No Choice but Surrender (23 page)

"Lady Venetia.
Duchess."
Avenel tersely acknowledged the other women's presence.

"We've come for a visit, Avenel. But perhaps we've arrived at an inopportune moment." The duchess shot an amused look at Brienne and then modestly patted her brilliant sapphire- colored skirts.

"I shall join you both in the drawing room momentarily," he said. Then, putting a finely tempered iron hand on Brienne's arm, he turned to her decisively.
"Brienne, go upstairs to your room."

Rebellion raged within her, and she snapped her arm away from his grasp. "I will not!" She jutted her chin out.

Avenel's jaw seemed to throb with agitation. "Go upstairs now! I can take care of this without you."

"I will do no such thing! I'm not a child, and I will not tolerate . . . !" Brienne gasped as he flung her carelessly over his shoulder and removed her .like so much excess statuary from the hall.

"You despot!
You blackguard!" she screamed, and her voice echoed down the passage as she beat her fists into his hard, muscular back. "I will never forgive you for this humiliation! Do you hear me?
Never!"
She bit her lip in impotent fury.

"I will not have you in your angry state near Venetia," he whispered hotly. "She has all but said she wants compensation for her embarrassment at the ball. Don't you think she would love to know why you're really here? Not only would she get even with me, but I'm sure her father could have Morrow here in a moment to claim you!"

He dumped her unceremoniously onto the Deccan counterpane in her bedchamber and then left her without another word.

"Afraid that tongues will wag, eh? That the Duchess of Hardington will say you've been dallying with someone not quite up to snuff?" Spewing and sputtering unladylike expletives, Brienne vented her anger by throwing the nearest porcelain figurine at the closed door. She then allowed her heart to rage uncontrollably with fury and embarrassment—and worst of all, jealousy.

It was nearing March before Cumberland and Rose were expected back from London. Brienne counted the days like soldiers, waiting for each one to fall before looking ahead to the next. Avenel spent most of his time riding about the estate; it was an infrequent day that Idle Dice was in the stable block. But on those occasions when Avenel was in the house, Brienne chose to stay in her room; she would have tea and sit by the fire, trying to ignore the footsteps that paced below her in the library and the cursing that wafted up from the hall. Of late Avenel was in a foul mood, and his temper ran short in the presence of a lax footman or a fumbling maid.

The only respite from her boredom was her new-found ability to ride. She, like Avenel, rode regularly; she went out on Queenie every afternoon. Although she was not allowed to go without one of the grooms, Brienne found a great release in galloping madly across the clearings and meadows and in freely jumping the crumbled stone fences in between.

She rode now and caught sight of Orillion trotting ahead into the woods beyond; his white fur stood out among the golden groundcover and sunlit evergreens of the forest. The animal's presence was a sure indication that his master was near, and Brienne fumed since his presence was forced upon her today. After several minutes of riding in silence, she finally turned to Avenel and said in an almost surly manner, "I do not like being the American cousin any longer. That woman"— she eyed him dourly when she referred to Venetia—"has done nothing but make me feel like a peasant."

"You mean there was a time when you did like being thought an American?" He pulled Idle Dice nearer to her and relaxed the reins, allowing the bay to toss his head and prance tightly around her.

"Never!
Those rude, boorish—"

"You forget that they are not all like me, my love." He laughed and tried to pull at her small velvet hat, which was angled on top of the curls so painstakingly arranged by Vivie. She swiftly trotted out of his reach, giving him a look of utter boredom.

But strangely he brought his bay to a halt and then became very still. He looked behind them sharply as if he expected to see someone.

"What is it? Is there someone there? This is the third time . . ." She looked over to his back, where he kept a loaded pistol tucked into his buckskin breeches. She saw his gloved hand twitch for it and then resist the urge. There was also a large, rather deadly looking knife tucked into the top of his right boot. He didn't know she knew about the weapons; she'd once spied him in the stable block hiding them on his person. It was strange, his compulsion to pack an arsenal on these innocent romps through the countryside. But it was a habit for him, and she was used to seeing the concealed bulge at his backside.

" 'Tis
nothing, I suppose." He brushed it off as he had thrice before.
"Just the sounds of the woodlands."
He smiled and again reached for her saucy hat, but she chose to continue their previous conversation, ignoring his attempts to make her laugh.

"It is Cumberland's misfortune to be American. But you'll never convince me that Rose fared well in that godforsaken land. She is as English as I, and I'm sure she is glad that she left."

"
Maryland
is not anything like you picture it. In many ways it resembles England, with its sown fields and country estates. There is a city named after Lord Baltimore that has many fine homes, buildings, and cabinetmakers who are almost as skilled as Osterley's John Linnell." He smiled at her in a preoccupied manner and then said, "Come, I will take you there some day and prove to you that the United States is far less heathen than that
dinbycb
you grew up in."

"I will never go there." She cantered ahead in defiance. Concentrating on keeping her heels down and her hands in their proper position, she forced herself to ignore him.

"But you would go back to Tenby, wouldn't you? Tis all but sow fodder now. Yet you would return to it rather than stay here with me." There was a hard edge to his voice as he cantered beside her.

"Tenby was a nice township. It has been forgotten. But it will be nice again, and I cannot help but want to go home." She set her mouth in a firm expression but slowed Queenie down to a walk so that she could talk to him. "How did you find out I was from Tenby? I've wanted to know ever since the night of the ball. I never told you where—"

"I had someone find out. Once I knew you could speak Welsh, I simply inquired about the hired coaches. My fortune was that you are not easily forgotten." He slowed down beside her.

"And you? You speak Welsh. How is that?"

"My mother was from Wales."

"Your mother?
Now, that is hard to believe. You never had a mother." She looked straight ahead, watching Orillion, who was still ahead of
diem
, going deeper and deeper into the woods.

"Not for long, 'tis true. And I suppose it does show—that I will grant." He laughed; her dry comments obviously bounced off him like so many leather balls.

"She died young?"

"Aye."

"I am sorry." She paused and then gave him a mildly taunting look. "However, lack of maternal care does not explain every aspect of your rude personality." Playfully, she turned to canter away once more, daring him to follow. But before she could start, she looked back and saw he had stopped again. "There is nothing there, Avenel. What do you expect to find?" she asked, becoming worried over his behavior. But before she could question him further,' he seemed to brush aside his premonitions and took a chance. His hand snaked up and grabbed the hat from her curls. "Oh!" she cried furiously at his back as he galloped off.

Squeezing Queenie into a canter, she followed him deep into the woods. Orillion had circled back and was now at Idle Dice's feet, which moved along at a well-controlled speed. When she finally got to Avenel's side, he held the hat out to her, teasing her in the hope that she would reach for it. But he only laughed when she turned up her nose to his unspoken dare and galloped ahead.

They were now very far from the Park; she was not at all familiar with this forest. The sky was becoming overcast, and soon deep, dark shadows revealed themselves underneath the evergreens. The air was also quite cold, making her serge riding jacket seem inadequate.

"Your boyish pranks have amused us all," she said as she stopped Queenie in a small clearing. "But I think it best if we turn back now. Nightfall is coming, and I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea which way is Osterley." She looked around the clearing, brushing her dark windswept locks from her eyes.

Avenel rode up to her side.
"Aye, and 'tis cold enough.
There's an old hunter's cottage that I know of, not far from here. Perhaps it would be wise to go there . . . and get warm." There was a silver glint in his eye as he pulled up beside her, but she refused to reply to his wicked suggestion.

Instead she looked away and muttered vaguely about certain people's bad upbringing.

"How far is the Park from here, Avenel? I am not sure—" She turned to look back at him but was struck dumb by the expression on his face. Orillion let out a low growl, and when she looked down, she saw large, tufted hackles raised along the dog's neck and back. "What is it?" she asked in rising terror. Looking back at Avenel, she saw every muscle in his body tighten; his shoulders were visibly raised for combat

"Go!" he said quickly to her, pulling out the pistol from his waistband.

"What?"

"Go! Tis your chance! Get out of here, I tell you! I give you your freedom." He looked off to a dark, thickly ever- greened niche in the clearing, and his eyes narrowed from tension.

"Avenel, I cannot—" Suddenly her ears drummed from the horrible sound of a shot coming from the thicket that he had been watching. The horses reared in fright, and several moments were lost as both riders attended their mounts. Before Brienne finally brought Queenie down onto all four legs, Avenel had already grabbed her reins and was forcing both animals out of the clearing. They found meager cover behind a mass of holly bushes, and Brienne noticed that Avenel's face had gone white. Soon the reason for this became apparent
Several
bright red streams of blood ran down Idle Dice's belly and trailed off onto the needle-covered forest floor. "My God, Avenel, you've been shod" she whispered, edging Queenie over to him.

"Get out of here, Brienne!" he rasped at her through clenched teeth.

"Avenel," she pleaded with him, "we've both got to run." But he did not listen to her. Instead, he jerked out his whip and furiously beat her mare's delicate rump.

"Get out of here!" he said, each time giving Queenie a stiff welting. It didn't take much more to make the animal rear, but miraculously Brienne was able to take control and steer clear of Avenel's whip.

"I can't leave you here." She winced at the blood streaming from his thigh. Another shot rang out, and she saw Orillion dash madly into the thicket where the attacker must have lurked. From Orillion's growls and snarls, she knew that the dog had turned dangerous because of the smell of his master's blood that was spattered on his brilliant white coat.

"Brienne, this is your chance. Orillion will rout the bastard. Go now! There might be others lurking about—"

"You're right. There might be others about. Come, we've got to get back to Osterley." She put an end to his speech; it was pointless to talk of her abandoning him. Looking off into the battleground clearing, she shivered, knowing somehow that her father was behind this attack. Turning to Avenel, she saw the pain he was in as he tried to stanch the flow of blood with his hand. "We can't hide here forever, Avenel. Whoever's shooting out there will come looking for us. You must try to follow me. We must get back to Osterley." Again she ran terrified eyes over the clearing.

"Go on, then. Lead the way." He gripped his leg and clenched his teeth. Brienne prompted Queenie into a trot. Without waiting for Orillion to return, they began the route back to the Park.

After picking their way through the dark forest for almost half an hour, it soon became apparent that they would have to bind Avenel's leg if he were to make it back to Osterley. Blood dripped a trail on the forest floor, and even the strength of his hand upon the wound did little to inhibit the crimson stream. Seeing the vulnerable state Avenel was in, Brienne forced herself to be brave. Her heart leaped to her throat every time there was a sound behind them, and the merest rustle of forest creatures was terrifyingly loud in the stillness of the twilight forest. But she took courage in the fact that they'd been able to travel this far without being followed. She only hoped that Avenel had been right and that Orillion had found his target.

"Avenel, I think we must rest," Brienne said. "Your leg—"

"Go on to Osterley. I'll stay the night at the hunter's cottage." His words were thick with pain.

"Where is the cottage?"

"Not far." Unexpectedly, he handed her his pistol. "It's still loaded, Brienne. Take it and go. But do me this one thing: tell them at the Park to fetch Cumberland from London."

"Show me the cottage, Avenel. We'll make sure Father's minions aren't nesting there, and then we'll return to Osterley in the morning."

"Wildflower, your fondest dream has come true. You—may —leave." He obviously thought she didn't understand him.

"Where is this cottage?" She tried to sound commanding, but seeing his ashen
face,
her words came out as a whisper. "Please, Avenel. I won't go back alone."

He took a minute to think about what she'd said; then, a$ if he already knew it would be harder to convince her to do otherwise, he nodded in the direction of the cottage. "I think it's less than a mile from here."

Brienne took note of his labored breathing and his pain- racked posture. She gave him a trembling, fearful smile. "All right, then. Let's be off."

They reached the small woodland cottage in a matter of minutes. Brienne dismounted and made her way up the path, taking the pistol with her. She was not exactly sure how to fire it, but she held the heavy weapon in front of her and hoped that would keep away any attackers. Behind her, Avenel's shadowed form could be seen, weaving sickly on his saddle.

After making a quick assessment of the area, Brienne was comforted by the fact that the place looked utterly abandoned. She walked up to the cottage threshold and peeked into the dark, open doorway.

Then she had the fright of her life. From out of the cottage there leaped at her what seemed to be a four-legged ghost.