Brighton Road (2 page)

To Gwenda's embarrassment, Mr. Leatherbury
ushered in a strange gentleman who was so tall he had to duck to
avoid banging his head on the oak lintel of the door. She shrank
back behind the settle, quickly pulling her skirts down.

Thus composed, she prepared to call out and
alert the host to his mistake: that this parlor was already
occupied.

Before she could do so, she heard the man who
had been addressed as Lord Ravenel say, "Refreshments will not be
necessary. I only require the use of this room for but a few
moments."

Gwenda heard Mr. Leatherbury's puzzled "Oh,"
then could imagine his shrug as he added, "Very good, my lord." He
bustled out again, doubtless relieved to be able to attend to his
more demanding guests.

As the door clicked shut, Gwenda realized she
had been left alone with the stranger. She regarded with little
relish the prospect of limping out half-shod to announce her
presence. But she was consumed with curiosity as well. Why on earth
would someone desire the use of a private parlor for only a few
moments? Before revealing herself, she cautiously risked a peek at
Lord Ravenel, who stood just inside the door, briskly stripping off
his gloves like a man marshaling himself for some grim and
difficult task.

He certainly had to be one of the largest
gentlemen she had ever seen, and all of him solid muscle, she would
have wagered. From the heels of his gleaming Hessians to the crown
of his glossy ebony hair, he stood well over six feet. A navy-blue
frock coat molded perfectly a most unyielding set of broad
shoulders. The cut of his immaculate cream-colored breeches and
waistcoat were plain, with nothing of the dandy about him; his neck
was half strangled in a stiff collar and a cravat tied with
mathematical precision. But the starched neckcloth appeared no more
rigid than the cast of Ravenel's countenance. His features were
rough hewn, from the square cut of his jaw to the harsh planes of
his cheeks. Forbidding black eyebrows shadowed eyes as dark as the
thick lashes framing them.

Not in the least shy or timid, Gwenda yet
felt reluctant to point out to this formidable-looking man that the
parlor was already occupied. Her hesitation proved costly. The next
she knew, the door opened a second time. Her situation became more
awkward when a waiter stood back to allow a lady to enter. Gwenda
judged the lady to be not much older than herself, but far more
elegantly gowned in corn-yellow satin, her fair ringlets wisping
from beneath a poke bonnet. The waiter discreetly retired as the
beautiful young lady regarded Ravenel through violet eyes gone wide
with surprise.

"Lord Ravenel," she protested. "There was no
need for you to bespeak a private parlor. We are all going to dine
outside. The landlord has some tables arranged for our party
beneath the trees. It will all be most charm—"

"I know that, Miss Carruthers," Ravenel said,
sweeping her objections aside with a brusque motion of his hand.
"But I wanted the favor of a few moments alone with you before we
part."

Just the right amount of blush filtered into
Miss Carruthers's cheeks to highlight her eyes. "That sounds most
improper, my lord," she said, dimpling with a tiny smile. "Perhaps
I had best summon my aunt."

No more improper than her own position,
Gwenda thought, mentally cursing the folly that had caused her to
delay in speaking up. It would be dreadfully embarrassing for her
to pop out now, but she had no desire to witness whatever sort of
tryst was about to take place. And yet Ravenel's dark eyes looked
more impatient than amorous. Gwenda crouched farther back on the
settle, hoping that the lady might persuade him to leave, but his
lordship did not appear to be a persuadable sort of man.

"Of course I intend no impropriety," Ravenel
said. "And your aunt would be very much in the way. Now sit down.
Please."

Even when Ravenel added "please," it still
sounded like a command. Gwenda heard the scrape of a chair and then
a rustling of silk, which told her that Miss Carruthers had
complied.

"Oh, blast!" Gwenda whispered to herself. Now
what was she going to do?

Miss Carruthers said, "Surely, Lord Ravenel,
whatever you have to say to me could wait until we meet again in
Brighton."

"No, it cannot. I feel I have waited too long
already."

Miss Carruthers's heavy sigh carried clearly
to Gwenda's ears. Squirming at the plight in which she found
herself, Gwenda eyed the open window through which Spotted Bert had
vanished and wondered what her chances were of clambering through
it unnoticed. But after risking another peek around the settle, she
quickly abandoned any such notion. Miss Carruthers's chair was
drawn up in the far corner of the room, closest to the door.
Although Ravenel loomed over her, he did not look at the young
lady. Rather, he seemed to be staring out the window, an absent
expression in his eyes as he mustered his thoughts. Despite the
discomforts of her situation, Gwenda could not help being caught up
by the picture that two of them made, somewhat like the hero and
heroine of her latest novel—Miss Carruthers, so angelically fair;
Ravenel, so dangerously dark. Except that the backdrop was all
wrong. Gwenda would have opted for walls of stone with rich Italian
tapestries and velvet curtains of royal purple fringed in gold.
Miss Carruthers's blond hair should have cascaded down her back
instead of being arranged a la Sappho, and Gwenda would have
rounded her eyes, gotten rid of that catlike slant. As for Ravenel,
he would appear to better advantage in a crimson doublet, with a
sword buckled at his waist His hair should have flowed back from
his brow in midnight waves rather than been cropped into the severe
Brutus cut so popular among the gentlemen.

Linking his hands behind his back, Ravenel
drew himself up to his full height. Gwenda thought her mama would
greatly have approved of his lordship's posture. The man looked as
though he had been born with a ramrod affixed to his spine. He said
abruptly, "I see no reason to waste any more time, Miss Carruthers.
I have your father's permission to address you, and I am sure you
have been expecting me to do so."

Good heavens! Gwenda could scarcely credit
her ears. The man could not possibly intend to deliver a proposal
of marriage, not here at an inn.

But her own dismay was nothing compared to
Miss Carruthers's. Dropping her manner of placid gentility, she
half started from the chair, irritation and alarm chasing across
her delicate features. "Oh no. I—I wasn't expecting—Please, Lord
Ravenel. Desmond,it is yet too soon."

Desmond? Gwenda stifled the desire to shriek.
She was not so unreasonable as to expect to find men named Roderigo
or Antonio outside the pages of her books, but Desmond! How could
his parents have been so utterly unfeeling?

" It is not too soon," Ravenel snapped. "I
have received enough encouragement from you, Belinda, that I think
I may make bold to speak what is in my mind."

In his mind? What about his heart? Gwenda
thought. She realized she had been staring so long that, despite
her concealment, she marveled that they did not feel her eyes upon
them. Both Ravenel and Miss Carruthers were so caught up in their
own drama that neither seemed to suspect that they were not
alone.

All the same, Gwenda drew farther behind the
settle. Resigning herself to the fact that she was now cornered
until the end of this painful little scene, she eased into a more
comfortable position as Ravenel launched into his proposal. He had
a magnificent voice, deep and full-timbred. But his delivery—Gwenda
winced. He might have been addressing a meeting of Parliament. She
could almost picture his rigid stance, one hand resting upon the
lapel of his jacket. He detailed quite logically and clearly for
Miss Belinda Carruthers all of the advantages of becoming Lady
Ravenel. These seemed to consist chiefly of estates in
Leicestershire, a house in town, and an income of twenty thousand
pounds a year. He was also prepared to generously overlook Miss
Carruthers's own lack of fortune.

Gwenda shifted on the settle, having to bite
her tongue to overcome the urge to interfere. Ravenel was doing it
all wrong. Not that she was insistent that a man go down upon one
knee. But at least he ought to clasp Miss Carruthers's hands
between his own and forget all this rubbish about estates.

"In conclusion," his lordship said, "I
believe our similarities of tastes and interests make for the
likelihood of us achieving a most comfortable marriage."

Gwenda smothered a groan against her
hand.

Ravenel added, almost as an afterthought, "
It is only for you, madam, to name the day that will make me the
happiest of men."

A pause ensued at the end of his speech,
which drew out to such lengths that Gwenda could not forbear
sneaking another look even if it meant risking detection. Miss
Carruthers appeared tormented with indecision, her pretty face not
so much flustered as gone hard with calculation. The only thing
Gwenda could liken the woman's expression to was when she saw her
brother Jack contemplating some desperate gamble.

"No!" Miss Carruthers finally blurted out.
"I¬I mean yes, I cannot " She flounced to her feet. "I mean I am
deeply sensible of the honor you do me."

Not half as sensible of it as he was, Gwenda
thought wryly as she noted Ravenel's brow furrowing with the weight
of a heavy frown. Then she realized her interest in the situation
was causing her to lean too far forward and pulled herself
back.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "But am I to
understand that you are refusing my offer?"

"No!" Belinda cried. "What I truly feel is
that I cannot marry you, not—not at this time."

"My dear Belinda," he began again, but his
growing irritation robbed the endearment of any effect. "Do you
wish to marry me or not? A simple yes or no will suffice."

What a passionate attempt at persuasion that
was, Gwenda thought, rolling her eyes. How could Miss Carruthers
possibly resist!

"If you would only wait until I come to
Brighton," Belinda faltered. "Just give me a little more time "

"A little more time in Lord Smardon's
company?" Ravenel said. "I am not a complete fool, Belinda. I am
fully aware that the friend you intend to visit on the way to
Brighton is the Earl of Smardon. You are hoping to marry him, are
you not? That is why you will not return a round answer to my
proposal?'

"Oh, no. I don't mean to marry anyone."
Belinda's voice dropped so low, Gwenda had to strain very hard in
order to hear her. "There is another reason for my reluctance. You
see, I was once engaged to a young officer, Colonel Adams of the
Tenth Cavalry. He—he died fighting in Spain. I fear I have not
quite gotten over my Percival's death."

"Once engaged'?" Ravenel echoed. "You never
mentioned anything of the kind before."

With good reason, Gwenda thought cynically.
There was a note of insincerity in Belinda's voice that made the
whole thing sound like a hum.

"I hope I am not the sort of lady who goes
about wearing her heart on her sleeve." Belinda's voice broke.

When Gwenda next peeked at the couple, she
saw that Belinda's eyelashes batted, fighting back the tears that
made her eyes sparkle like jewels. Appearing uncomfortable, Ravenel
dredged up a linen handkerchief, which he thrust at her. Gwenda
wondered why the young lady's distress roused no sympathy in her.
Rather, she felt as though she had stumbled into the second act of
a very bad melodrama.

"Thank you, Lord Ravenel," Belinda said,
dabbing at her eyes with the linen. She gave a brave little sniff.
"I am sure you understand now why I wish you to give me more
time."

"But—" Ravenel began.

"Pray don't distress me by saying more just
now. I will give you my answer in Brighton." Miss Carruthers
managed to skirt past him. She bolted through the parlor door,
fairly closing it in his face when he tried to follow.

Gwenda waited tensely for Ravenel's reaction.
He did not look like the sort to slap his forehead or tear his hair
and lament. For a moment he stared at the closed door, looking
rather nonplussed. Then he scowled, his eyes seeming to grow darker
until Gwenda thought even the most black-hearted villain she had
ever created would have thought twice about trifling with his
lordship in his present mood. She half expected he would swear and
drive his fist against the door panel.

But although his jaw set in a hard, angry
line, Ravenel merely snatched up his gloves and put them on again
with sharp, savage tugs. Gwenda held her breath for fear he might
yet take a notion to walk farther into the parlor. When he reached
for the door handle, she had to smother a sigh of relief. She sank
back, congratulating herself on escaping undetected, when she heard
a sharp bark. The next instant Bert jumped back through the window,
his muddied paws skidding on the wooden floor.

With an inward groan, Gwenda flattened
herself against the settle as Bert galloped over to where she sat.
She shooed the dog frantically with her hand, hissing, "Go away,
Bertie." But Spotted Bert was entirely impervious to such hints. He
barked and wagged his tail as though he had not seen her for a
twelvemonth, then assaulted her hand with rough, affectionate
licks.

"What the deuce!" Gwenda heard Ravenel
exclaim. With a sinking heart, she listened to sound of his boots
striding across the room. She had not a chance to move so much as a
muscle before his lordship was bending over the settle and peering
directly into her face.

"Hullo," she said with forced brightness as
she struggled to fend off Bert.

Never had she seen a man look more
thunderstruck. Ravenel's expression was exactly what she had been
trying to achieve in her last book for Count Armatello when he saw
the ghost of his murdered sister rise up before him.