Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (13 page)

Nathan’s head was spinning and swimming, but before he could figure out what to say next, he heard Bilby’s voice calling. “Mr. Fraser, the stage is getting ready to leave! Mr. Fraser, where are you?”

“In here,” Nathan barked over his shoulder, before turning to glower back at Katherine Baxter, who was in just as much trouble as he was.

Bilby stumbled into the parlor, panting for breath as usual. “Mr. Fraser, we must leave now, before we’re stranded again.”

“Then get on board, Bilby. I’ll be right there.”

“
We’ll
be right there,” Katherine chimed in.

“
I’ll
be right there,” Nathan repeated. “Go on, Bilby.”

Bilby scurried off as she asked, “Surely you don’t mean to leave me here?”

It took all of Nathan’s strength to remain calm and not wring her neck. He knew bloody well he couldn’t leave her here. “I won’t take you anywhere until you explain to me what this is all about.”

“I thought you knew what this was about. You were eavesdropping on me and Mr. Swingle, weren’t you?” Anger burned in her voice and even her eyes, as if he’d committed a worse crime by eavesdropping than she had by masquerading as Margaret Hathaway.

“So I was. Unfortunately, I was too gobsmacked to learn your true identity to pay much mind thereafter to the more trivial and mundane details of your conversation with Mr. Swingle.” Something about a rogue named Throckmorton who allegedly lured innocent young women into prostitution by offering them a governess position—not too unlike the business arrangement Nathan’s half brother had had with Lord Waldrop, who’d almost won Miss Hathaway at that fateful card game. “Forasmuch as I’ve been responsible for your well-being these past few days, I daresay the conversation was very much my concern. I only wanted to make certain the two of you really knew each other. Now sit down, if you please.”

She sat down in the armchair near the fireplace, while Nathan positioned himself in front of her, resting one elbow on the mantel and his booted foot on the fender around the hearth. He knew he towered over her and hoped it would intimidate her into telling him the truth.

“Where are you from, which is to say, where were you situated before I met you the other day?”

She looked up at him, her pale-green eyes wary and baleful behind the spectacles. For the first time he wondered if she really needed them, or if they were part of her disguise as Margaret Hathaway.

“I was at Bellingham Hall.” He detected a slight crinkle in her nose as she added, “The Earl of Bellingham happens to be my stepfather.”

That last word came out as half a mumble, the other half sounding as if she longed to spit.

Nathan only stared at her incredulously. He’d just seen the Earl of Bellingham last week, at Lord Gorham’s house party in Northumberland, the same one where he’d played cards with Freddy Hathaway.

“And
that’s
how I know who you really are,” she went on. “You stopped at Bellingham Hall en route to London last summer, and spent the night. You sat across the table from me that evening and didn’t even notice me.” She glanced away, as if to prevent him from seeing in her eyes the umbrage he heard in her voice. Umbrage at always being overlooked because of her insignificant position in the family.

It was a resentment Nathan knew only too well. Still he stared at her, only this time he narrowed his eyes, as if by doing so he might conjure some memory of her.

“You did stay there for the night last summer,” she insisted.

“Yes, I did,” he agreed. “And I do seem to recall a daughter—”

“I’m not his daughter!” she cried, and he removed first his elbow from the mantel, and then his booted foot from the fender. Her impassioned assertion brought yet another memory flashing back in his head, but not of the single night he’d spent at Bellingham Hall.

He remembered his older half brother vehemently stating on more than one occasion that Nathan was not his brother. Which, strictly speaking, was true, only his half brother had said it as if he couldn’t bear the idea of Nathan even being his half brother.

Which, strictly speaking, was also true.

She yanked him back to the present. “He’s always resented me, which I suppose is only fair since I’ve always resented him. I have a brother in London, and would much rather live with him. After what happened to Meg, I’m afraid if I stay at Bellingham Hall any longer, that my stepfather will wager
me
,
and not to a duke. Remember that barouche in the inn yard at York that dashed away when you fired your pistol? Freddy was in there with a strange woman, a widow. I thought it might be his mother. But apparently she was the mother of a friend, who he said had gone to Bellingham Hall to collect a debt from my stepfather.”

Then the barouche
had
belonged to Lord Waldrop, Nathan thought. The woman described by Katherine was Waldrop’s stepmother, a former courtesan who collected young women for the pleasure of her clients.

Nathan debated telling her that it was not outside the realm of possibility that
she was indeed the debt Waldrop sought to collect from Bellingham but decided against it for now. He couldn’t know for certain. Besides, she already suspected it.

“So what were you doing at that inn in York, if you weren’t waiting for the stage to London? Why would you trade places with a perfect stranger? Maybe you saw me once, very briefly, last year, but I’m still a stranger, too. For all you know, I’m as bad as—” He abruptly cut off his words as he realized he was about to say
my half brother.

“As Freddy? As my stepfather? I was waiting for Mr. Throckmorton’s housekeeper to meet me and take me to my new position as his children’s governess in York.”

“And somehow you ascertained that it wasn’t a governess position, after all?”

“No, Mr. Swingle merely leaped to that conclusion. It was a legitimate position. My mother was friends with the late Mrs. Throckmorton, and Mr. Throckmorton needed a governess for his six dozen children. So no, I was not waiting for the stage to London. ’Twas only when the Hathaways came along that I saw my opportunity. Meg did not want to go with you at all, because she was hoping Mr. Swingle would soon arrive to marry her.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “As you know, if only I’d met her, I would have informed her and her brother that I forgave the debt and they were free to go back to their own pitiful lives.”

Katherine removed her bonnet, and loose tendrils of her honey-brown hair flew everywhere. “That may be, but Mr. Throckmorton’s housekeeper arrived before you did, and Freddy elected to abandon her even ere that. What her brother did was vile, and I was only trying to help.”

“By switching places with her?” Nathan dropped his arms in disbelief.

“Yes. Do you think I really wanted to be a governess, and eventually—or so my mother liked to think—Mr. Throckmorton’s second wife?”

Fresh ire welled within him. “I should think not, once you saw a chance to scheme your way into becoming the next Duchess of Loring.”

Her voice rose till it was almost reedy. “Is that what you think?”

“What else am I to think?” He lowered his own voice. “Why do you think I’m trying to travel incognito? Every female between here and Edinburgh—well, between London and Edinburgh—would be throwing herself into my path if she knew who I was.”

“Did I do that when you stopped at Bellingham Hall last summer? I vow to you, Mr. Fraser”—she dropped her voice to just above a whisper—“Your Grace. I am not trying to trap you into anything—except taking me to my brother in London.”

“Your brother,” Nathan ground out, “who will undoubtedly insist that I marry you.”

“Well, we can’t allow that, can we? Very well, then take me to your aunt. From there I’ll find my brother and let him think I had a brief position with her. Didn’t you say she needs a lady’s companion? Or will she also insist that you marry me?”

“I very much doubt that. I believe her heart is set on me finding a bride at her ball. She’d consider it quite unseemly for me to find my bride in the same manner as I—” He broke off his words again, for he didn’t want to say that he’d
found
Katherine Baxter, because he hadn’t.

How could he have found her, when he hadn’t even been looking for her?

“That is,” he stumbled on, “to acquire my bride at a gaming table, or even a public room at an inn.”

She nodded, looking just as grim as he felt. “I see your point. Imagine the scandal! You’re right. You’d best meet your bride at a ball, where everything is carefully orchestrated so nothing goes amiss, and you thus end up with the perfect match.
At least in theory.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, and he was still trying to absorb her cynical observation when a horn blew from outside, signaling that a coach had either just arrived, or was about to leave. He stole a quick glance out the window. Their stage was still there, with Bilby sitting topside, staring anxiously at the front door of the inn.

Nathan felt as if he were thrashing in a web of confusion. Every moment Katherine Baxter spent in his company only sank him deeper into a mire of trouble. The obvious solution was to remove their baggage from the stage before it departed and remain here long enough to see her on a stage back to York.

He settled his gaze on her and was dismayed to see her eyes shining more brightly than usual, and not because of the lamplight or even the rare beam of sunshine piercing the window. No, she was on the verge of tears.

“Please don’t send me back to Bellingham Hall,” she whispered.

She wasn’t pleading with him to take her to London. No, she was beseeching him not to send her back to Bellingham Hall.

He knew she wasn’t some insipid, empty-headed miss like the ones that would be waiting for him at Aunt Verity’s ball, hoping to go to London for nothing more than the chance for a so-called season, which might well include an invitation to the aforementioned ball.

And if his suspicions about her stepfather and Lord Waldrop were correct, then Nathan couldn’t in all good conscience send her back.

“Mr. Fraser!” came the distant sound of Bilby’s frantic voice.

Nathan glanced out the window again just in time to see the stage rolling away.

He bit back a curse as he dashed out of the parlor and across the lobby to the open front door. The stage was already rumbling down the high street toward the end of the village. Bilby sat atop it, craning his neck to look back at Nathan as he waved wildly.

“Tell them to stop!” Nathan roared as he charged after the stage.

“They won’t stop!” Bilby shouted back as the man seated next to him jabbed him with his elbow, clearly annoyed by his yelling.

As Nathan did not want to see his loyal manservant thrown from the top of the stage, he bellowed, “Get off at the next stop, Bilby! Do you hear me? The next stop! We’ll catch up!”

Just as Bilby tipped his hat to indicate he understood, the stage dipped down a hill and was gone.

Nathan finally stopped running, and to his surprise, found himself at the very edge of the village. As he panted for breath, he caught a glimpse of the stage as it climbed halfway up another rise then wound around it. His heart hammered as he again recalled the last time he’d run after a carriage, some twenty years ago.

He wondered where the next stop was, and how far away. The innkeeper would know. He turned and trudged back, thinking of how good it felt to run. If not for Miss Katherine Baxter, he might not have minded walking to the next stop.

But he wouldn’t leave her here. And he wouldn’t send her back to Bellingham Hall, either. He honestly couldn’t blame her for tricking him into this.

In fact, he couldn’t help feeling a rather grudging admiration for what she’d done. He didn’t know too many women who would have taken such advantage of an opportunity to escape an otherwise dismal fate.

If only his mother had had the courage to do that.

Upon reaching the inn, instead of returning to the parlor he sought out the innkeeper to make inquiries. There were no available carriages for hire, and the last mount had just been given to Mr. Swingle. The next village south was seven miles away.

That wasn’t such a long distance for Nathan to walk, but he wondered about Katherine. He returned to the parlor where she remained in the chair, her spectacles dangling from one hand.

“Katherine,” was all he said.

She gasped and dashed the back of her hand across her eyes as she sprang from the chair and hastily put her spectacles back on, keeping her hands over them as if she didn’t want him to see her eyes. Nathan appreciated the gesture, because right now he didn’t want to see them.

“I thought you’d left,” she murmured.

“I would scarcely be a man of honor if I did that,” he replied. “How far can you walk?”

“All the way to London, if I must.”

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary,” he said brusquely. “Now come along.”

By the time they’d left the village behind them, Nathan and Kate still hadn’t spoken another word to each other.

She knew he was furious with her. She knew he had every right to be. She also knew that if not for that honor he’d mentioned, he would’ve left her behind to fend for herself, even though she had no coin and her portmanteau containing all her worldly goods was somewhere on the road that wound ahead of them, dipping and rising every so often over the gently undulating hills.

Freddy Hathaway would have left her behind, and her stepfather probably would have done the same given the opportunity and if not for her mother.

She stole frequent glances at Nathan from the corner of her eye. Not once did he turn his head in her direction, and as far as she knew, not once did he flick his eyes toward her. He gazed straight ahead, marching in long, swift strides that betrayed his simmering ire. For once Kate was thankful that the crushing boredom at Bellingham Hall had driven her to take long walks across the moors. Had she not done so, she might have found it difficult to keep up with Nathan, and she dared not complain about anything now.