Six
It took a considerable amount of courage for Victoria to leave her bedchamber the next morning.
Despite her grim determination to banish all thoughts of Claredon from her mind, she had spent a long, sleepless night recalling his absurd accusations.
How dare he imply her love for Thomas was that of a mother for her child? Granted, Thomas was of a far gentler, more easily swayed nature than Claredon. And their love was more one of friendship than passion. But that did not mean she had simply attached herself to him out of some odd desire to have someone to mother.
It was all utterly ridiculous.
So why had she twisted and turned throughout the long night?
Was it because his talk of children has stirred to life a deep ache of loneliness she had tried so desperately to bury? Because he had forced her to truly consider the notion that they were tied to one another forever? Because he promised he would be a faithful husband? Because for just one moment when he had held her in his arms, she had not wanted him to let her go?
They were troublesome thoughts that she possessed no desire to ponder.
Instead, she had risen from her bed and sternly turned her mind toward the strange intruder who had attempted to sneak into Longmeade. No doubt Claredon had already begun his search for the culprit, and while a childish part of her longed to remain in her chamber and hide from the disturbing companionship of her husband, the more sensible side of her nature realized she should offer her assistance.
This was her home as well as Claredon’s, and she had no intention of allowing villains to waltz in and out of her windows. With that thought firmly in the forefront of her mind, she had gone in search of Claredon.
It came as rather a surprise to discover he was not at all anxious to allow her to accompany him as he questioned the tenants or when he was preparing to travel to the village to speak with the local merchants. He ridiculously claimed it was his responsibility to protect his household. Only because she was quite as stubborn as he did he grudgingly allow her to ride in the carriage with him.
Really, she stewed as she awaited his return from the posting inn, one would think he suspected that the entire countryside was littered with dangerous rogues. For a woman unaccustomed to anyone concerning themselves with her welfare, it was a decidedly odd sensation to suddenly be treated as if she were a delicate object.
Odd and not entirely unpleasant, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind.
Not that she intended ever to allow Claredon to order her about or to dictate what she could or could not do, she swiftly assured herself. But there was something rather nice about having someone who actually considered her as a vulnerable woman rather than the invincible Victoria.
With a shake of her head at her ridiculous fancies, Victoria peered through the window toward the bustling posting inn. The mild summer weather had shifted overnight, bringing in a gray drizzle that blanketed the small village. Through the tenacious tentacles of fog Victoria at last spotted the tall, elegant form of her husband.
A strangely familiar tingle of recognition inched down her spine as he neared, as if her body possessed a special connection to him that went beyond her rational mind.
It was a recognition she had realized early in her marriage and why she had so determinedly fought his seduction. She might not be able to control the unruly response of her body, but she was wise enough to know that passion without love would be a shallow affair.
With a fluid grace, Claredon stepped into the carriage and closed the door behind him. He carefully removed his wet coat and set it on the opposite seat before lowering himself beside her.
“Well?” she demanded impatiently, as much to distract herself from the warm clean scent of him as to discover what had occurred in the inn.
Surprisingly, a satisfied smile curved his lips. “Success at last.”
Victoria widened her eyes in astonishment. “Someone recognized the sketch?”
“The innkeep. He said the man arrived two days ago and signed in as Frank Smith.”
Victoria shivered. Perhaps ridiculously, the knowledge this man had been recognized was rather disturbing. Suddenly he was no longer a vague form conjured by Vicar Humbly, but a flesh and blood villain boldly residing at the local inn.
“Hardly original,” she muttered.
“No, he does not appear to be a very clever criminal.”
“But what could he possibly desire?”
“That is what I intend to discover.”
There was a dangerous edge to his voice that brought a frown to Victoria’s brow. “What are you going to do?”
As if sensing her concern, Claredon gave a dismissive shrug. “The innkeep noted Mr. Smith slipping out of the inn earlier this morning. He will eventually have to return, and I intend to be waiting for him.”
Victoria gave an instinctive shake of her head at the notion of her husband so openly exposing himself to the criminal. “I do not think that is wise.”
His brows raised in surprise at her sharp tone. “Why?”
“He could be dangerous.”
An undeniable emotion rippled over his countenance before he offered her a reassuring smile. “I will await him in the public rooms. There is little he can do if surrounded by others.”
“You cannot be certain.”
He regarded her for a long, silent moment before slowly shaking his head. “You surprise me, Victoria.”
“Why?”
“I should have thought it would suit you very well to have me conveniently disposed of.”
Victoria’s momentary shock was swiftly replaced by a flood of fury at his carefully bland words. “How dare you accuse me of something so horrid?” she breathed in shaken tones.
He grimaced, his hand reaching out to cover her clenched fist. “Forgive me, that was unkind.”
She abruptly dropped her gaze to where his hand engulfed her own. She was angry and oddly hurt he would think her capable of such a ghastly desire. “I would not wish harm upon anyone.”
“Of course you would not,” he said in low tones. “I did not truly believe you would, but I fear a gentleman’s pride can be an unpredictable thing.”
Her head lifted at his baffling explanation. “What?”
“Never mind.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It is time for you to return to Longmeade.”
“Without you?” she demanded, her frown returning as she recalled his determination to confront the thief.
“I will have Johnson drive you home and return to fetch me later.”
She unconsciously squared her shoulders in determination. “No, you cannot stay here on your own.”
“I have assured you there will be no danger.”
“Then allow me to remain,” she swiftly countered.
His hand lifted to softly brush a curl that had escaped from beneath her bonnet. “Victoria, you cannot remain in the public room.”
“Then I will remain here in the carriage,” she retorted, attempting to ignore the sheer pleasure of his fingers as they trailed over her cheek. “If I spot the man entering the inn, I can send in a groom to warn you.”
He was shaking his head before she had even finished speaking. “And if he manages to recognize the carriage, he will most certainly bolt.”
Victoria heaved an annoyed sigh at his logical arguments. Blast it all, she would not allow him to expose himself to such danger. “I do not want you staying here alone,” she said in tones that warned him she would not budge.
A rather worrisome smile played about his mouth before he gave a slow nod of his head. “Very well. I will have the groom remain with me.”
“And you will be careful,” she demanded.
“I will take the utmost care.” Holding her worried gaze, he bent his head downward.
Victoria knew he was about to kiss her. She also knew that he was allowing her ample opportunity to halt his advance.
But she made no effort to avoid the lips that softly covered her own, not even when they deepened the kiss to reveal a rigidly restrained hunger that was echoed deep within her.
For long, dizzying moments, they both became lost in the swift, relentless need that burned to sudden life.
The cramped carriage, the rain peppering against the windows, the nearby servants all faded as wicked temptation swirled through the air. It was at last the shout of a coachman as a carriage entered the yard that intruded upon their spell of bewitchment.
Reluctantly pulling back, Claredon silently considered her flushed features for a long moment before ruefully dropping a soft kiss upon her nose and reaching for his coat.
With swift movements, he stepped out of the carriage and gave his commands to the waiting coachman. “Take Lady Claredon home, and then return and await me beyond the blacksmith’s.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“Peter will remain here with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a moment’s pause as the groom climbed from the carriage. Then, at a nod from Claredon, the waiting horses were set into motion.
Victoria barely noted as they swept from the yard and turned onto the road that eventually led to Longmeade. Instead she lingered in the fog of sensations that Claredon’s touch had so easily seduced to life. With a hesitant movement, her fingers lifted to touch the lips that still throbbed from his kiss.
No, it was much more than a mere kiss, she grudgingly conceded. Thomas had kissed her, wet seeking lips that had only made her wish for the moment to be done. Claredon had bewitched her.
His lips created magic, his touch utter pleasure. Most worrying of all, however, was the tenderness that called to her wary heart. Against her will, his words of the evening before floated through her mind.
I vowed to be faithful the day we wed . . .
Was it possible he did intend to be true to her? That he was genuinely determined to build a relationship between them? Or were his promises the words of a practiced seducer who knew best how to tempt her?
Did she trust him?
Did she desire to trust him?
A faint frown marred her brow. She was far from certain she was prepared to consider the questions. It implied she was prepared to accept Claredon as a part of her life, and that she had forgiven him for ruining her plans for a marriage with Thomas.
Her hand dropped back into her lap as she heaved a sigh. Perhaps it would be better to consider such weighty matters when she was not still tingling with the pleasurable heat of his caresses, she acknowledged wryly.
The carriage slowed and, with a faint frown, Victoria peered out the window to discover they had just passed the small church and were entering the vast woods that framed Longmeade’s parkland.
Opening the window she watched as the coachman climbed down from his seat.
“What is it, Johnson?” she demanded.
“There is a branch across the road, my lady. I shall have it cleared in a moment.”
Closing the window, she settled back into the leather squabs. She knew better than to offer her services to the proud Johnson. He would be deeply shocked at the mere thought of her dampening her soft kid half boots. The staff had a very peculiar notion of what was proper for Lady Claredon, despite the fact she had often pitched in wherever needed at her own estate.
She had barely managed to rearrange her skirts when the door to the carriage was abruptly pulled open. Presuming Johnson had reluctantly overcome his qualms to request her help, Victoria leaned forward, only to come to a startled halt when a large form abruptly blocked the opening.
This was not her servant, she instantly recognized, although she noted little more than a black hat pulled low over a thin countenance nearly hidden by a black scarf. Her attention was riveted upon the deadly pistol the stranger had pointed straight at her heart.
Feeling as if she had stumbled into some horrid nightmare, Victoria could do no more than gape in shock as the man leaned toward her.
“You have my jewels,” he rasped in a low whisper. “Bring them to the church at midnight tonight. Come alone or die.”
“Jewels?” she managed to croak, but it was too late. The stranger abruptly whirled about, his cape billowing like a shadow behind him.
Shaken by the unexpected encounter, Victoria desperately attempted to gather her wits.
Blast! The villain was getting away and she had done nothing to halt him or even to discover his identity.
Cursing her ridiculous flare of fear, she bent forward, intent on at least discovering the direction the villain was fleeing. Her view, however, was swiftly blocked as Johnson came puffing to the door, his expression concerned.
“My lady, are you harmed?” he demanded in broken tones.
“No, I am fine,” she swiftly assured the coachman.
“I did not realize . . . I am sorry, my lady. I should not have left you on your own.”
Realizing that the faithful servant was swiftly working himself into a torrent of self-incrimination, Victoria forced a calmness to her countenance that she was far from feeling. “Do not be absurd. You could not have known the scoundrel was lurking about,” she said in firm tones. “I believe, however, we should continue to Longmeade so that you can return and warn Lord Claredon of the danger.”
“Yes, my lady. At once.”
Clearly relieved to have tangible duties to take his thoughts off his failure to protect her, Johnson closed the door to the carriage and clambered back onto his seat.
With a crack of the whip, they were off, and Victoria drew in a shaky breath.
The stranger was obviously a madman, she acknowledged, as a chill crept down her spine. To actually have stopped the carriage in broad daylight and pointed a gun at her heart . . .
Yes, most definitely a madman.
And a dangerous one at that.
* * *
Sprawled in a dark corner of the public room, from beneath the lowered rim of his hat, Claredon kept a careful eye upon the various guests streaming into the room. He had ordered his groom to lounge about the stables to ensure the man did not attempt to slip to his rooms through the servants’ entrance.
When the thief returned to the inn he would have him, Claredon thought with a flare of satisfaction.
A good thing, too, since his unruly mind was determined to stray back to those moments in the carriage rather than concentrating upon the matters at hand.
Claredon shifted uneasily on the hard wooden chair. Good God, now was not the time to be thinking of skin like the richest silk or lips that could tempt a saint to sin.
Unfortunately, his wayward body still shimmered with a wicked heat, and that ball of frustration in the pit of his stomach had hardened to a near unbearable pain.
He did not want to be chasing mysterious strangers in this crowded, damp inn. He wanted to be at Longmeade with his wife.
The realization sent a vague sense of alarm through him.
Desiring a mistress had always been a transitory, fleeting emotion. Desiring the woman who would be at his side for eternity seemed to smack of a commitment perilously close to love.
Claredon shifted again. Then his thoughts were abruptly distracted as a pretty barmaid appeared at his side.
“Another ale, my lord?” she demanded with a smile that invited far more pleasures than mere ale could provide.
He gave a shake of his head, barely noting her overripe charms. “Thank you, no.”
“There’s some shepherd’s pie that might tempt yer appetite.”
“I have all that I need.”
“Yer sure?” the maid demanded, leaning until her exposed cleavage was at eye level. “We aim to please at the King’s Arms.”
Startled, Claredon experienced no more than irritation at the woman’s blatant invitation. What he desired could not be found in this common posting inn. “Quite sure.”
“If you change yer mind, you have only to call. My name is Peg.” With a flirtatious toss of her raven curls, the maid sauntered away.
Claredon did not bother to watch the seductive sway of her hips or her backward glance. His attention had already returned to the crowd spilling in and out of the room.
More long minutes passed before the sight of his coachman standing in the doorway had Claredon on his feet and rapidly making his way across the room. With a frown, he grasped the servant’s arm and maneuvered him into an empty parlor. Shutting the door, he regarded the older man with an impatient gaze. “Johnson, I told you to await me beyond the blacksmith.”
“Yes, sir.” The servant shifted his feet in a nervous manner. “I fear there has been a bit of trouble.”
A terror more sharp and utterly painful than he had ever experienced before stabbed through his heart. “Lady Claredon?” he whispered between stiff lips.
“She is well.” Johnson was swift to reassure him. “But we were set upon by a ruffian on the way home.”
A dark, lethal fury hardened his countenance. “Tell me from the beginning.”
The coachman blanched at the sizzle of danger in the air. “Yes . . . um ... we had just passed the church when I was halted by a large branch in the road. I got down to pull it aside, and when I turned about, I realized that some scoundrel had opened the door to the carriage. I called out, and he took off across the graveyard. I thought it best to get Lady Claredon to safety rather than to chase after the dastard.”
With an effort, Claredon sought to clear his fog of fury. As much as he longed to have his fingers about the unknown villain’s neck, it was far more important he see and touch Victoria to reassure himself that she was unharmed.
“You did right,” he said in clipped tones. “Gather Peter from the stables, and I will meet you at the carriage.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leaving his servant, Claredon went in search of the innkeep. He would go to his wife, but first he intended to ensure the stranger did not vanish. It took little time to discover the portly innkeep just leaving the kitchens. With a gesture from Claredon, the man hurried to his side.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I must leave for Longmeade at once, but there is five pounds for you if you send word to me the moment Mr. Smith returns.”
A gleam of pure greed entered the man’s pale blue eyes, assuring Claredon the innkeeper would hand over his own mother if need be for such a handsome reward. “Yes, sir. You shall know at once.”
Confident Mr. Smith could not slip easily away, Claredon turned on his heel and left the inn. His carriage was waiting at the door and, with a meaningful glance at Johnson that silently told him to race with all speed, he climbed into the coach.
He had barely settled onto the seat when they were off. In a blur of passing landscape they traveled the short distance to Longmeade.
Not bothering to wait for the carriage to halt before the sweeping steps, Claredon vaulted out and hurried into the house. The startled butler moved forward with raised brows. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Where is Lady Claredon?”
“I believe she is in her chambers.”
Claredon brushed past the servant and took the stairs two at a time. His burning fear would not be settled until he had seen his wife with his own eyes. Moving down the hall, he came to her door and pushed it open without bothering to knock. Victoria rose from the window seat at his entrance, and he crossed to grasp her hands tightly in his own.
“Victoria, are you harmed?” he rasped in unsteady tones.
“No, I am fine,” she assured him with a startled expression.
He briefly closed his eyes as a wave of pure relief rushed through him. “Thank God. I did not think . . . I never should have allowed you to travel without a groom.”
Her brows drew together at the edge of self-disgust in his voice. “Nonsense. You could not know that villain was lying in wait.”
Claredon gave a shake of his head, his gut twisting at the mere thought of this beautiful, fragile woman in danger. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to her. “I should have suspected.”
“Nothing happened,” she retorted in firm tones. “Beyond giving me a sad fright.”
Thrusting aside his anger at having exposed her to danger, Claredon turned his thoughts to the villain. “What occurred?”
“Johnson halted the carriage to remove a branch from the road, and suddenly there was a man at the door pointing a pistol at me.”
Claredon’s heart came to a full halt. “He was armed?”
“Yes.”
“I will kill him,” he swore in deadly tones. “What did he want?”
She gave a slow shake of her head. “It was all very odd. He said I possessed his jewels and I was to bring them to the church at midnight tonight.”
“Jewels?” he muttered. “What jewels?”
“I haven’t the least notion. I have no jewels beyond the pearl necklace that belonged to my mother. No one could possibly believe I had stolen it.”
“Bloody hell.” Claredon dropped her hands to run his fingers impatiently through his dark hair. “I do not like this.”
“I cannot say that I particularly care for it myself,” she retorted dryly.
“Did you recognize the man?”
“No. He had a scarf about his lower face and his hat was pulled low upon his brow.” She suddenly paused. “Oh.”
“What?”
“He had a black cape. Just as the intruder had last night.”
Claredon gave a nod of his head. He had already concluded the intruder had been the same dastard who had dared to accost his wife.
What he didn’t know was why. Was it a matter of mistaken identity? Had he confused Victoria with some other woman who had his jewels? Or was the man merely mad?
In either case, he intended to put a swift end to this unpleasant business. A very swift end. “Do not worry, my dear. I shall settle this matter.”
A hint of concern darkened her eyes. “What will you do?”
“What anyone would do with a rat,” he retorted in harsh tones. “I will trap him and then exterminate him.”