Almost Perfect (15 page)

“What if they don’t work for Lord Bucksden?” Cassie interrupted, caring for nothing at this moment but Eliza’s safety. Philana was right. Cassie had been giving Lord Bucksden credit for more power than he owned. As long as she denied him Eliza there was little he could do to hurt her.

“That’s a risk I can afford to take, but not one that Eliza can bear. She’s the one Lord Bucksden wants, the one the earl has some right to claim.”

“But Cassie,” Eliza started to protest.

Cassie silenced her with a lift of her hand. “I won’t hear it. What can Lord Bucksden do to me? I have no repute left to tarnish, nor can I be any more impoverished than I already am. No, if those men are from Bucksden, then they’ll swiftly ride on after you once they realize I’m not the one they want. All the more reason for you to go as swiftly as you can.”

When Eliza again tried to object Cassie said, “Buy my passage to America, Eliza, then send a note at Philana’s house to tell me what line and the schedule. As soon as I can I’ll follow you to Boston.”

It was a capable fantasy. Cassie counted on it to convince her father and sister to leave. “Go this very moment,” she told them again, her voice filled with every ounce of command she owned.

Tears filled Eliza’s eyes. She kicked her heels into the big horse’s side. The horse trotted away from the coach.

Roland shook his head. “Would that I had never seen a deck of cards,” he said then stepped up onto the coach’s forward wheel, doing what Cassie couldn’t, mounting the horse. He laid his makeshift saddle bags over its shoulders and cantered after Eliza, leading the last two coach horses.

Still seated on the side of the coach, Cassie watched her family disappear, devastated. How would Eliza ever remain safe without her? How could Cassie protect herself without her family? If the men about to come upon her were from the earl she was in terrible trouble.

And, if they weren’t? Then, perhaps they would help her.

Do what?

She could hide, but not for long. Should Lord Bucksden poll Lord Ryecroft’s local guests, seeking information about the Conningsbys, he’d get an earful. Cassie had no doubt that the whole neighborhood knew by now what had happened in Ryecroft Castle’s card room last night, and that the Conningsbys had returned with Philana to Ettrick House. The news of a strange woman found in a fallen coach would travel even faster.

Cassie swiveled on the door then gingerly lowered herself through the empty square opening in the side door even as she called herself a coward for doing so. It wasn’t that she thought she could hide; it was that she couldn’t bear to sit, trapped, as she watched Lord Bucksden ride toward her.

In the coach, she eased her feet down the length of the bench seat until she landed gently on the opposite door frame. Her weight strained the door beneath her. Mud oozed through its opening, the muck spilling onto Cassie’s boots. She pressed herself as far back into the corner of the coach’s belly as she could, praying the oncoming men would ride on, convinced by the absence of horses that the coach had been abandoned.

A horse whickered. The men were upon her. Cassie closed her eyes, her heart pounding. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sound of her breathing.

“Wha’ na?” asked one man, the lilt of Scotland in his voice.

“Conningsby’s coach,” Lucien answered.

Cassie’s eyes flew open. Lucien? Her heart leapt then crashed through the bottom of the coach to wallow in the mud beneath it.

There was only one reason for Lucien to be following her: her secretive departure from Ryecroft Castle had confirmed to him she was a cheat. But how had he known to look for her on the Edinburgh road?

Cassie’s eyes narrowed. Philana and her meddling! She’d told Lucien how to find them and in doing so had destroyed Cassie’s elaborate plan to protect her.

Although the thought that Philana might yet be in danger upset Cassie, the thought of returning to Ettrick House in Lucien’s custody terrified her. The whole way Lucien would demand she admit she was a sharp. If she tried to explain about her skill, he would only call her a liar and point to her family’s flight from Ryecroft as proof. If she lied and gave him what he wanted, he would gloat and in doing so destroy every shard of those memories she’d cherished of him, memories she hadn’t realized she’d held precious until last night.

She’d lost so much over the past month. The thought of Lucien unfairly destroying the last of her girlhood dreams was more than she could bear.

The answer came in a flash. Not long ago a tale circulated in London about a soldier who’d taken a blow to the head and lost all memory of his life prior to his injury. It wasn’t a great stretch to imagine she might have hit her head had she been in the coach when it fell. If she couldn’t remember Lucien, she didn’t have to talk to him. If he couldn’t accuse her, she could hold tight to what little sweetness she had left in her life. Best of all, he, being a gentleman, had no choice but to return her to Philana’s house despite her pretense.

Giving herself no time to reconsider, Cassie swiftly tore her bonnet from her head then pulled out a few of her hair pins. Hoping she looked appropriately injured, she relaxed back into the corner and closed her eyes.

Lucien dismounted and started for the fallen coach. Such an accident wasn’t uncommon for such heavy vehicles on Scotland’s uncertain and rudimentary roads.

From his perch atop his own rawboned mount, Lucien’s gamekeeper surveyed the toppled, horseless coach. In all truth Jamie was more the doer of odd jobs and errands at Lucien’s lodge, as well as husband to its housekeeper, than either the lodge’s caretaker or gamekeeper. However, Jamie, enjoyed his title and lived up to it in his dress: a short-crowned hat, decorated with a buckle that he must have gotten from his grandfather, a serviceable brown coat, patched waistcoat, leather knee breeches, thick stockings and heavy boots.

“Ye shouldna waste yer time, m’lord. The coach horses are gone. No doubt they’ve ridden on, na wanting to meet you,” Jamie said, speaking with none of the servility that should have been employed when addressing one of England’s peers.

Jamie’s familiarity toward Lucien had evolved over the previous summer when he played the role of Lucien’s drinking companion and story teller. For that summer Jamie and Maggie had been the only servants Lucien kept at the lodge, having left Hastings to his own devices at Graceton Castle.

“It’s my time to waste,” Lucien replied to Jamie, toeing one of the trunks that lay on the road.

What clue to Cassie’s trick had he, Percy and Egremont all missed last night? It had to be something obvious. Not only were the Conningsbys fleeing like the devil was on their tail, their haste was so urgent that they left their possessions behind as they went.

He stepped at the coach’s side, glanced inside then froze. Cassie sprawled in a lifeless heap at the bottom of the vehicle. The hem of her lavender pelisse was filthy with mud, her golden hair, torn from its usual careful confinement, was in wild disarray.

“Jamie,” he shouted and leapt up onto the side of the coach.

Tossing aside his hat, Lucien lowered himself through the window and dropped to a crouch beside Cassie. The coach rocked a little in reaction to his landing. Mud oozed into the interior, touching Cassie’s hand. Her fingers moved. Her eyelids flickered.

Relief tore through him. She wasn’t dead, only unconscious. He slaughtered his relief. He’d indulge in no pity for a cheat, not even a beautiful, injured one.

Jamie leaned into the window above Lucien. Pity cut creases into his lean cheeks and gleamed in his bright blue eyes beneath the dark fringe of his hair. “Ach, the poor wee creature. They left her here, hurt and alone.”

“She wasn’t alone for long, was she?” Lucien retorted, torn between agreeing with Jamie--what sort of man left his unconscious daughter alone on the road?--and the certainty that the Conningsbys had known someone followed them. Both Lucien and Jamie had seen Sir Roland look back at them not long ago. A cheat wouldn’t hesitate to use anyone she found to achieve her sordid ends, whatever they might be.

Cassie groaned, tried to move then gasped, stiffening as if in pain. Her eyes opened, their usual golden-brown color so dark they appeared almost black. She looked up at him, her expression as guarded as he expected of someone about to face her comeuppance.

“Well, now,” he said to her, “it appears your haste to escape has cost you dearly. Let me guess. Your sister and father took my money with them as they fled, leaving you to face the consequences of your actions by yourself.”

Something flickered in her eyes then her gaze shifted until she looked at his neckcloth. She frowned at his throat. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice tremulous and quiet. “What are you talking about?”

If anything remained of Lucien’s compassion it was buried beneath his outrage at her nefarious attempt to use him. Just what sort of fool did she take him for? Lucien had seen stunned men, men hit hard enough to temporarily lose their memories, taken from the boxing ring at his London gymnasium. Their questions were frightened and frantic as they fought to wrench the missing answers from their uncooperative brains.

With that, the answer to her ploy rushed over Lucien, the idea both stunning in its brilliance and ultimately satisfying. Best of all, it would expose her to the world for the cheat and liar she was. Mustering every ounce of acting ability he owned, Lucien crooned, “Why, my dear, how can you not recognize me? I’m your husband.”

Her husband?! Cassie’s eyes flew wide. Triumph blazed in Lucien’s steely eyes as he waited for her to deny him. In that moment he looked every bit as dangerous as Lord Bucksden.

No, he looked like a man willing to step outside society’s convention to have what he wanted, and what he wanted was her complete destruction. It was time to admit defeat even if doing so only validated all the terrible things he believed about her.

Tired, hurt and defeated, Cassie opened her mouth to tell him everything, only to have the most outrageous thought unfold in her. No matter what she said or did, Lucien would forever after believe the worst of her. She, on the other hand, needed someone to protect her from Lord Bucksden until she was healed enough to make her way to Edinburgh. More importantly, she needed to do her healing away from Ettrick House and Philana. Could there be a better place for her to hide than with this new husband of hers, the same man whom Lord Bucksden feared?

It was so very wrong, but not nearly as wrong as Lucien refusing to behave as any other gentleman would. She swallowed her confession. What Lucien deserved was for her to not only call his bluff but up the ante in this game of his.

“This cannot be,” she countered. “Try as I might I cannot recall you as my husband or that I am even married.” She spoke nothing but the truth and yet in their phrasing she turned them into a powerful trump card.

Astonishment shot through Lucien’s gray eyes. Cassie wasn’t sure if she should laugh or worry. He’d been utterly certain she would crumble before his ploy. Even as the gloating twist of his mouth drooped, his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. She read the message in every line of his body just as easily as she read him at the card table. Although he might call her cheat and scoundrel, he would never admit to his own lie. Of course he wouldn’t. Doing so would only turn him into the same cheat he accused her of being.

Cassie shifted to look at the rustic staring down at them through the coach door. “Tell me, sir. Is this man truly my husband?” she asked, placing a hand on Lucien’s arm. He twitched his arm to the side to escape her fingers.

An air of amusement clung to the dour lines of the man’s chiseled face. He was no doubt enjoying this little charade between his betters more than any Punch and Judy he’d ever seen. After a quick, laughing glance at Lucien, the man said, “If that’s wha his lordship says, madam, so it mun be. I canna say more, for we’ve na met until this very moment,” he replied. Unlike his noble employer he took care to tiptoe carefully around his lie.

Lucien looked from the man to Cassie. His jaw was still tight as he glared at her. Then his brows lifted and his lips stretched into a smile. Reaching out, Lucien touched his fingers to her muddy cheek.

“Oh, my poor darling,” he crooned. “Look how my inattention has hurt you. Why did I agree that you should travel to Edinburgh on your own?”

Cassie barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Had she really suffered from amnesia she might well have been asking some very pointed questions of Lucien as to the sort of husband he was. She wasn’t just alone, she was without maid, companion, coachman or even horses. “Why did you?” she asked, leaning her face into his hand.

Something flashed through Lucien’s gaze as he lost yet another round to Cassie. “Open the door, Jamie, and I’ll lift her up to you,” he growled.

“Aye, m’lord,” this Jamie replied and disappeared.

The coach door squeaked open, displaying a larger panel of the sky to Cassie’s view. Lucien slipped his arms beneath her. As Cassie’s injured leg bent over his forearm pain shot through her. She gasped and struggled against him. His eyes narrowed and his arms tightened around her to hold her against him.

“No, stop,” she pleaded. “My leg hurts when it bends.”

“Let me see,” Lucien snapped.

He set her down, her back braced in a corner, her legs stretching across the top of the downward facing door. Treating her with the familiarity of a husband, Lucien lifted the mud-stained hems of her attire nearly to her thighs.

Cassie would have reacted except the sight of her injured leg made her moan. Above her white stocking and its pink and green embroidered garter her knee was swollen, the skin already darkening from an injured yellow to the blue-black of a bruise. Her ankle didn’t look as puffy as she expected, although it throbbed against the top of her short boot.