Scandal in Scotland (15 page)

So he’d gone, not expecting to be impressed. From the moment Marcail had placed her delicate slippered foot upon the stage, she’d possessed it—and him.

Their relationship had happened so quickly that neither of them had had time to evaluate it. His determination to remain aloof had quickly melted in the hot burn of passion. They’d been swept along by their feelings, helpless and vulnerable. Now that he was older and able to look at things with the wisdom of distance, he realized that he hadn’t really known her.

As real as it had seemed, the love affair had been doomed from the second it had begun. That didn’t make its end any less painful. He didn’t love often, but when he did … Now, he was more cautious. Far too cautious, perhaps.

And so was she. Her face had changed over the years; she looked wary, protective now.

William knew he hadn’t been the cause; their relationship had meant the world to him, while it had meant nothing to her.

Who hurt you after we parted, Marcail? Was it Colchester? You say you never loved him; is that true? Or is it an attempt to cover the failings of that relationship?
“I wonder what Colchester will think of this venture of ours. Does he know you’ve come with me?”

“No one does, though I plan to send word once we reach the North Road. A letter will find its way faster from a coach house there than one of these isolated inns.” She hesitated and then said, “Whatever you may think of him, Colchester is a very good and gentle person. I wish you had the chance to get to know him as I do.”

“I don’t think it would be proper for me to get to know your lover the way you do,” William said drily.

She blushed. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’ve always thought you two would like each other, given the chance. He’s always been there when I needed him.”

The sincerity in her voice hit William like a blow to the stomach. “Then why isn’t
he
the one chasing down your blackmailer?”

Her chin raised. “I’ve already explained that I don’t wish him to know of this problem.”

“What you
haven’t
explained is why.”

She pressed her lips together for a moment, then said, “We don’t burden each other with our personal problems.”

“How do you know he’s so good if you don’t share your problems with him? How is that a fair measure of a man’s character?”

She replied stiffly, “You don’t understand.”

“I understand plenty. You’ve convinced yourself that Colchester is a fine fellow without expecting him to prove it.”

“The earl and I are very satisfied with our relationship.”

“I know
he
must be; he has a mistress who asks for nothing and adds to his consequence. How many men have that?”

“I take pride in providing for myself. I haven’t told Colchester about the blackmailer because, as kind as he is, he cannot keep a secret.”

The coach hit a rut, jolting them both and sending the curtain swinging. The sunlight flickered over her face, making her violet eyes appear smoky.

William crossed his arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

She sighed. “I became an actress because my family needed the money. It was the only way I could earn a decent wage.”

“I’m sure many young women come to London thinking the same thing.”

“Yes, but none of them is the granddaughter of Lady MacToth.”

William frowned. “MacToth. I know that name.”

“My grandmother was a famous actress until she married my grandfather. It was thought that he married far below his station and she was never accepted by the ton, so they chose to live abroad.”

“I remember that story. They were shunned by society.”

“It was difficult for them both, but they were deeply in love. She was devastated when he died some years later. She had one daughter, my mother.”

“I still don’t hear anything worth being blackmailed over.”

“My mother also married a peer of the realm, and my father is not an easy man. He is very conscious of his status and he convinced my mother to abandon my grandmother, accusing her of being ‘too low’ for their company.”

“Lovely.”

“Yes. Worse, he ran the family fortune into the ground with senseless investments and expenditures. He believes he deserves the best of everything, regardless of the cost.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “Things became very difficult. The creditors were threatening to take the house and everything in it. Father refused to admit things were so dire, and Mother isn’t one to take action. So I did.”

He frowned. “How old were you when this happened?”

“Seventeen. I used my grandmother’s connections to gain entry into the theater. She didn’t wish to do it, but I explained how desperate things were. It was our only choice. And I had some advantages beyond her sponsorship. My voice carries very well and—” Her cheeks heated. “It worked well for me. I became successful very, very quickly.”

“How did your father feel about that?”

“He was furious.”

“I can imagine he would be.”

“Not for the reasons you might imagine—he wasn’t concerned for my welfare. He was concerned for his own reputation.”

The fool
. “Would I know him?”

“You might; he is a member of White’s. He is Sir Mangus Ferguson.” Marcail hated saying the name aloud, since she’d spent so much time protecting it. “If you met him, you’d remember him as a proud, rude, ill-suited—” She clamped her lips shut.

William was silent a moment, his gaze considering. “Your last name isn’t Beauchamp. So this is the secret you’ve been hiding—that your family has a place among the gentry.”

“I’m not protecting my father,” She returned sharply. “If the world knew of my connection to the Fergusons, it would ruin my sisters’ chances in society. I’ve saved my money and made certain they were safe, and they will have what they rightly deserve.”

He shook his head. “And you once told me you were the sole daughter of a lowly, long-deceased blacksmith.”

“I sometimes tell people that,” She agreed. “It keeps them from asking more questions.”

“But we were lovers, for God’s sake!”

The anger in his voice made her close her eyes. “I couldn’t tell anyone. I had to protect them.” She opened her eyes and regarded him evenly. “I’m an
actress
, William. Do you know what that means to most people? Do you know the insults I have to bear, the insinuations, how men think I’m—” She pressed her lips into a straight line and tried to swallow a groundswell of tears.

William didn’t know what to say. The anger and hurt in her voice surprised him. “I thought you loved the attention.”

“No. I love acting, but I could do without being an actress.” Her rich voice was tinged with bitterness. “Don’t tell me my career didn’t give you pause when we first met, for I know you were very jealous of it. It’s one of the reasons I knew we had to part.”

He frowned. “
One
of the reasons?”

“There was so much against us. When we first met I wasn’t honest with anyone, including myself.”

She sighed and leaned back against the squab as if too tired to hold her head upright. “I was so naïve. I thought that if I loved you enough we could surmount any obstacle, but then you left and that gave me time to see life the way it really was. Reason returned and … I knew we had to part.”

“So it was never about my lack of funds.”

“No. It was about success and security. Colchester is well known in the ton. No one would dare make improper advances to me so long as he and I are together.”

William’s jaw tightened. “Who dared to be improper toward you?”

“It doesn’t matter. You were at sea, but Colchester was there. And I realized that had you been there, things would have been worse, not better.”

William’s chest ached, as if someone were sitting on it. “I should have been there.”

“No,” she returned sharply. “Colchester didn’t care for me the way you did. He dealt with the situation in a very calm, satisfactory manner, and I was left with my career intact and no one’s life was changed for the worse. Had you been there, all hell would have broken loose. I would have been left without a job, and you would have lost your commission and your future—”

“Hold. What does my commission have to do with—” Realization dawned. “Damn it, it was the prince, wasn’t it?”

She flushed. “It doesn’t matter who it was; that was almost eight years ago. And since I’ve been under Colchester’s protection, no one has dared treat me with anything other than respect.”

William hated to admit it, but there was some truth in what she said. He’d been a hot-blooded youth, quick to anger and quicker to charge. Life had taught him much since then, including prudence.

William looked at her now, noting how the sunlight caressed her black hair and lit her creamy skin, making it glow as if dusted with pearl. Her large eyes were outlined by a thick fringe of lashes, while her mouth—which was a bit wide for common beauty—bespoke a deep passion and sensuality. She was fascinating to watch; it was difficult to tear one’s eyes from her. It was no wonder the prince—and other men—were tempted.

“William, I must face this blackmailer and stop him. I must continue to protect my sisters from my lost reputation. I’ve saved enough for them to have dowries, and my oldest sister is set to be launched this coming season. I can’t sit by and allow someone to wreck the one thing I’ve worked so hard for.”

“So the cares of your family are upon your shoulders.”

She nodded, an oddly lost yet regal nod, like a child at a tea party trying to maintain a dignity she didn’t yet possess.

“Do you see your sisters often?”

A shadow passed over her face. “I see them when I can. They can’t acknowledge me in public, of course, so I visit when Father is not home.”

William thought of his own family, of how close they all were and how they always supported one another. This journey for Michael was no sacrifice, but a loving duty.

That was the call Marcail had answered, the call that had fallen on the deaf ears of her vain father. It would be a pleasure to tell that damned ass a thing or two about the importance of family over society.

“So now you know,” Marcail said in a defiant tone.

He realized she’d taken his silence as reprimand. “I wish you’d told me all of this years ago. Why didn’t you?”

“The secret of my life isn’t mine to tell.”

He leaned forward then, his dark blue eyes almost blazing. “I wasn’t just a passerby, Marcail. I wasn’t a-a stranger who admired you upon the stage. I
loved
you. For that alone, I
deserved
the truth.”

“It was my burden, not anyone else’s.”

“Damn it, Marcail. When you love someone, you share everything—the good, the bad, the awkward, the scary. It’s all part of who you are. If you don’t, then—” He shook his head. “I am realizing how unready we
both
were for our relationship.”

That hurt, but she forced herself to shrug. “We were very young. What did we know of life?”

His expression darkened and she had the impression that he disagreed with her, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he reached up and hit his fist on the ceiling. Almost immediately, the coach began to slow.

William gathered his hat and overcoat. “I am going to ride ahead and see if I can discover any information about the elusive Miss Challoner.”

“Of course.” She felt a deep flicker of regret. She’d told him the truth at last, and she could almost feel his palpable disappointment. “I believe I shall nap. I haven’t had the sleep I’m used to.”

The coach halted and William climbed out, pausing to pull a wooden case from the seat box. He flipped it open, revealing two pistols.

“What are those for?” Her voice wavered just a bit. She’d never considered that he might be in danger.

He checked to see if the pistols were loaded and, apparently satisfied, tucked them into his waistband and covered them with his overcoat. “Hopefully they’ll never be used, but I’d be a fool if I didn’t prepare for the worst.”

“You—you are taking Poston with you, aren’t you?”

William lifted a brow. “Afraid I’ll get lost?”

“No, I just thought he would be the one to go; you said he was an excellent tracker.”

“He is, but I want him here, to watch over the coach.”
And you
.

William hadn’t said the words, but she heard them, so she snapped back, “And I want him with you, to watch over your
horse.”

William looked surprised, but then chuckled. “It’s a good thing he’s
my
groom, then.” He replaced the empty case and closed the seat box. “I’ll meet with you when we stop to water the horses.” Without a glance back, he closed the door.

She heard low talking and then the sound of a horse cantering past the coach. With a shudder, the coach rocked back into motion.

For the rest of the day, she saw him no more.

Letter from Michael Hurst to his brother Robert, stationed at the London Home Office
.

Once again, I am astonished by the prices you acquired for the last few artifacts I sent. I shall be able to fund at least two more expeditions from the proceeds.

Yet I’ve been thinking less about monetary issues lately. Studying these ancient civilizations has made me more aware of my mortality. There comes a time in every man’s life when he looks back with regret at some point—a day, a decision, a hesitation to act—that allowed a precious opportunity to slip away. Regretting is an exercise in futility.

The past cannot be relived—but the future is the place for atonement.

         
C
HAPTER 13

T
he coach traveled at breakneck speed, stopping late in the afternoon at a small village. William had left a note there for Poston at the one and only inn.

Marcail watched eagerly as Poston scanned the scrawled writing. “Well?” she asked when he tucked it in his pocket.

“The captain received word of Miss Challoner.”

“Thank goodness!”

“Aye, she stopped here only”—Poston pulled out his pocketwatch and glanced at it—“an hour ago.”

“Then he’s catching up!”

“I don’t know, miss. His horse was winded and the inn had no mounts left to trade.”

“Still, even a winded horse could catch up to a coach.”

“She’s no longer in a coach, miss.”

Marcail’s heart sank. “No?”

“She and her men are on horseback. They hired every horse from the stables here, which is why the captain couldn’t change his own.” Poston’s brow lowered. “They took every last one, three more than they had riders for.”

Just when she’d thought they might be making some progress. She rubbed her lower back, which ached from the jouncing coach. She’d been riding for so long that even though she was standing upon the firm earth, it felt as if she were still rocking inside the coach.

“Are there fresh coach horses in the stables? It sounds as if Miss Challoner only took the riding stock.”

“I’ll check, miss.”

“Good. Change ours if you can. Then ask the innkeeper if anyone nearby might have a good, fresh horse they would be willing to sell us.”

“Sell?”

“Yes.” She removed her reticule from her cloak pocket, and poured a stream of coins into his hand. “Find a horse and go after the captain. I won’t have him facing Miss Challoner and her men alone.”

Poston’s hand closed over the coins. “Yes, miss! I’ll see to it right away.”

Marcail nodded and entered the inn. No one came to greet her, so she searched through the rooms, finally finding the innkeeper’s wife frantically putting together several bowls of stew for her unexpected guests. Marcail had immediately assisted the harassed woman, who sent the inn’s lone maid to deliver the bowls of steaming stew to Marcail’s men who were waiting in the inn yard.

Since Marcail had traveled every summer to various genteel locations with a summer troupe, she knew how to avail herself of the best the inn had to offer. In addition to some cheese and bread for her own lunch, Marcail took an inventory of the larder and issued some rapid instructions to the innkeeper’s wife, placing a heavy silver coin into the woman’s eager palm.

Taking an apple with her, Marcail wandered into the empty common room, her mind racing after William.
And to think we once believed we might catch up to the elusive Miss Challoner in one day. I warned him that she was elusive
.

She paused by the window and saw Poston overseeing the changing of the team for a set of lively ones. Good. At least she wouldn’t be too far behind.

She bit into her apple and looked up at the sky. As William had predicted, heavy gray clouds hung overhead, a stiff chilly breeze waving the trees and shrubberies. The single lane was lined on each side with merry, thatched-roof houses separated by verdant greenery, patches of colorful flowers, and a bubbling brook … and yet she felt like the village idiot.

Though she’d fumed for an hour after William had left her alone in the coach, her sense of fairness wouldn’t allow her to ignore the harsh truth in his words.

He was right; their relationship had been doomed from the beginning—and not from his overprotectiveness, the excuse she’d told herself through the years. No, the fault was hers for not fully sharing herself.

At the time, she’d told herself that she couldn’t afford to trust her secret to anyone … but perhaps the truth was something different. Perhaps she’d been afraid to ask William to share her burdens because she’d believed they would drive him away.

So, faced with the belief that he would eventually leave, she’d found a convenient excuse to send him away on her terms. Perhaps she’d thought that small measure of control would make the separation easier.

Her heart heavy, she paced until a movement outside the window caught her eye. William was riding into the yard, his greatcoat flapping behind him, his horse limping noticeably. She spun on her heel and headed for the door.

“Miss?”

Marcail turned to find the innkeeper’s wife standing with a youth who held a large, obviously heavy basket. The woman curtsied. “The food ye ordered, miss. James here will carry it fer ye.”

“Thank you. Just in time, too.” Marcail nodded to the youth. “Follow me, please.” She emerged from the inn to find William standing beside the coach, an impatient look on his face. “What happened?” she asked.

“My horse drew up lame. I had to return to change her, which will cost me too much time.”

Marcail turned to the youth. “James, you may give the basket to Captain Hurst, if you please.”

The gawky lad handed the heavy basket to William.

“Thank you, James,” Marcail said.

The lad turned a fiery red. “Y-ye’re welcome, m-miss.” He hurried back into the inn.

William looked at the basket as if it held large rocks. “What in hell is this?”

“Food for the men.” She climbed into the waiting coach, arranging her skirts about her. “You may place the basket on the floor. It is very heavy and shouldn’t slide.”

“I’ve noticed how heavy it is,” he grumbled, but placed the basket on the floor and slid it to the other side of the coach. “There must be more than food in here.”

“I also purchased several bottles of ale in case we find ourselves without an inn.”

“That’s very resourceful,” he said grudgingly. “Ah!” He looked down the road. “Poston’s found us some new mounts—several, in fact.”

Marcail leaned forward to see one of the footmen riding toward them leading three prancing geldings.

“Where did he get the funds for—” William’s gaze narrowed on Marcail. “You gave it to him?”

“He told me that Miss Challoner was on horseback now, and I thought it would be best if he joined you. We knew from your note that she took all of the fresh horses with her, so I sent him to see what he could find.”

“I will pay you back,” William said stiffly.

“Nonsense. This is my chase, too. Just catch that blasted woman, please.”

“Very well. This inn is the last one until we reach the North Road.”

“How far is that?”

“Only three hours away, which is why we must press on. With a fresh mount and some luck, I’ll find her before this storm breaks and retrieve that damned artifact myself.”

“I wish I could come with you.”

“The weather is going to make this difficult enough. Miss Challoner will rue the decision to leave her coach behind.”

Marcail frowned. “I wonder why she did that?”

“She must know we’re close on her heels. She may be sending someone back to scout the road behind her.” William glanced up at the sky. “But she may have made a mistake with this one.” He undid his muffler and then rewrapped it more thickly around his neck. “We’ll meet you at the first large inn on the North Road, the Pelican.”

“William, be careful. Miss Challoner and her men might be armed, and you could get injured or—”

William stepped up into the coach, slipped a hand behind her head, and kissed her. Surprised, Marcail melted into him, welcoming his tongue when he slipped it between her lips. Instantly, she was afire with wanting him, restless with desire.

He broke the embrace as abruptly as he’d begun it, though he kept his hand cupped around the back of her head. “That is half of a kiss. I will claim the other half this evening at the Pelican, so don’t tarry.”

Her heart did an odd little dance. “I-I shall look forward to it.” Her voice was husky with passion.

“Do that.” He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and, with a wink and a heart-stopping crooked grin, he was gone.

Marcail leaned forward to watch out the window as he leapt upon a sturdy mare. He and Poston rode swiftly away, the gray sky above rumbling the protest that she felt in her heart.

William was a constant surprise. When he’d left the coach before he’d been irritated and angry, and with reason. But the ride seemed to have done him a world of good; his mood was now much improved. Of course, some of that might be because they were closing in on their quarry, but Marcail dared to hope that some of William’s good mood was because of her.

It was a silly hope, but she couldn’t banish it, try as she might. She settled back against the seat, a silly smile on her lips, which still tingled from his kiss.

Soon the coach jerked into motion and they were once again under way.

They reached the Pelican many hours later. Immediately after William disappeared down the road, the heavens had opened, causing them to slow their travel to a crawl.

Marcail hated to think of William riding in such a downpour, but could do nothing about it. She could, however, help the footmen who were left in the weather. She knocked on the ceiling and asked her new groom—a very correct young man by the name of Charles Robbins—to order some of the footmen to ride inside the coach with her, but Robbins stoically refused.

She tried to argue, but he merely stood in the drenching rain and repeated, “No, miss. It wouldn’t be proper,” until she was ready to scream. Since arguing was doing her no good and was only making them go more slowly, she finally gave up. They splashed on, creeping through increasingly thick mud and slicker roads. Several times she felt the back of the coach slide, only to catch at the last possible moment.

They stopped only once, when one of the back wheels bogged down in a thick patch of muck. While the footmen dug the wheel free, Marcail pulled out the basket and made certain that everyone had a good afternoon meal and some ale.

They were soon on their way again and Marcail was left to her own devices in the lonely coach. It was a long and excruciating afternoon, with nothing to do but think about what William had said to her.

His comments about Colchester had made her angry, but now she wondered about her evaluation of the man she’d long considered her best friend. When she had a problem, she never thought of going to him. And it was true that she saw less and less of him as time passed, so they didn’t even have the ease of companionship to decorate the sham that was their relationship.

Had she placed Colchester on some sort of pedestal, even as she’d denied William a fair place in her life? Had she allowed her judgment to get so bent?

She didn’t know. She only knew that after talking to William, she was beginning to question many aspects of the decisions upon which she’d based her life. She wished with all of her heart that she could talk to Grandmamma about these revelations. In fact, Marcail needed to send a post to Grandmamma from the Pelican or she might worry.

The rain finally eased to a steady drizzle, the gray sky darkening further as evening arrived. They turned onto the great North Road just as it grew almost too dark to travel and reached the Pelican after a harrowingly slow ride through a very slick section of road. A number of other coaches were pulling into the Pelican as they did; the place bustled, a very different sight from their previous stops.

Robbins waited in line to pull the coach to a halt at the walkway that led into the inn. Soon he opened her door and set down the steps.

Marcail tugged her cloak hood over her bonnet and took his hand, stepping onto the flagstone walk that was raised above the mud. “Robbins, have you seen Poston or the captain?”

“Nay, miss. If they’re not inside, then perhaps they’ve taken refuge from the weather.”

She nodded and allowed him to hand her off to a footman. “If you hear of anything, please let me know.”

The groom nodded. “Aye, miss. As soon as we know something.”

“Thank you.” She shouldn’t be worried, she knew. William and Poston were a force to be reckoned with.

She reached the portico in front of the inn and released her footman’s arm. “Pray have my portmanteau and trunk delivered to my room. I shall bespeak one immediately.”

“Yes, miss. I’ll fetch yer luggage now.” He bowed and left.

Marcail pushed back her hood and looked about her with approval. The Pelican was a large, rambling, two-story structure, the windows filled with warm lamplight and cheery red curtains. The sound of voices laughing and talking was welcome after two days of very little company.

Better yet, the scent of savory bakery goods and roasting meat made Marcail almost weak-kneed with longing for a hot meal.

Inside, she found the innkeeper and his plump wife scurrying to and fro from the common room to the back hallway, ordering a handful of servants to fetch this and that. From the laughter bursting from the common room, it was obvious that the Pelican was enjoying a bountiful night.

Marcail went to the wide doorway that led to the common room and looked inside, her gaze scanning the sea of masculine faces, but William was not among the crowd.

Disappointment flashed through her. Where was he?