To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (8 page)

The coach lurched violently, and Frederick sat up
with a start. How long had he been sleeping?

With one more jolt, the coach came to an abrupt halt,
tilted to the left at an improbable angle. Vaguely aware of
the gasps of the other passengers, Frederick pressed his
palms to the seat, steadying himself "What the deuce?"

Carefully leaning forward, he peered out the window.
They appeared to be in a rut on the side of the road.

"Is anyone harmed?" Henley asked, turning toward
his companions. "It would seem we've lost a wheel."

"Oh dear, I think I've injured my neck," Selina said
weakly.

The next few minutes passed in a frenzied blur. Both
Henley and Lady Eleanor saw to Selina's injury while
Frederick stumbled out to speak with the stunned driver.
They had indeed lost a wheel-stuck in the thick mud not
twelve paces away from where the coach had come to rest.
It would have to be replaced before they could proceed.

"Blimey, milord," the driver said, shaking his head.
"I done what I could but there were no avoidin' it"

"Have you any idea how far we are from the nearest
village?" Frederick asked, craning his neck to see beyond
the trees lining the road behind them.

"Not so very far, thank the Maker. We shouldn't be
more'n three miles from the coaching inn at Dalton.
Planned to stop there to change the horses"

"Very well. Here-" Frederick dug inside his pockets, retrieving a coin purse. He pulled out several heavy
coins and handed them to the driver. "Take this. And
take one of the footmen with you-that one, over there"
Frederick pointed toward a tall, liveried youth who
stood at the foot of the coach, watching them. "See if
you can hire a cart to return with the necessary parts for
repair, and ask about for a physician to accompany you.
It would appear that Lady Henley has sustained an
injury."

"Bloody 'ell, it ain't so very bad, is it?"

"I don't believe it's all that serious. Still, she should
be examined."

"Aye" The driver nodded, then reached into the band
of his dusty breeches for his pistol. "Take this. I don't
want no ruffians touching the horses, and that footman
there don't look so good hissel£" He tilted his head
toward the second footman, who sat on the grassy slope
leading up from the road, rubbing his head and looking stunned.

"No need" Frederick shook his head, refusing the
gun the driver held out to him. Pulling back his coat,
Frederick revealed his own weapon, tucked safely into
his braces. "You may rest assured that no one will touch
the horses"

The driver eyed him sharply. "I suppose ye know how to use it, too. A man don't carry 'round a weapon that
fine jest for show."

Indeed. The custom-made, ivory-handled pistol had
cost him dearly. It was a fine piece of workmanship and,
more importantly, it could hit its mark with astonishing accuracy.

"I'll jest be off, then," the driver said, stuffing his
own gun back into his waistband. "I 'spect we won't be
back fer hours."

Frederick watched as the man grunted instructions to
the youth who would accompany him. A moment later,
the two trudged off down the road.

"Stoneham!" Henley called from the open door of the
coach, now hanging crookedly from one hinge. "Has
the coachman gone for help?"

"Indeed he has" Frederick heaved a sigh as he made
his way back to the disabled conveyance. It was going
to be a long morning, no doubt.

Carefully lifting her skirts above her ankles, Eleanor
picked her way through the mud, up the embankment at
the side of the road, and into the grassy field beyond.
Her limbs had grown cramped from sitting inside the
disabled coach for nearly an hour. She needed to walk,
to stretch her limbs and breathe the fresh air.

Besides, as soon as the coachman had departed in
search of help, Frederick had stalked off, leaving her
alone with Selina and Lord Henley. Eleanor was beginning to feel as if she were trespassing on their privacy as Henley whispered soft, soothing words in his
wife's ear and gently massaged her aching neck.

Her own neck was beginning to ache, if truth be told.
Eleanor tilted her head from side to side, testing it, and
winced as a pain shot down her shoulder and across her
back. Sighing deeply, she continued on toward a shady
copse of trees in the distance, hoping the exercise would
alleviate the discomfort.

Tugging at the neckline of her gown, she glanced up
at the sky, pleased to see a hint of blue. At last the bright
sun emerged from behind the clouds, warming her skin
and drying the moist air that rippled about her as she made her way across the high grass. Now that the
weather had cleared, her traveling gown seemed far too
heavy, too constricting. Of course, she'd imagined herself tucked safely into the carriage throughout the day,
not traipsing about the countryside on foot. Ali, well. At
least she was no longer forced to sit there, directly
across from-

Frederick. There he sat, on the folds of his cloak beneath a tree-in his shirtsleeves, no less. His back
rested against the massive trunk, his scarred boots
crossed at the ankles, and his head bent over the leatherbound book he held in one hand. Beside him lay his
coat and tall beaver hat, his discarded gloves looking as
if they'd been tossed carelessly aside.

Eleanor stopped dead in her tracks, afraid to even
breathe lest he hear her approach. Was he actually reading? The notorious Frederick Stoneham, reading a book?
Indeed, it appeared he was, as unimaginable as it seemed.

She took two steps backward, wishing to get away
before she was discovered.

Crack. Her heart skipped a beat as she stepped on a
twig, her half boot breaking it in two.

Frederick's head snapped up and he twisted his torso
around to face her, dropping the book as he did so and
reaching one hand inside his waistcoat. Spotting her
standing there, his mouth curved into a grin. His warm
chocolate eyes, sparkling mischievously, met hers. "So,
you came looking for me, did you? I'm flattered."
Scrabbling to his feet, he mock-bowed to her, one hand
across his heart.

Eleanor's lips twitched with the hint of a smile. "Of
course I didn't come looking for you, you arrogant
beast " Try as she might to curtail it, her smile widened.
She couldn't help it. Standing there beneath the trees'
drooping branches, stripped of gentlemanly trappings, he looked more like a mischievous boy than a man of
three and twenty-like the boy who had stolen her
heart. And then trampled it beneath his boot, she reminded herself, forcing the smile from her lips.

"I had no idea where you had gone off to. I only
wished to stretch my legs and perhaps ease the pain in
my neck."

"I thought you unharmed," Frederick said, his brows
drawn. "Is it not so?"

"I ... I'm not entirely certain. Perhaps it's just a stiffness."

"A stiffness? Ahh, I know just how uncomfortable
that can be. Most painful." His smile was nothing short
of lascivious.

"In my neck," Eleanor bit out, inwardly cursing the
heat that flooded her cheeks.

"Of course. To where else would I be referring? Here,
let me see" In a split second, he was beside her, his fingers-tracing the column of her neck.

Eleanor attempted to sidestep him, her breath hitching in her chest. "Please unhand me, sir."

He dropped his hand and eyed her sharply. "You, my
dear, are decidedly no fun"

"I never claimed to be fun" Her gaze moved to the
book he'd dropped, lying at his feet. "What were you
reading?"

He hastily bent down and retrieved it. "Nothing of
any import "

"Might you share the title?" Eleanor pressed curiously. "I must say, you looked entirely engrossed."

It was her turn to enjoy his discomfort.

"It's just a book of ... ahem ... poetry."

"Poetry? Is that so? What poet? I'm a great lover of
poetry myself"

"Oh, er ... two Irish poets, actually. Brian Merriman
and Oliver Goldsmith."

"Goldsmith? You enjoy pastorals, then?"

"I suppose -1 -do. You know Goldsmith?"

Eleanor nodded, and then began to quote from memory.

SweetAuburne! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring
swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed.

She sighed in appreciation, then added, "I'm quite
fond of Irish poets myself. May I see it?" She held out
her hand for the volume he clutched by his side.

He hesitated, eyeing her warily as he shifted his weight
from one foot to the other. He rubbed his chin and then
nodded, placing the book in her outstretched palm.

Eleanor opened the heavy cover, her eyes widening
in surprise as she flipped through the pages. "It's entirely in Gaelic," she said, looking up to meet his gaze.

After a pause, he nodded.

"You read Gaelic?"

"Yes. My mother was Irish, you know."

"Yes, I suppose I did know that. Would you"Eleanor swallowed hard-"I mean, that is, might you
read me a line or two?"

When he said nothing in reply, Eleanor added, "It
would give me great pleasure."

"If you insist," he muttered, flipping through the
pages with a scowl. At last he nodded to himself,
cleared his throat, and began.

Ba thaitneamhach leabhair an crobhaire mna i,
Bhi seasamh is corn is cabhail is cnamha aici, Casadh ina cal go baclach trilseach,
Lasadh ina gnais go lonrach soilseach,
Cuma na hoige uirthi is so ina gaire, is cuireadh
ina Clo chun poige is failte!
Ach chreathas le fonn gan chonn gan chairde
O bhaithis go bonn go tabhartha i ngra dhi.
Is dearbh gan dabht ar domhan gur dioltas
Danartha donn dom thabhairt ar m'aimhleas
Dfhearthainn go trom ar bhonn mo ghniomhartha
O Fhlaitheas le fonn do lom do lion me.

"That's lovely," Eleanor said breathlessly. "Such a
beautiful language." The unfamiliar words had slipped
off his tongue so effortlessly, so artfully. "But what does
it mean?"

He quirked a brow, then began to recite in English.

She was a pleasant and graceful strip of a lass
Her posture and presence betokened class
The toss of her head showed of
ringlets and curls
And the sheen on her cheeks fairly glowed like
pearls,
She had the vitality ofyouth and a smile of bliss
And all her demeanor invited a kiss.
I shook with desire, my mind did reel
I fell besottedly in love, head over heel.
It's certain, no doubt, it was retribution
For all my bad actions, my dissolution
Which fell with a vengeance for my transgression
From heaven above with cruel repression.

For a brief moment, Eleanor was rendered entirely
speechless. "Surely it doesn't say that," she finally managed to say.

"Oh, I assure you it does. Precisely that"

"Hmmm, well. Imagine that." She supposed she
should be thankful that the passage hadn't been even
bawdier than it was.

Frederick snapped shut the book, glancing over his
shoulder toward the carriage. "It's taking the coachman
an interminable time to return. Perhaps I should have
gone with him."

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Henley is so busy clucking over his wife that I
thought it best I stay to offer protection. The roads can
be dangerous, you know."

"And what good are you over here? Someone could
make off with the horses without you even knowing it"

"Not likely. You'd be surprised how accurate one can
shoot from this distance."

"Shoot? Whatever do you .. ." Her voice trailed off as
she noticed the glint of steel peeking out from the hem of
his waistcoat. Of course. He'd reached for it when she'd
stepped on the twig and startled him. A pistol. Good
God! "You don't really mean to shoot your brother-in-law
when you find him, do you?"

"Of course I do, though I've dueling pistols for that.
You spoke of your own brother with a great deal of
fondness. Do you not suppose he would do the same,
had a man mistreated you as vilely as Eckford has mistreated my sister?"

"Henry?" No, of course he wouldn't. Would he? "I've
no idea, though I find it difficult to imagine him shooting a man in cold blood."

"No? Not even if the man had left you destitute?
Robbed you of your jewels? Left you at the mercy of
creditors, some more disreputable than others? Left
bruises on your body, even while you carried his child?"

"Bruises?" Eleanor asked, horrified by the thought.
"Did he really raise his hand to her?"

"According to Maria he did not, but I saw the bruises
myself She's protecting him, as she always has. Now
tell me, what would your brother do in my place?"

"I ... I cannot say" She shook her head. "But Henry
is not a violent man-"

"As I am?"

"Well, you have fought duels. You admitted as much
yourself"

"Yes, I suppose I did. In any case, yes, I do intend to
shoot the bastard. Are you sure you're not injured?" he
asked suddenly, leaning toward her with narrowed eyes.

Eleanor took a step back from his scrutiny. "Why do
you ask?"

"You're holding your head at an odd angle, and you
look as if you're in pain"

I __ -
"I confess, it does hurt. It didn't at first, but now . .
She trailed off, reaching up to rub the dull ache.

"Come, sit down" He reached for her hand and led
her to the cloak spread out on the ground. "Let me see"

"No, I-ouch!" Eleanor winced as his fingers found
the tender spot where her neck joined her shoulder.
"Yes, right there. Is it swollen?"

"You've an enormous knot. Does this hurt?" He
pressed his fingers into the spot, kneading ever so gently.

"A bit" The heat of his bare hands against her flesh
made her heart race dangerously fast. Heavens, but she
must summon the strength to make him stop. Now.
"Really, you shouldn't touch me like this. Perhaps we
should start back to the coach"