Elizabeth Thornton (10 page)

Once inside, he paused. There was no maid, no sound of anyone sleeping or breathing. It didn’t worry him unduly. The maid could be in the wash house or the drying room in the nether regions of the hotel. There could be gowns to press, and handkerchiefs to wash out, or shoes to polish. He knew all about being in service, he and his mother both. His mother had been a lady’s maid, always at her mistress’s beck and call. And he’d been the page.

They’d called him “sweet” and “adorable.” And he’d hated them, hated their condescension, hated having to run and fetch for his master’s son and daughters, who would be nice to him one minute and turn on him the next. And most of all, he hated his mother for her compliance. The master would only have to wink at her and she would be in his bed. And when the mistress of the house discovered what her husband was up to, they were turned out, only to begin the same sequence of events all over again.

They’d been nobodies, slaves to the rich and privileged.

Nemo
. He knew that was what the English called him, and he hated it. It was double-edged, a mark of respect on one hand and a bitter reminder of his origins on the other.

He wasn’t a nobody now. He was Napoleon’s right-hand man, a full colonel in his Imperial Guard with all the privileges that entailed.
He
was master now.
He
was the one who was nice to his inferiors one minute and turned on them the next.

He felt the quick rise and fall of his chest and took a moment to collect himself. The first thing he noticed was the frigid temperature. The fire had not been lit, and that was unusual. She’d been here for close to an hour. What the hell had she been doing?

The curtains hadn’t been pulled, and lights from the courtyard filtered through the window, giving him just enough light to make out shapes and shadows. If he found the book, he would finish her off as soon as she came through the door.

It took him only five minutes to discover that the bitch had bested him yet again. God only knew where she’d hidden her boxes, but they were not here. What was she playing at? What was she up to?

He sat on a chair and took stock of the situation. He could not believe that she was trying to cross him, not when he had her brother. She must be playing it safe, just as he would do if he were in her place. She must have obtained another room under a false name. Now he was sure she had the book with her.

A slow smile spread across his face. She really was a surprising woman. He wouldn’t have credited her with so much gumption. He would allow her this small victory. Besides, he had no desire to go chasing all over this labyrinth of a hotel, trying to find her, or linger in the hotel’s public rooms, drawing attention to himself, while he searched for her. And the journey was far from over. Tomorrow night, they would be staying at the Pelican. And this time, when Abigail Vayle registered, he would be right there beside her.

This was the one and only sporting chance she would be allowed.

The night wasn’t over for him yet. A complication
had arisen. Nothing he couldn’t take care of. He looked at his watch. Now that he didn’t have to hurry away, all he had to do was wait.

He lit the fire and watched the flames lick around the kindling, then he settled back in his chair.

I
t was easy to decide to give up agonizing over trivial things when she thought that Hugh was miles away, but now that he was here, sitting beside her in the Castle’s gracious wood-paneled dining hall, she realized what a fool she’d been.

Do you like being in my arms, Abbie?

Her mouth was dry just thinking about it.

Hugh didn’t seem awkward or ill at ease, but she sensed … she didn’t know what she sensed. It was probably all in her imagination, but she thought she detected a difference in the way he looked at her, and it made her feel self-conscious in a pleasant way.

He’d told her that he was here because Olivia had given him such a garbled account of her sudden departure from Bath that he’d come after her to make sure everything was all right. But what if there was more to it than that? What if her family was right? What if Hugh wanted to marry her? What if—?

She put a brake on her thoughts. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake she’d made with Giles. And anyway, this was the wrong time and the wrong place to
think of her own happiness. If she got too close to Hugh, she’d be tempted to tell him everything, and she wasn’t willing to risk George’s life—or Hugh’s—by doing anything rash. All the same, when she first saw Hugh in the hotel lobby, she’d wanted badly to tell him everything. She couldn’t, of course. Instead, she’d told him about the accident to the mail coach and the delay in reaching Marlborough. She’d told him about her maid’s illness and how poor Nan would have to return to Bath when she was feeling better, when she’d set her heart on seeing the sights of London. She’d told him about her room in the attics, but knowing that Hugh would take a dim view of how she’d obtained it, she hadn’t told him about her little deception. When she came to the end of her story, Hugh had asked only one question—when had she last eaten? She couldn’t remember. So here they were, in the Castle’s dining hall, and she couldn’t eat a thing.

In an effort to get a grip on herself, she reached for her glass of Burgundy and took a long swallow. She shouldn’t be fantasizing about Hugh wanting to marry her. She should be thinking of “them” and the journey ahead of her. Though she’d surreptitiously glanced around the dining hall from time to time, she could not detect anyone watching her. “They” had probably expected her to eat in her room. Young ladies without the protection of a male escort or a chaperon did not usually eat in a public dining room, not unless they were fast.

Hugh smiled at Abbie. “I think the wine has done you some good.”

“Yes, Ido feel more relaxed. It’s been a horrible journey so far.”

“I don’t believe,” said Hugh, “that you’ve mentioned this friend before now. Close friend was she?”

“Friend?” said Abbie, blinking slowly.

“The one who prompted this journey of yours.”

Enlightenment dawned. “Oh, Sarah! We were very close at one time, but you know how it is. She married. I moved to Bath. But we kept up a correspondence.”

Hugh reached for the bottle of Burgundy and topped up their glasses. Not for one moment was he fooled by Abbie’s innocent air, and he wondered if she was running away from him because of the kiss they’d shared. The memory of that kiss and Abbie’s response to him had kept his body in a constant state of arousal for three days and nights. He couldn’t say that no woman had been as hot as Abbie when he kissed her, but those other kisses were bought and paid for. He was very sure that Abbie’s passion was genuine. Then why was she still keeping him at arm’s length?

There was something else nagging at him. He kept thinking of Ballard’s visit and his vague warning about Abbie. If she was dabbling in something dangerous, he wanted to know what it was.

“Abbie,” he said quietly, “you would tell me if you were in some sort of trouble, wouldn’t you?”

“Trouble?” she said carefully. “What gave you that idea?”

So she wasn’t going to confide in him. “It seemed odd that you would leave Bath in such haste. The note you sent me hardly told me anything, and by the time I received it, you’d already left.”

This was making Abbie nervous. If she didn’t put him off the scent, he would become involved in her problems, and there was no saying what they would do to him. She knew that Hugh had been a soldier at one time, but that was a long time ago. She could never think of him as a man of action—he was a scholar. He’d be no match for them.

She said, “It’s Sarah who is in trouble.” She was thinking
of George, and she had to clear her throat before continuing. “She needs me, Hugh. She was never very strong and now she’s taken a turn for the worse. I have to go to her. That’s all there is to it.”

Before he could ask any more questions, she changed the subject. She looked around the crowded dining room and said lightly, “I never expected the inns to be full, not in February. Where is everyone going?”

“You’re forgetting,” he said, “that the London season is getting underway. Parents with daughters of marriageable age are taking them to town in hopes of finding them a husband. That’s why there are so many carriages on the road.”

Abbie groaned. “Of course. That explains it. How could I have forgotten?”

“You had a season in London?”

She nodded. “When I was twenty. Oh, not the kind that costs thousands of pounds, with a presentation at court, a ball to launch me, and a subscription to Almack’s Assembly Rooms. That was far above what my family could afford after my father died. But I attended parties and routs, and met people my own age.”

Hugh smiled. “Sounds as if you enjoyed yourself.”

She’d been a wallflower until Giles came along, but she didn’t want to go into that with Hugh.

“Well, I did,” she said, “especially when I found myself a beau.”

Hugh put down his knife and fork. “Then what happened?”

“Then,” she said, “I introduced him to my younger sister, and that was that.”

Hugh frowned. “You introduced him to Harriet?” He paused. “We’re not talking about her husband, Sir Giles, are we?”

“The same,” she said. “Sir Giles Mercer, country
gentleman, with a sizable estate in Oxfordshire—well, you know that—and an income that was not to be sneezed at, especially by my family. Giles was quite a catch—tall, pleasant looking, titled. And he had money.”

A smile tugged at Hugh’s lips. “You weren’t in love with him?”

“What makes you say that?”

The smile vanished. “Well, were you?”

She laughed. “No, I wasn’t in love with him, and it’s just as well, because, as I said, when I introduced him to my sister, it was love at first sight.”

“A love match? I find that hard to believe.”

“Oh? Why?”

He wasn’t going to fall into the trap of criticizing Abbie’s sister, because he knew how defensive Abbie could be about her family. But it was obvious that Harriet was a tyrant. Sir Giles Mercer held one of the most powerful positions outside the Prime Minister’s cabinet, yet his own wife treated him as if he were a little boy.

That was the thing about marriage: it changed people. Or maybe it was truer to say that it brought out the worst in them.

He had taken a long time to answer Abbie’s question, and she was staring at him curiously. They’d wandered into a subject he had no wish to discuss and he said abruptly, “All I meant was that your sister and brother-in-law seem like any normal couple to me, and most marriages are arranged.” He took a sip of wine. “Now,” he said, “tell me the truth, Abbie. Why did you leave Bath in such a hurry?”

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “There’s no mystery, Hugh. You know me. I’m not like you. I’m impulsive. Once an idea pops into my head, I’m off and running.”

He smiled at this. “Are you implying that I like to plan everything down to the last detail?”

“Hugh, I’m not finding fault with you. I’m just pointing out how different we are.”

He said dryly, “My immediate plans did not include taking a hasty trip at this wretched time of year yet, here I am.”

“I’m grateful for your concern, but it was quite unnecessary. I know how to look after myself. And as for—how did you put it?—‘a hasty trip?’ You never do anything hasty. Your coachmen drive at a snail’s pace because that’s the way you like it.”

“I’m only thinking of my horses. And I always send a groom ahead on one of my fastest steeds to reserve a room in my name. So you see, there’s no need to travel at breakneck speed.”

Her indignation was genuine. “Send a groom ahead! Reserve a room in your name! Hugh, only you could think of such things.”

“And I’m glad I did or I’d be sleeping in my coach right now, and we wouldn’t be here, eating our dinner in comfort. So what’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she said in a tone of voice that suggested the opposite. “All I’m saying is that most people aren’t as cautious as you. We don’t expect inns to be full at this time of year, and they wouldn’t have been full if the mail coach hadn’t overturned and the weather hadn’t changed.”

“You don’t have to wave your knife under my nose, Abbie. I get your point.”

She looked at her knife, blushed, and quickly lowered it. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

His eyes narrowed on her bent head. “Abbie,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about your room in the attics.”

Her head came up. “I wondered when you would bring that up,” she said. “Hugh, just because you’ll be sleeping in luxury, and I’ll be sleeping in the attics doesn’t prove that your way is better than mine. I don’t care about spacious bedchambers. In fact, the Castle is too luxurious for my taste, not to mention overpriced.”

“Then why didn’t you try to find a bed at one of the other inns in Marlborough?”

“How do you know that I didn’t?”

There was an interval of silence as he searched her face. “Because I know that you never stay at the Castle if you can help it, so I made the rounds of every inn and tavern before I came here. You weren’t registered at any of them. No one remembered you.”

She’d stayed at the Castle because “they” had told her to. “I didn’t try any of the other inns,” she said, “because I thought … I thought …”

“Yes?”

“I thought it might be fun to give the Castle a try just this once.” She laughed. “But my grand scheme came to nothing. No taste of luxury for me, I’m afraid. I still ended up in the attics. It seems to be my fate in life.”

Their waiter arrived at that moment and whispered something in Hugh’s ear. Hugh looked over his shoulder. Abbie followed the direction of his gaze. A matronly lady in a striking azure blue ensemble with a matching silk turban smiled and raised her hand in greeting. It was a friendly gesture that seemed to include Abbie, and she smiled warmly in return.

Abbie’s eyes then shifted to the lady’s companion. This young woman—she couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen—was a beauty: heart-shaped face framed with tiny dark ringlets, rose petal complexion,
and huge shy eyes that were at that moment staring wistfully at Hugh.