The Taming of the Rake (25 page)

“He could shoot me,” Beau pointed out reasonably. “I thought you’d been worried about that possibility.”

“I wasn’t, at the beginning, when first I suggested we elope. And then I was,” she told him. “But now, suddenly, I’m not again. I think you should point out to him that you won’t require him to hand over my dowry. It’s rather large, you know. Things like that matter to Thomas.”

Beau put down his fork. “Really? And should I then tell him I’ll stop trying to bleed him dry so that he falls into despair and puts a pistol to his head?”

“You really do hate each other, don’t you? You weren’t, as you tried to tell me, merely
amusing
yourself. Were you?”

Beau seemed to consider her question for long moments. “I’ve despised your brother for a lot of years, and for more than one reason. But I think now we’re even, more than even. He doesn’t know what he’s lost, and I’m amazed by what I’ve gained. I’m a very lucky man. God help me, I might even tell him that. We’re both older now, hopefully wiser. There are no more scores to settle between us, not now.”

Chelsea felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes. “You’re being much too charitable, Oliver, and that could be dangerous. Let me go with you to meet with them. And Puck, as well. Don’t go alone, please. There are three of them and only one of you. My brother can
be volatile, especially if the peppermint means he’s been drinking again. You suffered the blows, but I saw it all, remember? If he whipped you for daring to apply for Madelyn’s hand, what will he do when he finds out we’re married? Oliver—please.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. “We can be there in less than an hour if we leave now. I imagine Puck will agree with you.”

An hour later Puck did just that when they met up with him in an inn yard just outside Gretna Green, shortly after kissing Chelsea on both cheeks and giving her a brotherly hug. “I only agreed with his daft plan because I had the utmost confidence in your powers of persuasion, Chelsea.” He then turned to visually inspect Beau, who was scowling at him, but not with any real heat. “You don’t look any different. How does it feel to be married?”

“I’ll let you know when we’ve been married for more than three or four hours, all right? How long have you been waiting here?”

Puck looked around him at the fairly uninspired scenery. “Long enough to be happy to see you, I suppose. Brean’s here, by the way. But he’s alone. He’s camped just outside what I suppose is the marrying place—that’s what’s painted on the sign someone hung there,
The Marrying Place.
Well, the
Marying
place, as our anvil priest is probably not a scholar. But there has been a rather steady stream of hopeful young and
not-so-young couples going in and out, so that’s where Brean has planted himself.”

Chelsea took hold of Puck’s arm. “How does he look? Does he appear angry?”

“He’s armed,” Puck said, looking at Beau. “A dueling pistol, jammed into his waistband, his hand on the hilt as he stares down everyone who passes by. Personally, I think he’s making quite a cake of himself, not to mention frightening the ladies. Oh, and he’s got a bottle with him, although at the rate he was tipping it back, that’s probably empty by now. I’d venture to say that if you stand more than three feet away from him, he’ll miss you if he fires.”

“And you’re sure he’s alone? No sister, no reverend, no coachman or grooms? No nefarious-looking thugs milling around, ready to pounce on me the moment he gives the word?”

“All bottle bravado,” Puck said, nodding his head. “Say
boo
to him, and he’ll most probably run away. Especially when you tell him she’s already married. Should be fun, actually.”

She,
being Chelsea, had heard enough. “
Fun?
And you agree with him, don’t you? All these days and nights, all the worry, all this dire business of me becoming a widow just as I’ve become a wife—and he calls it
fun?
And
you
—yes, you,
husband
—you’ve most probably been looking forward to this meeting. Haven’t you?”

“I think she’s got you there, brother mine. The perfect revenge. For the beating, for the rest of it. You said it,
Chelsea here said it, and that’s what it is. If he doesn’t get lucky and blow a hole in you, that is.” Puck turned about to smile at Chelsea. “Not that he doesn’t care for you, because he does. Otherwise he would simply have ruined you and sent you back. Right, Beau?”

Chelsea looked at Beau. Her husband.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t
help
me anymore, Puck,” he said quietly, returning Chelsea’s look.

She began to count, silently, inside her head. One, Puck was probably right, in the beginning, so I’m not going to allow that to signify anything. Two, there was more between her brother and Oliver than she knew; Puck had just as much as said so. Three, she’d have the whole truth out of one of them at some point, but now probably wasn’t the time. Four, somewhere between London and this place, everything had changed. For Oliver, for her. Five, a long coach trip with Madelyn had clearly served to unhinge her brother’s mind in some way; he’d turned back to drink, and Francis Flotley was no longer stuck to him like a mustard plaster. Six, Oliver loved her. He might not call it love now, but he would, in time.

“It’s all right, Oliver. Puck hasn’t said anything that isn’t true, or wasn’t, at some point. Can we go see Thomas now? Because I
am
going. I doubt he’s come all this way to give us his blessing, but I feel certain something has changed, and I want to know what it is. We’ll take the coach.”

Puck stepped ahead smartly and opened the coach
door, pulling down the steps and then backing away as Beau helped Chelsea inside.

“I’m sorry, Chelsea. I’m not usually obtuse. Beau? I’ll take your Pegasus if you’d rather. At the moment, it seems safer.”

“Get in the coach, you fool. I’m not going to hit you.”

“It wasn’t you I was worrying about,” Puck said, grinning as he gracefully propelled himself into the coach. “Now, is there a plan? We probably should have a plan.”

Chelsea turned her head to look at Beau. “I think it would be best if we apologized to Thomas,” she said and then waited for him to explode. “We don’t have to mean it, after all, and he really won’t be expecting it.”

“I don’t believe he’s in a forgiving mood. He has a pistol stuck in his waistband,” Puck said. “I did mention that one niggling little problem, didn’t I?”

“If I knew I was coming to see me, I’d have a pistol in my waistband, as well,” Beau said as Chelsea slipped her hand into his. “But he’s alone.
I
hadn’t expected that. Puck, I want you to remain inside the coach. That seems only fair.”

“Oh, yes, by all means, brother mine, you want to be
fair.
Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably. But I am armed, in a way,” Beau said as the coach slowed to a stop. “Ah, and there he is, just as you described him. What in bloody hell is he doing?”

Chelsea pushed Beau back against the cushions and leaned across him, to peek out through the window of the coach. “He…why, I think he’s flirting with that
rather brightly dressed woman. Drink, and now loose women? And Francis Flotley nowhere to be seen?” Beau pulled her back onto the seat, and she turned to him in delight. “Do you know what it is, Oliver? I’ve been wondering, and now it’s clear. Madelyn’s made him desert his new devout religion. I told you she would make his life a hell. Oh, my sister-in-law will be
so
relieved!”

“He’s seen you,” Puck warned quietly. “Here he comes. You should get out, you’re at a disadvantage in here.”

“Stay with Puck,” Beau said, kissing her cheek. Then he kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. He cupped her cheeks between his hands and looked at her for a long time, as if he might not see her again. “If I need rescuing by my wife, then you should have chosen another husband.”

He hugged her, fiercely, and then turned to his brother. “Puck, you remember what we discussed. And if you have to sit on her, do it.”

Chelsea tried to grab his arm. “But—”

Beau was already out of the coach, standing in the cobbled street, his hands well away from his body, the earl still a good ten feet away. Brean took another two or three steps and then planted himself. “Where’s m’sister?”

“My wife is in the coach.”

“Oh, that might not have been brilliant. Concise, but not brilliant,” Puck said, opening a side compartment in the coach and drawing out a pistol, resting it across his lap.

“Shh,”
Chelsea warned. “Thomas is talking.”

“Why did she go to you?”

“Why did she run from you?”

Brean waved his arm as if to dismiss Beau’s words. “I already know why she did that. I was wrong to try to force Francis on her, I know that now. But she had no right to disobey me.”

“I think she’d disagree. Where is the Reverend Flotley, by the way? Chelsea tells me his mouth is always wet. I’ve wondered if she might have been exaggerating on that point.”

Inside the coach, Chelsea shook her head at Puck. She hadn’t exaggerated.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter about Francis. It was the mumps, that’s where the blame lies. The mumps and Madelyn. I see that now.” He raised his voice. “Chelsea! I forgive you! I’m here to take you home!”

“I don’t think you’ve been listening, Brean. Chelsea is my wife now. She stays with me. Your argument is with me.”

“No. She can’t be your wife. You just got here, remember?”

“There’s more than one blacksmith shop in Scotland, Brean. You’re too late.”

The earl reached toward the pistol but withdrew his hand before he touched it. “I can have the marriage annulled.”

“No, Brean, you can’t. With luck, she’s already carrying my child.”

The earl’s cheeks puffed in and out several times before he spat out, “You bastard!”

“Now, there’s something Beau didn’t know about himself,” Puck said quietly. “It’s such an easy insult, isn’t it? You’d think the man would have more imagination.”

Chelsea slapped his hand, to silence him. It was going well, she thought. Thomas was angry, but he’d not drawn his pistol. If he hadn’t drawn it immediately, she doubted he ever would.

“It’s over between us now, Brean. Settled. What happened the day I came to Portland Place…and what happened after that.”

Chelsea saw her brother stagger where he stood. Not thanks to drink, but nearly knocked sideways by the words Beau had just spoken.

“Ah,” Puck whispered beside her, “the coup de grâce. He has him now. I never doubted it. Not much, at least.”

She didn’t understand. Once more, she motioned for Puck to be silent. Something important was happening.

Thomas took a step back, away from Beau. “You know?”

“I’ve always known. That’s why I came here today, to tell you that. And to tell you this. We’re even now, quits. Stay away from Chelsea. Forget either of us exists. God knows we both want to forget you.”

“I—I was young,” the earl said plaintively. “My own father called me a coward. Using the whip like that. Me! His own son—a coward. He…he said the bastard was more the gentleman than I was. God, I hated my
father. But not as much as I hated you.” He moved his hand toward the pistol once more, and once again let it drop. “He said a
real
gentleman would have used his fists, knocked you down.”

“You can still try to do that. I’d rather welcome it.”

Inside the coach, Chelsea pressed a fist to her mouth, her heart pounding. But no matter how fearful she was, she couldn’t look away.

“And maybe I don’t blame you,” the earl said, pushing his hands through his already mussed hair. “You went off to war, and I didn’t do that, either. As the only son, the heir, I couldn’t do that. But that didn’t stop my father from pointing to you and saying at least the bastard loves his country. For all I knew, you’d kill fifty Froggies with your bare hands, and come home a hero. I’d never hear the end of it, not when m’father knew where to stick his pins. I was sick to death of you. Nothing shamed you, you never learned your
place.
”

“My place, I’ll assume, being at the wrong end of a firing squad after you’d arranged it that I be found guilty of looting. And, failing that, simply being shot in the back while facing the French. I don’t like you, Brean. Are you sure you don’t want to try to knock me down?”

“For the love of God, man, don’t
ask
him,” Puck grumbled quietly. “Introduce the front of his nose to the back of his head.”

“Puck—
shh!
You heard what even my father said—it’s Oliver who is the real gentleman. Why didn’t he
tell me about any of this?” She sighed, shook her head. “Why am I not all that surprised to think Thomas capable of such cowardice and treachery?”

“Now who’s making the noise in here? I want to hear what your brother has to say for himself. At the moment, however, he looks like he’s just tried to swallow an apple in one bite. Come on, man,
say
something.”

“No,” the earl conceded at last. “No, I’m too drunk, and maybe my father was right…”

“So we’re done here now, Brean? Really done?”

The earl closed his eyes. Nodded.

“Good. I doubt we’ll be traveling in the same social circles, so we may not meet again. But I want to tell you something that might ease your mind. I love her. I love your sister with all my heart, and I will spend my life doing everything in my power to be worthy of her.”

The earl looked at Beau, looked past him to the coach. “Why would I care about that?” he asked, his confusion genuine. And then he turned and walked away.

But Chelsea hadn’t really been paying attention to anything from the moment she’d heard Beau tell her brother that he loved her.

She unashamedly wiped at her tear-wet cheeks. “Oliver loves me, Puck. He loves me.”

Puck looked to her in some confusion. “Well, yes. I knew that.”

Chelsea smiled through her tears. “That’s not
important. It’s important that Oliver knows it.” She watched as her husband—her gentleman—turned and walked toward the coach. “Now, go away for a few minutes, please, Puck, because I think he’s finally going to tell me.”