The Marriage Ring (8 page)

Fifteen minutes passed very quickly. Grace was barely ready when he knocked on her door, ready to escort her downstairs.

The crowd of men in the taproom and hallways seemed to have doubled in size, if that could be possible. Other than the serving girls in the dining room, Grace was the only woman there—and she was glad for Mr. Lynsted’s presence.

By now, word had spread as to her identity and she could feel the men strip her naked with their eyes, but they kept their distance.

Their dinner was delicious. Of course, Grace was so hungry she have been eaten crow’s meat and thought it tasty.

Conversation between her and Mr. Lynsted was sparse. He appeared as aware as she that, in spite of being seated at a table in the far corner, they were the center of attention. The situation seemed to make him as uncomfortable as it did her, which she found interesting. Any other man of her acquaintance would have preened over the impression he’d claimed her and won the wagers.

Mr. Lynsted acted awkward and almost embarrassed. Grace wasn’t certain she ought not be a little offended.

Lord Stone sat with a group of comrades at a large table in the center of the room. Grace tried not to pay attention to them but they were loud and drinking heavily. New wagers were being made over whether the Scotsman McGowan could beat the current champion, Tom Cribb, when they met next month around London.

And then she heard Stone say to a man, “Ask her to sing. Tell her we want a song.”

The man he’d given the order to was young, foppish, and had pretentions of being a Corinthian. He was also very deep into his cups. He leaned back in his chair, turning in Grace’s direction, and shouted, “Sing us a song.”

Stone kicked a chair leg out from beneath him and the man crashed to the floor. “I could have done that,” he chastised the man and then sent an insolent grin in Grace’s direction. “My apologies, Gracie love. Young men today lack manners.” The others around him snickered.

Grace chose to ignore them and was pleased Mr. Lynsted did, too.

And then Stone called out, “So how are things with you, Dickie? Has life grown better or are you still the same shivering worm? Remember when we used to make you lie on the floor and pretend to shiver? Worm, worm, worm?”

Heads from other tables turned in their direction. Mr. Lynsted carefully buttered a slice of bread and took a bite.

Stone sighed heavily as if annoyed. Grace had finished with her meal and wished they’d leave. Mr. Lynsted seemed at ease.

A few moments later, Stone said to one of his comrades, “Natty, fetch that kitten over there. Bring it to me.”

Grace had to look and sure enough, there was a curious kitten peeking out from behind the hallway door. It was a yellow cat with two white front paws.

“A cat?” Natty protested, even as he rose to catch it.

“A cat,” Stone insisted. “I have a new wager.”

Grace folded and unfolded her napkin. Mr. Lynsted appeared oblivious to Stone’s presence.

“What sort of wager?” one of the gentlemen at his lordship’s table asked.

“I’ll wager five hundred guineas I can make that cat run a straight course from one side of this room to the other.”

“You can’t make a cat do anything,” the gentleman said and his companions agreed.

“A straight line,” Stone promised, taking the purring kitten from Natty. “Are you in?”

Before anyone could answer, Mr. Lynsted pushed back his chair and stood. “Let the cat go.”

“This isn’t your concern, Dickie,” Stone answered.

“Yes, it is.”

Stone laughed. “You tried to stop me one other time, remember?”

“I
did
stop you,” Mr. Lynsted said.

“Not for long. I did what I wanted anyway.”

Mr. Lynsted’s jaw hardened, not with anger but resolve. “Leave the cat alone.”

Grace had never heard of anyone standing up to Lord Stone. People usually dodged him, talking around him, mollified him. No one defied him.

The room had gone quiet.

Stone grinned, obviously enjoying being the center of attention. “We used to lock you in your trunk, Dickie. Do you remember that?”

“I do.”

“We’d hear you crying.”

Mr. Lynsted did not say a word.

“And there was the time we pushed the trunk down the stairs,” Stone continued. “What did you break?”

“You know.”

“But the others don’t,” Stone reminded him.

“I don’t believe the other gentlemen in this room are interested. Or they have too many of their own stories of being tortured at the hands of bullies to care about my own.”

“
Tortured
, Dickie? Such a strong word.”

“I’ve grown up, Stone. I don’t cry any longer.”

“We shall see,” Stone answered, and before Grace knew what he was about, he held the cat down with one hand as he took the candle off the table and set her on fire.

Mr. Lynsted was across the room in the blink almost before the cat’s howl hit the air. He doused the flame with Stone’s own mug of ale, throwing the contents right into his lordship’s face as he did so.

The cat took off running as Stone jumped to his feet, wiping his eyes as he did so. “
You bastard
. I ought to call you out.”

“Please do,” Mr. Lynsted answered.

Stone wiped his hands on his napkin. “There would be no sport in it.”

“There never was sport in it, Stone. And we’re not boys in school any longer. These men can think for themselves.”

“
No one likes you.
” Stone spat the words out as he threw his napkin down, and then realized he sounded exactly like a small-minded schoolboy.

The snorts and titters from his companions and the surrounding tables were now at his expense.

Mr. Lynsted leaned forward. “You’d best leave the cat alone. This isn’t like last time.” He turned to Grace. “Are you ready?”

She was more than ready. She’d listened to the whole exchange with wide eyes. She’d jumped to her feet when Stone had burned the cat and now hurried over to Mr. Lynsted’s side. He didn’t linger but took her arm and directed her from the room.

“Be certain that whore doesn’t give you a case of the spots,” Stone called out after them. “I didn’t like her when I had her. She’s too hairy.”

His insults shocked her. Grace started to turn around, ready to tie his tongue in knots. She was still shaking at what he’d been about to do to the kitten and really wanted a go at him.

Mr. Lynsted held her in place. “Don’t take his bait,” he warned. “He’s been exposed for the ass he is. But he can be dangerous.”

“Someone should set fire to him,” she answered.

“Agreed, but no one will. They’ve all been drinking steadily all day and are the worst for wear.”

They started up the stairs. “What did you mean about what happened last time to a cat? What did he do?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

A dozen possibilities filled her mind, all of them horrifying. “And the things he said to you. Was he truly that mean?”

“Worse,” Mr. Lynsted said, “but there were some who were more evil. Lower schools are beastly places.”

He opened the door to her room. Grace went inside. He followed, shutting the door.

“And his comments about he and I—” She was shaking, she was so angry. “He’s never touched me. He’s wanted to but I’ve warded him off. The closest he’s been to me is a few flowers.”

Mr. Lynsted leaned back against the door, his expression somber.

“You believe me, don’t you?” she demanded.

“Yes, I do.”

“
Good
.” Grace paced from one side of the room to the other. The only light in the room came from the hearth. She stopped when she was in front of it. Turned to him.

“Saving that cat has raised my opinion of you,” she declared.

There was a beat of silence. “Thank you,” he replied and then added, “I think.”

Grace ignored the gentle jab. This was a serious matter. “I confess my opinion of you was not high. Your father and uncle destroyed my family. I realize that is not your fault,” she said, raising a hand to stave off any protest he might offer. “I also understand you are traveling with me because of your sense of integrity and you have no obligation to entertain me although I was bored senseless riding with you…however—”

She broke off, not certain how to phrase herself and then decided honesty was best, especially between them. Mr. Lynsted had been bluntly honest with her. She could be the same in return. “I don’t trust men.”

He pulled back, as if he hadn’t expected her comment. “Do you trust me?”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “Or at least, I’m trying not to.”

Her confession was a revelation to herself.

He was slipping past her guard, something she’d never have imagined possible—especially since he hadn’t put himself out very much for her.

“Do you still think I’m a prig?” he wondered, that same hint of dry humor in his voice.

“Oh, yes.” She was serious. “Does that offend you?” she asked, hesitant. She didn’t really want to insult him. He’d shown more courage downstairs facing Stone than she’d seen from any dozen men of his class in London.

He considered the matter and then shook his head. “Of course not. The truth is, I
am
a prig. I’m not popular for it. Probably less so now that I’ve openly made an enemy of Stone. But I am stuffy, and also reliable and honorable.”

Important qualities. She agreed.

“Well, I’m not a—” She stopped. Some words were too ugly to say. “Whore” was one of them. She made herself say it. “
Whore
. I’m not a whore.”

The word seemed to linger in the air. She hated it.

“I’m a singer and I have been a dancer. I have lived on the edge of society,” she could admit. “But I’ve never sold myself. Ever. It’s a point of honor of sorts.” She knew how pitiful she must sound to him. “We all have our standards. Even actresses. That doesn’t mean…” She let her voice trail off.

“Mean what?” he asked, hestitated, then said, “About you being the sort of woman a man marries?”

Well. He knew how to go right to the point. “I suppose your talent for plain speaking doesn’t make you popular either?”

He bowed his head in concession to her observation.

Grace took a step back. If he could speak matter-of-factly, so could she. And she wanted to lay all her cards, so to speak, out for him. However she couldn’t do it looking at him. She shifted her gaze to the floor, studying the tips of her coveted kid slippers as she said briskly, “I’ve had lovers in the past, but not recently. I’ve changed. I want to change. I want to be a person
I
respect.”

She lifted her gaze to see if he understood what she was telling him.

His brows had come together as he digested her meaning. “Why are you telling me this?”

Grace reached for her courage. “Because I want you to respect me.”

Mr. Lynsted studied her a moment as if sensing an ulterior motive. “All because I saved a cat?”

“Yes. And because you stood up for yourself to a man everyone cowers in front of.”

“Some would say it is easy when you are as big as a house.”

“It’s
never
easy. I know that. Besides, you aren’t that big. You are no Samson.”

His brows rose as if she’d said something alarming…and then slowly he nodded, and she relaxed. He understood.

“Good night,” she whispered, both relieved and pleased.

“Good night,” he returned.

She waited, expecting him to leave.

He didn’t.

Instead, he said, “Will you please hand me one of your blankets?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m staying right here.”

Grace didn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. “Here?”

“Yes, I’m sleeping in your room tonight.”

“Oh no, you are
not
,” she informed him. “Not with the male population in London walking the halls of this inn. Rumors will be flying.”

“On the contrary, because half the male population in London is here, including Stone, I most definitely need to stay here.”

All good will she’d built toward him vanished, replaced by all the years of wariness. “Is it the wagers? Do you want to claim the money? Or just appear to be my lover, because you will
not
be in my bed.”

“So much for trust,” he said under his breath and walked over to the bed and pulled the coverlet off it.

Grace’s response was to grab hold of an edge of the blanket and attempt to pull it away from him.

Chapter Eight

F
or a few seconds, Richard found himself in a tug of war with Miss MacEachin. The woman was surprisingly strong for her petite size and hung on with the ferocity of a puppy who doesn’t want anyone else to have its bone.

“Miss MacEachin, you are being ridiculous.”

Her response was to pull harder. “Leave my room.”

He let go. The sudden lack of resistance sent her falling back onto the bed. She bounced right back up, pulling her coverlet into her arms as if it were a shield against him.

“I’m not leaving.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and realized he was tired and going about this all the wrong way—especially after her confession.

Actually, he found her confession unsettling. He didn’t want to think well of Grace MacEachin or identify with her. As long as she was a “tart” or “whore” or “actress” or any of the words people used to describe her, he could keep her at a distance. His attraction to her was nothing more than male instinct…and not something as personal as admiring her or finding her likable.

He was also aware, she didn’t see him as a threat. Maybe not even as a man. Women didn’t confide in men.

“I’m not interested in winning wagers at your expense,” he told her. “I have plenty enough money. And your virtue is safe,” he placed a slight emphasis on “virtue,” knowing she would assume the worst of his motives, but he needed the distance back. He needed his masculinity back. “After all you have your little knife to keep me at bay.”

Her eyes widened at the insult to her favorite weapon.

He waved any protest she could have made away. “Keep the blanket. But I
am
staying here. Stone is not going to quit drinking and there is the real possibility he will try something very stupid. For that reason, I’m sleeping in front of your door,” he said, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the floor in front of the door. He sat down. “If he opens even an inch, I’ll push my hand down his throat.”

“Do you really believe he would try such a thing in a crowded inn?”

“Do you think I’d be willing to sleep on the floor if I didn’t?” he countered. “Stone doesn’t believe rules—those of the law and those of civility—apply to him. He’d walk in here and rape you. I don’t wish to sound harsh, but there is that sort of man out there, and he’s one of them.”

Her face had gone pale at his bluntness. Richard wished he’d not been so direct. He wasn’t one for coating words, another fault she could lay at his door.

He stretched out. The floor felt good. He was tense, keyed up by her presence, the trip, and the possibility of at last having a reckoning with Stone. He hadn’t acquitted himself very well when last they’d met…but that had been fifteen years ago. They were men now—

The blanket fell on the floor beside him.

He looked up. Miss MacEachin stood over him.

“Here. Take it,” she ordered.

For a second he was tempted to tell her to stuff it, but then that would start matters all over again. “Thank you.”

“You can have the pillow, too,” she offered.

“I’m fine.”

Miss MacEachin walked over to the washstand in the corner of the room by the fire. Her shadow made movements along the wall as she took the pins out of her hair. Her curls tumbled down around her shoulders, hitting the space between her shoulder blades, right where he thought it would. She quickly braided it into one long plait and washed her face.

Richard dragged his gaze away, focusing on the ceiling. His uncle’s warning about not being attracted to Miss MacEachin echoed in his ears. He tried to think of Miss Abigail Montross and couldn’t conjure one feature of her face…and yet the very light smattering of freckles over Miss MacEachin’s nose was burned into his memory.

He heard the ropes of her bed creak. She’d lain down. God help him, he had to look.

She rested on her side on top of the bedclothes. She was still fully dressed, her hands folded beneath her head, and she watched him. She, too, still wore her shoes.

For a long moment their gazes held.

He didn’t know what she was thinking, but his mind was recalling how soft and yielding her body had felt beneath him in the coach—even as she held a knife to his throat.

Richard rolled over to face the door. He had to keep control of himself.

“Thank you for saving that cat tonight,” she said.

He gave a shrug. “You don’t need to stay up,” he said. “And you might want to become more comfortable than wearing your dress to bed. I won’t look. You can trust me.”

“I already do trust you,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have said what I did earlier if I didn’t.”

Richard stared at the door. He was right. She didn’t see him as a man.

“Besides,” she continued, “you might need me and my dirk to help you.” There was a pause. “Did you hear me? I was trying to make a wee jest.”

He didn’t answer.

Again, there was silence…and then, “So what did you break when Stone threw you down the steps in a trunk?”

“A collar bone. Had to leave school.”

“Did they send him home?”

Richard gave a bitter laugh. “No one sends home a duke’s son.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I can’t imagine he had the upper hand on you. Usually, people back off from big men.”

“I wasn’t big back then. I didn’t start growing until I was seventeen and finished with school.”

“Ah,” she said as if he’d said something very important. “What was it like when you returned to school?”

“I kept out of his way.”
He’d won.

“Did you truly take him to task over hurting an animal?”

“And people. Stone bullied everyone. I managed to escape his notice because he liked my cousin Holburn and let me by. He and his cronies beat a boy in my level so badly, he never quite recovered. His father was stationed in India and they sent him to him. I should have faced Stone then.” Richard shifted his weight. “I felt like a coward until I saw him hurting a cat. They’d tied it by the tail from a tree and were trying to bat it with a stick. I went a little crazed and attacked him.”

“What happened then?”

“All of his friends jumped on top of me. But I was angry and I fought back. They weren’t used to anyone fighting back.”

“And then?” she prodded. Her voice sounded interested.

Richard shrugged. “And then the tutors came running out to stop the fight. I was having the worst of it, but I had bloodied Stone’s nose.” He had to smile at the memory. “He was sniveling and crying.”

“What about you?”

“I knew better than to cry. I’d heard what they said about the boys who cried.”

“I know what you mean. People will offer pity to you when you cry but they won’t respect you.”

She was right. He wondered how she knew. He was tempted to ask…but that would bring him too close to her again. He lay silent.

“Tell me about the trunk.”

He should ignore the request, end all chatter between them.

“Stone and his friends surrounded my cot one night and attacked me. I was little and skinny and this time no competition for them since they were ready for me. They folded me up in a trunk and tossed it down the stairs.”

“Does Stone always travel in a pack?”

“Always.”

“The coward.”

Richard had to smile. His sentiments exactly.

“You are good with your fists,” she said. “I noticed that last night.”

In spite of wanting to keep his defenses up where she was concerned, Richard couldn’t help but be flattered. “I train with Bill Richmond at his academy.” He heard the eagerness in his voice. Embarrassed, he fell silent.

“Richmond is one of the best,” she agreed. “I thought most gentlemen preferred Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon.”

“I’m not playing at this,” he answered. “I want to know the sport.”

“Why?” she asked. A simple word that no one had put to him before.

Richard rolled over.

She lay on her side, cradling her head with her arms, watching him. She smiled. “Why boxing? Why not fencing?”

“I’m too clumsy for fencing. In boxing my height is an advantage. As is my strength. And there is grace to it. A formality.”

“Not the boxing I’ve seen,” she said. “Men double their fists and start hitting.”

“Then you haven’t seen it done right. I’ve studied it. I’m learning from a master. There is no one better than Richmond. Even Jackson will say it is so.”

“The boxing lawyer,” she murmured, and then yawned. “That’s why you believe there are rules. Stay out of the rings at the country fairs, Mr. Lynsted. For your own safety.”

“I have never planned on fighting for sport,” he assured her.

“No, you’ve been planning on taking on Stone.”

He opened his mouth to deny her statement…and then realized she was right. He could have said that every gentleman needed a sport and that Richard, being the big, clumsy ox he’d become, didn’t have the grace or talent for many—but he would have been lying. That beating at Stone’s hands had weighed heavily on his mind all these years. He’d failed to defend himself.

And now, he might have a chance to make that right—

Booted steps sounded in the hall, followed by drunken, schoolboy giggles.

Miss MacEachin sat up. She’d heard them, too.

Richard motioned to her to be quiet and earned a face from her at his impertinence for thinking she would give away they were awake. He had to smile.

Quietly, he came to his feet and placed his ear to the door.

“Which room is it?” one of the men in the hallway asked in a whispered slur.

“On the left,” was the answer.

“No, right,” another corrected.

“Keep your bloody voice down,” another warned. “Lynsted is across the hall.”

“That bloody bastard.” It was Stone speaking now. “I’ll crack his head open. How did he end up with a woman like that?”

Richard placed a light hand on the handle so he would feel it the moment it turned.

One of the men started to make a bawdy statement about Miss MacEachin but Stone shut him up with a furious, “Keep your voice down. If he finds out what we are up to, he’ll be mad as a bear.”

“He is a bear,” someone muttered. “He’s huge. Remember when he was so skinny we called him Straws?”

“Lynsted may be big, but he can’t take on the lot of us,” another man reasoned.

“I’d rather take on Grace MacEachin,” was Stone’s sly reply and he was seconded by a round of more male giggles.

The only light setting the scene was an oil wall sconce in the hallway and the hearth light in the room. Shadows appeared at the crack beneath the door.

The handle started to turn.

Richard stepped aside and raised one clenched fist.

In the hall, there was shushing all around. The door cracked open. A man peeked in.

Stone.

Grabbing the door and throwing it open, Richard let the man have it. Flesh hit flesh and bone. Stone grunted and fell to the floor.

Who knew the man had a jaw of glass? He was out cold.

Richard didn’t waste a beat. He stepped over Stone’s body and went out in the hallway, his fists ready.

There were three men out there, all so drunk they wove back and forth. They took one look at him, hiccupped, and then went flying down the stairs.

“You forgot your friend,” Richard yelled. He picked Stone up by the jacket, and carried him over to the staircase.

Stone’s companions were nowhere to be seen.

Richard sighed and turned back to Miss MacEachin’s room. That’s when he realized he had an audience. Besides Miss MacEachin, several other guests had stuck their heads out in the hall to see what the fuss was.

And here Richard was with a comatose Lord Stone over his shoulder.

All but Miss MacEachin pulled their heads in and shut their doors.

“What happened?” Miss MacEachin asked from her doorway.

“They ran.”

“Well, what shall you do with him?” she said.

Richard grinned. “I’m taking him to the stables.”

“Ah, where they keep the asses,” she observed, and he had to laugh.

The door across the hall to his room opened. A very sleepy Herbert peered out. “Hello, sir. I was wondering when you would be coming in.”

“Not yet, Herbert. Go back to sleep.”

“Yes, sir. Very well, sir. By the way, well done, sir. One blow. Good job.” He shut the door.

“I was starting to believe he hadn’t noticed the man unconscious on your shoulder,” Miss MacEachin mused.

Richard found himself grinning. Miss MacEachin tilted her head as if she’d found something curious. “What is it?” he asked.

“You. I haven’t seen you smile.”

“I smile.”

“Not like that. Usually it is tight as if it hurts your muscles to move.” She considered him a moment. “You should smile more often, Mr. Lynsted. You are a handsome man when you smile. Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.” She shut the door.

Richard stood still, staring at where she’d just stood, uncertain he’d heard her correctly. She’d called him handsome.
Him
.

He was tempted to shake Stone to consciousness to see if he’d heard her say as much, too.

And this is what his uncle had feared. Miss MacEachin knew her way around men. With one word she made him light-headed, giddy even.

Richard turned on his heel and started downstairs. All was quiet. There was a large number of sportsmen without rooms who’d chosen to spend the night sleeping, or passed out, in chairs or curled up on benches. Again, Stone’s cronies were not in sight. So much for camaraderie, although it pleased Richard to think he had them quaking in their very expensive boots.

Richard was serious about taking Stone to the barn and putting him as far away from them as he could. Sooner or later, the man would come to his senses and want revenge—but Richard no longer feared him.

A man who went down with one punch would be easy enough to handle. However, Richard didn’t want any more gossip than had already started.

He carried Stone out to the stable. Drivers and servants were gathered around a fire on the other side of the yard. They didn’t seem to notice him.