Miss Marcie's Mischief (10 page)

"Thirty minutes!" Cole Coachman called after her; though even this was an outrageous amount of time for a Royal Mail coach to linger at an inn. "This coach leaves for Burford in exactly one half hour. If you are not on board, then we shall depart without you."

Marcie lifted her chin, not looking back.

Let him leave, she thought. She didn't care. The man was far too arrogant and assuming! She would fare far better by ignoring his demands.

And so ignore them she did!

* * *

Cole watched in dismay as Marcie marched toward the inn door, head held high. She hadn't even so much as nodded at him. She'd just simply strutted away, with that damnable owl perched on her shoulder.

What an insolent chit she could be.

Not to mention rude.

And obstinate!

And lovely, he thought, watching as she wound her way through the patrons toward the door. The many traveling folk, both young and old, male and female, made way for her, either smiling or tipping their hats. No doubt it was Marcie's ingenuous smile that captured their interests.

And it was that same smile, so sweet and pure, that had captured Cole's heart as well.

"I'll be damned," Cole muttered to himself, quite perplexed, "but she's managed to get under my skin."

"What's that you say?" asked John Reeve, coming to stand beside Cole.

Cole shook the cobwebs from his brain. "Nothing," he said.

"Oh, it be something," said Reeve, a bit too smugly. "And I be thinking it have everything to do with the comely Miss Marcie."

Cole frowned. "The mail, Reeve. Unload, and be quick about it!"

"And what would you like me to do with Jack? Unload him as well?"

Cole lifted one dark brow, watching as the aforementioned man finally awakened, jumped down off the carriage, moved to unhitch his excuse of a horse, and then headed for the stables of the inn.

"I don't think that will be necessary," said Cole. "It seems that our highwayman has made his own decisions. I shall alert the fine keep of this inn as to Jack's straits and will see to it Jack and his horse have enough gold to see them through the remaining winter."

Reeve sniffed, his disapproval of Cole's charity quite obvious. "I have to wonder, my lord—"

"Cole Coachman,
you mean," Cole said, glancing about to make certain no one had overheard the slip of Reeve's tongue.

No one had.

"Ahem... yes." Reeve sighed, clearly not pleased with the charade. "As I was saying,
Cole Coachman,
I have to wonder at the change come over you."

"Change? I wasn't aware of any change, Reeve. I am the same man I was when we departed Town."

"Oh, to be sure your patience is as thin as ever my lor—Cole Coachman." Here Reeve sniffed again, looking rather put out by Cole's apt demonstration of having little patience. "But your heart has become a might too tender of late."

"And what the deuce does that mean?" Cole found himself fast losing what little patience he had left to him.

Said Reeve, in a smug tone of voice, no less, "I never thought I'd live to see the day you took pity upon a highwayman. Why, you're even fussing about the man's miserable horse. Ain't nothing like the Cole Coachman I know."

"How so?" demanded Cole, not at all pleased with Reeve's assessment, but at the same time not about to end the uncomfortable confrontation.

"Testy, aren't we, eh?"

"Not as testy as I'll be if you don't soon come to the point, man!"

Reeve wrinkled his nose. "As I said, your temper is as quick as ever—"

"Never mind that. It is what you said about my heart that has me all ears at the moment, Reeve. Get on with it."

"Very well, then. Your heart, Cole Coachman, seems to have become so much mash during this ride. I do believe Miss Marcie is the cause. You have a fancy for her, haven't you?"

Cole blanched. "Certainly not! The mischievous chit is but a runaway schoolgirl, still wet behind the ears. Why, she's trouble in triplicate. A veritable nuisance!"

"And a very pretty one at that, hmmm?" added Reeve, smiling knowingly.

"She's all of eighteen, if she's a day."

Reeve shrugged. "She's old enough to be on the marriage mart."

"You've overstepped your bounds, Reeve. I'll suffer no more talk about Miss Marcie being anything more to me than just another passenger. I'll transport her to the inn at Burford, and there I shall leave her, mark my words. Is that clear?"

"Clear as bells," said Reeve, tipping up his hat and then turning about to head for the hind boot and the bags of mail there. "Clear as bells ringing amidst a raging thunder storm, that is."

Cole suppressed the very ungentlemanly urge to race after the guard and throttle him soundly. The fact that the carriage door popped open and both Nan and Miss Deirdre were departing the coach, managed to keep Cole's mind centered on the tasks at hand.

He moved toward the door.

Nan had already dropped down to the ground while Miss Deirdre, her long hair all atumble, stood poised in the doorway. She bestowed upon Cole a melting smile.

"What a quaint little inn!" she exclaimed. "You really should have alerted us to our stop," she said. "Perhaps then I would have had time to fix my hair. As it is, I fear I am quite the worse for wear." She made a motion of running long, gloved fingers through her mass of golden curls.

"You look radiant," acknowledged Cole, which she did.

Miss Deirdre's smile widened. Her eyes took on a darker shade as she studied him.

What a supreme flirt she was, thought Cole, knowing only too well how the experienced swans of London Town glided through that sea of excess there. Even so, he took it upon himself to let down the steps and helped to guide Miss Deirdre down to the snow-packed ground.

She leaned a bit too heavily on his arm, all the while fluttering her lashes up at him.

"I dareswear I am quite famished! Please do not say we are stopping at this inn only for the time it takes you and your reliable guard to make the required transport of packages and such. I was so hoping we might all find a moment to partake of a nourishing morsel, something to break the fast, before we must be on our hectic way again."

Cole gently reminded the lovely lady that he was manning a Royal Mail coach, not a luxury carriage.

"Still," said Miss Deirdre, "a few more minutes spent at this quaint inn could not be too much to ask, could it?"

Cole was of the mind to tell the lady her request was indeed too much to ask, when John Reeve, a mail bag slung over his shoulder, sauntered past.

The man tipped his cap. "I be depositing the mail right and quick, Cole Coachman, just as you requested," he said. "I know you're itching to reach Burford, sir. Just like Miss Marcie is. And we wouldn't want to keep Miss Marcie waiting, now would we?" He gave a wink in Cole's direction, then sauntered off.

Cole scowled. Miss Deirdre, however, took John Reeve's show of initiative to mean something altogether different.

"What an industrious servant! How fortunate we are to have him with us," she cooed.

Cole was not so impressed. He knew the man was only goading him.

"Come," he said to both Miss Deirdre and Nan. "I do believe breakfast is still being served inside the inn."

Nan clapped her hands together. "Oh, Cole, you don't actually mean to say we can linger here for a muffin and perhaps some bacon?"

"Linger we shall," announced Cole, loud enough for Reeve to hear. He felt a moment's satisfaction as the man stiffened, halting momentarily in his tracks. Cole continued. "No request shall be too small this day."

Reeve coughed loudly, turning somewhat to stare in dismay at his lordship.

Cole ignored the reaction. It was high time he took charge of this ridiculous mail run, after all. And what did it matter if he were three hours behind time, or six? As for Miss Marcie needing to be at the inn of Burford posthaste, well, what could he do about it? They were already woefully behind schedule, what with the girl's penchant of saving broken-winged birds, not to mention her unorthodox interest in starving highwaymen! Too, she'd not seemed to give a care when Cole had called out that the coach would depart within the half hour. Indeed, she'd actually ignored his yell.

Imagine that. Cole had never been ignored in his life!

He decided to outwit her. Obviously, she was of a mind to draw out her brief stay at the inn. Well, Cole would do her one better. He had every intention of sitting down to a long and extended breakfast. And if Nan or Miss Deirdre felt the urge to rent a room and freshen up a bit, why he would not gainsay them in the least!

Cole smiled to himself, imagining how Miss Marcie would like that.

She wouldn't like it, of course. Not one bit.

And that, Cole realized as he led Miss Deirdre and Nan toward the door, was the only reason he even bothered to enter the inn at all.

Chapter 7

Having an owl perched on one's shoulder made it deuced inconvenient when it came to the matter of finding oneself a table and a seat, Marcie soon learned. The fact that she was much travel-worn and presented herself alone and without chaperone within the inn verily labeled her a milk-and-water miss, one to be noticed and then forgotten just as quickly. The uppity landlord of the establishment took one look at her wrinkled garb and feathered friend and shortly thereafter dismissed her presence entirely.

Marcie found herself jostled about by busy servants and mobcapped chambermaids who rushed to and fro, frantically trying to meet the many needs of the customers. Deciding it best not to make a spectacle of herself by informing the innkeeper of her substantial purse and thus creating an uncomfortable situation for the brusque man, Marcie ducked back outside. She wasn't really that hungry anyway, and a brisk walk round the courtyard would doubtless help clear her head.

She no sooner stepped outside the inn than she espied Cole Coachman, Miss Deirdre on one arm and Nan on the other, heading her way. Nan appeared all agog as she devoured the hectic scene about them. Miss Deirdre, however, had eyes only for Cole Coachman. She bent her golden head toward his, whispering something into his ear.

Cole Coachman, head bent as well, gave a short laugh at whatever it was the woman uttered. Miss Deirdre then tucked her gloved hand deeper into the crook of Cole Coachman's arm. Her eyes verily gleamed with unspoken passion and sultry promises as she gazed up at Cole Coachman's handsome face. In return, the man smiled; it was a knowing smile, meant for one worldly lover from another.

Marcie melted back behind the crowd, pressing her body against the cold boards of the inn exterior. She was startled to realize she was trembling. Her heart beat a queer rhythm, as though she'd just been startled out of her wits—or perhaps had uncovered a glaring and very disturbing truth.

She stayed where she was, hiding behind a tall gentleman, his lady, and their brood. The children were arguing over a peppermint stick.

Cole Coachman, Miss Deirdre clinging to his side, and Nan now trailing a step behind, moved past. They never even noticed Marcie's presence.

Marcie watched them go by, not missing how Cole Coachman gently guided the golden-hued Miss Deirdre inside. Of a sudden, Marcie was glad the insolent innkeeper had denied her a table. She knew without a doubt she would not have been able to bear the sight of her Lord Monarch paying homage to the brazen and very beautiful Miss Deirdre.

* * *

Upon entering the establishment, Cole quickly ordered a private parlour to be readied for himself and his traveling companions. The innkeeper, an obnoxious fellow, took one look at Cole and immediately forgot the other patrons.

"My good man, what a pleasure it is to serve you," he enthused.

Cole wasn't fooled by the man's penchant to please. It was his gold the innkeep was after. Cole Coachman was known along the road to be not only a most accomplished whip but also generous when it came to rewarding those who saw to his comfort.

They were led to a small, cozy parlour where Miss Deirdre immediately divested her comely body of wrap, gloves, and hat, with Cole's help. She expertly guided Cole to the warm hearth, sidling beside him as she made a very pretty show of shivering.