Miss Mischief - A Regency Romance (25 page)

‘Tell the coachman that he is to wait here a little longer, if you please.’ He nodded towards the waiting coach. The driver was craning his neck, trying to work out what was going on. ‘And tell me where the nearest decent inn is.’

‘Inn, Sir?’ the boy repeated blankly.

‘The nearest place that one of the gentry would be likely to fetch up,’ Marcus said, striving for patience. It would do no good to shake the boy, no matter how much he felt inclined to.

The groom scratched his head. ‘Reckon that’d be the
Green Lion
. It’s decent enough and the ale is good. ‘Bout three miles along on the northern road. But you ain’t goin’ there, are you? What about Mr. Atterly’s horse?’

‘I will not be staying there, no.’ He swung himself up onto the back of the horse. ‘While we are at it, tell me the
second
most popular hostelry that the gentry favor, and the third if you please.’

It took a deal more head scratching but at the end of it Marcus had three possibilities, hopefully the only possibilities. There were other inns, to be sure but they were largely populated by the local farmers and laborers and were not considered genteel establishments. He only hoped that his first destination would prove to be correct, for the more time that passed, the greater the chances of a scandal and while he might be unhappy with Johanna Claybourn he was damned if he would let some vile adventurer ruin the girl. His blood ran cold at the very idea of Johanna being in that man’s clutches and it was little comfort to know that his sister was present. Celine Gordon was the one who had delivered Miss Claybourn to her wretched brother and could hardly be counted on to provide suitable chaperonage, especially when the plan was obviously to compromise Johanna into an inescapable marriage. Still, they must have used a carriage to effect the abduction and he was on horseback. There was a good chance he would catch them up quickly enough.

The idea made his hands tighten on the reins and he urged his mount to go more swiftly. He would start with the
Green Lion
and work his way along from there. If it took all night, he would find the girl.
And
have the exquisite satisfaction of dealing with Lord Bloody Mordern. It was long past time that the man learnt his lesson. Marcus, face grim, eyes fixed on the dim road ahead, was inclined to think that he was just the man to teach him.

Johanna, sitting uncomfortably in a small, rather odorous parlor (for the chimney was inclined to smoke, she suspected), glanced from the face of Celine Gordon to that of her brother Ennis Mordern and reflected that, if ever she needed saving, now was the time.

‘How,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady, ‘did you know where to find me?’

‘My dear girl, try to remember that we were houseguests until a very short time ago. That dreary dance was mentioned on more than one occasion.’ Mordern sounded amused and looked smug. Really, it was the only word for it and Johanna longed to wipe that smile off his face. Unfortunately, she was currently in no position to do so. Things were looking decidedly grim. Lord Mordern had pulled off something of a coup, removing her so neatly from the Leythams. She glanced at Mrs. Gordon, who was looking a little wary. She had been entirely complicit in her brother’s scheme, there was no doubt of that, but would she really be impervious to Johanna’s pleas?

Considering her role in things, it seemed quite likely.

‘You will never get away with this. When my father learns of what you have done, he will have you before the magistrate.’

Mordern poured himself another glass of claret and settled back in his chair. He’d had several glasses since Johanna’s arrival and she was inclined to think there had been more before her arrival and that he was in his cups. Was it to shore up his courage? But he must be fairly confident that he could pull this scheme off. All he needed to do was keep her there overnight and she would have to marry him. Either that, or be ruined. Unless her father bought the man off. Either way, Mordern and his sister could not lose.

She spared a fleeting thought for Marcus Hathaway but did not allow herself to dwell on him for long. More than anything else, the thought of Lord Hathaway could overset her precarious emotions. He had saved her before but she knew he could not do so now, if only because he did not know where she was. It was just as likely he would think she had taken a pet with him after their last encounter and had taken herself off home. Or off somewhere. Either way, he would not be riding to her rescue any time soon. Nobody would.

She glanced at Mrs. Gordon again. ‘You do see how very wrong this is, don’t you? I don’t want to marry your brother.’

Celine shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, we have no choice. Being ejected so precipitously from your household has left us in a rather precarious position, you see. I must say,’ the woman added, eyeing Johanna balefully, ‘I am very vexed with you, my dear. I rather had my sights set on your dear papa. He is such a malleable fellow. I am sure he would have made me an admirable husband.’

Johanna flushed with mingled anger and mortification for her poor father. He
was
a malleable fellow, but his easygoing disposition left him at the mercy of unpleasant creatures like these. ‘At least I have spared him that,’ she said, voice hollow.

‘Indeed.’ Celine gave her brother a look as poisonous as the one that had been directed at Johanna. ‘If my brother had only been able to control himself, there would have been very little you could have done to stop me.’

‘And if my sister had stayed with our original scheme,’ Mordern returned, his voice holding a savage note, ‘then I would not have had to resort to such theatrical absurdities!’

‘Because that scheme was working so well for us,’ Mrs. Gordon replied sweetly. ‘Obviously, the girl was wax in your hands. You were after a dowry, brother. I was after it all.’

It seemed that all was not clear skies with the siblings but Johanna did not see how that could be of assistance to her. She didn’t bother to point out that her grandmother held the purse strings and would have undoubtedly changed her financial arrangements if Mrs. Gordon had managed to snare her father. It was no longer her father that was in danger, but herself. Her weighty dowry made her ripe for the picking.

What was called for here, she thought, rallying a little, was direct action. If she could somehow incapacitate Lord Mordern then surely she could manage to extricate herself from this situation. She would need to get a horse but there would be horses in the stable and she was not averse to borrowing one. If she could manage to get herself home then this entire adventure might never have happened. She would arrange for one of the grooms to go to the Leythams and inform Lord Hathaway – if he were still waiting there – that she was safe at home.

Having a plan of a sort in mind was heartening and Johanna suddenly felt a good deal better. Lord Mordern was a rake and a scoundrel but he was also somewhat jug bitten, if she was any judge, which would surely slow his reactions to whatever opportunities might come her way. Johanna looked around the room quickly and decided that there wasn’t a great deal to offer in the way of weapons. The poker on the hearth would probably do very nicely, or the bottle of claret that was largely empty by now. All she needed to do was render the man insensible, avoid Mrs. Gordon and escape the room and everything else should be easy enough. She just needed an opportunity to get her hands on one of the items she had selected as a suitable bludgeon. That was the only part of her plan that might go awry, as far as she could tell.

She drew a deep breath and looked back at the pair sitting opposite. Honestly, in the lamplight they both looked almost angelic, backlit as they were. The gentle ambiance set their golden hair as halos and disguised the expression of calculating avarice in the woman and sneering dissipation in the man. How very deceiving looks could be.

Adjoining the small parlor was a bedchamber, containing a double bed. All things considered, it might be as well that Celine Gordon was present or her fate – and her future – tonight might be very different. Mordern would surely restrain himself under the circumstances, however. Wouldn’t he?

Such thoughts made her queasy, so she banished them. She needed to focus her energies on escape, not the disastrous scenarios that may, or may not, happen.

‘So we are just going to wait here all night?’

‘That is the plan,’ Mordern agreed. ‘And in the morning my dear sister is going to pay a visit to your father, regretfully explaining that you ran off with me in a fit of passion from the Leytham dance. It is quite shocking, of course, but young people can be so reckless.’ How she hated the mocking note in his voice!

‘He will never believe any such thing!’ she said with some heat.

‘My sweet, he does not have to. All he needs to understand is that we spent the night together and you are quite comprehensively ruined.’

Johanna looked back at Celine. ‘He was so kind to you! How could you do such a thing to him?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Needs must, my dear. We need money and you are going to be our new income. It might not be to your liking but there are worse fates, surely.’

‘No,’ Johanna said flatly. ‘There could be no worse fate than the one you are proposing.’

Mordern gave her a leer. Lamplight or not, there was no softening the expression of lascivious hunger that had appeared on his face. ‘I promise not to be too hard a husband. Who knows? After a few months you might even come to like me.’

‘How could I ever like a man such as yourself?’ she demanded incredulously.

He chuckled. ‘You say that now, but most women are the same under their fine gowns. There’s not a great deal of difference to be found between Mayfair and Whitechapel, believe me.’

Johanna gasped. She had never had a man speak to her in such a way before. His contempt for women seemed obvious and she glanced at Celine. ‘And your sister, Sir? Do you also hold her in such poor regard?’

‘My sister is well able to take care of herself,’ he said, slanting a sideways glance at her. ‘We have always had that in common, have we not my dear?’

‘Oh, certainly,’ Celine returned coldly. ‘As distasteful as it might be, there are those who are the lambs and those who are the wolves, Miss Claybourn. My brother and I have always been wolves.’

‘How poetic,’ Johanna muttered. She was determined not to play the role of sheep. What would Marcus Hathaway be? Certainly not a sheep, for he was far too canny and capable to ever be thought of as such. But she could not see him as a wolf, either, as he did not hunt others nor prey on the weak. Obviously brother and sister were not nearly as well versed in the world as they thought they were, she reflected stoutly. ‘I am cold. I wish you had allowed me to collect my cloak, Mrs. Gordon.’

‘I am so sorry, but we were in something of a hurry.’

‘Can we not improve the state of the fire?’ Johanna inquired. ‘If we are to stay here all night…’

‘Perhaps you would like to get into bed?’ Mordern offered. He was not slurring his words but there was something about the way he spoke that suggested he should be. He poured the rest of the claret into his glass. ‘I am sure I can think of ways to keep you warm.’

‘No thank you,’ she returned politely, hoping he wasn’t going to pursue the matter. She would struggle and she would scream – she knew she would – and things could only go downhill from there.

For some reason, he laughed.

‘I will get a shawl for you,’ Celine offered solicitously, rising to her feet. ‘We cannot have you catching a chill, now can we?’

They certainly couldn’t have that. They needed her healthy for the swift ceremony that must follow the night’s events. After that, she doubted either one of them would care about her health particularly. She waited until the woman had gone into the bedchamber before rising to her own feet.

‘I would like to warm myself by the fire, if I may,’ she murmured, moving towards it. For a moment, it seemed that he might object but he shrugged his indifference. Obviously he did not consider her a threat. He had won the day and he had no doubt that he would win a great deal more besides. Heart thundering, Johanna walked by the table, picked up the bottle and spinning around, brought it down on Lord Mordern’s head with all the enthusiasm of a girl who is in the wrong place, with the wrong man at exactly the worst possible time.

As assaults go, it was only partially successful because, while the bottle connected, it glanced off the side of his head in a most unsatisfactory manner. He gave a mumbled exclamation, partially stunned but by no means unconscious and Johanna raised the bottle again to deliver another blow when an exclamation from the doorway across the room made her turn. Mrs. Gordon stood there, holding a cloak. When she started forward Johanna dropped the bottle and ran for the door, flinging it open. She threw herself into the corridor and collided heavily with something solid and unyielding. Panic stricken, she began to struggle before a pair of hands settled heavily on her shoulders, holding her still.