Forsters 04 - Romancing the Runaway (6 page)

“Come on,” Bill said, draining his tankard and throwing a few coins on the table. “Let’s go and get her before she has a chance to disappear again.”

They tried to barge through the crowd but before they got far, a large seafaring man blocked their path.

“Here, you just made me spill my ale,” he said indignantly, pointing to a miniscule spill on the floor.

“Get out my way,” Bill replied. “I need to be somewhere.”

“Somewhere they’ll teach you some manners?”

Bill looked up at the sailor and felt the first stirrings of unease. The oaf stood with legs apart and scowled like he bore the entire world a grudge. He towered over Bill, who could now see that most of the man’s bulk was made up of solid muscle. Even so, he was just one man, whereas Bill had Luke to back him up and a bellyful of ale to give him courage.

Luke nudged him. “Just say you’re sorry and let’s get out of here.”

Bill harrumphed. “You want me to apologise for something I didn’t do?”

Bill knew that was what he ought to do. He didn’t have time to dally and risk losing sight of Miss Cantrell and the twenty guinea bonus that had his name on it. But he’d never been one to back down from a fight, which was obviously what the sailor was angling for. Miss Cantrell had gone into that cottage and would presumably stay for a least a few minutes, otherwise why go inside at all? By the time she’d finished her business, Bill and Luke would have taught this sailor a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget and be waiting outside to conduct Miss Cantrell back to her soon to be nearest and dearest.

“I don’t have anything to apologise for.” Bill jutted his chin and took a step forward, almost touching the sailor when he didn’t take the expected step backwards. “Now get out of my way.”

Several other sailors appeared behind the big man, which was when Bill realised his mistake. He and Luke had been imbibing freely, flashing Peacock’s money in the face of the serving wench in the hope of buying her favours. He should have known that would be noticed, and now this rough-looking lot thought to relieve him of his purse by force. Just let them try it! Bill’s blood was up and he was just in the mood for a good old brawl. Outnumbered or not, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Bill went on the offensive and recklessly threw a roundhouse punch at the big sailor’s gut. It met solid muscle and made no discernible impact.

“Ah, so that’s the way the wind blows,” the sailor said cheerfully.

Luke sighed and piled in to help Bill. But it did them no good. None of the other sailors got involved. They stood back, grinning as the big man swung his massive fists and single-handedly floored Bill and then Luke without breaking sweat.

“Now I’ll have your apology,” the sailor said, glowering down as Bill curled himself into a foetal position amidst puddles of spilt ale, spit and sawdust, his humiliation complete.

Luke groaned, blood pouring from his broken nose, and said nothing.

With no other choice available to him, Bill muttered an apology.

“That’s better.” The sailor’s bad temper gave way to a broad grin as he pulled both men back to their feet and slapped Bill on the back. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to buy myself and my friends a tankard of ale apiece, we’ll say no more about the matter.”

Cursing beneath his breath, seething with anger at the way people were looking at him with a combination of amusement and pity, Bill purchased six tankards of ale.

“What, you’re not drinking with us?” The big man scowled. “What’s the matter? Aren’t we good enough for you?”

Bill glanced frantically through the window, straining for sight of Miss Cantrell. “It’s been a pleasure, gents, but we need to be somewhere.”

“Another few minutes won’t make no difference. Two more tankards for these lovely gents, Sally m’dear,” the big man boomed.

One drink turned into two. Two into three. Bill’s head became a bit muddled, and he wasn’t sure what he said to his new friends. He thought he told them where he worked. He was certain he told them in graphic terms what he thought of Peacock’s tight-fisted ways. But he was absolutely certain that he said nothing about Miss Cantrell and the twenty guinea bonus he saw slipping away with every second that he remained trapped with these sailors.

Or had he?

Bill shook his head. He really couldn’t remember and rapidly ceased to care.

What had become of the big man—Wright, his name was—who’d started all this by clobbering him and Luke? He hadn’t seen him leave but he didn’t seem to be anywhere around. Bill tried again to glance through the window but his companions blocked his view. It didn’t matter. He was having a fine time of it here, and Miss Cantrell would be easy enough to pick up again in such a small town. Someone handed him a fresh tankard of ale and thanked him most kindly. He had a raging thirst in urgent need of quenching.

*

Twenty minutes after entering the cottage, Miranda left it again. The young gentleman she’d called to see conducted her back to the main street, shook her hand and waved her on her way, repeating his apologies and assurance of continued service. Miranda knew he’d done his best and tried not to feel frustrated by her lack of progress. She now had a three mile walk to negotiate. Snow was falling in thick swirls that blurred her vision and was quickly covering the track she needed to follow. She was cold, dispirited, and her ankle throbbed.

“This running-away business isn’t nearly as romantic as the poets would have one believe,” she told Tobias as she trudged along. “Just bare that in mind if you ever feel rebellious.”

She’d barely covered half a mile before she heard the wheels of a cart on the track behind her. Her first thought was to hide, but she was out in the open and there was no cover available to her. Her heart rate accelerated. Could it be her guardian’s men somehow catching up with her? Had she been seen?

She forced herself to think rationally. She had been very careful, and even if she had been observed, it was hardly likely that a cart could have been summoned to fetch her back this quickly. Not that she’d given much thought to the method by which her guardian’s watchdogs planned to apprehend her, but she chose to believe that they didn’t have carts conveniently located at every small village along the coast.

Lord Gabriel had said his servants used this track to facilitate deliveries to the Hall. That recollection calmed her and she told herself that was what this must be. She’d just keep her head down and allow the cart to pass her. She was already frozen to the core, water had seeped through her boots and she was almost dead with fatigue. The urge to beg for a ride back to the Hall was almost overwhelming, but she remembered what was at stake and somehow disciplined herself to resist.

The cart trundled to a halt beside her.

“You going to the Hall, miss?” asked a large, friendly-seeming man who had the appearance of a sailor about him. “This ain’t no weather to be out on foot. Can I give you a ride the rest of the way?”

Miranda hesitated, sorely tempted. Could she trust this man? He looked rough but there was a kindness about his expression that instilled faith. Besides, she had Tobias with her. He might seem harmless but had once bitten a cobbler’s shin when the man tried to accost her on a London street.

Mind made up, she thanked the man with genuine sincerity and climbed up beside him, making sure that Tobias jumped up behind. The man grinned at her, slapped the reins against the horse’s rump, and the creature moved forward at a slow, plodding pace. The cart was probably the most uncomfortable conveyance in the world, but to Miranda it felt like the last word in luxury. She closed her eyes, just for a moment. By the time they arrived at the Hall, snow was falling even harder, whipped into swirling drifts by a biting wind, but she was almost fast asleep.

Thanking her rescuer, she slipped back into the house and up to her room without anyone seeing her. She had an hour at most to rest before Jessie came to wake her. Miranda pulled the covers over her head, exhausted and chilled to the bone, wishing she was free to sleep undisturbed for an entire week.

Chapter Six

“Here we are, miss.”

Jessie pulled the curtains open and placed a steaming cup of tea beside the bed. Miranda surfaced from a deep sleep, forced her reluctant eyes open and blinked.

“What’s happened, Jessie?” she asked blearily. “Why are you waking me so soon?”

“Soon? It’s after four. You’ve been sound asleep all the afternoon. I knew that ride would be too much for you.”

After four? It couldn’t possibly be. Miranda couldn’t have been in bed for more than five minutes, surely? She glanced at the clock, knowing even before she looked at its hands that Jessie wouldn’t have got it wrong. Every bone in her body protested at the thought of climbing out of her cosy nest but she had no choice. It was time to prepare for the evening.

“Ah, so it is.” She sat up, picked up her cup and nibbled at one of the freshly baked biscuits that accompanied her tea.

“You still look tired, miss.” Jessie screwed up her eyes and assessed her with a motherly eye. “Are you sure you feel well enough to go down to dinner? All that gadding about this morning must have taken it out of you. I’m sure Lord Gabriel would understand if you don’t—”

“I’m fine, thank you. I was sound asleep and forgot where I was just for a moment. However, this tea will revive me and I’ll be as good as new in no time.”

Miranda threw the covers back and stood up, wincing when she placed her weight on her injured ankle. Glancing at it in frustration, she was unsurprised to find that her long walk had made it swell right back up again.

“Damnation!” she muttered beneath her breath.

“You shouldn’t have gone riding,” Jessie scolded, making the wrong assumption about her aggravated injury. “I said as much to Mrs. Goodson. It’s not my place to voice an opinion, of course, but it’s just common sense and if you ask me—”

“It’s not too bad, Jessie,” Miranda lied. “If you could just strap it up again, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage.”

Jessie did so, grumbling away as she worked, but seeming genuinely concerned for her welfare. That was a luxury Miranda couldn’t afford to become accustomed to. Placing one’s faith in others always ended badly.

When she’d strapped Miranda’s ankle to her satisfaction, Jessie helped her to wash her face and hands, still making dire predictions about the outcome if injuries weren’t left to heal in the way nature intended. Her disposition only improved when she showed Miranda the finished gown.

“Oh my goodness! I had no idea it would be so exquisite.” Miranda covered her mouth with one hand. “It’s quite beautiful, Jessie.”

“Glad you approve, miss. I’m rather satisfied with the results, even if I do say so myself.”

“And so you should be. You have such wonderful talent that you could make a living as a dressmaker.”

“Makes me think of Miss Beth,” Jessie said as she shook out Miranda’s petticoats and helped her into them.

“Miss Beth?”

“Oh, she’s the marchioness’s sister. Her home is here with the family now.”

Miranda had trouble keeping up with Jessie’s accounts of the marquess’s extended family when she was fully alert. Still half asleep, she had no expectation of success.

“I thought this was Lady Felicity’s old gown,” she said, frowning. “Where does Miss Beth come into things?”

“Oh, this gown belonged to Lady Felicity, right enough, but Miss Beth favours blue as well. She’s a very pretty young lady, so she is, with the sweetest nature imaginable. And so talented, you wouldn’t credit it. She paints beautifully, embroiders like a dream and charms everyone she comes into contact with.”

“How wonderful,” Miranda said, trying not to sound envious.

“Lord Gabriel was right taken with her when they first met. All the servants predicted a union between them as soon as Lord Gabriel finished his studies at Cambridge. I mean, what with her sister already being the marchioness, it seemed fitting.” Jessie frowned. “That was last year, but nothing’s come of it as yet. No one below stairs seems to know why that is, either.”

“Oh.”

Miranda suppressed a grin. The servants not knowing absolutely everything about the affairs of the family they served was unusual. Jessie seemed quite put out not to be able to provide Miranda with the latest news regarding Lord Gabriel’s matrimonial intentions. Miranda wanted to tell her that she would prefer not to know but that would imply expectations of her own, which certainly didn’t exist.

If he had already settled his interest on Miss Beth, it would perhaps explain why he didn’t seem threatened when she told him he was a target for half this season’s debutantes. He was perfectly safe from their machinations.

“I wonder what goes on between the young couple to delay the announcement,” Jessie mused.

Miranda was gripped with an unfamiliar sensation that knitted her insides into an uncomfortable knot. It was jealously, she realised with a jolt, a most unbecoming emotion that she was vexed to experience. She was just being fanciful. She had no feelings for Lord Gabriel other than admiration and due appreciation for all he’d done for her. He was free to admire anyone he wished, and if he’d fixed his interest on the pretty, sweet
and
talented Miss Beth—whom the entire household adored and found eminently suitable—then Miranda would be the first to wish him joy.

She definitely would.

“Where is Miss Beth now, Jessie?” Miranda stepped carefully into the gown that Jessie held out for her. It would be a tragedy after all Jessie’s efforts if she overbalanced on her sore ankle and somehow managed to tear the delicate silk.

“She’s up in town with the rest of the family, miss.”

“Then if she and Lord Gabriel are enamoured of one another, why has he come back to the Hall?”

“That I couldn’t say, but it does seem odd. We all said as much below stairs.” Jessie lifted her shoulders. “Lord Gabriel does worry about his precious horses, but perhaps he intends to return to the capital now that he’s reassured himself about their welfare. He’d be a fool to leave Miss Beth there for too long without keeping a watchful eye over her. The marquess has settled a large dowry on her, you see. Add that to her beauty and charm, and the fortune hunters will dog her every step.” She curled her upper lip in disdain. “You just mark my words.”

“Lord Gabriel doesn’t strike me as being foolish so I expect he’ll soon return to town. But perhaps…oh my goodness!”

Miranda glanced in the mirror and gasped. “It’s amazing, Jessie,” she said, impulsively hugging the older woman. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“It looks well enough,” Jessie replied, examining the results of her handiwork with a critical eye. “But that’s no thanks to me. You’re the one who’s filling it out.

The flounce of Flemish lace that Jessie had attached to the gown whispered round her legs like a silent promise. The bodice clung to her form like a second skin, making her breasts appear full and plump. The gown revived her, providing her with a shield behind which she could hide her true self and play make-believe. For the first time in days her self-determination reappeared, and she was ready to achieve anything she set out to do. Like arriving at the Wildes unmolested and putting her plan for her future into action.

For the few hours that Miranda got to wear this beautiful gown and dine in company with a compellingly charming, devastatingly handsome gentleman, she would feel sophisticated.

Sophisticated, feminine—desirable even.

She was no match for the saintly Miss Beth, of course, but for once in her life she didn’t feel the need to apologise for her appearance. She also began to understand why her friends spent so much time and energy planning their wardrobes. Well, that was fine if one had the time, inclination and funds to follow one’s whims. Miranda had none of those things, nor did she anticipate that situation ever arising. Still, for just one night, she could pretend, couldn’t she?

*

“That you, Wright, you did well. Keep a close eye on the situation and let me know at once if anything develops.”

“Will do, m’lord.” Wright inclined his head and withdrew.

Glass of whisky in hand, Gabe paced the length of the small sitting room, trying to make sense of what Wright had just told him. A difficult ambition to achieve since his raging anger rendered coherent thought nigh on impossible.

What the devil did Miranda Cantrell think she was playing at, trekking into Denby on foot when he’d made the need for her to conceal herself from the world crystal clear? God preserve him from headstrong women! He should have left her to freeze in that damned barn. His life would be a hell of a lot less complicated if he had. He’d come back to the Hall to avoid demanding females, only to land himself with one who was testing his patience to the limit.

He should send her packing back to Peacock’s establishment and be done with her. She deserved nothing less after the way she’d disobeyed him. But even through the red mist of his anger he knew he wouldn’t betray her trust. Peacock sounded like a heartless individual who’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Now that Wright had confirmed her story by relating the incident in the Boar, Gabe knew that what he wanted was Miss Cantrell, or her property, and Gabe was in no mood to oblige him.

He sighed deeply. Never before had any female managed to arouse such conflicting emotions in him. Damn it, couldn’t she see how vulnerable she was, how much in need of guidance and masculine protection? And since he was the only male in residence, she would have to make do with his protection whether she liked it or not. As a gentlemen of conscience, he wouldn’t have it any other way. She simply couldn’t be allowed to put herself in the way of danger, for her own good as much as for his. Somehow he’d have to make her understand what ought to be obvious to a woman of her intelligence.

The door opened and she and Tobias stood before him. Miss Cantrell looked so breathtakingly lovely that his anger briefly gave way to admiration. Her sapphire blue gown sculpted her body and gave him a graphic view of the delectable curves beneath it. Then he noticed how badly she was limping again, presumably because of the distance she’d chosen to walk, and his temper reasserted itself.

“Good evening,” she said. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“We’ll eat immediately,” he said shortly, leaving Munford to hold her chair for her.

“No Mrs. Grantley this evening?”

“No.”

He felt disinclined to tell her Mrs. Grantley had sent last minute regrets since she was feeling unwell, which did little to improve Gabe’s mood. He could see she was confused by his incivility and could probably tell by looking at him that he was seriously annoyed with her. His brothers were always telling him that his moods were reflected in his expressions and that he needed to keep his emotions under closer guard. Now wasn’t the time to put that advice into practise. If ever he’d had cause to be angry with anyone it was her, and she needed to be aware of it. Of all the stupid, ungrateful, impulsive…

“I assume you’re displeased because I’m wearing one of your sister’s gowns, Lord Gabriel,” she said, after one course had come and gone and not a word had been exchanged between them. “Let me assure you that it was no longer needed, and—”

“I hadn’t even noticed your gown.”

That barb definitely struck home, just as it had been intended to. She looked up at him and gasped. Her face coloured and she lowered her head again without speaking another word, focusing her attention to the food on her plate. Her eyes looked moist but he was in no mood to regret oversetting her. She should have thought of the consequences before defying him. Presumably it would now all come tumbling out—the excuses, the half-baked reasoning, the twisted attempts at justification. She was given to chattering to disguise her nervousness—that much had been apparent during their ride that morning. Since acting so stupidly, she’d never had greater reason to be nervous.

Yet she made no further attempts at conversation and treated him as though he didn’t exist. It shouldn’t have mattered but somehow it did, and her silence made him slightly ashamed of his bad manners. Even so, Gabe maintained his silence, no longer feeling quite so in control of himself on the moral high ground he’d chosen to occupy. He didn’t trust himself to talk without straying onto the subject uppermost in his mind. The one that had to be thrashed out between them, and would be just as soon as they’d finished dinner and Munford had withdrawn.

They ate in brittle silence, neither of them appearing to have much appetite. The only sounds to cut through the tense atmosphere were the scrape of cutlery against china, the crackling of the logs in the grate, and Munford’s movements as he cleared the plates and presented them with new ones. Tobias, stretched full length in front of the fire, snored softly, oblivious to the unfolding drama.

Finally it was over and Gabe dismissed Munford with the wave of one hand.

“Have the goodness to explain your actions this afternoon,” he said tersely as soon as the door closed behind Munford.

She was in the process of crossing the room, obviously trying to not make it too obvious that she was limping again. She swung round to face him, a combination of fear and indecision clouding her expression, and almost lost her balance. Gabe instinctively reached out a hand to steady her, even though she only had herself to blame for her aggravated injury.

“Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin, presumably to avoid looking at him. He helped her to a chair. She sat in it and took longer than he thought necessary to arrange her skirts to her satisfaction.

Gabe placed a footstool before her injured leg—a cynical attempt to express his displeasure. She shot him a defiant look and lifted her foot onto the stool. He remained standing, his back to the fire, a muscle in his jaw flexing and hardening as he waited for her to say something more. When it became apparent that she had no intention of speaking, Gabe’s tempter erupted.

“You misled me, ma’am,” he said with icy politeness. “You told me you were a lady of intellect but your actions this afternoon paint a very different picture.”

She expelled a long breath. “I walked into the village, that’s all. You clearly know it but I fail to understand why that knowledge should upset you so badly.”