Kitabı oku: «The Vanishing Viscountess», sayfa 4

She stared back at him.

Would he know the Vanishing Viscountess by her given name? Would her name be enough to identify her as Wexin’s cousin, Corland’s widow, the young girl who’d had such a tendre for him at age eighteen that she blushed whenever he walked past her?

Marlena had been named for a distant French relative who’d died on the guillotine in the year of her birth. She had been Miss Parronley to everyone, save childhood friends and family and Eliza. And Wexin, of course. Even the newspapers after Corland’s death and her flight had never printed her given name. She could not think of a single instance when Tanner would have heard of the name Marlena and, if he had, would never associate it with the Vanishing Viscountess. She opened her mouth to speak.

Tanner stood, blowing out a frustrated breath. “Never mind.” He ambled over to the window. “Forgive me for pressing you.”

The moment to tell him had passed. Her body relaxed, but she grieved the loss of the easy banter between them.

“I asked Mr Gwynne about coaches,” he said, still looking out of the window. “I told him we were travelling north.” He turned to her.

“Yes, I wish to travel north,” she said.

“To Scotland, correct?”

She nodded.

“Well, Mr Gwynne’s recommendation was to take a packet to Liverpool.” He looked at her intently. “Where in Scotland?”

She bit her lip.

He made a frustrated sound and turned away.

“Edinburgh,” she said quickly. “I wish to go to Edinburgh.”

He turned back, lifting a brow. “Is Edinburgh your home?”

She hesitated again.

He waved a dismissive hand. “I ought to have known not to ask.”

She turned away, her muscles tensing. “A ship.”

“Could you bear it?” His voice turned soft.

She faced him again and saw sympathy in his eyes. “If I must.”

“It sails in the morning.”

“I will be ready.” She would get on the packet, in any event, no matter if her courage accompanied her or not. She stood, but was hesitant to approach him. “What will you do?”

His brows rose. “Why, accompany you, of course. It would look odd otherwise.”

She released her breath. The ship would be a little less terrifying with Tanner at her side.

Liverpool would certainly be big enough a town for her to pass through unnoticed. From there she could catch a coach, perhaps to Glasgow first, then on to Edinburgh.

So close to Parronley. Her estate. Her people. One place for which she yearned, but dared not go.

She was Baroness Parronley, a baroness in her own right. The Parronley barony was one of the few that included daughters in the line of succession, but Marlena would have preferred not to inherit. It meant losing her dear brother Niall and his two little sons. Her brother and nephews perished of typhoid fever. So unexpected. So tragic.

Marlena had been with Eliza in Ireland when they read the account in a London newspaper that Eliza’s husband had had sent to him. Marlena could not even mourn them, her closest family. She could not wear black for them, could not lay flowers on their graves.

With the shipwreck she would eventually be pronounced dead, the end of a baroness who had never had the chance to claim her title, the end of the Parronleys. Wexin would inherit. Her people, the people of Parronley, would be in the hands of a murderer.

Another knock on the door sounded, and Mrs Gwynne herself brought in their supper on a big tray. Two steaming meat pies, a pot of tea, and a tall tankard of ale.

Tanner took the tray from the woman’s hands and set it on the table. “Ah, thank you, Mrs Gwynne. You even remembered ale.”

She beamed and rubbed her hands on her apron. “After all these years, I ought to know what a man wants.”

He smiled at her. “You knew what this man wants.” He lifted the tankard to his lips and took a long swallow.

After the woman left, Marlena picked at her food. The camaraderie she’d shared with Tanner had disappeared. They ate in silence.

As she watched him finish the last of the crumbs of the meat pie’s crust, she blurted out, “You do not have to travel to Liverpool with me, if you do not wish it.”

He looked up at her with a mild expression. “I do not mind the trip.”

She sipped her cup of tea. “If it were not for me, you would probably be headed for London tomorrow.”

“Probably,” he responded.

She regarded him. “I do not even know if there is someone in London awaiting your return.”

His eyes clouded. “The usual people, I suppose.”

She flushed, embarrassed that she had not considered what his life might be like now. He had been the marquess of her memory, dashing and carefree and unmarried. “Forgive me, but I do not know if you are married. If you are—”

“I am not married,” he replied, his voice catching as he pressed his hand to his side. “A delay in my return should not inconvenience anyone overmuch. My affairs are well managed and rarely require my attention.”

She felt a disquieting sense of sadness from him. Still, that once innocent, hopeful débutante brightened.

He was not married.

Their meal struggled on with even fewer words spoken until Mrs Gwynne again knocked. Tanner rose stiffly.

“I’ve come for your dishes, lamb,” she said as he opened the door. “But first I have something for you.” She placed folded white garments into his hands. “Nightclothes for you.”

“Thank you,” Marlena exclaimed, surprised again at the woman’s kindness. She placed their dishes on the tray.

“That is good of you, Mrs Gwynne.” Tanner took the garments and placed them on the bed. “Might we purchase them from you?”

The woman waved a hand at him. “Oh, I hate to ask you for money after all you have been through.”

“I insist,” he said.

Mrs Gwynne gave him a motherly pat on the cheek. “Then we will settle up tomorrow, Mr Lear. Is there anything else you might require?”

“I can think of nothing.” He turned to Marlena.

She shook her head and handed Mrs Gwynne the tray full of dishes. She walked over to open the door for the woman.

Marlena stopped her before she crossed the threshold. “Wait.” She glanced over to Tanner. “Would it be possible for someone to launder my—my husband’s shirt? He would so like it to be clean.”

Mrs. Gwynne brightened. “It would indeed be possible. I’ll see to it myself and dry it in front of the fire.” She stepped over to Tanner again. “Give it over, lamb.”

Tanner glanced at Marlena before pulling the shirt over his head and draping it over Mrs Gwynne’s arm. “Thank you again.”

The innkeeper’s wife smiled and bustled out of the room.

Tanner turned to Marlena. “That was thoughtful of you.”

His skin glowed gold in the light from the oil lamp and the fireplace, but he was no less magnificent than he’d appeared that morning or as he bathed. Just as one is tempted to touch a statue, Marlena was tempted to run her fingers down his chest, to feel his sculpted muscles for herself.

She resisted. “No more thoughtful than you asking for my bath. I would say we are even now, except for the matter of you saving my life.”

His mouth curved into a half-smile. “We are even on that score, as well. Do you not recall hitting Mr Davies-the-Younger over the head?”

“I am appalled at that family, the lot of them.” She shook her head.

He smiled. “You’ll get no argument from me on that score.”

He picked up one of the garments Mrs Gwynne had brought them and put it on, covering his spectacular chest. “I’ll walk down with you to the necessary, before we go to bed.”

Go to bed repeated itself in her mind.

The sky was dark when they stepped outside to the area behind the inn where the necessary was located. Marlena was glad Tanner was with her. The darkness disquieted her, as if it harboured danger in its shadows.

When they returned to the room, he said, “Spare me a blanket and pillow and I will sleep on the floor.”

“No, you will not,” she retorted, her voice firm. There was no way she would allow the man who had rescued her to suffer through such discomfort. “Not with those sore ribs of yours. You must sleep in the bed.”

He seized her arm and made her look at him. “I’ll not allow you to sleep on the floor.”

Her heart pounded as she looked directly into his eyes. “Then we must share the bed.”

Chapter Five

Marlena’s heart pounded as Tanner stared at her. He said nothing.

She must have made a terrible mistake, must have mistaken the meaning of his almost-kiss. Surely he would give her some sign of wanting to make love to her after her brazen invitation. Not this silence.

She felt the rebuff as keenly as she’d once felt those of her husband. Corland, however, had voiced his disgust at her wantonness. She’d believed him, too, thinking herself some unnatural sort of wife to desire the lovemaking, until she discovered that Corland had no such disgust of other women bedding him.

Tanner’s reaction confused her all the more.

Perhaps she was not a temptation to any man. She’d not really had the opportunity to find out while playing governess to Eliza’s children.

“I—I ought to speak more plainly,” she prevaricated. “I meant we ought to share the bed, which is big enough. I was not suggesting more.”

He swung away from her, so she could not tell how this idea—outrageous all on its own—had struck him.

He finally turned back to her. “You wish only to share the bed.”

She nodded, wishing she had merely insisted upon sleeping on the floor and been done with it.

“I will turn my back while you undress, then.” He faced the chest where the water and bowl were.

Marlena undressed as quickly as she could, although her fingers fumbled with the laces of her corset. She slipped the nightdress over her head and noticed the comforting smell of lavender lingering in the fabric. She laid her clothing over one of the chairs so that it would not wrinkle.

She crawled beneath the covers. “I am done.”

He’d been so still as she undressed, adding to her discomfort, but he moved now, removing his boots and the coat he’d donned over his nightshirt when they’d gone below stairs. She peeked through her lashes at him, watching him unfasten the fall of his trousers and step out of them, the nightshirt preserving his modesty.

He walked towards the bed and climbed in beside her. The bed shifted with his weight. When he faced away from her, she wished it could have been as it had been that morning, his arms around her, bare skin touching bare skin. She was certain she would never sleep a wink the whole night, but soon after his breathing became even and rhythmic, she drifted off.

The dream came. She’d not had the dream in ever so long, but now, with all the fear and danger, she dreamt it like it was happening all over again.

She’d been restless, unable to sleep that terrible night. Corland and Wexin made plenty of noise when they returned from their night of debauchery. Wexin often slept off the effects of their entertainment in one of the bedchambers, so it did not surprise her that he stayed the night.

When she finally dozed, a woman’s cry woke her. Earlier in the day the housekeeper had warned her that her husband had his eye on Fia Small, the new maid, a girl Marlena had hired mostly because she came from near Parronley and was so very young and desperate for employment. A light shone from beneath the door connecting her husband’s bedchamber to hers.

Again in her dream, Marlena rose from her bed and walked to the door. She turned the key and opened it.

A man who looked as if he were dressed in women’s clothes grappled with someone, something in his hand, trying to strike with it. Marlena ran and grabbed his arm. The weapon was a large pair of scissors and the person with whom he struggled was the new maid. He swung around to Marlena, slashing the weapon towards her.

“No!” the girl cried, trying to pull him off Marlena.

He flung the girl away.

Marlena fought him, both her hands grasping his arm, holding off the lethal scissors. She finally saw the man’s face.

In her dream the face loomed very large and menacing.

It was Wexin. Her cousin.

“Wexin, my God,” she cried. The dream turned him into the image of a demon. He drove her towards the bed and she fell against it, losing her grip on his arm. He brought the scissors down, but Marlena twisted away.

She collided with her husband, her face almost ramming into his. Corland’s eyes were open and lifeless, blood spattered his face, pooling at the wound in his neck.

Before she could scream, Wexin called out, “Help! Someone, help!” He tore off the woman’s robe and threw it at Marlena. He thrust the scissors into her hand.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Wexin swung around to the maid. “I’ll see you dead, girl, if you speak a word of this. There will be nowhere you can hide. Your lady here has killed her husband. Do you understand?”

Marlena threw aside the robe—her robe, she realised. The scissors in her hand was sticky with blood. Her nightdress was stained with it. Wexin pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in a pocket. He was clean while she was bloody.

The maid glanced from Marlena to Wexin and back again. With a cry, she ran, scampering through the hidden door that led from Corland’s room to the servants’ staircase.

Wexin laughed at the girl’s escape. “There goes your witness, cousin,” he sneered. “You have killed Corland and there is no one to say you have not.”

Marlena jolted awake, her heart pounding.

The nightmare had not ended, however. A man leaned over the bed and slammed his hand over her mouth.

Tanner woke with a start.

A man, no more than a black figure, had his hands on Miss Brown. Tanner grabbed for the man’s coat, knocking him off balance.

The man released Miss Brown and pulled out of Tanner’s grip. Tanner sprang from the bed and lunged at him before he could reach her again. They both fell to the floor, rolling and grappling, until slamming against the mantel, the coals on the hearth hot on Tanner’s back. They illuminated the man’s face.

Davies, the son come back to finish what he’d started on the beach.

“No!” Miss Brown ran towards them, pulling the back of Davies’s collar.

“Stay back!” Tanner yelled, although he was perilously close to having his nightshirt catch fire.

Davies released him and scrambled to his feet. Miss Brown backed away from him, but he came at her, clamping one big beefy hand around her neck. Tanner stood and advanced on him.

“Keep away or I’ll kill her,” Davies warned, squeezing her throat for emphasis, and dragging her towards the door.

“Leave her,” Tanner commanded. “The purse you want is in the bed.”

The man glanced to the bed, but shook his head, squeezing Miss Brown’s neck tighter. “She’ll be worth more, I’ll wager.” The man swallowed. “I saw your ring. Only a rich man wears a ring with pictures on it. You’ll pay me more than what’s in that purse for her.”

Tanner suddenly felt the weight of the signet ring on his finger, the ring that was so much a part of him. He’d tried to disguise it, but Davis had obviously seen it for what it was.

“I’ll have you arrested and hanged,” Tanner growled.

“I’ll kill her first,” the man replied.

A choking sound came from Miss Brown’s lips. Tanner had no doubt Davies would make good his threat.

“I’ll not pay for her if she is dead,” Tanner said, playing for time.

Tanner kept his distance as Davies neared the door. He could barely see in the darkness, but he knew one thing. He would never let that man take her out of the inn.

The intruder reached the door, and Tanner could hear him fumbling with the key to unlock it. “Do not raise a din,” Davies warned, “or I’ll snap her neck and run for it.”

He lifted the latch and swung the door open. At that same moment, Miss Brown brought her heel down hard on his foot.

Smart girl!

Davies cried out in pain and she twisted away from him. Tanner came at him, landing his fist square on Davies’s jaw and spinning him around into the hall towards the stairway. The man’s hand groped for the banister, but slipped, and he tumbled down the stairs.

Tanner rushed after him. By the time he reached the stairs, Davies was back on his feet and out of the building. Heedless of his bare feet, Tanner ran down the stairway and into the inn’s yard, the nightshirt tangling between his legs and hampering his progress. Davies disappeared into the darkness.

“Hell,” he yelled, stamping his foot and lodging a stone painfully between his toes.

Breathing hard, Tanner limped back to the inn where Miss Brown stood framed in the doorway.

He hurried to her, touching his hand to her neck. “Did he hurt you?”

She placed her palms on his ribs. “No, but what of you? Has he injured you more?”

He had forgotten that his ribs still pained him. He put his hand over hers and pressed his side. “Nothing of consequence.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close with only the thin fabric of their nightclothes between them.

A commotion sounded behind them. The innkeeper and his wife appeared, along with several curious lodgers.

“What is this?” asked Mr Gwynne, in his nightshirt, robe, and cap.

Tanner reluctantly released Miss Brown. “A man broke into our room and tried to rob us.”

“Oh, dear!” Mrs Gwynne’s hand went to her mouth. “Who would do such a thing? And you with so little. Did he take anything of value?”

Tanner put his arm around his pretend wife. “My purse almost, but we stopped him.” He glanced towards the yard. “He ran off.”

“Shall I alert the magistrate?” the innkeeper asked.

“No!” cried Miss Brown.

Tanner tightened his arm around her to let her know he understood she would not wish to speak to a magistrate. “It is no use. The man is gone, and it was dark. I’d not know him in the light.”

“You poor lambs!” Mrs Gwynne ushered them inside and closed the door. “What can we do for you?”

“We need only to return to sleep. I am certain he will not come back.” Tanner blew out a breath and reconsidered her offer. “I might appreciate a glass of port, come to think of it.”

“I’ll fetch you a whole bottle,” said Mr Gwynne.

The other lodgers crowded around them with questions, sympathy and speculation. Tanner suppressed his natural inclination to merely order them away. He was not precisely sure how Mr Lear the stable manager might act in such a situation, so he merely answered what he could and thanked them for their concern.

Acting as a husband came easier. Tanner kept a protective arm around Miss Brown and walked her through the entrance hall to the staircase. He only released her when Mr Gwynne handed him a bottle of port and two glasses. She hurried up the stairs and Tanner followed.

When they reached their room, the door was ajar and a breeze blew through from the open window, undoubtedly how Davies had gained entry.

As soon as Tanner closed the door behind them, he faced her. “Are you certain he did not hurt you?”

She gazed up at him. “Very certain.”

He wanted to touch her, to examine her all over, to reassure himself she was unharmed, but his hands were full and he was fairly certain his touch would not be welcome.

For a fleeting moment earlier that night he’d believed she’d invited him to do more than share the bed. Thank God he had not acted on that belief. A second later he realised he’d presumed too much.

“Would you like some port?” He placed the glasses on the table and pulled out the bottle’s cork. “I am in great need of it.”

“Yes.” She put her hand over his, and his desire for her flared anew. “But I will pour for you.”

She took the bottle, and Tanner paced. The encounter with Davies had set his blood to boiling and he had not yet calmed down. He still burned to pummel his fists into the bastard’s fleshy face and beat it to a pulp.

All that unspent energy was in grave danger of being misdirected. Not in violence, but in passion. He surged with desire for this woman who again had been in danger. Tanner felt the need to have her. Now.

He shuddered. He must force himself to remain civilised.

He walked over to the window, closing it and taking a taper from the fireplace to light the lamp on the table. Anything to keep his hands off her.

“The money!” he cried, nearly dropping the taper.

She looked up, holding a glass in midair.

Tanner rushed over to the bed and groped under the pillow. The door of the room had been open for several minutes. Anyone might have walked in. He exhaled in relief as he pulled out the purse.

Her arm relaxed. “Thank goodness.” She held out the glass to him. “Was it the money he was after—or—or me?”

He returned the purse to its place under the pillow and took the drink from her. “I would not have let him take you,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead.

She looked up into his eyes, and he felt the surge of passion return.

She poured port into the other glass. “Do you think Davies knows who I am?”

Tanner took a sip, the sweet, woody wine warming his throat, but not cooling his ardour. “I do not know who you are.”

She averted her face. “I mean, he still seemed to think me your wife, did he not?”

“My wife,” he murmured.

He took a gulp of the port. The light of the fireplace behind her revealed the outline of her body beneath the thin white fabric of her nightdress. A vision of her naked filled his mind, full high breasts, narrow waist, flat stomach, long silken legs.

Lust surged through him. Curse him, she’d already made it clear that sharing a bed meant only sharing a bed.

He glanced away from her, but looked back again to see her lips touching the glass, her pink tongue darting out to lick off a stray droplet of port. He downed the contents of his own glass and walked over to the table to pour another one.

With his back to her, it was easier to speak. “Davies saw my ring when we were at the farmhouse, evidently. I doubt he could identify the crest, although someone more knowledgeable might do so. I’ve since turned it around on my finger.”

“So he thought me your wife?” she asked again.

“I believe he did.” It fitted with what Davies had said about wanting Tanner to pay for her.

She finished her port. “What time does the packet ship sail?”

He turned around to answer her, but a sharp pain pierced his ribs. He leaned on the table until the worst of it had passed. “Mid-morning,” he answered in a tight voice. “And another one later in the day. Mr Gwynne said we should be at the docks by ten o’clock for the morning departure.”

She put down her glass, and crossed over to him. “You are hurt.” She gently touched his ribs. “Is it where he kicked you? You must go back to bed.”

She put his arm over her shoulder to help him over to the bed. Instead, he turned and wrapped his arms around her, taking pleasure in merely holding her.

“Let us both go back to bed.”

She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

He garnered more strength than he’d used to battle Davies. “To sleep?”

She stared at him. “To sleep.”

She doused the lamp, and helped him to the bed, sweeping the covers back and waiting for him to climb in. She moved to the other side and climbed in next to him, covering them both with the blankets.

This time, rather than turn away, Tanner faced her. He put his arm around her and drew her close. The pain protected him from doing more and finally exhaustion brought him sleep.

Lew Davies stumbled into the cottage as dawn peeked over the horizon. He did not trouble himself to be quiet, still too angry at this latest failure. The other wreckers had found all sorts of treasure. Crates of cargo and bits of jewellery, coin, clothing from the dead. Why did he have to find a fellow who was alive? The only thing his family had to show for the best shipwreck in years was a bloody timepiece with that same picture on it that had been on the man’s ring. Davies did not even know where they might sell such a thing.

He shrugged out of his coat and let it fall to the floor. His foot pained him like the very dickens from where the woman had stomped on it, his jaw ached from the man’s fist, and his muscles were sore from the tumble down the stairs. He’d been lucky to escape.

He was sick of being foiled by these two fancy people. First on the shore, then on the road to the ferry when his father’s cart never showed up for him to ambush, and finally in Cemaes. He flopped down into a chair and pulled off his boots, tossing them into a corner.

He’d been stupid to decide to take the woman instead of the purse. The idea just came to him suddenly when he’d grabbed her. He should have left as soon as the man saw his face. If he was lucky the gentleman wouldn’t go to the magistrate about him.

From now on, he’d stick to wrecking and hope for another storm off shore very soon.

The bedchamber door opened and his mother tottered out. “Well, did you nab the purse?”

He rubbed his jaw. “No, they woke up. I was lucky to get away in one piece.”

She clucked her tongue. “We need that money.”

“I know, Mam.” He dragged a hand though his hair.

She crossed the room and picked up his coat, hanging it on the peg on the wall. “Well, I want you to try again, but this time take the woman.”

He gaped at her. “Take the woman?”

“You heard me.” She stood with her fists on her hips. “A man came asking questions after you’d gone. Looking for the woman, he was.” She pumped some water into the kettle and placed it on the fire. “He bought her clothes from me, if you can imagine it. More like rags they were, but I’d not have got a half-crown for ’em elsewhere.”

He sat up. “He gave you half a crown for them?”

“Well, yes, he did.” She opened the tin box where she kept the chicory and took out a piece of the root.

“Half a crown.” Davies still could not believe it.

“That fellow told me she was running from the law and that he is supposed to bring her to London. I’ll wager there is a big reward or else this fellow would not pay half a crown for her rags.”

“A reward?” Davies’s foot started paining him and he lifted it on to his knee to rub it. “What about the gentleman she was with?”

“I told the fellow about the gentleman, but he didn’t have anything to say about him.” His mother shrugged as she plopped the chicory into a tea pot. “I did not tell we had the man’s timepiece.”

Davies put his foot back down and sank his head into his hands. He could have earned a big reward if only he had not let go of her.

“So this is what you have to do,” his mother went on. “You go back to Cemaes and get the woman. If she’s gone, follow her until you find her and bring her back. We will take her to London for the reward.”

He looked up at her. “You’ll have to give me money.”

She checked the kettle, which was starting to hiss. “I’ll give you the sovereign the gentleman gave us, but you must find her before that man does.”

“Did you tell him they went to Cemaes?”

She glared at him. “I’d not do anything so daft, but I reckon he’ll find out before the day is through.”

Young Davies reached for his boots. “I’ll do it, Mam. I’m going back to Cemaes right now.”

His mother waved a dampening hand at him. “First you have some chicory tea and some bread and cheese. I’ll not send you out again without something in your stomach.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Yes, Mam.”

He’d obey his mother, but as soon as he’d eaten, he’d walk back to Cemaes and wait for the perfect time to nab the woman. He did not think he could get in her room again, but he could follow her and the gentleman wherever they went. He didn’t care how long or how far it might be.

With a big reward at stake, he’d nab her, all right.