Three Little Secrets (14 page)

He wished the boy would say something, damn it. But Geoff seemed to have forgotten Merrick was in the carriage. In the dimly lit compartment, the boy’s gaze was distant. He sat slumped against the side, his face looking suddenly ageless and weary. He was tired, Merrick supposed. Children were often so, he gathered.

He looked again at Madeleine. The anger had left her eyes, and instead, she was looking down at the boy almost protectively. She stroked one hand down his hair in an act which was purely maternal. She loved the child. In that way, at least, she could truly love. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

Still, he wished that he could bed her just one more time.

The thought came to him again, unbidden and horrifying. Dear God. Madeleine was cold as ice now. At best, she was a spoilt and pampered rich girl. At worst, a manipulative bitch. But as he watched her hand slick over the boy’s hair again, he realized that he would have cut off his left ballock just to get her under him one last time. Just to bury himself in that fine, creamy flesh and ride her until the damned demons left him.

The vividness of his fantasies was disturbing. Dear God in heaven, hadn’t he already done that once too often? Or more like fifteen or twenty times too often. Yes, well before it had been his right, he had taken Madeleine to his bed and claimed her in the most irreversible of ways.

Then, however, his intentions had been somewhat honorable. He had known from the moment he’d first set eyes on the girl that he meant to marry her—or ruin himself trying. In his desperation to have her, he had done the unspeakable, thinking, foolishly, that once it was done, there would be no turning back. That Madeleine would be his, and no one would be able to stop them. That same wild logic had led him to elope with her, too.

Well, Jessup had shown him the error in his reckoning, and more starkly than he’d ever imagined. A broken heart was one thing. A broken leg, a dislocated hip, and a fractured skull—well, those were something else altogether. No, those things did not hurt at all—not unless one was unfortunate enough to live through them and actually regain consciousness.

He must have stared too long. Madeleine looked at him with an almost mocking regret.

“I fear your grand sacrifice has been for naught, Mr. MacLachlan,” she said in her quiet, throaty voice. “It seems my son has fallen asleep.”

The boy was not asleep—he was staring down at the floor of the barouche almost dazedly, but Merrick did not trouble himself to correct her. He knew almost nothing about windmills, and couldn’t have cared less to discuss them just now. Oh, he liked the boy well enough—well, quite a lot, actually. But Merrick’s swollen cock was throbbing like a hammered thumb, and the vile taste of his own self-loathing was bitter in his mouth.

He tore his gaze from hers and did not look at her again. Instead, he stared out the window, watching as the last of Belgravia rolled by.
A man does not wallow in self-pity.
The rain had started up again, glistening like oil and diamonds beneath the gaslights. Here and there, well-dressed people dashed along the pavements beneath broad black umbrellas, some in laughing pairs, others alone and somber. And thus was divided the world, he thought. He knew into which category he fell.

Soon they were nearing the village. There was an almost empty stretch of road ahead, fenced with stone on either side; that last little transition from Chelsea into what was still an almost rural landscape. Rain ran in rivulets down Madeleine’s carriage windows, obscuring the world beyond and creating a false sense of intimacy inside the compartment. As if it made her ill at ease, Madeleine cleared her throat.

Just then, something which sounded like a shot rang out. The carriage pulled sharply left.

“Dear God!” Madeleine jerked upright on the banquette. “Highwaymen?”

“Nonsense,” said Merrick. “Not in Walham Green.”

But the carriage was slowing, and Madeleine’s coachman was calling out to the horses to steady. Merrick twisted on his seat to see that up ahead, his own carriage had come to a stop, and beside it, an open landau was pulled to the side at an awkward angle, halfway blocking the lane.

“There has been an accident before us, I believe,” he said. “And some damned fool has been driving an open landau in the rain.”

But he could not see an overturned carriage, or even a lame horse. Madeleine’s carriage had rolled to a stop. Impatiently, he slapped on his hat and pushed open the door.

“No!” cried Geoffrey sharply. “You mustn’t! Shut the door!”

The terror the boy’s voice was real. Merrick did as he asked. The coachmen were shouting back and forth now, their voices vaguely alarmed. Madeleine was rummaging below the seat. “Here,” she said, extracting something long and bulky.

“Good God!” said Merrick, pushing the pistol away.

“Is that thing loaded?”

“A woman alone must look to herself for protection.”

Merrick had no time to argue the point. Madeleine’s coachman was clambering off the box, his boots thumping awkwardly. “Now, now, sir!” he shouted. “No call for that! None a’tall! Put it down, I say!”

“What the devil?” Merrick’s hand went again to the door, but Geoffrey’s fingers shot out, covering his wrist and squeezing with amazing strength. “Stay with us,” he whispered. “Please, sir!
You must.
”

Above the fray, a wretched voice rang out in the night, the words slurred. “Come out, MacLachlan!” someone shouted. “Get out of that fine, fancy carriage, and prepare to meet your maker, you thieving Scotch bastard!”

Suddenly, it registered. “Good God!” Merrick said. “Chutley?”

Madeleine leaned nearer. “Who?”

Merrick grimaced. “A man who does not wish me well.”

“Well, fancy that,” said Madeleine.

The man was still bellowing. “Come on out, I say!” he repeated. “I’ll teach you, you goddamned cheating cattle reiver! One of us shan’t walk away this time!”

“The carriage is empty, sir!” shouted Grimes from atop his box. “Kindly give way so we may pass.”

“Give way!” roared Chutley. “I’ll show you the way! The way to hell!”

“Grimes!” cried Merrick. That drunken lunatic was
not
going to kill his coachman. This time Merrick snatched Madeleine’s pistol and leapt from the carriage, keeping carefully to his good leg. “Grimes, get down! Run!”

But Grimes was no fool. The box was already empty. Heavy footfalls pounded toward the hedgerow. Merrick’s carriage door was open, swinging wildly on its hinges. He had almost reached it when the shot rang out. Geoffrey’s bloodcurdling scream rent the air. At once, chaos erupted. Madeleine’s horses squealed wildly and shied toward the ditch, sending the carriage lurching. Merrick heard the mad clatter of hooves, and the snap of wood. He dared not turn back. Chutley was a madman. He meant to kill someone. Merrick caught his carriage door, lifted the gun, and pushed the door fully open.

He had killed someone.

Chutley himself lay slumped against the banquette, the pistol still clutched in his hand. A bright flower of red was flooding through his coat, and spreading into his snow-white linen. His eyes were still open, and there was a horrid gurgling noise in the back of his throat. Then the weapon clattered to the carriage floor, bounced, and skidded out onto the rain-slick cobbles.

Merrick set two fingers to the man’s jugular vein and turned to shout to Madeleine. Only then did he realize her carriage had been pitched halfway onto its side, the weight caught by the tall stone fence. The tongue was twisted awkwardly. Grimes and the other coachman were doing their best to quiet the horses.

He returned at a run. Madeleine’s door hung at an awkward angle, swinging on its hinges. She was on her knees in the now-slanted carriage floor, holding Geoffrey in her arms. His forehead was cut, and his eyes were closed.

“Good God!” Merrick gathered the boy in his arms, and gingerly lifted him out. He knelt to lay him on the cobbles and swiftly began to examine him.

“Geoff,” Madeleine cried, crawling out after them.

“Geoff, say something!”

Geoff had been knocked unconscious. “His pulse is strong,” said Merrick as he rapidly loosened the boy’s clothing. “He just needs air.”

In seconds, the boy gave a faint moan. But Madeleine was on her knees now, rain and tears streaming down her face. “This is your fault!” she cried, balling her hands into fists as if she might strike him. “Your fault, Merrick! Yours! Do you hear me!”

“Aye, it is,” he solemnly agreed. “Geoff! Geoff? Can you hear me, laddie?”

Grimes returned, bending one knee to the cobbles. “Poor mite!” he said. “Took it on the head, did ’e?”

“Aye, a hard one, by the look of it,” said Merrick. “He’s out cold, but his color is returning.”

“What of t’other chap?” Grimes jerked his head in the direction of Merrick’s carriage.

“His color won’t be returning,” said Merrick grimly. “Not in this life. But you’d best fetch a doctor, Grimes, and the village constable, if you can find him. The name is Chutley. Jim Chutley of Camden Town. He—he has a family there.”

“Yes, sir.” Grimes left.

Merrick touched the backs of his fingers to the boy’s cheek. He had been out for less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. Just then, Geoff gave a quiet whimper and fluttered his eyelashes. Merrick felt a surge of relief.

“Mamma?” Geoff’s voice was almost drowned out by the intensifying rain. “Mamma, what…?”

Madeleine all but threw herself on top of the child. “I am here, Geoffrey!” she cried. “Mamma is here! Oh, God! Oh, thank you!”

Merrick moved as if to lift the child. “Lean back, Madeleine,” he said, coming to his feet and lifting Geoff with him.

Madeleine leapt up after him. “What are you doing?” she cried. “Where are you taking him?”

“Home,” said Merrick. “He might need this wound tended. But what he does not need is a case of pneumonia from lying in the rain. Let the coachmen sort out the rest of it.”

Madeleine was on his heels, her voice quivering with barely suppressed rage. “You could have got us killed!” she said. “If Geoffrey is seriously hurt, Merrick, I shall never forgive you! Never!”

“You have never forgiven me for anything else, Madeleine,” he gritted, stepping up his pace. “I should hate to see a leopard change its spots.”

“You—why, you insufferable ass!” she said. “You and that—that madman! Who was he? How dare you let this happen to Geoff!”

Merrick forbore to point out that it was Geoffrey who had insisted they travel together, though that fact certainly was not lost on him. Indeed, were he not already guilt-ridden at the thought of Chutley’s widow, Geoff’s odd behavior in Mortimer Street would have been at the forefront of his mind.

“Where do I turn?” he demanded. They were already striding down the main thoroughfare. The damp had got into his hip socket now, making it ache like the very devil.

“Farther along,” said Madeleine, pointing. “Just past the post office, then to the end of the lane.”

“I think I can walk, sir,” said Geoff, his voice muffled against Merrick’s coat. “Please, put me down.”

“No!” said his mother firmly. “Geoffrey, you are hurt. Indeed, we are lucky you weren’t killed.”

“Do not overdramatize the situation, Madeleine,” said Merrick. “The boy is imaginative enough as it is. If you wish to fret over someone, fret over Jim Chutley’s children.”

Madeleine was rushing to keep up with him. “Yes, he’s probably got a dozen, poor mad creature!” she answered. “What did you do, Merrick, to make a man like that wish you dead?”

“He was not the first,” gritted Merrick. “And he was significantly less successful than some who came before him.”

“Yes, you are limping now,” she said, as if it were a complaint.

“Trust me, Madeleine, I am well aware of it,” he returned. “Is that your cottage at the end of the lane? If it is, kindly go open the door.”

“Why on earth are you angry with me?” she muttered, fumbling about in her now-sodden reticule. “It was that Mr. Chutley who wished to shoot you, not I.”

“Are you quite certain of that, my dear?” he returned.

“Yes, quite.” Madeleine finally extracted her key. “Had, I wished to shoot you, Merrick, I would never have missed.”

He started to say that he did not believe her; that he did not think she had it in her to kill anyone. But in her present mood, he was not at all sure.

She was very different tonight. It was as if the old Madeleine was coming back to life—not even as the youthful, starry-eyed girl he had married, but Madeleine as he had expected her to one day become. Full of grit and gumption and plain, old-fashioned sass.

The MacGregor and MacLachlan lines had long been rife with strong women; females who were the sustenance and the backbone of their families. Women who could rock the cradle, run the household, and see the fields tilled, too—and all without a whimper. Merrick knew well the value of such a wife, and he had seen the makings of it in Madeleine. He had never expected his life to be easy, and he had been relieved to find a woman who could shoulder through it with him—which made her fainthearted surrender all the more bitter to bear.

They had reached the cottage entrance. Madeleine thrust her key into the lock, but the door flew open before she could turn it. A servant carrying a lamp stood in the shadows, and behind her, a neatly dressed young man.

Madeleine rushed in. “Oh, Eliza!” she said. “And Mr. Frost! Thank God you’re back. Geoffrey has had an accident.”

Merrick could sense Geoff’s embarrassment. Gingerly, he set the boy on his feet, keeping one hand firmly beneath the lad’s elbow. “Our carriage almost turned over,” said the boy. “I hit my head. But I’m all right now.”

The young man had come forward to assess the damage. “Well, that’s a whacking great knot, my boy!” he said, almost admiringly. “Looks like you took a cricket bat to the head.”

“Hullo, Mr. Frost.” The boy looked sad, and strangely, a little guilt-ridden. “I didn’t even feel it.”

“Because it knocked you cold,” said his mother. Then she pursed her lips, and stepped a little away from the child to remove her damp cloak. She was trying, Merrick realized, not to hover. But it was a struggle.