A Most Delicate Pursuit (5 page)

Michael pulled back from her. “How will this protect you from Bainbridge? As long as you're in England, Alfred will still argue that you're his responsibility until your twenty-fifth birthday.”

“That's the beauty of it. I won't be staying here. The Ringsleys are going to America to oversee their business interests there. Neither Alfred nor this Bainbridge will be able to find me once I've gone.”

She watched him shake his head. “This is a dangerous thing you're about to do. Any number of things could happen to you over there.”

“Nonsense. I'll be living with an honorable family. They'll see to my protection.”

He looked away from her for a moment. “Is the thought of being married to me that detestable?”

Bea was shocked by his question. “Of course not. You are the kindest and most honorable man I know.”

“And yet you'd rather run away.”

She shook her head. “It isn't you, Michael, or Ash, or even my sister and Amelia. It's what I need to do for myself. I mean to make my own way. To have a say in my own future.”

She watched him for a moment, and it was clear that he was considering her words. She was holding her breath, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't reveal her intentions.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I'll keep your secrets. But you can't wait here for Ringsley to come for you. We still have to get out of London tonight. There's at least a month before the weather is too rough to allow a trip abroad. When we get to Slyddon, you can write Lady Ringsley and tell her we'll meet her party in Portsmouth in two weeks.”

“Slyddon? Are you sure?”

“It's the best place to keep you safe until we can get you on the ship.”

Bea was sure that if she refused to go with him, he'd tell Ash of her plans and all would be lost.

“Very well,” she told him. “I'll go with you. But you must promise me you'll help me.”

“You have my word.”

She nodded. Michael's help practically guaranteed her success.

“Beatrice, Michael,” Ash called out. “All is ready. You have to go now.”

She well knew that it wasn't time for celebrating just yet. But it was a start and she thanked the heavens for that. And though she'd become quite fond of Michael these last months, she knew he was the one man in the world, besides Ash, who would keep the promises he made. And that was enough for now.

It had to be.

A short time later, the three of them made it to the front drive where, good to Ash's promise, a carriage awaited. Michael's first inclination was to tell Ash what his sister-in-law planned. It was what a true and loyal friend would do. But neither did he like the idea of betraying Beatrice. He, more than anyone, knew that a person had a right to their dreams, after all.

He'd get her out of London and to safety before that wretch could get his hands on her. Once they were away, he felt sure he could convince Beatrice to come to her senses and see how futile her action would prove should she choose to enter into a life of service.

Not only that, she'd never lived beyond the confines of London, with the exception of a few trips to Slyddon. Better to take her on this journey and learn what it's like to be away from your loved ones for so long a time. Surely she'd come to her senses then.

“The rig is ready, my lord,” the groomsman said.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Ready to leave, are you?” Ash asked behind him.

Michael nodded. “I'm seeing to the last details right now.”

“Of course.” Ash reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. “Here is some extra coin to help along the journey. You should be careful not to divulge too much. We've no idea how far Bainbridge's reach may be.” Ash walked them to the waiting carriage.

“That's why I've decided to stay off the main road and go to my cabin in West Starling. After a few days we can proceed to Slyddon if there's no incident.”

“Good plan.” He waited until Bea had climbed into the carriage and then stepped forward to clap Michael on the shoulders. “Now, as to Beatrice, it will take all of your wits to convince her.”

“How am I to do that?” Michael asked.

“Draw her out. Romance hr. Women love that.”

“I'm sure it will, though I've no idea how to go about wooing a woman who wants no part of me.”

“Pursue her, man. A most delicate pursuit is what's needed here.”

Michael smiled. “I've coaxed many a woman to my bed, but Beatrice is not like any other I've known. She's willful and intelligent and knows her own mind. I doubt she'll ever agree to marry me.”

“Still, you are her only hope. Don't lie—you do care for her.”

Michael sighed. “I fell in love with her the moment I first saw her. As does every man who's been in her presence.”

“And yet you've never tried to court her?”

“The last thing Beatrice needed was a rogue like me in her life.”

Ash shook his head. “If you can convince her to marry you, you'll be the rogue who saves her life.”

“I hope you're right.”

Ash shook his head. “Thank you for doing this. It isn't right. I should face off Bainbridge myself.”

“Nonsense, you've a family to care for, important work to do. I have neither.” Michael held up his hand when his friend started to argue. “You and I both know that my shining star in Parliament dimmed a long time ago.”

“Still, you're sacrificing a lot. I do appreciate it.”

“You are most welcome, my friend. It should prove a most interesting journey.” Michael pulled the door closed and tapped it with his cane. The carriage lurched forward and a moment later, they were off.

It had been one dreadfully long hour after another. Cramped together in the carriage, bouncing over mile after mile. It wasn't yet daylight and Bea felt as if her bones were coming apart.

She wasn't as lucky as her maid, Molly, who'd fallen asleep within the hour of their leaving Summerton.

“You should try to rest,” Michael told her. “We won't reach Slyddon until late afternoon.”

“I'm not tired,” she lied, doing her best to tamp down on a yawn.

“You don't have to be angry with me. I'm not the one who's ruined your plans, you know.”

Bea let out a huff. “No, you're not. For what it's worth, I don't blame you. In fact, I blame myself.”

“Really? Are you responsible for your cousin's duplicity or for the other man's evil nature?”

“No, but I'm sure my sister would tell you that if I'd married any one of the multitude of boring, self-indulgent natterers who offered for me, we could have avoided it all.”

Michael crossed his arms. “She only wants what is best for you. Still fancies herself a matchmaker.” He chuckled.

“Indeed. Her one attempt and she ended up getting a husband for herself.” Bea couldn't hold back her laughter. Michael always raised her spirits. No matter what boil she'd found herself in, he'd quickly reduce her cares to nothingness.

“A hoist in her petard, so to speak,” he said with a rumbling sound of laughter. “Certainly not up to the caliber of the dowager duchess.”

“Too true.”

“I can't help regretting we won't be able to finish our little contest, though. I would have found it most pleasurable to have taken your money.” He grinned.

She huffed. “As if you could have. I've been ducking the marriage mart far longer than you.”

His smile faltered. “It's a most dangerous game you're playing, Beatrice. It's not a woman's world. You could still suffer in the end. I don't relish the thought of something terrible happening to you in the wilds of America.”

“Nonsense. I'll be with a respectable family who will keep me safe. You've no need to worry on my account.”

He smiled at her and his concern tore at her. It wasn't that long ago that she'd fancied herself having strong feelings for him. She'd once hoped that he'd cared for her, as well.

Of course, Michael had proven that he was not the man to be leg-shackled. He'd been seen with several women and whenever anyone broached the subject of marriage, he brushed them off, saying he'd rather be escorting several women at once than one for all eternity.

His brutal honesty had scarred her at the time, true enough. But, knowing Michael well, as she did now, she was glad that he was forthcoming about his feelings and not at all like the treacherous Andrew Hudgins.

Michael relaxed beside her. “I'm truly sorry about all this, Beatrice. If there were another way to deal with this scoundrel, I surely would.”

Bea sighed. “I know that. And I know that Ash and Caro and Amelia really do care about me. I don't know what I'd do without them.”

“You're very fortunate to have family who loves you.”

Bea looked down at her hands. What a selfish ninny she'd been. “I'm sorry,” she said.

“For what? You only want to control your own fate. Who among us doesn't want that?”

Bea smiled. “Then you understand?”

“I do,” he said. “However, life rarely cares for what we want. Sometimes we have to do what our station demands of us. For you, it means making a good match and being the best wife you can be.”

“Even if it's not what I want for my life?”

“I'm afraid so.” He sighed. “But if it's any consolation, I don't have what I wanted for my life, either.”

She scoffed. “I find that hard to believe. You're a man, after all.”

He smiled at her. “One would think that I have the luxury of being in charge of my own destiny. Unfortunately, that isn't always the case. My father had intended another to be his heir, but unfortunate circumstances conspired against him. My older brother had been on the lake, entertaining his courtesan with tales of his great war service and, after several bottles of brandy, accidentally fell into the water. They found his body three days later. My father was most disappointed.”

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He waved her off. “I was a boy when it happened. My father was shattered by the loss of his favorite son. When he was left with me, it infuriated him. Even to his last breath, he cursed me.”

“But you're his heir.”

“It doesn't matter. He hated me. My mother was his second wife and he wasn't kind to her at all. I was eight years old when she ran away.”

“And he never found her?”

“No, though, heaven knows, he tried hard enough.”

Beatrice sat back in her seat. Though she felt sad at Michael's plight, she did admit that now she felt closer to him, and their conversation did help to pass the time. Dawn was just beginning to press against the horizon and she yawned, tired beyond words.

“You need to rest,” he said again. “Come here. No sense in both of us being uncomfortable.”

Beatrice scooted closer and he pulled her into his arms. She rested there and was surprised at how natural it felt, how warm and safe. Odd, how she'd never doubted Michael. He was a steadfast, steady friend.

Of course, if anyone of the upper crust saw them together like that, they would cry out scandal and she'd be ostracized for certain.

Bea bit down on that thought. She was lucky enough to have escaped public humiliation once already. No need to dwell on it.

“I know I've not been the best friend to you over the years,” she told him, “but I want to thank you. You didn't have to do this.”

“There's no need to thank me. I'm happy to help you. And I owe Ash my life a dozen times over. The extra bonus of spending a few days with so dear a friend as you, Beatrice, is always welcome.”

Bea let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding in. “Still, you're very good for doing it.”

That was the very last thing she remembered as she drifted off to sleep, secure in Michael's arms. It was a cozy place, one that she thought she might have been meant to be in all along.

It was in that state, safe, protected in the small world of the carriage, that her life turned upside down. Despite Ash's and Michael's warnings, deep down, she hadn't thought that the threats against her were real. It was absurd to think that a man she barely knew—a danger that others had warned her of but that she never truly believed in—was real. That was, until the very next moment…

A loud explosion shattered her slumber. An intrusive, bone-rattling sound engulfed them. Bea suddenly came awake to the sound of her own screaming.

In the next instant, the carriage, which had been going at a fast pace, suddenly tipped sideways, and before she knew what was happening, they were rolling, one, two, three times over before the barouche landed with a mind-numbing crunch on one side.

When they'd begun the roll, she and Michael had become a tangle of limbs. Her head hit sharp against his elbow, rapping her smartly and leaving her dazed.

The motion stopped and she awoke with Michael lying on top of her. She started to struggle, but Michael put his hand over her mouth.

“Shhh,” he said, and she relaxed under him. Without a word, he moved over her and crept to the side of the carriage, placing his ear against what was the top of the cab. Waving her over, he waited until she righted herself and crawled to kneel beside him.

Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his pistol and primed it. Then, reaching into his boot, he pulled out a small blade and handed it to her.

“If anyone tries to come in here besides me, protect yourself.” He pointed to the juncture between his leg and his groin. “Cut him there and stand back because the blood will be everywhere, but he won't last more than ten minutes.”

“Oh.” Bea covered her mouth. “I hope I won't have to do that.”

“But if you have to, could you?”

Her life or some highwayman's? “I'll do as I must,” she answered. She looked around. “Wait.” She scrambled around her until she found her maid, crumpled on the other side of the wagon. “Something's wrong with her…”

Michael bent down beside her and checked the maid. He let out a breath and then turned to Bea.

“I'm sorry,” he told her. “She's gone.”

Bea's heart sank. “Oh, no. I cannot believe all this.”

Michael held up his hand. “I need to check the others. Will you be all right?”

“Yes.”

He nodded to her and then, slowly standing, he reached upward to grasp the handle and then twisted it sideways. Securing one foot on the bench, he pushed open the door and climbed out of the carriage. Bea huddled down in the farthest corner, clutching the small blade against her and praying for Michael's safety.

As he slipped out into the night, Michael was careful to make sure there was no one waiting to shoot him down or slit his throat. In the distance he heard the sound of hoofbeats and the low buzz of men talking. The carriage had rolled down into a ravine and he could see that the back wheel lay shattered against the side of the wagon. Straining to see in the half-moon light, he could barely make out two bodies lying in the grass just down the ravine. Either they'd been shot when the attack began or they'd been killed when the wagon landed. Either way, the groomsman and his second had died at the hands of the highwaymen.

When they'd been shot at, the horses had spooked and set off in a run. Thankfully their harnesses had broken and they'd gotten away. Michael knew that their only hope lay in their chance of escape before their attackers found them.

Returning to the side of the carriage, Michael climbed up the side of it and called to Beatrice. “We've little time,” he whispered. “Give me your hand and I'll pull you out.”

“Is it safe?” she asked.

“Yes, but not for long. We've got to get you out of here,” he told her.

He saw her nod to him and then, standing up like a true warrior woman of centuries past, she tucked the blade into her boot and reached up to him. Grasping her arm, he pulled her up. Once she could reach the doorframe, she helped him by scooting onto its edge.

“Hurry,” he said as he scrambled to the side and jumped down. Motioning to her to follow, he held his arms out and she jumped down into them. A rush of desire went through him. She filled his arms, true enough, but he'd caught her under her skirt and his right hand now grasped a fine plump buttock.

“Michael!” He heard her gasp.

“I'll apologize later. There's no time,” he said, quickly setting her on the ground. He grabbed her hand and set off in a dead run, dragging her along behind him.

“Oh, dear,” she gasped as they ran toward a copse of trees. To her credit, she did keep up well; her skirts pulled up and her slender legs working, she ran full out beside him.

Just at the edge he saw one of the horses, its harness caught on a felled tree branch. There lay their only chance at escape. He heard the shouts of their attackers getting louder behind them.

“Here”—he turned to Bea—“hand me the knife.”

Holding it out to him, eyes wide with excitement, breathing in short gasps, she nodded. “They're getting closer,” she said.

“I know.” He turned to the horse and cut it loose from the tree. Doing his best to calm the frightened animal, he muttered gentle sounds while he freed it from the branch.

“Are you going to wait until they've gone and try to fix the wagon?” Bea asked.

“I couldn't fix that wreck if I wanted to. Our only chance lies in the strong legs of this fine steed.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Not just I, fair Beatrice. You and I together. We're going to get away from here.” With that he jumped on the back of the animal and held his hand down to pull her up.

“But there's no saddle. A lady never rides…”

“Beatrice. There's no time. We either get away now or they're going to kill me and cart you off to be the next Mrs. Bainbridge.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said. Then glancing back behind her for only a moment, Beatrice clearly made up her mind. Taking his hand, she allowed him to pull her onto the back of the horse.

“Hold tight,” he ordered. Leaning on him, she reached around his waist and dug her fingers into his abdomen. Not waiting for her to change her mind, he kicked the animal in its flank. Answering his command, the horse lurched and took off in a full-out gallop.

He only hoped they'd gotten away clean.

“How long until we get to Slyddon?” she asked, her words being stolen by the wind.

“We're not going to Slyddon. It's better if we make camp and wait them out.”

That would mean living rough, of course. They'd stay to the trails and go straight into the New Forest and camp for now. No fine inns, no friendly faces to take them in. Fortunately, Michael was at his best when surviving off the land. He'd done so before and he'd do so again. Even if it cost him his life, he'd die saving Beatrice if he had to. And, not just because Ash had asked his help. He simply could not envision a world without her in it.