ever commenced. Had she done so, she’d have saved herself the enormous grief that now weighed down her spirit. Every instinct she had been capable of feeling had screamed a warning of the improbability of their ever getting married, but like a simpleton she had allowed herself to believe there existed a small, finite chance. And so, much to the injury of her heart, she had allowed herself to fall more deeply in love with the man every day they had been together.

A light rap of knuckles sounded on the bedchamber door, drawing Adriana’s somber attention away from the thoroughfare below. At her call for admittance, her mother swept in, valiantly feigning a cheery smile. In spite of her deep concern for her daughter, Christina had endeavored to convey an optimistic facade, though in truth her own heart was breaking for her youngest offspring. It was the best she could do under the circumstances, for she found herself totally bereft of the talent for working miracles and absorbing into herself all the anguish the girl was now suffering. “Lord Alistair just arrived, dear. Will you be coming down soon?”

“Yes, Mama,” Adriana replied, hardly aware of the dejected sigh that slipped from her lips in accompaniment. “I’m ready to leave whenever you are.”

“That will be soon, dear.”

A genuine smile of delight touched Christina’s soft lips as her eyes swept over her daughter. The dark-blue silk sheath that her youngest wore was sublimely appropriate for one so tall, lithe, and graceful.

The minuscule beads lightly embellishing the gown caught the radiance of a nearby lamp, causing the lovely creation to glitter like tiny stars upon a night-blue sky. Teardrop pearls dangled prettily from small, sapphire-encrusted studs, adorning the lobes of dainty ears. Twining delicately about the base of her neck was a gold choker finely tooled to represent diminutive branches of a tree, the twigs of which were studded here and there with minute sapphires. A fairly large, solitary teardrop pearl hung over the hollow of her long, elegant throat.

The jewelry was the only accoutrement her daughter wore with the costly gown, but Christina was convinced she needed nothing more, for it was a fact that some of the simplest garments complemented a rare beauty far more than frilly or elaborate attire. Indeed, there were times when Christina had to admit, but only to herself, that in pulchritude and grace, her youngest daughter far surpassed her sisters.