Elizabeth Mansfield (26 page)

Alarmingly, however, the man moved his arm over the back of the seat and across her shoulders. This she felt she could not ignore. "I wish you'd move over a bit, Sir Rodney," she said firmly. "You're crowding me."

"You don't really mean that," he said with an unctious smile. "I've seen signs that you're as attracted to me as I am to you."

The remark startled her. "You are much mistaken, sir. I feel no such attraction."

He seemed not to heed what she said. Instead, he slid his hand from her shoulder slowly down her arm. "There's no need to be missish with me, my dear."

"I'm not being missish," she snapped, pulling her arm free. "This sort of attention is the last thing I wish for."

"Perhaps I'm rushing things," he said, unperturbed. Keeping one arm around her, he took her hand into his free one. "I would have liked to make my approaches with more subtlety, but you didn't give me much time." He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips.

She snatched her hand from his grasp. "I'm amazed, sir, at your determination to ignore my words. Please listen and believe what I say.
I
have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge in a flirtation with you."

"I don't trust words, my dear. I see the inclination in your eyes. And as for the time, we shall have plenty of it. I'm sure that the trip I've arranged will afford us many hours to learn each other's true inclinations."

She froze. "Are you saying you're not taking me to the Swan?"

"My plans," he said with a glint, "are for an inn much farther west." With a sudden movement, he put his hand behind her head and drew her face close to his. "It's located on the coast," he said softly, his lips against her cheek. "At night you can hear the waves lapping the shore."

"I shall not be there to hear it, you may be sure of that," she retorted, pushing against his chest to try to hold herself aloof from him. But his face was still close. She could see in horrifying detail the leering twist of his lips, die nostrils dilated in suppressed passion, the bluish tinge of the skin on his swollen jaw where the Viscount had given him a blow. How she wished Luke Hammond were here now, to give him another. But now there was no help to be had but from her own wit. "Please tell your coachman to stop," she said in her sternest tones. "I shall walk to the Swan from here."

He only laughed and pulled her closer into his arms.

"Dash it, Sir Rodney," she cried desperately, "let me go!"

But his expression of lewd amorousness had changed. "Oooff!" he grunted, his smile dying and his heavy brows coming together in pained surprise. "What in blazes is hanging from your waist?" He pulled a small distance away from her, and, keeping hold on her with one arm, used the free hand to rub his thigh.

Goodness,
she thought,
my book!
The recollection of the Caxton Malory in her reticule combined in her mind with the sight of Moncton's swollen—what had his lordship called it?—glass jaw. Without a moment's hesitation she pulled her reticule from its string and swung it, book and all, as hard as she could to the wounded place on his jaw. He gave an agonized howl and fell back against the seat. Released from his hold, she quickly let down the window and shouted to the coachman to stop. By the time it did, however, Moncton had somewhat recovered and was reaching for her again.

She pulled herself free, threw open the carriage door, and leaped to the ground. Moncton followed and made a lunge for her arm. She avoided him and swung her reticule again at the same target. This blow proved too much for him, and he fell senseless to the ground.

She stared down at him for a moment, trembling. She felt both relieved and horrified at what she'd done. When she looked up, she discovered that Sir Rodney's tiger and his coachman were standing beside her, gazing down at their fallen master in awe. "I say," exclaimed the tiger, "that wuz a facer if ever I saw one!"

"Ye tipped 'im a settler, that's fer certain sure," the coachman said admiringly.

"He deserved it," Jane muttered defensively, shaking from head to toe.

"I don' doubt it, miss," said the coachman, grinning at her. "Ye needn't look so shamefaced. There's a good many days I'd like to whop 'im one meself."

"Same wiv me," the tiger said, looking down at his fallen employer with delight. "Many a night I dreamed o' squarin' up to him an' landin' a good 'un right in 'is middle."

"Be that as it may, I'd be obliged if you'd lift him back into the carriage," she said, taking a deep breath in an effort to calm her still-racing heart. "But first, will you throw down my portmanteau? I'm trying to get to the Swan by nine."

"You ain't gonna make it 'less we'll drive ye there," the coachman offered.

"Don' worry, miss," the tiger added. " 'is 'ighness, here, ain't likely to object."

"No, 'e won't wake very soon," the coachman agreed.

"Thank you," Jane replied, watching warily as the two men proceeded to lift Moncton's inert body and hoist it up into the carriage, "but I won't climb into that coach again. If you'll permit me, I'll ride up on the box with you."

"It'd be an honor, miss," the coachman said with a bow. "A real honor."

"Oh?" Jane cast him a look of disbelief. "Why an honor?"

"I cin tell ye that," the tiger said. " 'Cause any lady 'oo could lay Sir Rodney low is a true champeen to us."

THIRTY-THREE

When Luke arrived at Ramsgate and discovered his old governess to be in perfect health, he knew he'd somehow been tricked, but why and by whom was a mystery. All the way back to town he pondered on the problem. No one but Monk would be playing such tricks on him, but if it were Monk who'd sent the letter, how would he have learned of his governess's existence? And what would his purpose have been?

He strode into his house determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. "Has anything untoward occurred while I was gone?" he asked Parks as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

"No, my lord," Parks responded curiously. "Were you expecting something extraordinary?"

"I was expecting some sort of catastrophe." He looked about him, relieved that everything seemed in order. "That letter this morning was a hoax, no doubt to lure me out of town." Handing the butler his hat and riding crop, he headed for the stairway.

"Nothing out of the way has occurred all day," Parks assured him. "Except, of course, that Miss Douglas left for home."

Luke stopped in his tracks. He felt as if he'd been kicked by a horse right in his midsection. "Miss Douglas? Gone?"

"Yes, my lord. She left about half an hour after you departed for Ramsgate."

Luke peered at the butler with an arrested expression. "Did you let her take the carriage? Is that why you were so eager for me to take the curricle this morning?"

"Oh, no, my lord, not at all!" the butler said earnestly.

"You may as well tell me the truth, blast it, Parks," Luke swore. "I shan't blame you. If I'd known she was so deucedly determined to leave, I would've insisted on her taking the carriage myself."

"Yes, my lord, I suspected you would. But she wouldn't hear of it. She took the stage. She was even going to walk to the Swan, but Sir Rodney came by and offered her a lift."

"Sir Rodney
Moncton?"
This was a second blow, and it caused the blood to drain from his face.

"Yes, my lord," Parks murmured, frightened by the Viscount's ashen look.

"And she
went
with him?" Luke demanded tensely.

"Yes, my lord. We didn't think there was any reason not to—"

"Damnation," Luke exclaimed, terror-stricken, "it was
he,
don't you see? Monk, the blasted muckworm! He sent the letter to get me out of the way!" He snatched his hat from the bewildered butler and sped to the door.

Parks ran after him with the riding crop. "Will you be needing this, my lord?"

"No," his lordship snapped, dashing down the stairs. "When I catch up with him, I'll beat the life out of him with my bare hands!"

Luke was not surprised to be told by Monk's man that he was not at home, but he took hold of the fellow's neckcloth in a choking grip. "Where's he gone?" he demanded threateningly. 'Tell me at once, if you want to keep breathing."

"Miss Naismith's, I think," the fellow gasped.

"That's a lie! He left in his carriage this morning, didn't he?"

The man nodded. "But it's back. At the stable."

"The carriage is back already?" Suspicious, Luke tightened his hold. "Is that the truth?"

"I swear!" the fellow said, gagging.

Luke let him go. "If he's not at Dolly's," he said over his shoulder as he ran down the stairs, "I'll be back to pull the lying tongue from your head!"

But the fellow had not lied. When Luke burst unannounced into Dolly's sitting room, he found Monk stretched out on a chaise, with Dolly bending over him, applying a wet cloth to Monk's face, half of which was hugely swollen and discolored. But Monk's injury was of no interest to Luke. "Where is she?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

"Luke!" Dolly cried. "What—?"

"What are you doing here?" Monk mumbled through his swollen mouth, sitting up nervously.

"Where is she?" Luke asked again, stepping closer and making a fist.

"Who?" Monk asked innocently, nevertheless raising a hand to protect his wounded face.

"You know damn well who!" Luke snapped.

"What are you talking about?" Dolly asked, looking from one to the other.

Luke ignored her and came closer to the chaise. "What have you done with her?" he asked again.

"Whom are you speaking of?" Dolly insisted. "And what has he done?"

Monk edged to the far end of the chaise. "I didn't do anything with her."

"You damnable liar!" Luke raised his arm, ready to swing. "You tricked her into your carriage, didn't you?"

"Don't hit me!" Monk cried, cowering. He held up both his hands to ward off the impending blow. "I couldn't keep her there," he admitted hastily. "She wouldn't go with me. You won!"

"Who
wouldn't go with you?" Dolly asked, glaring at the cringing Monk suspiciously.

Luke's arm froze in midswing. "I won?"

"Yes, you did," Monk said sullenly. "She got away."

"Did she, indeed?" Luke expelled a deep, relieved breath. "Since you certainly didn't let her go willingly, I can't help wondering how she managed it."

"She hit me with something... a brick, I think."

"Do you mean she's responsible for that bruise?" A slow smile appeared on Luke's face as he lowered his arm. "Well, well!"

"Are you speaking of that bran-faced chit Luke's taken on as his business agent?" Dolly asked, looking furiously from Monk to Luke and back again. "You tried to
abduct
her?"

Monk's frightened eyes shifted to Dolly's face for a moment before he turned back to Luke. "Look here, old man, you won the bet. Your Jane is probably safely in Cheshire by this time. So why don't you just take yourself off?" His eyes pleading, he slowly rose from the chaise. "I'll write my vowels for you right now." Holding his bruised face in one hand, he padded in stockinged feet over to Dolly's desk, inked a pen, and scribbled a note. "Here. Your debt to me is paid, and this is my I.O.U. for the other thousand."

"Yes, Luke, do leave," Dolly said, glaring at Monk menacingly. "I have some business with this gentleman that must be transacted in private."

"Very well, I'll go," Luke agreed, pocketing the vowels, "but if I find you've so much as harmed a hair of her head, Moncton, I'll find you out and run my rapier through your black heart."

As he turned his steps toward home, Luke regretted for a moment that he'd failed to give the blackguard a thrashing. But he consoled himself with the thought that Jane had done it for him. She'd apparently administered a very satisfactory blow. And if that weren't enough, there was still Dolly. From the glimpse he'd gotten of her face when he left, she was undoubtedly going to exact a retribution from Sir Rodney Moncton much worse than any he could contrive. If it were anyone but Monk, he might even manage to feel sorry for the dastard.

THIRTY-FOUR

When Jane woke the next morning in her own attic bedroom, it took her a moment to realize where she was. It took another moment—a longer one—to conquer the ache of disappointment. She had to remind herself that her London adventure was over and that she would not, ever again, lay eyes on Luke Hammond.

She made herself rise briskly. She'd sent a message to Lady Martha that she'd be returning to work this morning. It would not do to be late on her first morning back.

She dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs. Adela was already at the breakfast table, reading a letter. She looked up at Jane with shining eyes. "It's a message from Taffy. His groom rode all night to bring it to me. Taffy writes that he'll be driving up again on Saturday with his mother. Isn't that lovely?"

"Yes, it is," Jane said, pouring herself a cup of tea without taking a seat. "Very lovely."

"Mama told me she is feeling so much better that she plans to be up on her feet to greet Lady Fitzgerald," Adela chirped happily.

Jane finished her tea. Then she planted a kiss on her sister's cheek. "I have to admit it, my love," she said as started for the door, "your Taffy is the best thing to happen to our family in years."

As she scurried down the road and up the hill to Kettering Castle, Jane considered what effect Taffy's impending visit might have on their lives. With his mother visiting, the two lovers might very well become engaged. Before very long, Adela would be wed and gone, and their mother would be without companionship during all the hours Jane was at the castle. It would be a blessing if the two mothers liked each other; then Taffy might invite his mother-in-law to live with them.
Mama would be so pleased,
Jane thought. It would be good for her to live in the luxurious manner she'd once enjoyed. Of course, Jane realized ruefully, she herself would then be alone.

She put the depressing thought out of her mind once she entered the castle. She had to concentrate on the work that lay ahead of her. Lady Martha's accounts must be in a sad muddle after almost three weeks of neglect.