Devil's Match (19 page)

“But you had the time!”

He favored her with a sardonic twist to his mouth. “I have ten months, Caroline. Assuming I found the lady, 'tis unlikely that even I could meet the terms, given nature's requirements.”

“Oh!” She felt her face flush. “But—”

“ 'Twas a stupid reason to marry, anyway. Do not be sorry for me, my dear—I'll come about without Uncle Vernon's money.”

“Patrick …” She tried to bolster her flagging courage by stalling. “Uh … how long do you expect to be gone?”

“Does it matter?”

She wanted to scream that it mattered very much, but bit back the words. “Well, I was curious.”

“Truthfully, I do not know. Maybe a month—maybe longer. I may not come back until the Season's over. Listen—Ju's waiting. I'll take you back.”

She hesitated as he offered his arm. Then, resting her fingers tentatively against his sleeve, she started back. It wasn't until they reached the exit from the Dark Walk that she found the courage to pull back. “Patrick, please …”

He turned to her. “Please what?”

“I … I … Oh, Patrick!”

In an instant, he'd drawn her into his arms, and she could feel the heady strength of the man as he held her close. His lips brushed against hers and then he shocked her by taking possession of her mouth. She slid her arms around his waist and clasped him to her, savoring the sensations that coursed through her body.

When he raised his head at last, his voice was husky. “Every time I see you I want to do that—and more.” She leaned back in his arms and caressed the deep red hair at his temples before tracing the fine clean line of his jaw. The ruby of Rotherfield's ring caught the faint moonlight and reflected it into his eyes. Abruptly he pushed her away with such force that she staggered.

“What—?”

“Do you think me totally without honor?” he demanded harshly. “That I would dally with another man's wife? That's what you are going to be, you know.”

“But—”

“Don't expect me to play Mars to your Venus, Caroline!” he snapped.

She stared at the glittering eyes for a moment, then ran past him toward the pavilion. Rotherfield waited, his expression enigmatic, as he saw where she had been.

“Your syllabub,” he murmured when she took her place beside him.

A
restless night of tortured dreams proved the final straw. Caroline rose early, determined to gamble everything for Juliana's happiness. As far as she could see, there was no good reason that five people should be unhappy rather than two. And, with that in mind, she moved decisively to put a fantastic plan, conceived of desperation, into play.

“My dearest Juliana,” she wrote quickly, “I find circumstances dictate that I apprise you of the fact that I cannot wed Lord Rotherfield. I am firmly persuaded that we should not suit. Mr. Bascombe has reached much the same conclusion concerning his betrothal to you. And, while you are far too lively to be content with an amiable husband, no matter how wealthy he might be, I am not. By the time you receive this, Mr. Bascombe and I shall be on our way to Gretna Green. I am very sorry for the embarrassment this must cause you, but I feel that the result will be for the best. I remain, Your Obedient Servant, Caro Ashley.”

To Rotherfield she wrote, “My dear Marcus, while I am cognizant of the honor you would do me, I have come to the conclusion that I could not be happy where I could not rule the roost. Furthermore, I suspect a sincere attachment on your part for Juliana Canfield. Therefore, I think it best to end our betrothal before we are both unhappy. I am taking the liberty of removing Albert Bascombe from your path. By the time you receive this, Mr. Bascombe and I shall be on our way to Gretna Green. Your Obedient, etc., Caroline Ashley.”

Before her courage deserted her, she summoned Albert Bascombe to Milbourne House, and then she packed her portmanteau. Brief notes to Lady Milbourne and Lady Lyndon explained the true nature of her flight without any reference to Viscount Westover.

Proving he could read better than he could write, Bertie presented himself at the appointed time to find Caro standing in the foyer with portmanteau in hand. He frowned and drew out her letter. “Was you leaving, Miss Ashley? Thought you wanted me to call.”

“I did. Mr. Bascombe, did you bring your carriage?”

“Well, I didn't come in a hired hackney, if that is what you are asking,” he responded, still perplexed.

“Then would you be so kind as to take me to see my old nurse?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Bascombe, it is imperative that I go.”

“Oh—daresay Rotherfield would—”

“Lord Rotherfield is inspecting a property today.”

“Then Lady Lyndon—”

“She is engaged with other plans, Mr. Bascombe. Please—after what I endured on the way to Calais, I believe you owe me this.”

“Well, daresay I do, but—thing is, promised to take Miss Canfield to a damned dinner party—your pardon—a deuced dinner party at Mrs. Chatsworth's tonight.”

Caroline suppressed a smile. “I knew what you meant the first time, Mr. Bascombe.”

“Ain't far, is it?” he asked cautiously.
“I mean, I don't see your maid or an abigail.”

“Lady Milbourne could not spare one, but no, 'tis not far.”

His expression lightened slightly. “Daresay I could. It ain't like I wanted to go to Chatsworth's, anyway. M'father's going to be there, and ten to one, he's going to want to know when I mean to set the date. But Rotherfield—”

“You will merely save him the trouble.” She handed him the bag and proceeded to go out the door. “I see you have your grays.”

It was not until he'd settled across from her in the coach that he thought to ask precisely where they were going. “Got to give my driver the direction, after all,” he explained.

“Just tell him to take the North Post Road, sir, and we shall be fine.”

“The place ain't got a name?”

“Yes, but I cannot recall it. I shall recognize it before we get there.”

“Oh.”

Caroline's letter to Juliana was delivered by a footman at almost the same time Bertie Bascombe's carriage left Milbourne House. Juliana pocketed it and slipped away to read it in the privacy of her chamber. At first, she could not credit it, but after rereading it a second and third time, it sank in that Caroline was not going to marry Rotherfield. Caro and Albert Bascombe. The very idea was so ludicrous that Juliana would have laughed except for what Caro meant to do to the earl. Rotherfield. How could he stand to know that his betrothed preferred the simpleminded Bascombe to him? Resolutely Juliana decided to put her own selfish desire for the earl behind her to save his pride. She would have to stop Caroline somehow—but how? She could not go to Rotherfield on the chance that he did not yet know of Caro's flight. Chewing her thumbnail, she considered and discarded a variety of impossible schemes, not the least of which was the purloining of her mother's carriage or her father's curricle—but then, she could not drive. If only she were Patrick. Patrick!

Heedless of the need for discretion, Juliana dropped Caro's letter and sped down the stairs past bemused servants and out onto the busy London street. Running like a child escaping punishment, she traversed the entire six city blocks in a matter of minutes. When she arrived, Crump, Patrick's butler, stared in astonishment at the disheveled picture she presented and started to close the door in her face.

“I must see my cousin!” she gasped as she fought for air.

“I am afraid—”

She clung to the railing and tried to catch her breath. “You … do not understand … have to see him—'tis urgent.”

“Are you quite all right, miss?” he unbent to ask.

“Ran from Canfield House … had to … Patrick …”

“Very well,” he answered not unkindly. “You may come in while I determine if he is at home.” But he'd scarce turned to find his master before Juliana was up the steps in front of him and on her way to invade Patrick's chamber.

She found her cousin conferring with Jenkins, his valet, as to his requirements for Scotland. Now totally out of breath, she could only grasp his shirt sleeve for attention.

“Juliana! What the devil … ? Jenkins, a chair! Ju, what ails you? Here, sit down and try to breathe easy.” He took the straight chair from the disapproving valet and shoved it under her. Leaning over her, he brushed back her wild blond hair and mopped her perspiring brow with his handkerchief. “ 'Tis all right, Ju,” he soothed. “Just rest until you can speak.”

“Patrick,” she gasped, “ 'tis Caro!”

“Caroline! What … ? Ju, get hold of yourself, girl! What about Caroline!” he demanded anxiously. “Is she in trouble? If Rotherfield—”

“No … no … ” She shook her head vigorously and panted, “Ran away—”

“With Rotherfield?” His face had gone white in sharp contrast to the dark red hair. “No, by God!”

“With Bascombe!” she managed to choke out. “Patrick, she's bolted with Albert!”

“Oh, for lud's sake, Ju!” Relief washed over him. “You ran all the way here to tell me a farradiddle like this?” he asked incredulously. “I can assure you that neither has the least interest in the other. Jenkins, see if Crump can find some brandy for Miss Canfield, will you?” He turned to the valet, who was watching Juliana with fascination.

“But, Patrick, 'tis true!” Ju protested. “I had it of Caro! She wrote to tell me she was leaving with Albert!” Juliana colored and looked at the floor. “There is more to it, of course. Last night—when you found me in the Dark Walk—I'd gone there to see Rotherfield, to tell him I loved him … and …” She looked up to see the incredulous expression in her cousin's eyes. “Well, I do! But it wasn't Rotherfield—'twas Ponsonby. Anyway, Caro came after me to save me from my folly. Patrick, she overheard what I said.”

“That doesn't explain—”

“But it does! Caro's eloped to Gretna Green with Bascombe so that I may have Rotherfield!”

“Fustian! Ju, you read too many silly romances.”

“But she wrote to me—I swear!” She dug in her reticule and then stopped still. “Lud! I left it at home. Oh, dear! Mama—”

“She said she was going to Gretna with Bertie?” The memory of his last encounter with Caroline Ashley came to mind. “When did they leave?”

“I don't know—she said they would be gone by the time I received the letter. Patrick, we've got to go after them! Rotherfield—”

“Hang Rotherfield! Jenkins! Tell Barnes to put the currricle to.”

“Now?” the valet howled in astonishment. “My lord, I am not ready!” He set down on a table the tray he'd brought up and shook his head. “There's boots to be blacked, shirts to be ironed, cravats to be starched, and—”

“I'll be back—right now I am for Gretna!”

Jenkins stared from Patrick to Juliana in dawning horror. “Gretna!”

Juliana waited until the valet had gone down. “I am going with you, you know.”

“No.”

“Patrick, whether I like him or not, Albert Bascombe is my fiancé, after all. If we find them, 'twill not look so bad if we return together. Rotherfield will never have to know what happened.”

He started to make an acid comment about the earl and then stopped. Putting his hands on his cousin's shoulders, he peered intently into her face. “You really do care about him, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“All right then, but I warn you—'twill not be a pleasant ride, my dear.” He dropped his hands and moved to a narrow cabinet. “There's no time to waste.”

“What are you doing, Patrick?”

“Taking my pistol.”

Lenore Canfield, on returning home from a trip to Gunther's, the pastry cook's, was apprised of her daughter's mysterious flight. Fixing Thomas, the footman, with a cold stare, she demanded awfully, “And where, pray tell, did Miss Canfield go?”

“I tried to follow her, Lady Canfield, but I lost her.”

“Where?”

The footman squirmed uncomfortably and then blurted out, “Near Westover's, madam!”

“Patrick!”

Lenore spun on her heels and marched back to her carriage. “Take me to Viscount Westover's,” she ordered imperiously.

When she arrived, Patrick's drive was blocked by an impressive black conveyance with the arms of Rotherfield blazoned in red and gold on the side. Lenore stepped down and marched up the stairs to where the earl was banging the knocker. Ignoring him, she waited for Crump to answer.

“My lord! My lady!”

Rotherfield and Lenore measured each other coldly before she stepped past him to demand, “I would see my nephew, Crump!”

“I regret that he is not at home, madam,” was the stiff reply.

“Nonsense,” she dismissed as she pushed him aside. “I have come for Juliana.”

Rotherfield followed her inside while the butler threw up his hands helplessly. Jenkins, hearing voices and hoping Patrick had come to his senses, came down the stairs from above.

“Well?” Lenore demanded. “Where is my daughter?”

“Ahem.” Jenkins cleared his throat and prepared to lose his position with Westover. “Madam, I regret to inform you that Lord Patrick has eloped.”

“What?” Both the earl and Lady Canfield stared in stunned disbelief. Rotherfield was the first to find his voice. “With whom?”

“I do not know the young lady, but he said she was his cousin—Juliana, I believe he called her.”

For the first time in her life, Lenore Danvers Canfield swooned. The earl caught her and carried her past the much-tried Crump to dump her unceremoniously on a sofa in the nearest saloon. There he delivered first a series of gentle taps and finally a resounding slap to bring her around.

“Control yourself, madam,” he ordered curtly. When he perceived that she'd regained her faculties, he stepped back. “You may rest assured that I am going after them. I meant to speak with Danvers on another matter, anyway.”

“Lord Rotherfield, I demand to go with you.”

“Nonsense.”

“She is my daughter, after all,” she snapped, “and nothing to you.” Then realizing that Rotherfield was virtually her only available ally, no matter how distasteful, she added in a more conciliatory tone, “Who can play propriety better than a mother, after all?”

“Very well then, but I warn you, Lady Canfield, that I cannot abide a harping female. One word out of you and I shall set you down on the spot and go on alone.”