Chapter Five
A half hour later, the only thing about Con’s situation that had improved was that he had seen another sign to the market town near his mother’s estate. At least now he knew where he was. Holding his breath as they passed through a village, he prayed no one would notice them.
Since learning his name, Lady Charlotte had moved as far away as possible from him—which was not that far considering her skirts still brushed his thigh—and refused to even glance in his direction. “Please halt the carriage.”
Without thinking Con pulled the horses up. Before he could ask what she needed or grab her arm, the woman had climbed down from the phaeton and started off down the road toward the village.
Aggravating chit. “Just where do you think you are going, my lady?”
“Back to Town,” she threw over her shoulder. “We should have been there long before now.”
Bloody, bloody, hell. “I got . . . misdirected. We will be at my mother’s house soon.” She mumbled something he could not make out. “Do you even know the way?”
“No.” She raised the nicely rounded chin he had admired earlier. “But there was an inn about a mile or so back. They might not be serviced by a mail coach, but I am sure they will help me arrange transportation to Mayfair.”
Make that ignorant, aggravating chit. Leave it to Worthington to keep his sister so close she did not even suspect the scandal she was courting.
He jumped down from his carriage, turned the rig around, and followed her as she marched her way toward the village, inn, and certain ruin. “Do you have any money?”
“Of course not,” she shot back in an irritated tone. “Why, pray tell, would I need my reticule to walk across the square to Worthington House?”
Con wanted to turn her over his knee. “Then please explain to me,” he said with excruciating calm, “how you plan to pay for your passage to Town.”
This time she stopped, her back as straight as a poker. “I do not know how that is any business of yours, my lord.” He could practically hear her teeth grinding. “I shall merely hand them my card, and explain that I have been stranded. Surely they will understand that my family will reimburse them for any of my expenses. If they will not assist me, I shall apply to the local vicar.”
“Why me?” He covered his eyes with one hand, and mumbled to himself, “Why was I the only one riding by when this termagant was abducted?”
“Did you say something?” Her tone was as haughty as his eldest sister’s.
This did not bode well for him. “No.”
“Good.” She swept him a curtsey worthy of a ballroom. “In that case, I shall wish you a good day, my lord. I do not wish to be seen with you. It might ruin my reputation.”
What had he ever done for fate to hand him such a yoke? Merely entering an inn without her maid, luggage, or a visible form of transportation would ruin her.
Perdition. This was the first time he had ever wished for a younger sister. At least then he might know how to talk sense into Lady Charlotte.
What was it his German tutor had always said when Kenilworth was having difficulty? Ah, yes, Schritt für Schritt. Step by step. Somehow, he would have to lead Lady Charlotte to understand the danger in which she was placing herself. “You do know that a well-bred lady does not wander around by herself, do you not?”
“Yes, of course I do. That is the reason I normally have a footman with me. However, the curs failed to abduct him when they abducted me.”
Con was certain his elder sister would not approve of sarcasm. “Do you have any idea what the landlord will think of a young lady appearing at his inn with no luggage or maid? Hmm?”
Her step faltered for a moment. When she continued, her tone was not nearly as confident as before. “Mr. Brown was very kind to my sister when she was stranded by the weather, and she did not have her maid with her.”
Con’s back teeth began to hurt. “And did the estimable Mr. Brown happen to know your sister previously?”
“Naturally. My family has known him for years.”
“I can guarantee you that whoever this innkeeper is, he will not be as welcoming.”
Pivoting on her heel, she glared at him. “And why should he not be?” The hand that was not holding her basket went to her hips, and he was able to see how small her waist really was.
Not only that, but her breasts were heaving up and down, and the memory of their softness played havoc with his cock.
“What do you think you are looking at?” Her blue eyes reminded him of ice chips.
At least she forgot to add my lord this time. “Nothing.”
Turning back, she strode off. “I do not know why I must explain anything to you. You are a rake after all. How would you know anything about how a respectable lady should be treated?”
“First of all, I do have sisters and a mother. And secondly, I am not a rake.”
“Really?” she said, drawing the word out in the most derisive voice he had heard lately.
This was the reason a man had a mistress. A mistress never spoke to him in such a tone. A mistress never defied him. A mistress did exactly as she was told.
“Yes, really.” If only he had some way of tying Lady Charlotte up and taking her back to Town. “A rake preys on innocents. I most assuredly do not.” Mainly because they bored him to death—or had. No one could accuse Lady Charlotte of being boring—and he valued his life.
“Harrumph.”
She fell silent, and he thought he’d give the voice of reason another try. “What will you do on the off chance the landlord does not believe you?”
“As I previously mentioned, I shall seek out the vicar and have him send a letter to Worthington.”
Dratted female. She had an answer for everything, except how to get out of the bumble broth into which they had both been catapulted. If he could catch Miss Betsy, he’d strangle the blasted bawd’s scrawny neck and damn the consequences. He was tempted to throttle Lady Charlotte as well, but she truly did not realize how tenuous her position was. As if the ton or even the landlord would not immediately think the worst of a young lady wandering around the countryside by herself.
The inn came into sight, and her sigh of relief was so loud, he could hear from where he stood several feet away.
“Now you shall see that I am right,” she said, lengthening her stride as much as she could, given her narrow skirts. Clearly she had spent most of her life in the country.
Another carriage drove into the yard at the same time they had reached the door. Damnation! It was Braxton. The biggest gossip in town, and Lord Gerald with him.
Somehow Con had to get control of this situation. He tossed his ribbons to a stable boy, and rushed to the door of the Green Man, opening it before she could do it herself. Head held high, she entered the building like a ship under sail.
Lord save them both. He strode in after her, ready to pick up the pieces. Not that she’d thank him for it.
Standing before the startled innkeeper, she announced, “I am Lady Charlotte Carpenter—”
“And I am Lord Kenilworth. My betrothed and I are visiting my mother and we had an accident with our carriage.” He resisted the urge to blow out a breath as Braxton strolled through the entrance.
Betrothed? Charlotte whirled around to protest when she saw Lord Braxton and quickly schooled her expression to one of calm.
For the love of God! Could nothing go right? After everything she had said to Lord Kenilworth, not to mention his smug replies, she could not bear the humiliation, or his self-satisfaction.
She had allowed her normally slow-to-rise temper—and, to be honest, her fear of what a man who bought women for pleasure would do to her—get the better of her. He was right, of course. Young ladies did not simply stride into an inn and demand a room.
Perhaps it was even that kiss. It had been so soft and sweet—better than she’d ever thought a kiss could be, yet exactly how Dotty and Louisa had described it—and for the first time in hours, Charlotte had felt so safe, and she had thought that . . . well, she refused to think about that now. The kiss would never be repeated. Once she was home, she would never see him again.
“Kenilworth,” Braxton called out. “I thought that was you. Did you say you are betrothed?”
“Indeed we are. Lady Charlotte and I are visiting my mother.” Lord Kenilworth raised his quizzing glass, focusing it on the other man. “Although, I cannot imagine what your interest might be.”
She stifled a groan. Why her? What had she ever done to deserve to be in this situation? She had always tried to be kind to others and help those who needed it. Yet now, Matt was going to murder her, and Grace would not be able to stop him. At least Lord Kenilworth had ceased smirking. If only Charlotte could think of something to say. Something to stop this madness.
Down the short corridor behind her, a door opened. Please let it not be another gentleman of Lord Braxton’s ilk.
“Lady Charlotte—”
Letting go of her breath at the familiar voice, she could not resist giving Lord Kenilworth a small triumphant smile before sending up a prayer of gratitude.
“—I wondered what was taking you so long to arrive.”
A wave of relief swept over Charlotte as she curtseyed to the grand dame who had been instrumental in Dotty and Dom’s marriage. “Lady Bellamny, I am sorry to have kept you waiting.” Charlotte bussed the older lady’s cheek and whispered, “I am desperate to return home. How did you find me?”
And get as far away from Lord Kenilworth as she could. She would deal with his unwanted, though most likely necessary, announcement later.
“Pure serendipity, my dear. I am glad to see you safe,” her ladyship said in a hushed tone before patting Charlotte’s cheek and stepping back. “Yes, yes, I can imagine, but all in good time, my dear. All in good time,” her ladyship said with infuriating calm. “Come with me.” Lady Bellamny’s gaze seemed to sweep the hall as she beckoned Charlotte to follow.
Her ladyship glanced over her shoulder. “You too, Kenilworth. I am looking forward to seeing your mother again. It was kind of you to meet me here. Mrs. Watson”—Lady Bellamny beckoned the landlady—“we shall require tea and something to eat.” When Lord Braxton started forward, her ladyship fixed him with her basilisk stare. “Not you, my lord.”
Sweeping through the door to a good-sized parlor, her ladyship waved Charlotte to one of the chairs at a square oak table. Lord Kenilworth followed, taking up a position against the fireplace.
Fortunately, they did not have long to wait before Mrs. Watson and a servant carried in two pots of tea, bread, cheeses, meats, and fruit. After arranging the repast on the table, the women left the room, closing the door behind them.
Neither her ladyship nor his lordship had said a word. However, he had lost the humorous look he’d been wearing earlier. It served him right for being so pleased with himself. Now that Lady Bellamny was here, Charlotte could be home by tea.
Glancing between the two of them, she twisted the pearl ring on her right hand. Briefly, she considered breaking the silence, but decided against it. Something seemed to be going on. She just did not know what it could be.
“I heard you state that you and Lady Charlotte are betrothed.” Lady Bellamny took the chair across from Charlotte and began to pour tea.
Lord Kenilworth’s jaw moved slightly, as if he was grinding his teeth, before replying with bad grace. “Under the circumstances, there was little else I could do.”
Her ladyship raised one imperious brow. “Do not look so down in the mouth. Lady Charlotte will make you a perfectly lovely wife. Your mother will be thrilled that you have finally decided to wed.”
Wife? Wed? No, no, no! Being betrothed was bad enough. But she could get out of that. But married! Lord Kenilworth was the last man in the world she would wed. Just the idea that he would touch her with the same hands he used to mistreat other women made her stomach lurch.
Charlotte quickly shoved the memory of his kiss aside. If she had known who he was, she would never have kissed him.
Taking a deep breath, she said with as firm a voice as she could muster, “Despite what his lordship said, I do not wish to marry him. There must be a way to—”
“That is neither here nor there, my dear.” Lady Bellamny waved away Charlotte’s complaint in a voice so composed it made her want to slaughter someone. Preferably Lord Kenilworth. “I stopped by Stanwood House to inform your sister I intended to be out of Town for a few days. Instead, I found your cousin Jane, Mrs. Addison. Knowing that I am a trustworthy friend of the family, she told me what had occurred. Unless I am mistaken, you were with Lord Kenilworth at least overnight, and you were seen entering the inn with him.” She raised a brow. “In a rather disheveled state.”
Charlotte decided to ignore her creased, dusty gown, and address the most important issue. “I did not exactly spend the night with him.” Not all night and, technically, she had entered the inn first. “He followed me into the inn. I—”
“Close enough, my lady.” His tone was as dry as sand. “We were seen together walking toward this place, and I held the door open for you.”
“Charlotte, my dear.” Lady Bellamny’s hard tone took Charlotte aback. She had never before been on the receiving end of her ladyship’s bite. “I do hope you were not going to tell me that you spent the night in the company of those ruffians who abducted you.” Her other brow rose as she finished the sentence.
“No, my lady.” She barely got the words out as the ramifications of that getting out slammed into her consciousness.
Unfortunately, in the eyes of the ton, being with those blackguards would be even worse than spending the time with his lordship. No one would believe she had not been violated. The fact that he had helped her get away early this morning would not mean anything to a scandal-monger such as Lord Braxton.
To make matters worse, Lord Kenilworth had been right. She had been naïve and stupid. Although, she still did not trust him. Any man who would use women the way he did was a cur.
“Excellent.” Her ladyship took a sip of tea and focused an innocuous gaze on Charlotte. “Then what objection do you have to Kenilworth? He is good looking—”
She felt her eyes widening.
“Heavens, girl. I may be old but I’m not blind.”
His lordship inclined his head slightly—the hint of a smile quivering at the corners of his lips—as her ladyship raised her cup of tea to him. “Now, as I was saying, he is not hard on one’s eyes, wealthy, and a marquis. Most young ladies would be overjoyed to be making such a match.”
Most perhaps, but not her. “But—but I had never met him before last evening.” She sat straighter in her chair. “I cannot possibly marry a man on so small an acquaintance.”
Surely the fact that they were strangers would hold some sway. She had sworn never to wed a man who engaged in buying a female for his own gratification, and that is exactly what keeping a mistress was. Not to mention, two of them at the same time. No, she must hold fast to her principles.
“Under the circumstances, you have no choice.” Lady Bellamny calmly sipped her tea.
“He is a rake.” Charlotte raised her chin, daring either of them to tell her she was wrong. “I will not wed a man who abuses women.”
“Abuse a woman?” Lord Kenilworth’s green eyes darkened as his gaze pierced through her. His voice was dangerously quiet, and a shiver chilled her spine. “I have never in my life harmed a female.”
How dare he lie? The mere fact that he paid to use a woman’s body was more than she could tolerate. Dotty had told her how demeaned the women she had rescued were. They had been forced to submit to rape, or drugged with opium until they would do anything for the drug. Only a very few of the women at Miss Betsy’s had said they had chosen that life. The rest did it because they had been forced into it by someone else or because it was either that or die of starvation.
“Indeed, my lord.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you call it when you pay to use a woman’s body?”
“A business arrangement,” he shot back as if he had done nothing wrong.
“That is quite enough from both of you.” Lady Bellamny rang a small handbell. “Lady Charlotte, you should know better than to discuss topics you should know nothing about. As for you, Kenilworth, remember you are a gentleman speaking to a young lady. Obviously, the two of you have some differences to work out.” Lady Bellamny rang the bell again. “Lady Charlotte, you shall retire to a chamber. After you have washed and broken your fast—for it is clear something is making you out of sorts—I shall accompany you and Kenilworth to his mother’s estate. You will remain there until Worthington is able to take you back to Town. I’ll write Grace, informing her that you are safe. Kenilworth, I suggest you write Worthington.” Mrs. Watson entered the parlor. “Please take Lady Charlotte to a room where she can wash. The small repast you provided was very good. However, I shall also want a complete breakfast for three served here as soon as her ladyship returns.”