Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (23 page)

He could see tears form in her eyes, and he groaned.
Don’t do this, Diana, dear God, don’t do this.

She turned to Nate Staples. “Now, we must hide him. We cannot risk the chance that the villain will find him helpless here and kill him.”

Gavin struggled and did all he could to thwart them, but a combination of dragging and rolling put him into a storage closet near the harness rack. The door closed, and he was in complete darkness.

Almost—the closet was roughly made, and there were chinks between the wooden boards. He could see Diana and the stableboy through one large hole as she passed the rack.

“There, we have done it,” she said. “Now, I shall take his lordship’s place in the race.”

“But you said—” Nate protested.

She eyed him sternly. “The race is a matter of honor, and must continue. Besides, we cannot catch the villain if it does not go on—if the horses do not react as I believe they will during the race, then we have nothing with which to accuse the villain.”

Nate shook his head. “I can’t think ’tis right, yer ladyship.”

“It will be, Nate, you shall see.” With a confident smile, she patted his arm and walked out of the carriage house, the stableboy following reluctantly behind her.

Gavin groaned again. Damn the woman! He had to get out of here as quickly as possible, before she ventured out on the curricle. He twisted his hands to his side and brought his knees to his chin, trying to reach a finger to his boot. He had slipped in his dagger in its sheath, his usual precaution, and he was once again glad his experiences had taught him not to be a complete gentleman.

His fingers could not quite reach it. He tipped back his head, taking a deep breath and resting a moment. Perhaps he could get his arms around to the front of him somehow.

He hunched his body down, twisting his wrists in their bonds until they were wet with sweat or blood . . . and the bonds loosened a little. He took another deep breath.

And held it. A movement through the crack between the boards caught his eye, and he peered through it.

Sir James. Gavin slowly, quietly, let out his breath and stayed very, very still.

The man looked about him and stepped toward the harness. He patted his pocket, then reached in, drawing out what looked like a vial. Another search in his pocket brought out a yellow strip, which he briefly rubbed between his fingers—beeswax, Gavin thought. Sir James unstopped the vial, shaking something out of it onto the strip.

He lifted his head suddenly. Gavin held his breath, careful to make no noise or sound. Sir James relaxed, and turned to the harness on the rack. His hand hovered above the leather pieces, then pounced on one of them.

The crupper. Of course. Gavin watched as the man smoothed the beeswax on the inner, cushioned side of the crupper’s loop, then put it down again. Quickly he stoppered the vial and put it and the remaining wax into his pocket, looked about him again, then left, quickly, his steps a mere whisper.

Gavin closed his eyes, resting his head against the side of the closet. It made sense. No one would think to look at the crupper; it was always cleaned after every use, and presumed to be ready whenever it was needed. The crupper would be looped under the horse’s tail, and the beeswax would hold firm until the heat of exercise melted the wax, releasing whatever caustic substance was under it.

That was why the horses acted no differently than usual before the race or at the very beginning. It would take a good thirty minutes of exercise on a cool spring day to soften the wax enough for the substance—pepper or the oil extract of it—to come to the surface, causing acute pain, even blistering under the horse’s tail. The horse would go wild with pain, become uncontrollable, no matter the skill or the strength of the driver.

But this was not spring, but summer, and the race would occur at noon. It would not be thirty minutes into the race, but sooner, and the stacks of hay along the road would do no one—Diana—any good.

Gavin desperately twisted his hands and pulled at the rope behind him. The bonds loosened again, a little. He glimpsed the grooms talking and laughing as they entered the carriage house, taking the harness off the rack and pulling the curricle from its stall a little, the better to attach the equipment. He tried to call out, but the muffled sounds were drowned under the rumble of wheels, the noise of conversation, and the clop of horses’ hooves. His feet could not kick hard enough at the closet’s wooden boards to make enough sound to be heard over it all. The grooms were fast and efficient: it was a matter of minutes before they had the horses hitched and led them and the curricle out of the carriage house.

Again he pulled, and the bonds loosened much more, enough so that he could move his arms down his sides, slowly, much too slowly. At last his hands were before him. His fingers touched inside his boot and slipped upon the hilt of the dagger—they were no doubt slick with blood, for his wrists stung and his palms felt wet.

He seized the dagger, and cut the rope around his ankles, and then between his hands. He stood, and almost stumbled, for his legs sizzled from being cramped, but he took firm hold of the cloth around his mouth, and ripped it off.

The door of the storage closet flew open with a bang, startling an undergroom. Rage and fear boiled within the earl at the thought of the danger Diana was bringing upon herself, but he forced himself to summon cool strategy as well.

Gavin caught the gaze of the groom before him and stared at him grimly. “Tell Lord Jardien to arrest Sir James.”

“What—my lord—” stammered the groom. “His lordship has already gone on the race—”

Lord Brisbane let out a foul curse. “Then tell Mr. Goldworthy, damn your eyes! And get me a horse. A fast one. Now!”

Chapter 16

Diana ignored the stunned expression on the head groom’s face, and tried not to look at Mr. Goldworthy as she tooled the curricle out into the stableyard and down the road to the entrance gates where the race was to begin. Lord Jardien was waiting there in a fine curricle of his own, a pair of fresh grays moving restlessly in front. Groups of sportsmen and spectators lined the road as she neared the gate, and she could feel every eye on her.

Some faces were angry, some were speculative, some amused, and some gazed at her as if she were some freak in a raree show. A familiar shaking threatened to take her, but she forcefully banished it, raising her head high. She could not afford to be anxious about how they looked at her, for her horses would sense her anxiety, and that was dangerous in this already dangerous situation. She could not care about scandal—and what she was doing was scandalous in the extreme, for no lady raced in public—for her husband’s life was at stake. If they did not flush out Sir James this time, he would be free to strike again, and no doubt more directly than he had been.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Lord Jardien demanded. “I was to race with your husband, not you!” Murmurs of agreement rose around them.

Diana stiffened her back, and raised her chin. She glimpsed Mr. Goldworthy hurrying up to them, a worried look in his eyes. “My husband is indisposed,” she said, and stared Lord Jardien hard in the eyes. “I am taking his place. As my neighbors know, I am more than capable of handling this carriage and these horses, possibly”—she cast a roguish grin at the spectators around her—“possibly better than Lord Brisbane.” She would prefer not to sacrifice Gavin’s dignity in this manner, but if it meant the race would go on, and evidence found against Sir James, she would do it. Some gentlemen chuckled; she saw some money change hands, and took heart from their good humor.

“Lass, you shouldn’t do this.” Mr. Goldworthy stood at the side of the curricle, his usually cheerful face worried. “Gavin’s got a temper on him, and he won’t like this once he finds out.” A puzzled look came over his face. “Eh, but I can’t understand what’s to do with him. The lad was in good frame this morning.”

“You need not worry,” Diana said cheerfully. “He is quite safe.”

A look of dawning horror and suspicion came over Mr. Goldworthy’s face. “Eh, never say you—”

“It was necessary to keep him safe,” Diana said, bending down to him and speaking in a low voice. “He is the earl. If anything happens to him, then the title will go to that . . . that
villain.
It is wrong for him to have it, you know it is. If anything happens to me, Gavin may marry again, but he will still be earl. He must be.” She jerked her head at Lord Jardien. “Tell him.”

Mr. Goldworthy nodded reluctantly and went to Lord Jardien, and Diana watched as her neighbor leaned down and discussed the matter with him.

Lord Jardien rose and gazed, frustrated, at her. “We could race tomorrow, when Lord Brisbane is not indisposed.”

Diana laughed. “I am not to ignorant, my lord. I will not let you win by default.” Murmurs of agreement rose around her.

“Let her drive!” cried a voice from the crowd.

“Yes, let her race!” cried another, and yet another. More money changed hands, and she gazed at Lord Jardien triumphantly.

His gaze grew more angry, then he nodded sharply. “Very well!” he said, and moved his carriage to the gate. Diana sighed with relief and did likewise.

Silence descended upon the groups of men around them, and only the sounds of the restless stamping of horses’ hooves, the jangle of harness links, and the hard beating of her heart reached Diana’s ears. Mr. Goldworthy strode in front of them, a large white handkerchief in his hand. He looked at his watch, and Diana glanced at the one pinned to her bosom. Twenty minutes—she would be safe, and not even wait until thirty—and she would stop the horses and leave her carriage. She was no fool and did not intend to be killed. She pulled her veil over her face; the road was dry, and the dust kicked up from the race would be thick. Her heart beat harder, anticipating the swift beat of hooves on the road in just a few seconds.

The handkerchief dropped from Mr. Goldworthy’s hand. Diana slackened the reins, gently touched her whip to the horses’ backs, and grinned as they leaped into a gallop.

Lord Jardien’s carriage was beside her, and she restrained the urge to race ahead of him—she could do it, for her horses were fresh and strong and they could outrun his easily. But she needed to pace them, and make sure that she timed her arrival exactly at the haystacks Nate had said her husband had set up at the side of the road.

She wished this were a real race, and that she could enjoy it more, for the sun was hot on her veiled face, and a cool breeze wafted over her forehead, cooling the perspiration that beaded there. But she could feel the bands of tension in her arms and her shoulders, and the dryness in her mouth at the thought that in a few moments, she might—if she were not alert and careful—she might just die.

A quick look at her watch—only five minutes! It seemed like hours had gone by, though she knew it could not be so. She glanced at Lord Jardien. His face was a study of concentration, but a short glance from him in return showed he was still angry. No matter; she would deal with that later.

One horse in front of her tossed its head restlessly, and she frowned. No, it could not be so soon, it was only past five minutes. Her hands pricked with sweat under her leather gloves. She must be in control. She could not let nerves overcome her.

A shout behind her almost made Diana turn her head, but she kept her eyes ahead of her. She could not let herself be distracted. But a glance to the side of her showed that Lord Jardien’s carriage had fallen behind. What was he thinking of? Surely he knew he must keep up with her?

But a thunder of hooves—not from two horses abreast, but a single horse—came up faster behind her, and at last she glanced slightly behind.

Gavin! Anger flared, and she touched the whip once more on her horses’ backs. How had he released himself? She had been sure that no one would hear him, not with all the noise of preparation going on around him. An image of the dagger he had used on her bindings the night of their wedding came before her, and she ground her teeth in frustration. He must have had it hidden somewhere on his person.

He came up to the side of the carriage at last. “Stop, Diana!” he shouted.

“No! It is not yet time!” She glanced at him—he rode Lightning! How dare he! She gently flicked the whip again, and the horses went a little faster.

“Stop, damn you, woman!” he shouted again. “It
is
time—the stuff is on the crupper—the summer heat—stop, now!”

But it was too late. A high scream came from the horse in front of her, and the reins almost pulled her arm from its socket. She pulled hard on the reins, ignoring the pain, but the second horse caught the fear from the other and would not heed her strength. The curricle went faster.

“Drop the reins, Diana! Now!”

She could not—she had to keep the horses in control. A flash of memory: her uncle’s accident, the horses, the gunshot. They would die if she did not keep control.

“Drop them, and jump to me. God, Diana, do it now!”

She glanced to her side—Gavin’s face, the familiar lazy expression fled, an agonized look on it instead, his hand extended to her.
I would willingly die to keep you from harm.
He had said that, this morning. She gazed at Gavin again—his eyes stared into hers. He would die if she died, for they were one soul. His heart told her this, his heart that shone in his despairing eyes, here, now.

Now.
She dropped the reins and grasped his hand, and he pulled her off the carriage. Her hip hit a corner of it, painfully, then slapped the side of his saddle as his arm came around her waist. A crash and frightened neighs sounded in the distance, and Diana groaned, pressing her face into his shoulder. Lightning came to a halt and shied, almost making her drop from Gavin’s grasp.

“Stop it!” came her and Gavin’s voice at the same time, and the horse settled down, almost sheepishly. He released her, and she slipped to the grass, and he, also, dismounted.

“Gavin, I—” she began, but his mouth stopped her. His lips were hard on hers, his fingers digging into her shoulders. Just as abruptly he parted from her, glaring into her eyes.

“You idiot. You stupid little idiot.”

“I am not, I planned it carefully—” She could not look at him, and she looked away. But her eyes caught sight of his hands, and she gasped, and felt her heart twist painfully. “Oh, Gavin—your hands—your wrists—they are bleeding! It must have been the ropes—Oh, I am so sorry!” She seized his hand and kissed it, smoothing away his shirt cuff from his wrists so that it would not stick to the raw flesh there.

“You could have been
killed.
” His hand seized her chin and forced it up. The despair she had seen in his eyes moments ago appeared again, and he kissed her once more, more gently. “You will never do this again, for by God, I’ll whip you within an inch of your life if you do,” he whispered against her lips.

“No, you won’t,” she said, and kissed him in return. “You told me just this morning you would willingly die before you let me come to harm, and I know you are not a liar.”

A laugh burst from him, and he pulled her to him tightly. “You are a witch, Diana. A sorceress. And you know me too damned well.”

She rubbed her cheek on his chest, then the thunder of hooves made her jerk up her head. It was the head groom, Joe Baggins, and beside him, Nate Staples, who looked very sheepish.

“The carriage has crashed farther down the road,” Gavin said. “I have heard no further sounds from the horses—I hope they may be, unharmed.”

“Yes, my lord,” Joe replied, and turned to Nate. “You, boy, ride back to the stables and direct the men down the road to me.” Nate nodded and rode off, while Joe continued down the road.

The conversation between the men made the full force of what had happened hit Diana like a storm. She swallowed, but the trembling would not go away, and a small moan escaped her.

“We must go back,” she said, and her voice shook. “Sir James . . . and then the poor horses—”

“We will go home,” Gavin said, and stroked her back soothingly. “Ned and Lord Jardien will have caught Sir James by this time. I told Ned to hold him, and to search his pockets. It was very clever, actually. I saw Sir James put a caustic substance—possibly pepper oil or the like—on a piece of soft wax and seal it to the inside of the crupper.” His voice grew grim. “But unlike your uncle’s race in the springtime, it is summer now, and the melting occurred faster.”

Diana shuddered again, then sighed as his stroking continued. “But the poor horses . . . I should attend to them.”

“No,” he said, and led her to the gelding. “The servants shall do it. You have trained them well; I have every confidence in them.” His voice became gentle. “You need not go through that again. Once is enough.” He mounted, then held out his hand to her. She gazed into his eyes, and a sudden release of tension made her unwilling to resist his command. She felt suddenly bone weary, and her shoulder ached, and all she really wanted was to go home. “Come, my love,” he said.

She grasped his hand, and hoisted herself up behind him, then put her arms around his waist. She sighed and closed her eyes, and rested her cheek on his back. “I do love you, Gavin,” she said. “I was so very wrong when I thought you were just a fribble, a silly dandy concerned with nothing but his clothes. You are not like that at all.”

“I am glad you now think otherwise, for you are quite right,” he said, and kicked the horse gradually from a walk, to a trot, and then to a canter. “I am concerned about my boots as well as my clothes. I think those ropes scratched them, and they have lost their shine.” He extended one foot away from the side of the horse, and peered down at it. “Yes, I do believe I see a large scratch. Alas! My valet will have an apoplexy, and then what shall I do? My consequence as the Earl of Brisbane will suffer, I am sure of it, if my valet expires of an apoplexy. Think of the scandal!”

Diana laughed, then sobered. “It shall not matter, for we are sunk in scandal already. Oh, Gavin, I know I have only made it worse by racing in public. But I could not bear the thought of you risking your life, dying like my uncle did. I would willingly have died to prevent it.” The horse slowed, then stopped, and she looked up to see that they were home at last.

Shouting and the sounds of struggle caught her attention, and Diana could see Sir James in Lord Jardien’s and Mr. Goldworthy’s grasp. Sir James’s hands were tied, and his eyes were filled with fear and anger, but she felt no pity for him; he had killed her uncle, had no doubt killed McKinney, and had tried to kill Gavin. He deserved no pity.

Fury shook her, and she dismounted, barely noticing that Gavin had dismounted and handed the reins of the horse to the stableboy. But a hand on her arm slowed her steps toward Sir James, so that they approached the man together.

“No, Diana. The law will deal with him. I daresay justice will be quite swift and quite deadly.” His voice was easy and conversational, but his gaze upon Sir James was icy, and the man paled.

“A wager . . . I only wished to win. . . . I had to win. . ..” Sir James said, his voice a whine.

A low growl came from Mr. Goldworthy, and Lord Jardien looked at the prisoner with disbelief.