A Night Like This (24 page)

George seemed eager for her to know all of his plans, and so he kept up a boastful monologue as he arranged the room to his liking.

“I’ve had this room for a week,” he said, shoving a chair in front of the door. “I wasn’t supposed to find you on the street last night without my carriage.” Anne stared at him in horrified fascination from her spot on the floor. Was he going to blame her for that?

“Yet another thing you’ve managed to ruin for me,” he muttered.

Apparently, he was.

“It doesn’t matter, though,” he said. “It all worked out in the end. I found you at your lover’s house, just as I expected I would.” Anne watched as he glanced around the room, looking for something else with which to block the door. There wasn’t much, not unless he moved the entire bed.

“How many have you had since I knew you?” he asked, turning slowly around.

Anne shook her head. What was he talking about?

“Oh, you’ll tell me,” he snapped, and he strode forward and yanked the gag from her mouth. “How many lovers?” For about one second Anne considered screaming. But George was holding a knife, and he’d locked the door and put a chair in front of it. If anyone was near,
and
if that person cared to save her, George would still be able to slice her to ribbons before help arrived.

“How many?” George demanded.

“None,” Anne said automaticaly. It seemed amazing that she might forget her night with Daniel when faced with such a question, but what came to mind first were all those years of loneliness, of having not so much as a friend, much less a lover.

“Oh, I think Lord Winstead would have something else to say about that,” George sneered. “Unless . . .” His mouth slid into an unpleasantly gleeful smile. “Are you teling me he couldn’t perform?”

It was very tempting to give George a catalogue of all the ways Daniel had outperformed him, but instead Anne just said, “He is my fiancé.” George laughed at that. “Yes, so you believe. Good God, the man has my admiration. What a trick. And no one will take your word over his after the fact.” He paused for a moment, looking almost wistful. “It must be convenient to be an earl. I couldn’t have got away with that.” He brightened. “still, as it turns out, I didn’t even have to ask. All I had to do was say, ‘I love you,’ and you not only believed me, you thought it meant I’d marry you.” He looked over at her and tsk tsked. “Foolish girl.”

“I will not disagree with you on that point.”

His head tilted, and he regarded her approvingly. “My my, we’ve grown wise in our old age.” By this point Anne had realized that she had to keep George talking. It delayed his attack, and it gave her time to plot. Not to mention that when George was talking, he was generaly boasting, and when he was boasting, he was distracted.

“I’ve had time to learn from my mistakes,” she said, taking a quick glance at the window when he walked to the wardrobe to get something out. How high up were they? If she jumped, could she survive?

He turned around, apparently not finding what he was looking for, and crossed his arms. “Wel, that’s nice to hear.” Anne blinked in surprise. He was regarding her with an expression that was almost paternal. “Do you have children?” she blurted out.

His expression turned to ice. “No.”

And just like that, Anne knew. He had never consummated his marriage. Was he impotent? And if so, did he blame her for it?

She gave her head a tiny shake. What a stupid question. Of course he blamed her for it. And dear God above, she finaly comprehended the extent of his rage. It wasn’t just his face; in his eyes, she had unmanned him.

“Why are you shaking your head?” George demanded.

“I’m not,” she replied, then realized she was shaking her head again. “Or I didn’t mean to. It’s just something I do when I’m thinking.” His eyes slitted. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” she said, quite honestly.

“Realy?” For a moment he looked pleased, but this quickly gave way to suspicion. “Why?”

“Wel, you’re the only other person in the room. It makes sense that I’d be thinking about you.” He took a step toward her. “What were you thinking?”

How on earth could she not have noticed how utterly self-absorbed he was? Granted, she’d been only sixteen, but surely, she’d had more sense than that.

“What were you thinking?” he persisted when she did not immediately reply.

She considered how to answer this. She certainly could not tell him that she had been pondering his impotence, so instead she said, “The scar is not as dreadful as I think you think it is.”

He snorted and turned back to whatever it was he was doing. “You’re just saying that to get on my good side.”

“I
would
say it to get on your good side,” she admitted, craning her neck to get a better look at his activities. He seemed to be rearranging everything again, which seemed rather pointless, as there wasn’t much in the hired room to rearrange. “But as it happens,” Anne continued, “I think it’s the truth. You’re not as pretty as you were when we were young, but a man doesn’t want to be pretty, does he?”

“Perhaps not, but I don’t know a soul who’d want
this
.” George made a grand, sarcastic gesture to his face, his hand sweeping down from ear to chin.

“I am sorry I hurt you, you know,” Anne said, and to her great surprise, she realized she meant it. “I’m not sorry I defended myself, but I am sorry you were injured in the process. If you’d just let me go when I asked, none of this would have happened.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”

She shut her mouth. She shouldn’t have said the last bit, and she was not going to compound her error by saying what she
wanted
to say, which was,
Well, yes.

He waited for a response, and when he didn’t get one, he muttered, “We’re going to have to move this.” Oh dear God, he
did
want to move the bed.

But it was a huge, heavy piece of furniture, not something he could move on his own. After a minute or so of shoving and grunting and a good deal of cursing, he turned to Anne and snapped, “Help, for God’s sake.”

Her lips parted in disbelief. “My hands are tied,” she reminded him.

George cursed again, then strode over and yanked her to her feet. “You don’t need your hands. Just wedge yourself against it and push.” Anne could do nothing but stare.

“Like this,” he bit off, leaning his bottom against the side of the bed. He planted his feet on the threadbare rug, then used his body weight to shove against it. The big bed lurched forward, about an inch.

“You realy think I’m going to do that?”

“I
think
that I still have the knife.”

Anne roled her eyes and walked over. “I realy don’t think this will work,” she told him over her shoulder. “For one thing, my hands are in the way.” He looked down to where her hands were bound, still behind her back. “Oh, bloody hel,” he muttered. “Get over here.” She
was
over there, but Anne thought it best to hold that quip in.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned her, and with a tug, she felt him slice through her bindings, nicking the base of her thumb in the process.

“Ow!” she yelped, bringing her hand to her mouth.

“Oh, that hurts, does it?” George murmured, his eyes taking on a glaze of bloodlust.

“Not any longer,” she said quickly. “Shal we move the bed?”

He chuckled to himself and took up position. Then, just as Anne was preparing to pretend to be trying with all her might to push the bed against the door, George suddenly straightened.

“Should I cut you first?” he wondered aloud. “Or have a spot of fun?”

Anne glanced at the front of his breeches. She couldn’t help herself.
Was
he impotent? She didn’t see any evidence of an erection.

“Oh, so that’s what you want to do,” he crowed. He grabbed her hand and puled it to him, forcing her to feel him through the fabric. “Some things never change.” Anne tried not to gag as he rubbed her left hand roughly over his crotch. Even with his clothes on, it was making her sick, but it was far better than having her face cut open.

George began to groan with pleasure, and then, to Anne’s horror, she felt something begin to . . . happen.

“Oh, God,” George moaned. “Oh, that feels good. It’s been so long. So bloody long . . .” Anne held her breath as she watched him. His eyes were closed, and he looked almost trancelike. She looked down at his hand—the one holding the knife. Was it her imagination, or was he not holding it so tightly? If she grabbed it . . .
Could
she grab it?

Anne grit her teeth. She let her fingers wiggle a bit, and then, just as George let out a deeper, longer groan of pleasure, she made her move.

“T
hat’s it!” Frances shrieked. Her thin arm jutted forth wildly. “That’s the carriage. I’m sure of it.” Daniel twisted his body around to folow Frances’s direction. Sure enough, a small yet wel-made carriage was parked near the inn. It was standard black, with a gold decorative bar around the top. Daniel had never seen anything quite like it before, but he could see exactly why Frances had said it reminded her of a unicorn’s horn. If one chopped off the correct length of it and sharpened the end, it would make a marvelous addition to a costume.

“We will remain in the carriage,” Lady Winstead reaffirmed just as Daniel was turning to the ladies to issue instructions.

Daniel gave her a nod, and the three men hopped down. “You will guard this carriage with your lives,” he said to the outriders, and then he swiftly entered the inn.

Marcus was right behind him, and Hugh caught up by the time Daniel had finished questioning the innkeeper. Yes, he had seen a man with a scar. He’d had a room here for a week, but he didn’t use it every night. He’d come to the desk for his key just a quarter of an hour earlier, but there was no woman with him.

Daniel slapped a crown on the counter. “Which room is his?”

The innkeeper’s eyes widened. “Number four, your lordship.” He placed his hand on the crown and slid it along the counter to the edge until he could scoop it up.

He cleared his throat. “I might have a spare key.”

“Might you?”

“I might.”

Daniel produced another crown.

The innkeeper produced a key.

“Wait,” Hugh said. “Is there any other entrance into the room?”

“No. Just the window.”

“How high off the ground is it?”

The innkeeper’s brows rose. “Too high to sneak in unless you climb the oak tree.”

Hugh immediately turned to Daniel and Marcus.

“I’ll do it,” Marcus said, and he headed out the door.

“It will probably be unnecessary,” Hugh said as he folowed Daniel up the stairs, “but I prefer to be thorough.” Daniel was not going to argue with “thorough.” Especialy not from Hugh, who noticed everything. And forgot nothing.

When they saw the door to Room Four at the end of the hal, Daniel immediately barreled forward, but Hugh laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Listen first,” he advised.

“You’ve never been in love, have you?” Daniel replied, and before Hugh could respond, he turned the key in the lock and kicked the door open, sending a chair clattering into the room.

“Anne!” he shouted, even before he saw her.

But if she caled out his name, it was lost in a shriek of surprise as the chair caught her straight at the knees and she went flying, her hand scrabbling madly for something that flew from its grasp.

A knife.

Daniel lunged for it. Anne lunged for it. George Chervil, who had been doing a desperate dance with Anne, bouncing his weight from foot to foot as he swiped his hands out for the knife, did an al-out dive for it.

In fact, everyone went for the knife except Hugh, who, unnoticed to al, was standing in the doorway with a pistol trained on Chervil, looking almost bored.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Hugh said, but George grabbed the knife anyway, and then jumped atop Anne, who was still scrabbling on the floor, having lost the race for the weapon by mere inches.

“Shoot me and she dies,” George said, holding the blade perilously close to Anne’s throat.

Daniel, who had instinctively rushed forward, skidded to a stop. He set his gun down and then slid it behind him.

“Step away,” George said, clutching his knife like a hammer. “Do it!”

Daniel nodded, holding his hands high as he backed up a step. Anne was lying bely down on the floor, and George was straddling her, one hand on the hilt of his knife, the other clutching onto her hair. “Don’t hurt her, Chervil,” Daniel warned. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I very much do want to do this.” He tapped the blade lightly against Anne’s cheek.

Daniel’s gut twisted.

But George hadn’t drawn blood. He seemed to be enjoying his moment of power, and he yanked harder on Anne’s hair, puling her head up in what looked to be an agonizingly uncomfortable position.

“You will die,” Daniel promised.

“You will die,” Daniel promised.

George shrugged. “So will she.”

“What about your wife?”

George looked at him sharply.

“I spoke with her this morning,” Daniel said, keeping his gaze firmly on George’s face. He wanted desperately to look at Anne, to meet her eyes. He could tell her he loved her without any words. She would know; he had only to look at her.

But he did not dare. As long as he was looking at George Chervil, George Chervil was looking at him. And not at Anne. Or the knife.

“What did you say to my wife?” George hissed, but a flicker of unease passed over his face.

“She seems a lovely woman,” Daniel said. “What will happen to her, I wonder, if you die here, in a public inn, at the hands of two earls and the son of a marquess?”

George’s head jerked as he turned to Hugh, only just then realizing who he was. “But you hate him,” he said. “He shot you.” Hugh just shrugged.

George paled, and he started to say something, only to interrupt himself with “Two earls?”

“There’s another one,” Daniel said. “Just in case.”

George started breathing hard, his eyes darting from Daniel to Hugh, and occasionaly down to Anne. Daniel could see that he was starting to perspire. He was reaching his edge, and an edge was always a dangerous place to be.

For everyone.

“Lady Chervil will be ruined,” Daniel said. “Cast out of society. Even her father will not be able to save her.” George began to tremble. Daniel finaly alowed himself to steal a glance at Anne. She was breathing hard, clearly frightened, and yet, when their eyes met . . .

I love you.

It was as if she’d said it aloud.

“The world is not kind to women who have been cast out of their homes,” Daniel said softly. “Just ask Anne.” George was beginning to waver; Daniel could see it in his eyes. “If you let her go,” he promised, “you will live.” He would live, but not anywhere in the British Isles. Daniel would see to that.

“And my wife?”

“I shal leave all explanations up to you.”

George’s head twitched, as if his colar had grown too tight. His eyes were blinking furiously, and then, for one moment, he squeezed them shut, and—

“He shot me! Oh, my God, he shot me!”

Daniel’s head snapped around as he realized that Hugh had fired his gun. “Are you bloody insane?” he snapped, even as he rushed forward to snatch Anne away from George, who was now roling on the floor, howling with pain as he clutched his bleeding hand.

Hugh limped into the room and looked down at George. “It’s just a nick,” he said dispassionately.

“Anne, Anne,” Daniel said hoarsely. The whole time she’d been captive to George Chervil he’d held all of his terror at bay. He’d stood straight, muscles tense, but now, now that she was safe . . .

“I thought I might lose you,” he gasped, holding her as close as he possibly could. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, and to his mortification, he realized he was soaking her dress with his tears. “I didn’t know— I don’t think I knew—”

“I wouldn’t have shot her, by the way,” Hugh said, walking over to the window. George screamed when he “accidentaly” stepped on his hand.

“You are a bloody madman,” Daniel said, his outrage cutting right through his tears.

“Or,” Hugh said plainly, “I’ve never been in love.” He looked down at Anne. “It does leave one more clearheaded.” He motioned to his gun. “Better aim, too.”

“What is he talking about?” Anne whispered.

“I rarely know,” Daniel admitted.

“Got to let Chatteris in,” Hugh said, whistling as he wrenched the window open.

“He’s crazy,” Daniel said, puling just far enough away from Anne to cradle her face in his hands. She looked so beautiful, and precious, and
alive
. “He’s plumb crazy.”

Her lips trembled into a smile. “But effective.”

Daniel felt something begin to rumble in his bely. Laughter. Dear God, maybe they were all crazy.

“Need a hand?” Hugh caled out, and they both turned to the window.

“Is Lord Chatteris in a
tree
?” Anne asked.

“What in God’s name is going on?” Marcus demanded, even as he tumbled into the room. “I heard gunshots.”

“Hugh shot him,” Daniel said, jerking his head toward Chervil, who was attempting to crawl to the door. Marcus immediately strode over and blocked his way.

“While he was holding Anne.”

“I haven’t heard you say thank you yet,” Hugh said, peering out the window for no reason Daniel could discern.

“Thank you,” Anne said. Hugh turned around, and she gave him a smile so briliant, he actualy started.

“Wel, now,” he said awkwardly, and Daniel had to smile. The air
did
change when Anne was in the room.

“What are we going to do with him?” Marcus asked, always one to see to the practical matters at hand. He reached down and picked something off the floor, regarded it for a moment, and crouched next to George.

“Ow!” George howled.

“Tying his hands,” Marcus confirmed. He glanced at Anne. “I’m assuming this was what he used to tie yours?” She nodded.

“That hurts!”

“Shouldn’t have got yourself shot,” Marcus said. With no compassion whatsoever. He looked back at Daniel. “We do have to figure out what to do with him.”

“You promised you wouldn’t kill me,” George whined.

“I promised I wouldn’t kill you if you let her go,” Daniel reminded him.

“Which I did.”

“After I shot you,” Hugh retorted.

“He’s not worth kiling,” Marcus said, yanking the bindings tight. “There will be questions.” Daniel nodded, grateful for his friend’s level head. still, he was not quite ready to alow Chervil to let go of his fear. With a quick kiss to the top of Anne’s head, Daniel nodded, grateful for his friend’s level head. still, he was not quite ready to alow Chervil to let go of his fear. With a quick kiss to the top of Anne’s head, Daniel stood up. “May I?” he said to Hugh, holding out his hand.

“I reloaded,” Hugh said, handing him his gun.

“I knew you would,” Daniel murmured. He walked over to George.

“You said you wouldn’t kill me!” George shrieked.

“I won’t,” Daniel stated. “Not today, at least. But if you come anywhere near Whipple Hill again, I will kill you.” George nodded furiously.

“In fact,” Daniel continued, reaching down and scooping up the knife, which Hugh had kicked over to him, “if you come anywhere near London, I will kill you.”

“But I live in London!”

“Not any longer, you don’t.”

Marcus cleared his throat. “I have to say, I don’t much want him in Cambridgeshire.”

Daniel glanced over at his friend, gave him a nod, then turned back to Chervil. “If you come anywhere near Cambridgeshire,
he’ll
kill you.”

“If I might make a suggestion,” Hugh said smoothly, “it might be easier for all concerned if we extend the ban to the whole of the British Isles.”

“What?” George cried. “You can’t—”

“Or we could kill you,” Hugh said. He glanced over at Daniel. “You could offer advice on living in Italy, couldn’t you?”

“But I don’t know Italian,” George whimpered.

“You’ll learn,” Hugh snapped.

Daniel looked down at the knife in his hands. It was dangerously sharp. And it had been but an inch away from Anne’s throat.

“Australia,” he said firmly.

“Right,” Marcus said, yanking George to his feet. “Shal we take care of him?”

“Please do.”

“We’ll take his carriage,” Hugh said. And then he gave them a rare smile. “The one with the unicorn horn.”

“The unicorn . . . ,” Anne repeated in bewilderment. She turned to Daniel. “Frances?”

“She saved the day.”

“Then she’s unhurt? I had to push her from the carriage, and I—”

“She’s fine,” Daniel assured her, pausing for a moment to watch Hugh and Marcus bid them farewel and drag Chervil away. “A bit dusty, and I think my aunt may have lost five years from her life, but she is wel. And once she sees you—” But he couldn’t finish. Anne had started to cry.

Daniel immediately knelt at her side, puling her close. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Everything is going to be all right.” Anne shook her head. “No, it’s not.” She looked up, her eyes shining with love. “It’s going to be so much better.”

“I love you,” he said. He had a feeling he would be saying this frequently. For the rest of his life.

“I love you, too.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Will you marry me?”

“I already said yes,” she said with a curious smile.

“I know. But I wanted to ask you again.”

“Then I accept again.”

He puled her close, needing to feel her in his arms. “We should probably go down. Everyone’s worried.” She nodded, her cheek brushing lightly against his chest.

“My mother is in the carriage, and Aunt—”

“Your mother?” Anne yelped, puling back. “Oh, my heavens, what must she think of me?”

“That you must be amazing, and lovely, and that if she’s very very nice to you, you’ll give her a bushel of grandchildren.” Anne smiled slyly. “If
she’s
very nice to me?”

“Wel, it goes without saying that I’ll be very nice to you.”

“How many children in a bushel, do you think?”

Daniel felt his soul grow light. “Quite a few, I imagine.”

“We will have to be most industrious.”

He amazed himself by maintaining a serious expression. “I am quite a hardworking felow.”

“It’s one of the reasons I love you.” She touched his cheek. “One of the many, many reasons.”

“That many, eh?” He smiled. No, he was already smiling. But maybe now he was smiling just a little bit more. “Hundreds?”

“Thousands,” she confirmed.

“I might have to request a full accounting.”

“Now?”

And who said women were the only ones who liked to fish for compliments? He was more than happy to sit here and listen to her say lovely things about him.