Gail Eastwood (6 page)

Gillian spun around suddenly as if she had just remembered her audience. “But I don’t care if I marry a title!” she burst out. “I want to marry a man—one I love and who loves me in return! Is that so terrible?” She stopped again to get herself in hand. Her voice shook a little with the effort it cost her. As tears started to well, she brushed them away in annoyance.

“Our uncle suggested that Gillian need only suffer Lord Grassington a little while, until he dies,” Gilbey explained with a glance at his distraught sister. “After that she would be free to do as she pleased.”

“I could not do that,” Gillian whispered, staring at the two men still seated at the table. “The very thought is gruesome.”

“Did you not consider that you might gladden his remaining years?” asked Brinton in an odd-sounding voice.

“No,” she responded. “I thought every sight of me would just remind him of his numbered days.” She shuddered.

“So you decided to run away.”

“Not at first.” Still battling tears, Gillian looked to her twin for help.

“We thought we could reason with them,” Gilbey said. “Uncle William had this absurd notion that Gillian was ‘sensible and biddable.’ I don’t know where he got that idea!” He threw an affectionate glance at his sister and smiled.

Gillian did not rise to his bait, however, saying nothing. Gilbey held out his handkerchief to her.

“I thought Uncle William would change his mind when he realized how opposed she was to his plan,” Gilbey continued. “However, when I approached him, he just flew into a temper.”

Gillian blew her nose and then stood behind her brother’s chair with one hand on his shoulder, as if drawing support from the physical contact. “Gilbey even tried to approach Lord Grassington, but he could not see him.”

“Why?”

“The earl wouldn’t admit me—no reason given,” Gilbey said.

“That was when I decided to run away,” Gillian explained bitterly. “I do not think Uncle William will dare to follow through on his plan if he cannot find me.”

“So you are planning to hide in Gloucester, or Bristol?” Brinton’s disbelief was obvious.

Gillian’s eyes lit with a spark of defiance she could not disguise. “Scotland,” she answered. “We have an aunt there, although we have never met her.”

There, it was out. Let Brinton think what he would.

Chapter Six

Leaving Brinton to digest what he had just heard, Gillian abruptly excused herself to go into the adjoining room and wash her face with Gilbey’s bathwater. Over the remains of the tea, the earl and Gilbey faced each other.

“You agreed to this ridiculous scheme?” Brinton demanded.

“You do not know my sister. She would have undertaken the journey alone. I could not have stopped her. The best I could do was come along,” Gilbey explained.

“You are also opposed to the marriage?”

“The very idea is an abomination!” Gilbey lowered his voice and leaned toward Brinton. “When I was at Grassington’s, I overheard him talking rather loudly. He wants a new heir, and he thinks he’s going to beget one on my sister. I tell you, he is so ancient, thinking of them sharing a bed turns my stomach!”

The young viscount thumped his fist on the table in a surprising show of frustration. “If I were of age, Uncle William would not dare to trade Gillian like a brood mare. Damn the man, and Grassington along with him! If she were your sister, you would understand.”

Rafferty thought fleetingly of his own five sisters and allowed to himself that he did understand how Gilbey felt. If only he could fathom his own feelings as well! He could not seem to make sense out of all he was hearing. Somehow, the image of his elderly uncle with a young bride had not bothered him at all until now, when suddenly the anonymous young woman in question had Miss Kentwell’s face.

The earl had a sinking suspicion that he was the other participant in the conversation Gilbey had overheard at Grassington’s. Hadn’t his uncle told him quite pointedly that the object of the marriage was to get a new heir? The unpleasant scene had been interrupted by a footman, but Grassington had declined to be disturbed.
That could have been an unwanted visitor
, Brinton thought.

He desperately wanted to believe Gilbey’s story. But the older earl had boasted about the willingness of his bride-to-be, and now the younger earl shook his head. There were plenty of female fortune-hunters who would tolerate the old man. Rafferty couldn’t believe that his uncle would marry a young girl against her will. Nor would his uncle lie to him, he thought, no matter how much the man delighted in aggravating him. Was his uncle being deceived? Or, was he?

“I never took Grassington for such a lecherous blackguard!” Gilbey was continuing. “A trifle eccentric, perhaps, but this! His determination to bed my sister dashed any hopes we might have had about seeking an annulment after the marriage. Gillie could never keep out of his clutches long enough!”

Rafferty choked back his instinctive response to Gilbey’s unwitting insult, producing only a small, strangled sound in his throat. Certainly the twins knew nothing of his connection to Grassington, and this was hardly the time to reveal it.

Gilbey appeared not to notice Brinton’s reaction. “I pray, sir, that you will say nothing of this to my sister,” he said, looking anxiously toward the connecting door. “She does not know that I overheard anything, and the matter is too indelicate for her ears. She may seem the worst sort of hoyden,” he added, “but I assure you, beneath that facade, there lurks a very sensitive and innocent young girl.”

The two men were polishing off the remains of their tea in silence when Gillian rejoined them moments later. Damp curls clustered around her freshly scrubbed face. Her smooth skin glowed, but she had not been able to erase the distress showing plainly in her blue-green eyes.

The silence between her brother and the earl seemed strained to her, and she wondered what they had been discussing while she was absent from the room. Had Gilbey learned anything of the earl’s intentions? Should she just bluntly ask them?

She decided that it didn’t matter. Reviewing her situation for Lord Brinton had revived her fears and desperation. With pursuit so close on her trail, all that mattered now was escape. Undoubtedly, Lord Brinton had saved them in Taunton, and they owed him a great deal more than the money he had spent on them. But if he thought they had time to spare sitting in baths, he could very well soak by himself. She and her brother would never reach Scotland if they could not outrun her uncle’s hirelings. She, for one, was quite certain she would be relieved to quit Brinton’s company. She had never before met anyone who so completely unsettled her. She was determined to get back on the road, without delay and without the earl.

Contriving to inject a note of brightness and energy into her voice, she addressed her brother. “Lord Cranford,” she said, bowing to her twin with mock formality, “your bathwater has cooled considerably. How fortunate, then, that you shall not be wanting it, since we have not time to dally here.” She cast a meaningful glance at Brinton. “Perhaps someone
else
can make use of it.
We
must be leaving.”

She noticed that Brinton’s dark brows arched in surprise, then smoothed back into a perfectly controlled expression.

“Exactly how are you proposing to do that?” he asked, his voice neutral and his hazel eyes unreadable.

“Well, I—I suppose that depends,” she faltered. How difficult he made it for her to maintain her fragile confidence! “I thought, if we could just prevail upon your goodwill one more time, you might advance us funds for horses? Unless, of course, my brother is able to walk.” She looked from Brinton to Gilbey and back, obviously at a loss and not liking it a bit.

Brinton smiled. “I appreciate your allowing me the chance to disassociate myself from your company. However, do you not think it would appear odd, and attract notice, if my servant and my companion left, and I stayed behind?” He glanced at their luggage in the corner where the porter had left it for them. “How would you manage on foot with those bags?”

Gillian flushed. “We would manage, my lord, if we had to,” she answered stubbornly. “We dare not stay on here. We are too close to Taunton and those who are apparently seeking us.”

“You think you will get on faster without me?”

“It is thanks to you we are ahead of them at all, but we cannot afford to lose that advantage.”

“So, you can be diplomatic when you choose! I suspected as much.” Brinton turned his gaze directly into Gillian’s face. “Let me be certain that I understand. You are planning to outrun these hunters for another three hundred miles, traveling, if need be, on foot, and dragging a portmanteau half full of books.”

It did sound harebrained, put so bluntly. She was surprised that he remembered the books. The familiar despair she kept fighting began to settle around her heart. How had she ever thought she could escape by running away?

“Speed is not going to be your answer,” the earl observed, leaning back in his chair. “You will have to use cunning if you hope to elude your pursuers.” He looked thoughtful, as if engaged in a chess match. “We will leave together, as we came. I would suggest a change of route, however.”

“What are you proposing?” asked Gilbey, who had been quietly observing the exchange between the other two.

“You have done nothing but head due north since you left your home, is that not so?” Brinton raised an eyebrow toward Gilbey, looking for his confirmation. “Your pursuers cannot hunt for you in every direction. Having lost you in Taunton, they may continue looking northward, hoping to stumble across your trail. We have changed the number of people traveling in your party. A change of route now would be another precaution against being found. I suggest we head east. We can turn north again at Glastonbury.”

“A capital idea!” exclaimed Gilbey.

Gillian winced at the admiration in her brother’s voice. Lord Brinton could suggest swimming to China, and Gilbey would probably embrace the idea with enthusiasm, she thought. The trouble was, once again, Brinton was right. They were better off playing the fox than the hare. Was the dratted man always right? He had taken complete control of them from the moment he had walked up to them in the inn at Taunton. Gilbey seemed in such awe of the man that he had almost completely lost his tongue. Even worse, her own brain seemed to have turned into mush. What on earth was the matter with them?

The earl was looking at her, waiting for a response. Grasping the back of Gilbey’s chair like a lifeline, she raised her eyes to meet his.

“Just where are you proposing we end up?” she queried tentatively. She could feel her resentment toward him melting as her pulse quickened under his gaze.

Brinton was quite prepared with his answer. “Bath,” he said, his hazel eyes never wavering from hers.

***

The route to Bath lay across the Somerset Levels, which stretched for miles to the east and north of Bridgwater. Heavy fog blanketed the open pastures, hiding the marsh-marigolds and half a hundred other wildflowers that filled the wet spring fields. The vast flatlands were prone to flooding, and large patches of water flanked the road and even crossed it in places, for only a few ancient channels provided drainage. The fog rendered both road and bogs invisible.

“Blast this weather!” Brinton exclaimed with surprising vehemence. His dark brows were drawn down in concentration, and his fatigue showed clearly. “I cannot for the life of me pick out the road more than a few feet ahead.”

“If we find ourselves among the bulrushes, we’ll know you’ve gone wrong,” Gillian offered helpfully. She had agreed to go to Bath after a brief battle between caution and desire, for although she thought it best to part from the earl, there was merit in his suggestion to confuse their pursuers, and the chance to see the city was tempting.

“Young woman, unless you have a strong desire to join the otters and kingfishers, you might refrain from unnecessary comments.”

“Do you not admire the water ferns and iris?” she replied mischievously.

“Only from a distance.”

Brinton did not take his eyes off the horses. His response was curt, but Gillian saw that the strain in his face had eased somewhat. She allowed herself a little smile of triumph.

Gilbey was once again perched precariously with the luggage at the back of the carriage, clutching the straps as Brinton eased the curricle through ruts and puddles. Occasional shadowy clumps of willows and alders loomed in the mist, but they did not serve to mark the way, for they grew as readily along the water as along the road.

The earl appeared to have all he could handle to concentrate on following the road and guiding the horses, who were fresh and resentful of the slow pace. But in truth, his mind kept returning to the questions that were bedeviling him.

Had he misjudged the twins? Were they sincere in their distress, or could they be merely playacting? He preferred to think the pair were innocent dupes in some scheme of their uncle’s. Pembermore’s reputation was undoubtedly black, but did the baron tend toward elaborate frauds, or just cheating at cards? Was his uncle the intended victim, or was the girl?

Rafferty smiled at the irony of it all. Here he was, helping his own uncle’s intended bride to run away! What a scandal this would be if it ever came out! And he had placed himself squarely in the midst of it. If Archie only knew, his friend would think it all a huge joke.

He would be a fool to get in any deeper without learning more. In Bath he had a friend with whom the twins could stay while he tried to unravel the puzzle they represented. If the pair were truly going to Scotland, they would need to borrow more money than he had with him, and he could draw funds from the bank in Bath. He would have to wait, and watch.

Brinton and the twins had not been traveling through the wetlands for long when the fractious horses were suddenly spooked by a large, gray shape that soared silently across the road just in front of them.

“Whoa!” cried Brinton, struggling to keep the frightened animals in the roadway. “Easy, now. Let’s not go for a swim.”

As the horses ceased plunging, the carriage lurched, tipping at a crazy angle as one wheel sank deeply into the mud.

“Ho, what’s going on?” called Gilbey from the back.

“What was it?” Gillian asked, grasping Brinton’s arm as he coaxed the pair of bays to pull ahead.

“I believe it was a great heron,” the earl answered, loud enough for Gilbey to hear. He was trying to keep his weight from sliding down the seat onto Miss Kentwell, who would surely be crushed or pushed out. He found it remarkable that she had not uttered so much as a single squeak of alarm at their predicament. Finally, to his relief, the horses moved forward, extricating the wheel and straightening the carriage.

“The fog makes everything so eerie,” Gillian said softly. “We are near Sedgemoor, are we not?”

“We are,” asserted Brinton.

“You can almost feel the ghosts in this weather!”

Ah
, thought Rafferty,
so she does know something about history
. Aloud he said, “What ghosts?”

“Monmouth’s army,” she answered impatiently. “So many died here in his rebellion. Their blood must have soaked deep into these marshes.”

“The Duke of Monmouth was a fool who had the right idea at the wrong time and went about it the wrong way,” the earl said severely.
I hope I am not riding the same horse
, he added to himself. He transferred the reins to one hand so he could give hers a reassuring squeeze with the other. “You have a vivid imagination for events of more than a century ago. How is it you know so much about history?”

Gillian pulled her cloak closer about her, removing her hand from Brinton’s arm as if she had only suddenly noticed it. “Our father was something of a scholar,” she responded evasively. “He believed in the benefits of education and hired very qualified tutors for us.”

Rafferty could sense her withdrawal and felt regret that his questions should cause it. Yet, there was so much he wanted to know about her. He tried again.

“You were allowed to sit in on your brother’s classes?”

Gillian hesitated. If she revealed her full education, would he add “bluestocking” to the list of flaws he must already have noted in her? Still, she would not lie. Why should it matter to her what he thought?

“Our parents loved each other greatly. After our mother died, our father never really came out of mourning. I think he just found it easier to deal with Gilbey and me by treating us the same—same tutors, same studies, same freedom to do as we pleased.” She looked at him shyly. “We studied history, geography, Latin, Greek, Italian, French.”