Karla Darcy - [Sweet Deception Regency 04] (21 page)

"I know for a fact that she is in love," Pax answered bitterly.

It dawned on Fitz that Pax must have heard enough of the conversation on the terrace to make him believe that Leslie was talking about a lover. He already suspected that his friend was far from indifferent to his wife. In fact it looked like the idiot was besotted by Leslie to have tormented himself with such base suspicions. He shook his head in amazement that his friend could be so totally stupid in managing his own life. Fitz knew enough to realize that no matter what he might say in Leslie's defense in Pax's present state he would believe none of it. But to accuse her so outrageously!

Fitz shrugged off Pax's hands, moving away in his returning anger. "I have been with Leslie a great deal since you've been in London, and I respect her more than any other woman I have ever known. Can you possibly know her so little that you could suspect her of such duplicity?" Fitz's voice rasped in contempt, his plump cheeks vibrating with the force of his agitation. "She is no rigged up aristocrat with the soul of a lightskirt. I would trust Leslie with my life as well as my honor. You don't deserve the girl if you can accuse her so infamously. I don't know how you could even consider such a libel, but I for one refuse to dignify this idiocy with a defense." These last words were shouted at Pax as Fitz stormed out of the room.

The violently slammed door shook the pictures on the walls and sent the candle flames shooting upwards. Hardly aware that the man had left, Pax returned to his chair. If he had been upset before, it was only a prelude to the total confusion he now felt.

If not Fitz, then who was the man Leslie loved? He mentally listed all Leslie's acquaintances and could not come up with one man whom she had favored over Captain Fitzhue. The damnable part of it was that Pax believed Fitz when he said he had never thought of Leslie as anything but a sister. And now that he was no longer blinded by fury, Pax realized that Fitz was far too honorable to cuckold a friend.

But what about Leslie's honor. He had known Leslie for five years and knew her to be honest and faithful. Able to think more rationally, he could not believe that she had betrayed her marriage vows. It was inconsistent with her character. Like Fitz, Pax would not have hesitated trusting Leslie with his life. Except for her incredible deception about her identity, and he could understand now why she had done that, Leslie had never given Pax any reason to doubt her honesty. In fact she had usually stated quite openly why she had not done something. So if she had not been involved in some sordid affair, what was the meaning of the scene that he had witnessed in the garden.

His judgment had been totally confounded by his own uncertainty of winning Leslie's regard and affection. His passionate adoration of his wife had caused him to betray her by refusing to trust her. Despite the information imparted to him by Cecily Cleavon, he should have immediately known the truth. Leslie's love could never be purchased by some flashy piece of jewelry. No matter what he had seen in the garden, there had to be a perfectly clear explanation. As surely as he had believed in her guilt before, now he was convinced of her innocence.

He was filled with such a surge of happiness that he was lightheaded. Thinking that Leslie had fallen in love with another and was thus lost to him, had been torture. The thought of his wife, heart-whole, gave him a blinding flash of hope that somehow he might win her back.

What was he going to do? Pax ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing the back of his stiff neck. He would have to go to Windhaven and talk to Leslie. Pax groaned remembering how he had shouted at her when she tried to explain. Could Leslie ever forgive him for his lack of faith in her? Would she consider resuming their marriage? Perhaps eventually she might learn to trust him again. To love him would be too much to ask.

He slapped his hands on the arms of the chair and bolted to his feet, striding into the hall and the unflappable Mellows.

"I want my carriage out front in twenty minutes."

Mellows’ face puckered as he eyed his disheveled master. His tone was regretful yet unyielding as he followed Pax up the stairs. "I have taken the liberty of sending a bath to your rooms. Jamison will shave you while Trevor is packing. I will have Cook prepare you a basket of food, and I myself will select a suitable wine. The carriage will be brought around in one hour, your Grace."

"Thank you for setting me straight, Mellows." Though Pax's voice was properly grateful, there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Mellows’ standards for ducal behavior were far more exacting than his own. He sighed as he entered his room, resigned to place himself in the capable hands of his servants.

Fifty minutes later Pax felt rejuvenated. Mellows’ face was properly respectful, his eyes snapping approval as he ushered his elegant master into the yellow salon to await the arrival of the carriage. Pax was grateful for the coffee, welcoming the warmth it spread through his body. He walked to the window, staring bleakly at the overcast day. The gloomy weather was a fit companion to his own uncertain thoughts.

Now that he was practically on the way to a confrontation with Leslie he was once more assaulted by doubts. Pax knew that winning her love was more important to him than anything he had encountered before. He loved her so much that nothing else mattered in his life. If only Leslie would give him a chance to explain that so many of his actions had been products of his own injured pride. But would she consider continuing the marriage after he had failed her so badly? And if she refused? At least she must give him the right to take care of her. Unsatisfactory at best, at least he would be sure that she never lacked for anything.

The library door opened but Pax remained staring out the window. A heavy tread crossed the carpet and he turned. He was surprised to see Manji, wondering why his headgroom had come from Windhaven. In amazement he saw the man's heavy hand lift to strike and tried to duck but his reactions were too slow. A white light burst behind his eyes and his body crumpled to the floor.

Pax lay still, letting the motion rock him as his senses fought to regain control of his body. He was aware that he was in a moving carriage but for a moment was unable to grapple with any further thought. Experimentally he opened one eye, wincing at the pain from the light pouring through the carriage window. Quickly he closed the sorely offended organ, slumping against the seat cushions. He waited a few minutes, then with eyes firmly closed, he inched his body to a sitting position and waited for the world to right itself. Very carefully he opened his eyes, letting in only a slit of light. Although his brain was not happy with the brightness, it seemed to accept the inevitability of a return to life. Fraction by fraction Pax inched his lids upwards until his eyes were wide open.

When he was able to focus in front of him, his mouth twitched grimly at the menacing figure on the opposite seat. Manji, his baldhead haloed with light, returned his glance complacently.

"Was this entirely necessary, Manji?" Pax asked his voice thready with the exertion of speaking.

"The little one has need of you." Manji's voice was uncompromising. Apparently the giant felt no remorse, Pax thought bitterly.

"Did it ever occur to you that you might just speak to me about her? Did you have to try to break every bone in my body?"

"If you had remained still, the blow would have been less painful." Manji shrugged, letting Pax know that his present discomfort was his own fault.

"I suppose Jacko's here too. The Devil's henchmen generally work in pairs."

"Jacko is not here," came the laconic reply.

"Well that's one blessing," Pax snapped, sending a sharp pain shooting behind his eyes. He leaned his head back against the squabs and waited for the pounding to subside. Finally he glared once more at the patiently waiting giant. "All right, Manji. Why have you come?"

"You were needed at Windhaven. Jacko sent me to bring you."

"Since this is my coach, I assume you took advantage of its readiness." Pax's voice was stronger now and filled with sarcasm.

There was a slight twinkle in Manji's eyes, lighting his otherwise expressionless face. Solemnly he nodded his baldhead. However the look of smugness was wiped away with Pax's next words.

"It might interest you to know that I was preparing to drive to Windhaven to talk to Leslie," Pax rapped out.

"The old servant mentioned something about Windhaven," Manji mumbled, shifting uneasily on the suddenly uncomfortable seat. "I was in a hurry. Jacko told me to bring you. I thought it was better not to discuss it."

"In the future, barring my death from these bruises," Pax said, gingerly rubbing his shoulder, "I would appreciate it if you would at least ask me if I happen to be going to Windhaven or whatever godforsaken place you have in mind."

"It will be done." Manji's words sounded rather like a blood oath to Pax's ears.

"Now exactly what is wrong with Leslie?" Pax asked. The older man snapped to attention, his face grim in the morning light. Pax leaned forward, wincing at the sudden movement of his head. "Out with it, man."

"Leslie has run away."

"Damn! Not again!" Pax cursed fluently much to Manji's approval. "All right. Where is she this time?"

"I do not know."

"What!" Pax shouted. He glowered at the giant, totally forgetting his own injuries as he waited for Manji to speak.

"Jacko is searching. That's why he sent me for you. The Daffadar left without telling us."

In spite of Pax's concern he felt a moment of satisfaction at the injured tone of the older man. He could imagine the fury of both Jacko and Manji when they discovered that the slip of a girl they had coddled, defended and taken orders from had disappeared from their benevolent guardianship. Then as the gravity of the situation reasserted itself, Pax straightened against the carriage seat and faced the marble-jawed giant.

"Tell me everything, Manji.”

Chapter Twelve

The lumbering mail coach pulled into the innyard of the Pig and Whistle, discharging passengers as the ostlers converged upon the lathered horses. Leslie was glad that she was once again dressed as a boy. The trip had been uncomfortable enough, but would have been worse in female attire. She stretched her cramped legs before she felt able to negotiate the steps from the coach. Her head pounded with a headache, and she sniffed the fresh evening air, gratefully pulling it into her lungs. The freedom from confinement made her feel almost lightheaded. She stamped her booted feet in the dust to restore circulation to her coach-numbed body. Checking the beaver hat to be sure her hair was well hidden, she pulled her greatcoat more closely across her chest and scurried after the other passengers.

"Ale and a trencher," boomed the voice of the coachman as Leslie moved to a shadowy corner of the public room. She watched in awe as the massive barrel-chested man downed a pint in one swallow, wiping his mouth with gusto on the sleeve of his frock coat. He was surrounded by the outside passengers, a noisy group of youthful gentlemen. They treated him with a rough and ready hero worship as befitted the exalted position of Coachman for the Royal Mails.

Leslie wolfed down her own victuals knowing she only had twenty minutes before the coach would be on its way. She had just finished the last of the bread soaked in drippings when the coachman, with much throat clearing and unintelligible muttering, pulled out his silver watch on the steel chain. Without a backward glance, he sauntered out the door, knowing full well that his devoted followers would be right behind. With a sigh of resignation Leslie climbed the stairs of the coach and settled back against the upholstery, wondering if the jolting would interfere with the digestion of her dinner. Wearily she leaned her head against the window frame hoping for sleep but suspecting that her worried thoughts would prevent such an easy method of passing the time

Leslie had been in a cold fury when she ran away. Jacko had been sent with her in the coach from London and she had told him then that she planned to leave Windhaven. She had refused to give him her reasons for fleeing from Pax, but had counted on his unquestioning loyalty. When her old friend had praised her husband and suggested that whatever their quarrel it could be patched up, she felt betrayed. She remembered Manji's earlier defection, that had resulted in her ill-fated marriage, and determined to leave without either Jacko or Manji.

All she wanted was to escape. In her love for Pax she was unable to reason clearly. She only knew that since he could not reciprocate her feelings she could not remain at Windhaven. She would take herself totally out of his life.

By now both Jacko and Manji would be furiously searching for her. Her hastily scrawled note explaining that she would contact them would not deter them from trying to find her. With any luck at all they might not have discovered that she was missing until this morning. Since she had left shortly after three in the morning, that should give her a head start of five or six hours. Knowing that with Manji in charge of the stables, there was little chance she could quietly remove a horse, Leslie had walked into the village. There she had secured a ride on a farmer's wagon to the nearest coaching stop.

Leslie knew Jacko was as relentless as a ferret on hunt and had done the best she could to confuse her trail. Proudly she reviewed the series of dodges she had used to cover her tracks. She had taken several coaches, doubling back on her path twice. She had spoken to no one in the inns or the coaches themselves so she doubted if either Jacko or Manji would be able to pick up much of a trace. She had learned her lessons well when the three of them traveled from India to England so many years ago.

The gloating smile left Leslie's face as she remembered how her old friends had brought her to Windhaven and Pax. A film of tears blurred her vision but she ruthlessly blinked them away. Her joints ached with stiffness as she tried to keep from jostling the other three passengers but the bucking of the coach bruised her as she careened against the frame and the other unfortunates inside. As the horses sped towards Oxford, Leslie drifted in and out of sleep. She was rudely awakened by a particularly nasty jolt.