Somewhere in Cheshire

23rd December, 1812

Anthony stretched his legs, stiff with cold and inactivity, and attempted to stifle a yawn. Not that it really mattered if Miss Woodville caught him yawning. Wrapped up in a thick woolen blanket, she was currently asleep—or feigning sleep—in the opposite corner of the carriage. After so much traveling, he was thoroughly sick of these constrained conditions. The biting cold. And the constant knot of frustrated anger in his gut whenever he thought of Freddie Woodville and what he was doing with Violet.

His betrayal.

He clenched his gloved hands into fists and for the millionth time, imagined what he would do to the blackguard’s face when he at last caught up to him.

He cast another glance at Miss Woodville. Kate. A small part of him felt guilty for dragging her along on what had been a wild-goose chase of a journey so far. She’d borne the dragging, uncomfortable hours with nary a complaint. He’d believed her when she’d told him she’d had no knowledge of what her brother had been planning. She didn’t seem the sort to mince words or play games. Indeed, from what he’d seen of her so far, she wasn’t afraid to share what was on her mind, at all.

She certainly wasn’t afraid of him.

She was a refreshing change from the usual fawning females he came across at social events. Women who were all simpering smiles, and fluttering eyelashes, and false praise because they were trying to ensnare an unattached nobleman for a husband. After a season of fending off their unwanted advances as well as chasing unsuitable male suitors away from Violet—at least he’d been successful until Woodville came along—he was thoroughly sick of the whole damned marriage-mart business.

Kate murmured and shifted in her sleep and the blanket slid to her lap revealing the bodice of her dark green pelisse and matching gown. He’d noticed she’d taken to wearing clothes of a far superior cut and quality. Unlike the dull gray dress she’d worn at Mrs. Brooke’s Ladies’ Academy, her traveling ensemble hugged her slender curves to perfection. His mouth curled into a sardonic smile at the thought his money had probably been used to refurbish her school teacher’s wardrobe. Although the pale green gown she’d worn on the night of the Vauxhall masquerade had been of good quality too—silk, silver tissue, and fine lace. It made him wonder how she’d come by it.

Perhaps her uncle or her well-connected friend, Miss Tessa Penrose, had helped her out.

He couldn’t account for it, but he was beginning to find Kate Woodville quite intriguing, as though she were a complicated puzzle he wished to solve. His gaze drifted to her face. After the Grand Masquerade and their second encounter at the school, he’d grudgingly acknowledged that this feisty, sharp-tongued bluestocking was attractive in a most unconventional way. Her mouth, which was usually compressed into a disapproving line whenever she looked at him, had relaxed in sleep. Her soft, full lips were slightly parted and a fine, rose-gold curl of hair fluttered upon her smooth as cream cheek as she breathed. Over the past few days he’d also observed that she wore neither powder nor rouge in an attempt to hide her freckles as some women might do. He didn’t know why that should please him so much, but it did.

The carriage suddenly jolted and lurched violently. Uttering a string of oaths, Anthony reached for Kate as she was thrown from her seat. Her eyes flew open and she cried out as he caught her against his chest. Then they both tumbled back onto his seat in a tangle of arms and legs, her skirts and the woolen blanket.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt and Anthony’s breath froze as he looked down upon Kate’s pale face. She lay beneath him on the leather seat, chest heaving, her green eyes wide with alarm as she stared back.

“Are you all right?” He should really check on what had happened, but at this very moment all that seemed to matter was the young woman in his arms. The soft, warm body beneath him, the feel of her sweet breath against his mouth and her scent—a beguiling combination of orange blossom and vanilla—were most distracting.

“Yes. I think so,” she said in her deliciously husky voice. Her gaze flickered to his mouth only inches from hers and she blushed. “Thank you for catching me but perhaps you could let me up.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Anthony pushed himself upright just as there came a knock on the carriage door.

“My lord.”

Anthony recognized the voice. It was Graves, the footman. He opened the door and the young man bowed. “Wilmot apologizes for the sudden stop, my lord. One of the traces snapped.”

Damn and blast. “How far away is the nearest village?” It was mid-afternoon and an icy wind was tearing at the footman’s greatcoat and the bare trees beside the road. They weren’t far from the foothills of the Pennines and Anthony suspected it would snow before nightfall.

Graves clutched at his peruke. “About a mile off, my lord. Wilmot says he can walk the horses there safely enough. Hopefully there’s a decent inn with an ostler and a blacksmith.”

Anthony nodded. “Let’s hope so. Continue on.”

The door closed and he settled back in his seat. Kate had returned to her spot; the blanket was once again across her lap and her attire, if not her composure, had been set to rights. Her cheeks were still flushed and several more of her unruly curls had escaped their pins. She was steadfastly examining her gloved hands that were clasped primly in her lap.

He’d love to know what had been going through her mind when she’d focused on his mouth. He certainly knew what he’d been thinking. Could still feel the heat coursing through his veins.

Good Lord. Anthony wiped a hand down his face. Was he really beginning to develop an infatuation for the fearsome Miss Woodville? It must simply be a result of sharing the same small space for hours on end. The forced physical proximity and the unrelenting tension were playing havoc with his thoughts as well as his body. And he couldn’t afford to have a soft spot for Miss Woodville. Or hard for that matter. He was grateful his greatcoat hid his inopportune bodily reaction to lying atop her.

Misplaced lust aside, at least he was a better man than Freddie Woodville. He might have threatened Kate with social ruin to enlist her aid, but he wouldn’t really do so by deed.

Not unless he absolutely had to ... It all hinged on whether he could stop Violet from making the worst mistake of her life.

* * *

When Lord Stanton’s carriage at last drew to a halt in the yard of the Cat’s Whiskers Inn, Kate breathed a huge sigh of relief. The last three days had been torturous—not only had she been beside herself with worry about Freddie, she’d been constantly uncomfortable, and not just because she’d been confined to a freezing cold carriage for hours on end. The worst part was having to deal with her entirely unwanted physical attraction to Lord Stanton. An attraction that seemed to be growing daily, perhaps even hourly, despite the man’s cold, forbidding manner. Despite his shabby treatment of her by threatening to ruin her. Despite his threats to harm Freddie.

Whenever his cool gray gaze settled on her, her cheeks warmed and her heart rate began to gallop. Her breathing grew shallow and her stomach flipped over. She’d tried to fan the flames of her anger by focusing on how abominable he and his stepmother were. But it seemed her efforts had been all for naught considering how her body had reacted to having Lord Stanton lying on top of her when they’d fallen; when he’d tried to save her from tumbling to the floor.

The hot, hard weight of him, the closeness of his wide, sculptured mouth as it hovered just above her lips ... The way his eyes had searched hers, the light within soft, perhaps even warm as if he had been concerned for her ... As if he had contemplated kissing her ... It had made her feel and think the wildest things. Unseemly, unladylike, but terribly appealing things. Things she’d never felt before.

Yes, Kate was relieved beyond measure to be escaping Lord Stanton’s overwhelming presence. She accepted the footman’s hand rather than his lordship’s as she alighted from the carriage.

Lord Stanton’s mouth had tightened and the expression in his eyes had grown hard again at her slight. Nevertheless, he didn’t say anything other than to issue his usual instruction not to wander too far. They would be on their way again as soon as possible.

The Cat’s Whiskers Inn was small, which was understandable given its isolated situation near the foothills of the Pennine Mountains. Kate shivered as she picked up her green wool skirts and made her way carefully across the muddy, churned up yard toward the low-roofed, gray stone structure. Once she’d attended to her immediate physical needs, there wasn’t much chance of her wandering anywhere at all considering the vicious gale tearing at her clothes and bonnet.

The interior of the inn was dingy and smoky but at least it was dry and warm. But for a sullen looking serving woman who greeted her with a grunt, it was also quite deserted. Kate decided she would risk ordering a cup of tea and something to eat for once; surely it would take a little time to repair the carriage.

She took a seat at a heavily scarred wooden table by the fireside and after her tea and meal arrived—a bowl of winter vegetable soup, a large crusty roll of dark brown bread, and a hunk of crumbly yellow cheese were deposited in front of her without ceremony by the serving woman—she set about eating it with gusto. It had been a long time since breakfast and whilst Lord Stanton always made sure there was a basket of food in the carriage—Kate was certain he simply didn’t want to deal with the inconvenience of her fainting due to hunger—she was heartily sick of pickle smeared ham and beef sandwiches or fatty brawn pies.

She’d just begun to butter the second half of her bread roll when she caught sight of a pinched little face at one of the grimy windows. A girl’s face, pale but for the windburn on her cheeks and the smudge of dirt across her little pink nose. Kate’s heart clenched at the naked longing in the child’s eyes as she focused on the food. However, when she saw Kate looking at her, her dark eyes widened with fright and she disappeared from view.

Poor thing. Kate couldn’t stomach the idea of eating her roll and the remains of her cheese, not when she knew there was a starving, freezing child only a few feet away. There’d been times when she had been cold and hungry as a child—times when her father had spent all of her mother’s housekeeping money on drink and the gaming tables—but at least they’d had rented rooms and Kate had never been forced to brave the elements on an abominable day like this. Determined to help, she wrapped up the bread roll and cheese in her napkin, slipped it into her reticule, donned her bonnet and gloves again, and then braced herself to go outside.

The girl had looked through a window facing a small stand of wind-blasted fir trees; it was on the opposite side of the inn to where the yard lay. Lord Stanton’s carriage had been moved closer to the stables and even though Kate couldn’t see anyone, she caught snatches of male voices on the wind as she skirted the edge of the building.

Turning the corner, a blast of icy sleet hit Kate full in the face, stealing her breath as well as her bonnet. The gale snatched it clean off her head with frigid fingers and sent it flying toward the copse of firs. Kate squealed and ignoring both the mud and propriety, hitched up her skirts and dashed after it.

“Miss, is this wha’ ye be chasing?” The urchin emerged from the trees with her bonnet in hand. Her rag thin skirts snapped about her bare legs and Kate shivered on her behalf.

“Why, yes ...Thank you ... so very much.” Breathless with cold and exertion, she bent down and took her proffered hat. The dark green ribbons were a little muddy but aside from that it was unscathed.

The little girl smiled shyly through her dark, wind-whipped curls. “’Twas no trouble at all, miss.”

“But I will thank you all the same.” After tucking her bonnet beneath her arm, Kate retrieved the napkin-wrapped bundle from her reticule as well as a few sixpences from her coin purse. “Your assistance is truly appreciated,” she said, offering the items with a smile.

The child’s mouth curved into a bright grin. “Thank ye, miss.”

“Yes, thank ye.”

The gruff male voice beside her ear made Kate’s heart jump like a startled rabbit’s. Turning, she came face to face with a large, roughly dressed man with the look of a vagabond about him. Strands of greasy, black hair were plastered across the harsh planes of his face and his glittering dark eyes ran over her with a hunger of a different kind to the little girl’s.

Kate’s heart began to skitter about in earnest. “It’s quite all right,” she croaked in a voice that was unmistakably tight with fear. “I’ll be going now.”

Before she could take a step away, the man grasped her upper arm in a vice like hold. “Right after ye hand over yer pretty little purse.” His gaze shifted to the child. “Get ye gone, now, Tansy.”

The child disappeared into the nearby trees and bright anger lanced through Kate’s chest despite her rising terror. She hated to think the girl had been part of a plan to lure her outside, but perhaps she had been. “How dare you,” she snapped in her best school teacher’s voice. She refused to let this tramp steal her reticule and virtually all the money she had in this world. “Take your hands off me at once.”

“Now why would I want to do tha’, sweet darlin’?” crooned the man as he pulled her closer and lashed a bulky arm about her waist. The smell of wet wool, unwashed male, and some kind of sour liquor assaulted Kate’s senses and made her stomach roil.

“Let me go, I said,” She twisted and kicked at the man’s shins but he simply laughed, his breath a hot, foul gust in her face.

Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. What if he really did want more from her than her money?

A cultured growl, low and menacing like thunder, reverberated behind them. “You heard what the lady said. Let her go.”

Lord Stanton. Until this very moment. Kate had never thought she’d welcome the sound of that odious man’s voice.

Her assailant stiffened but nevertheless released her. “I meant no ‘arm, sir,” he said, hands raised in a placating gesture as he turned to face the viscount. “The lady an’ me, we were just ‘avin’ a bit o’ sport.”

“Well so am I.” Before Kate could even blink, Lord Stanton stepped forward and faster than a striking cobra, his gloved fist shot out and connected with the vagabond’s jaw with bone-breaking force. The man stumbled backwards then fell into the mud on his backside. He shook his head, as if stunned, and when he swiped at his split bottom lip, his hand was smeared with blood.

Lord Stanton took another step toward the man and glowered down at him. “If I ever see your lying face again, you will end up behind the bars of a gaol cell faster than you can draw your next breath. Now, be off with you before I change my mind and take action now.”

The man didn’t need a second warning. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the trees as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. There was no sign of the little girl, Tansy.

“Oh, my goodness.” Kate turned to Lord Stanton, her unexpected champion. “Thank you, my lord. If you ... If you hadn’t ...” She swallowed, unable to voice all the horrible ‘what ifs’ spinning about in her head.

Lord Stanton grasped her arm gently. “Come inside, Miss Woodville. You’ve gone awfully pale and I don’t think you’re shaking because it’s cold.”

Kate couldn’t disagree with him; she placed her trembling gloved hand on his arm and he tucked it into the crook of his elbow as if securing his hold on her. “I won’t faint from fright, you know,” she murmured as they picked their way along the muddy path leading back to the Cat’s Whisker’s main entrance. Although, her legs did feel as if they were made of nothing more substantial than the snowflakes that had begun to swirl around them.

He patted her hand. “I know. I worked out some time ago that you are made of sterner stuff than most females.”

A strange warmth like a burst of sunlight bloomed inside Kate’s chest and radiated up to her face. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she murmured, suddenly feeling shy.

“Please do.”

The smile Lord Stanton cast her had Kate blushing to the roots of her hair and she looked away, ruing the fact she was no longer wearing her bonnet. Curse the man. Why was he suddenly showing her such consideration? She’d half expected him to berate her for wandering off and putting herself in harm’s way. Or at the very least grill her as to why she’d gone outside in the first place. She had no defenses against his acts of chivalry and kindness. And defenses were what she would need in spades if she were to resist her troublesome attraction to him.

Once inside the inn, Lord Stanton installed her at the table she’d occupied before and called for the serving woman. Once the fire was crackling brightly in the grate again, he joined her, offering her a glass of golden-brown liquor as he sat.

“What is it?” asked Kate, sniffing at it suspiciously. Despite her earlier statement of bravado, she was mortified to see her hands still shook a little as she lifted the glass.

“Sherry to help warm you up and take the edge off your shock.” He touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to safe travels, Miss Woodville.”

“Yes.” Kate took a tentative sip. She’d had champagne on the odd occasion but had never drunk anything else alcoholic. However, she was pleasantly surprised by the agreeable warmth the sweet liquid generated as it slid down her throat to her belly. She took another, larger sip and was taken aback to find Lord Stanton smiling at her again.

“You must stop doing that,” admonished Kate.

He cocked a black brow. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Woodville?”

“Being congenial. We’re supposed to be enemies, you know.”

He sighed at that. “Yes ... You’re quite right I suppose.” He downed his sherry in one gulp then flashed her a rueful smile. “Dashed inconvenient though, isn’t it?”

Before she could respond, he rose and strode out of the room, muttering, “I’m going to check on the progress of the repairs. I’ll be back shortly.”

Kate continued to sip at her sherry, puzzling over the softening in Lord Stanton’s attitude toward her. Dare she think that his attitude toward Freddie had changed as well? They were losing precious hours on their journey north. Perhaps Lord Stanton realized there was no way on earth he could stop Freddie and Violet from reaching Gretna Green and marrying.

If he had indeed conceded defeat, he seemed to be taking it remarkably well.

Kate was just contemplating whether she should visit the stables when Lord Stanton returned. He ordered another sherry then all but threw himself into the chair across from her. His scowl had returned and a muscle worked in his lean, square jaw as he stared into the fire.

Kate’s heart plummeted. It seemed her speculative musings had been incorrect. “How are the repairs progressing?” she ventured when she decided she couldn’t bear sitting through another taut minute of silence.

“Slowly.” Lord Stanton accepted his sherry from the serving woman and took a long sip before fixing his gray gaze upon her. It was frosty again. “And the snow is getting heavier.”

“I see ...” Was he suggesting they would have to stay here tonight? It was not the most hospitable of places. The only consolation, as far as Kate could see, was that there weren’t many staff. Which meant there were fewer people to have to tell an unconvincing lie to: that she was Lord Stanton’s sister. She may as well have claimed she was Princess Charlotte or even the Queen of Sheba considering the skeptical looks she had received from staff and patrons at the last two inns they’d stayed at. It was plain to see everyone thought she was really Lord Stanton’s mistress. Thank goodness she would never meet any of them again.

Her reluctance must have shown on her face as Lord Stanton remarked, “Don’t worry. We shall push onto the next town. Stockport is sure to have a decent coaching inn with suitable rooms for us.”

“You don’t wish to continue on into the night? We should reach Fenwick House tomorrow if that’s the case. In time for Christmas Eve. Not that it really signifies given the circumstances. I know ... I know how important it is to you, to reach Violet in time ... Before ...”

Lord Stanton’s scowl grew deeper and his hawk-like gaze more piercing. “Before your brother ruins her? Married or not, I’m afraid that horse has well and truly bolted by now, my dear Miss Woodville.”

Kate’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m sure Freddie wouldn’t ... I mean ...” She couldn’t say what she really meant, that she was certain her brother wouldn’t seduce Violet before they were wed. But then again ... Her face grew even hotter. Once upon a time she would have defended Freddie against an accusation like that, but not any more.

“For such an intelligent woman you can be terribly naïve at times, Miss Woodville. Take your earlier escapade for instance.” Lord Stanton gestured toward the side of the inn where she’d been ambushed. “I still can’t fathom why you were so easily lured outside by that ragamuffin of a child. You are too kind-hearted for your own good.”

Kate’s spine stiffened with indignation. “There’s nothing wrong with offering assistance to those in need. How was I to know it was a trap? And might I ask, how did you know?”

“I came in here to check on you and saw you outside with the girl,” Lord Stanton nodded toward the window. “But when I witnessed her scoundrel of a father, or whoever he was, slipping out of the trees and approaching you from behind, I knew something was amiss.”

“Oh ...”

Lord Stanton looked down his long, aristocratic nose at her. “Yes, ‘oh’. You should be more careful, Miss Woodville.”

Anger flared to life within Kate’s chest. “Whilst I appreciate that you came to my aid, I feel compelled to add I am twenty-five years old and not a henwit. I have been taking care of myself for many years, thank you very much. And if you really cared about my well-being, you wouldn’t have coerced me into joining you on this futile venture in the first place. My reputation is also at risk because of you. And if it is ruined, I shan’t be able to work. And then what shall become of me, Lord Stanton? I could very well be joining the ranks of the destitute women who reside at White Church House. It seems to me that you are nothing more than a ruthless scoundrel too.”

To Kate’s mortification, her vision blurred with a flood of hot, angry tears. She snatched up her soiled bonnet and reticule and ignoring Lord Stanton’s call to wait, fled outside into the snow.