Four Dukes and a Devil (28 page)

What’s more, she had no means of transportation and no way of obtaining any, since her pin money was inside her reticule. The reticule she’d left in his carriage.

What am I to do now?

Surveying the empty fields ahead, she realized there was only one choice. Walk. And hope someone came along to aid her. Or that Peter changed his mind and returned for her. But somehow, she knew he wouldn’t.

With a sigh of resignation, she set out. She hadn’t gone far when she noticed a bank of fat gray clouds rolling in overhead, the wind whipping harder at her skirts.

Oh, wonderful. Rain
.
Can this day possibly get any better?

A
little over an hour later, Quentin cornered Peter Harte in an unoccupied corridor not far from the Pettigrews’ drawing room. “Where is she, Harte?” he demanded on a low growl.

“
She
who?” Harte said in apparent confusion—an act Quentin didn’t believe for an instant.

“You know exactly who. Miss Byron.”

The younger man shrugged, his gazing darting sideways. “How should I know? Haven’t seen her lately.”

He leaned closer, using his greater height in a way he knew to be intimidating. “Lately or since the picnic? I watched you hand her into your carriage, but no one has seen her since.”

After the outing, Quentin had driven straight back to the Pettigrews’. While the other guests continued to arrive, he’d gone upstairs to his bedchamber to change his clothes. On his return downstairs, he’d seen Harte, but not India. At the time, he assumed she’d already retired to her room to nap and relax before dinner like many of the other ladies, and thought nothing of her absence.

But as the minutes continued to tick past, he began to wonder.

And worry.

Perhaps it was some sixth sense, but his gut told him something wasn’t right. Having learned long ago always to trust his instincts, he went back upstairs and knocked on her door. Her maid answered, informing him that Miss India hadn’t yet returned. Even more deeply concerned, he’d set out in search of Harte.

“So,” he now insisted. “Where is India? You did bring her home, did you not?”

A muscle twitched in Harte’s cheek. “Of course I brought her home. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere. Probably off gabbing with one of the other girls. You know how females are. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m on my way to the drawing room for a libation.”

When Harte started to move around him, he grabbed his arm and pushed him back against the wall. “You’re lying. I can see it on your ferrety little face. Out with it, or so help me I’ll make sure you’re drinking your meals through a straw for the next several weeks.”

Harte’s eyes rounded, the heightened color in his face draining to white. “I…I…”

A sick sensation twisted inside Quentin’s vitals, his grip on Harte’s arm tightening so much the other man let out a yelp of pain. “You what? What have you done with her? If you’ve hurt her I’ll—”

“No, no, of course I didn’t hurt her. What do you take me for? I would never injure Miss Byron.”

Relief swept through him. “Well, then, let’s have it. And I want the truth this time.”

“I…I…left her.”

He scowled. “What do you mean,
left her
?”

“We had a quarrel…and well…in the heat of the moment, I drove off. B-but I’m sure she’ll find her way back,” Harte rushed to assure. “She’s pr-probably found a ride with a farmer or tradesman and is walking through the door even as we speak.”

Quentin stared, wondering if Harte was daft or just stupid?
Has he any idea of the potential danger he’s placed her in?

The younger man let out a fresh yelp, as Quentin’s grip tightened another inch. “You mean you abandoned her? That she’s out there alone somewhere right now, while you were about to have drinks and dinner with the rest of the guests? Why you insufferable toad. You’re beneath contempt. While I can still stand to look at you, tell me everything that happened today between you and India, and don’t leave out so much as a single detail.”

Harte gulped and began his recitation. By the time he was done, the sick sensation had blossomed once again inside Quentin’s gut. His hands fisted, terrified to know that India was alone and lost in unfamiliar country, miles away from the nearest town. The thought of what could happen to her, especially if she were to be set upon by highwaymen or other unsavory types…well, he didn’t want to contemplate the possibilities.

With a hard shove, he pushed Harte away.

The other man curled against the wall, gingerly rubbing his bruised arm.

“You’re not to say a word of this to anyone, do you hear?” he told him in a menacing tone. “Well, do you?”

Harte nodded.

“You’re to pack your bags and clear out now. I don’t care what excuse you use so long as neither my name nor Miss Byron’s is included. Then I want you gone.”

Harte straightened in clear surprise. “W-what do you mean, gone?”

“Out! Right now. You won’t even have time for that libation you were craving. Or at least, you won’t if you have any sense, since I expect to find you gone long before my return. If I see so much as your shadow when I get back, well, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Beads of nervous sweat gleamed on Harte’s brow, as he nodded for a second time. “All right, I’ll go.”

“Good.” He took a couple steps away, then swung around again. “Oh, and Harte.”

The man glanced up. “What?”

“This.” Using his fisted knuckles, he punched him square in the face.

“
Ow!
” Harte cried, reeling away as he raised a hand to cover his cheek. “What’d you do that for?”

“That was for India. I thought she deserved a measure of retribution after everything you’ve put her through. Now, get out of my sight before I decide to take my own pound of flesh.”

Harte’s hazel eyes goggled—or at least one of them did, since the other was busy swelling shut and turning the color of a squashed blackberry. With a whimper, he wheeled around and fled down the hall.

Quentin didn’t remain long enough to watch him further, turning instead on his boot heel to go find India.

India stopped and took off her slipper, then turned it over to shake out a pebble. As she did, a fierce gust of wind rose up, slamming her so hard it nearly ripped the silken shoe out of her hand. Managing somehow to hold on, she quickly slid her foot into the slipper once more and retied the ribbons, her skirts whirling in a frenzied dance around her ankles.

Straightening, she took a moment to survey the fields of windblown grass and the empty road ahead. With a sigh, she started forward again. But with every step, her chest grew tighter, burgeoning alarm threatening to squeeze the breath from her lungs.

She’d been walking for nearly an hour and hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of another person. Besides the occasional bird and rabbit, the only animals she’d encountered were a few sheep on a distant hill, but no farmstead or farmer. Worse yet, she was irretrievably lost.

Initially, she’d followed the marks left by Peter’s carriage, but far too soon those faded away, leaving her unsure which direction to go. After another quarter mile, she was well and truly lost, having no idea whether she was walking toward the Pettigrews’ or away.

Perhaps she should have stopped at that point and waited for someone to find her. But what if no one did? Because as much as she told herself not to worry, she couldn’t help but fear nightfall, wondering what she would do if she was still out here alone when the sun sank from the sky for the day.

And so she’d continued on.

Luckily, it was summer, so there was still plenty of light. Or rather, there would have been plenty of light were it not for the increasingly angry band of storm clouds gathering overhead. She kept expecting the rain to start, but so far it had held off. Judging by the rapidly blackening sky, though, she knew her reprieve couldn’t last too much longer.

Blast Peter Harte!
When she got back, she was going to make him wish he’d never laid eyes on her. Until then, she had no choice but to continue on and pray someone would come to her rescue.

Five minutes later she was still walking, her bonnet-covered head lowered against the wind, when she heard a rumbling sound coming up behind her—a noise that sounded distinctly like carriage wheels.

Turning around, her heart quickened with relief when she saw a curricle. She raised an arm to signal the driver, but to her dawning joy she realized she had no need. The vehicle slowed, its large male occupant reassuringly familiar.

Quentin! He’s come for me!

Drawing his horses to a stop, he secured the reins; the leather carriage hood he’d pulled up against the weather shaking in the wind. “India. Thank God,” he said, jumping out of the vehicle and coming to her side. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

He opened his arms, and she went into them without a moment’s hesitation, reveling in his warmth and strength as her fears dissolved like so much pixie dust. “How did you know?”

“Where to find you, you mean? It was Harte. When I noticed you were missing, he and I had a talk.”

So Quentin realized I was gone and came looking.
Pleasure spread through her at the knowledge. “He told you what he did?”

“Not without a bit of persuasion, but I wrung the truth from him soon enough. Although I have to say you’re a fair distance from where he said he left you. A good thing I decided to drive east a couple extra miles, or else I might have been searching for you half the night.”

She trembled, a grateful lump forming in her throat to know he wouldn’t have given up looking for her no matter how long it took.

“Come, though,” he said.” We can talk later. Right now, we need to be on our way back before this storm decides to let loose.”

As though prompted by his words, a cluster of fat raindrops splattered to the ground, another one landing in a wet plop against her cheek. As the water slid over her skin, a second cluster of drops fell in an abrupt staccato.

Three seconds later, the sky split wide and turned everything as wet as a sea.

Together they raced for the carriage, Quentin tossing her up onto the seat as quickly as he could before climbing in after her. With rain pelting them in a fury, he set the horses in motion. The curricle’s hood provided some measure of protection, but not enough to keep them dry. Especially not with the wind blowing the rain toward them rather than away.

Thunder crashed in an earsplitting boom, making the horses shy in fright. Quentin kept them steady, but not without a great deal of effort and skilled control. “We need to find shelter,” he shouted over the storm, as he continued to urge the team forward.

Only there was no shelter—or at least not the sort that came by way of a barn or house.

India hung on, gripping the edge of the seat as he steered the curricle off the road toward a large stand of old-growth trees. Towering fifty feet tall or more, the oaks’ thick limbs formed a massive canopy of heavy branches and interwoven green leaves.

Driving beneath, he turned the team and the carriage so that both were protected from the brunt of the wind. Now buffered, the rain lessened to a steady patter, a hush descending around them despite the continuing storm. Thunder boomed again but from a greater distance this time.

“We’ll wait until the worst is over,” he said, taking off his hat and giving it a shake. “These summer squalls flare up fast and pass through just as quickly. Twenty minutes or so, and it’ll likely be nothing more than an annoying drizzle.” Quentin paused for a few seconds. “You’re freezing,” he observed with husky concern. “Here, let’s get you warm before you take your death.” Shifting on the seat, he took off his long surtout of lightweight wool. “Come here,” he said, urging her to him.

She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself as a shiver made gooseflesh rise on her damp skin. Her dress was damp as well, the thin muslin that had been so comfortable earlier in the day, now cold and clinging.

“But I’ll get you wet.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Reaching out, he tugged her closer, fitting her against his chest as he swept his coat over them both.

Blissful warmth flowed through her, his male scent and the sensation of his firm-muscled body as intoxicating as a tumbler of hot mulled wine. Closing her eyes, she burrowed nearer, her shivers easing instantly.

“That pretty bonnet of yours needs to come off,” he said. “It’s poking me in the cheek.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me—”

“No, let me,” he hushed, his fingers going to the ribbon under her chin to pull it loose. Her bonnet soon joined his hat on the empty space beside her, then she forgot all about such matters, as he settled her comfortably against him again.

“Better?” she asked.

“Perfect.”

Quiet descended, the muffled roar of the storm and the rustling leaves providing the only sound.

“Quentin?” she ventured after a time.

“Hmm?”

“I…well…thank you. Thank you for coming after me,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me. I was so lost and alone, and I would have been caught in this dreadful storm. With night coming on I—”

“You would have managed somehow,” he interrupted in a gentle voice. “You’re a very resilient young woman. But I’m sorry for everything you’ve gone through today. I should never have let you leave with Harte this afternoon. When I saw you climb into his carriage, I ought to have stopped it immediately and insisted I be the one to drive you back.”

“I didn’t realize you’d noticed since you were busy talking to that widow,” she said, a glimmer of her earlier jealousy returning.

“What widow?”

“The one with the fluttery blue eyes and the big…” She paused, searching for an acceptable term. “Bodice.”

His mouth turned up in amusement. “Bodice, hmm? I have to admit I didn’t pay much attention to either her eyes or her…bodice. I was too busy watching you at the time.”

“Were you?”

He nodded, shifting slightly so she could meet his gaze, his irises a rich, luminous brown that gleamed even in the storm-darkened light. “I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I spend a great deal of time watching you. So much so lately that I find myself in a fair way to becoming bewitched. There’s just something about you, India, that has a way of casting a spell over a man.”

Casting a spell?
she thought.
What does he mean
?
Might he have feelings for me, after all
? Her heart careened into a mad zigzagging rhythm, slowing only when she realized he might simply mean that he desired her.

And if that was all, then what
?

“I told your aunt I was coming to look for you,” he said, stroking her arm with a gentle, gliding touch that was no doubt meant to be soothing.