Amanda Scott (22 page)

“Oh, yes,” she murmured, still disoriented and scarcely able to take in what he was saying. “I daresay I have been able to walk for a good many years now, sir.”

“Don’t try me too far, my lady,” he said grimly. “Within the hour we’ll be where it will no longer matter if you make a bit of noise.”

“Sir,” said Gladys in anxious haste, “she knows not what she says. Indeed, an I mistake not, she be still more than half-asleep. Don’t let go of her when she tries to walk, I beg you.”

“I won’t. Carruthers, get those bags, will you? It looks like I’m going to carry her ladyship.”

Meriel opened her mouth to tell him that it was Fernand who accompanied them, not Carruthers, who was no doubt safely locked up in a French prison by now, but before she could form the words, an unmistakable cheerful voice sounded out of the darkness, assuring Sir Antony that everything was well in hand. What on earth Carruthers was doing there, she could not imagine, but the effort required to ask was too great. When she felt herself lifted into a pair of strong arms, she gave up with a sigh of contentment and leaned her head into Sir Antony’s shoulder. That was the last thing she remembered other than vague imaginings having to do with another small boat, rough voices, and a sort of swinging sensation that made her think she had been hung out to dry in a cool breeze. The sensation passed quickly, however, and the next to come was one of softness and warm comfort. After that, there was not so much as a dream to disturb her until the soft gray light of morning touched her face through a round brass porthole in a mahogany-paneled wall.

Slowly she opened her eyes, feeling at once the rocking motion that she associated with shipboard life. She was at sea. A second, even more exciting thought followed hard upon the first. She was out of France. She was safe.

Then, as memory of the previous night returned, she remembered Sir Antony with a vague but distressing notion that he was vexed with her. Sitting up, she looked around to discover that she was in a small mahogany-paneled cabin in a narrow cot fastened to the interior bulkhead. There was another cot under the porthole, but it was presently empty. The two portmanteaux sat side by side upon the floor nearby.

Noting that she was clad only in her shift, she swung her feet to the floor, intending to search for something to wear, when a noise from the door sent her scrabbling for the gray woolen blanket. Snatching this up to her breast, she watched wide-eyed as the door to the cabin opened slowly and silently. But the face that peered cautiously around it a moment later made her grin, relaxing.

“Come in, Gladys. You needn’t fear to waken me.”

Gladys Peat came inside with a responding smile. “Sir Antony bade me let you sleep, m’lady. He could see as well as anyone that you was exhausted.”

“A poor honey he must think me,” Meriel said ruefully, “but all those late nights in Paris, and then the excitement of our journey—I suppose anyone must have been tired out by all that.” She paused, regarding her handmaiden searchingly. “Is … is he angry, Gladys?”

“Oh, I daresay he’s recovered his temper by now, miss. If he were a bit cagged like afore, ’twas only that you gave him a scare.”

Meriel nodded, but she was still wary of her first meeting with Sir Antony. As it transpired, after looking at her searchingly as though he would determine for himself whether she ought to have risen from her bed, he smiled at her and shook his head, his amusement setting his eyes atwinkle.

“You look well,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” she replied, grinning in her relief that he was no longer angry with her. His behavior, as always when she knew she had vexed him, surprised her, but she believed she was coming to know him better at last. He was simply not a man of strong emotion. Though she had seen his temper flare occasionally, it always burned itself out quickly. No doubt, for him to sustain it would be too wearing.

Still, she thought, it was as well that he did not know the power of his least frown or blandest smile to disturb the order of her mind and body. That twinkle in his eyes just now, for example, and the sensuous way his lips parted slightly as he watched her, stirred her blood and warmed her from the center of her body outward to her fingertips and toes. She felt as though he had kissed her, which was absurd, of course, since he was across the room. Her tongue darted out to dampen suddenly dry lips. Really, she decided, this warming sensation made one much too aware of one’s own body and was not something a lady ought to allow her thoughts to dwell upon. She quickly turned her attention to filling her breakfast plate.

The trip across the Channel was a swift one, whiled away in the playing of backgammon and three-handed whist. The subject of their hasty flight was avoided, much to Meriel’s relief. Since they were all safe now, she had no wish to hear the gentlemen’s comments regarding her escape and thus did not inquire into theirs.

Only once, when they had docked in Portsmouth and Meriel, at the request of a stern-faced customs agent, produced her British passport without ceremony from her leather reticule, did Sir Antony look at her with anything other than warmth and lazy amusement in his eyes. Then, for a fleeting second, she saw what appeared to be a glint of near-fury. The look disappeared at once, however, when the agent turned to ask him for his papers, and she told herself firmly she must have imagined it.

Sir Antony booked a parlor at the George for their comfort while he arranged for a post chaise to carry them to London, and Gladys and Meriel were sitting comfortably in a sunny window embrasure enjoying tea and cakes when he and Mr. Carruthers returned. The men pulled up a pair of chairs and sat down, Mr. Carruthers immediately beginning to examine the platter of cakes, while Sir Antony poured the two of them glasses of Mountain from a decanter sitting cheek by jowl with the teapot.

He sipped appreciatively, then said, “The chaise will be ready in half an hour, ladies. ’Tis all of seventy miles and more to London from here, so I’ve told them we’ll rack up in Guildford for the night. I hope that meets with your approval.”

“Could we not reach London tonight?” Meriel asked him. “I should prefer to delay as little as possible now we are back in England.”

“Even a fast chaise would take all of eight hours, ma’am, and that only if the roads are clear and in good condition.”

“Well, they cannot help but be in better condition than the road from Paris to Rouen,” she pointed out.

He smiled. “True, but you will not wish to arrive in Berkeley Square in the same condition that you arrived in Lillebonne, and you will be all the better for a good night’s rest.”

“I do not like having such decisions made for me, sir. I should prefer to make London tonight.”

“Now, Miss Meriel,” Gladys said firmly, “’twould be ten o’clock at the earliest if we set forward at once and experienced no delays along the way. You’d do better to do like Sir Antony tells you, and no mistake.”

Meriel’s temper flared instantly, but a swift glance at Sir Antony caused her to swallow before replying in a carefully even tone, “I have been too long away as it is.”

Mr. Carruthers chuckled. “You won’t see anyone until tomorrow in any event, I daresay. ’Tis Wednesday, ma’am. Unless your sister has not been provided with vouchers, which I cannot think probable, she and your aunt will be at Almack’s tonight, and if they return before two in the morning, they will be quite unlike any ladies of my acquaintance.”

She was forced to admit the truth of what he said. Eliza and Lady Cadogan would certainly attend the weekly assembly at Almack’s, for to do so was the delight of all young ladies in their first Season. To be denied the privilege was to be denied entry to the first ranks of the
beau monde
. And Gwenyth and Davy would be in bed asleep by the time she would arrive in Berkeley Square. Still, when she noted that Sir Antony was regarding her with a mixture of understanding and amusement in his eyes, she had all she could do to refrain from emptying the decanter in his lap.

“Very well,” she said at last, high upon her dignity, “I daresay it will be better to arrive refreshed, rather than travel-weary.”

“To be sure,” Carruthers said. “I should not wish to see you so tired as you were in Lillebonne, ma’am. You quite frightened us when Sir Antony couldn’t waken you.”

“I have been meaning to ask you, sir,” she said calmly, ignoring his comment, “how it is that you were with Sir Antony in Lillebonne. I had been given to believe that he had left Paris for a short time in order to accompany Lord Whitworth’s party some distance along the road to Calais. I realize that you charmed most of Paris into accepting your presence in their homes, but surely the British ambassador did not number among your conquests.”

Carruthers opened his mouth to respond, but Sir Antony’s bland tones were heard first. “Devilish lucky for me that he did choose to come along,” he said, “what with all those blasted soldiers at every turnpike. We left in such haste after learning that you had already departed from Paris, that without Carruthers here to show me the way to avoid the turnpikes, I’d have been dished. I had only my British papers and my original French pass, which was useless, of course. There was no time to provide myself with anything else.”

Meriel said to Carruthers, “You must know the terrain well, sir.”

“Well,” he acknowledged modestly, “in my previous trade, you know, such intimate knowledge was rather a necessity. I was glad to be of service. Even so, we were too far behind to catch up with you before Rouen, and then we arrived after the soldiers had been to the priest’s cottage—for you must know that your sister told us you had been advised to seek aid there.”

Meriel turned in surprise to Sir Antony. “Than you did not speak with Monsieur Deguise?”

“No,” he said. “We discovered at Maison de Prévenu where you had gone, and the good father was kind enough to direct us to the estuary at Lillebonne, where we were most fortunate in running his man to earth. You can imagine our distress when we saw that Fernand was alone.” His tone was light but there was a look in his eyes that gave Meriel to understand that despite what she had thought before, he had not entirely recovered from that fright. Suddenly she was grateful for the presence of the others and for Sir Antony’s strong sense of propriety.

The trip to Guildford was uneventful, and the Angel Inn proved to be neat and tidy with an excellent table. Making an early night of it, they set forth early the following morning and accomplished the remaining miles to London with admirable speed, arriving in Berkeley Square not long after eleven o-clock. Speeding around the southern end of the square, past the magnificent grounds of Landsdowne House and beneath the tall plane trees of the central garden with its statue of George III on horseback, the chaise rolled to a halt before Traherne House, located in the center of the square’s west side.

The house was just as Meriel remembered it. Ordinary enough from the outside, it was four stories tall, three bays wide, and constructed of yellow brick with elaborate rustication around the deeply inset front door. As she allowed Sir Antony to assist her from the chaise, she kept her eye on that door. One of the postilions dismounted and ran up the steps to exercise the brass knocker, so it was not long before the door was opened by a porter in green-and-silver livery, who took one look at the equipage drawn up at the flagway and gestured to someone behind him. The next moment, Marwyn appeared, and seconds later Davy pushed excitedly past both servants and ran pell-mell down the steps.

“Meri, Meri,” he shouted, “you’ll never guess who’s here!”

She had no need to guess, however, for stepping through the doorway at that very moment was a man of medium height with light brown hair and extremely broad shoulders, a man whom she could not fail to recognize, though she had not seen him in seven years. She uttered a shriek of astonished pleasure.

“Joss!”

The twelfth Earl of Tallyn had come home from the New World at last.

“W
E WERE AFRAID YOU
would not be able to get home again, Meri!” Davy exclaimed, dancing beside her and trying to hug her at the same time as she straightened beside the chaise.

She put her arm around the boy’s thin shoulders and gave him a hearty squeeze, saying quietly, “Well, we did get home, Davy.” She had not taken her eyes from her older brother, and although she had not seen him in so many years, the set of Jocelyn’s jaw and the tension in his powerful shoulders were as familiar to her as though he had never gone away. She knew without even considering the matter that he struggled to keep his volatile temper in check.

His gaze shifted from her to the big man beside her, then to Carruthers, who dismounted with easy grace and gave his horse’s reins into the keeping of a liveried servant. When Jocelyn began to descend the broad, shallow steps, Meriel saw that he had changed from the young man she remembered. Never before had she seen him walk with such dignity. It was as though he were profoundly aware of eleven and more generations of Trahernes at his back. Indeed, he put her forcibly in mind of her father.

He did not speak until he reached the flagway. Then, meeting her steady gaze with a stern one of his own, he said. “Welcome home, Meriel. Will you have the goodness to introduce me to your friends?”

With difficulty she wrenched her gaze away and glanced first at Sir Antony and then at Carruthers, rather as though she were surprised to find them still there. Then, quickly, she said, “Of course. I’m sorry to be standing like a post, Joss, but your appearance, you know, comes as something of a shock after all this time.” When he said nothing, merely waited pointedly, she hurried on, “This is Sir Antony Davies, and that gentleman is Mr. Roger Carruthers. They very kindly helped to get Gladys Peat and me out of France.”

“Where you had no business to be in the first place,” muttered her brother in an angry undertone. Then, recollecting himself, he turned toward Sir Antony. “Forgive my surliness, Davies. You must realize we have been sick with worry.”

“Indeed, my lord,” replied Sir Antony in his calm drawl, “I can think of no more normal reaction than yours to the danger her ladyship has been in. I can only be thankful that we are able to restore her to you undamaged.”