Bewitching (24 page)

"I said no. No witchcraft."

"But isn't this an exception?"

"No."

"Dire circumstances?"

"No."

"If it were, say, something life-threatening, could I use my powers?"

"This is not—I repeat, not—a life-threatening situation." He turned back to the window. "It is a small snowstorm, that's all."

"But it's awfully cold."

"I will not discuss it."

"You brought it up."

His breathing became very controlled, and loud.

"Just one wee snap of my . . . ” She caught his look and mumbled, "Never mind."

After a long moment of his scowling silence, she turned and looked back out the window. It appeared to be solid white. She could see little, since the glass had begun to fog up. In an attempt to see better, she swiped at the glass with two gloved fingers, but pulled them back after a minute. The glass was so cold she could feel it through her leather gloves.

The carriage slowed, lurched, then jerked after the sound of the coachman's snapping whip. After three more jarring lurches, Alec's expression changed from annoyance to worry and he stood and tapped on the coach roof, then reached up to open the coachman's window in the overhang above her. "How bad is it out there?"

Old Jem shouted back, "Colder than a witch's tit, Yer Grace."

Joy couldn't bite back her offended gasp.

There was a long moment of silence. Alec didn't move, didn't speak, although Joy had the distinct impression that her husband wanted to say something. She glanced up but found herself staring at his gold brocade waistcoat.

Jem's gravelly voice echoed down from above. "Beg Her Grace's pardon. The duchess being so new an' all, I forgot about 'er."

Alec cleared his throat then asked, "How bad is the road?"

"Snow's about a half a foot, least it were last time I could see. Couldn't see the gates o' hell in this." The carriage slowed again and the sound of whickering horses carried inside. "Team's having a bit o' a hard time of it, Yer Grace."

"How far to the next inn?"

"Maybe a mile, maybe ten. Can't see a bloomin' thing—"

The carriage lurched again and Alec put his knee on Joy's seat to steady himself. A string of gravelly curses echoed down from the driver's box. "Beggin' Yer Grace's pardon, but the bloody lead nag can't stay to the road."

"Any sign of Willie?"

"Not a flea nor flicker, Yer Grace."

"Tap on the roof if he shows."

Jem grumbled his assent, and Alec closed the front trap and turned to the rear trap that opened to where the footman rode in the carriage hood. "All's well back there?"

"Cold, wet, but tolerable, Your Grace."

"Fine." Alec closed the trap and settled back in the seat across from her. The temperature inside was dropping quickly and even with her woolen dress and pelisse and the woolen carriage robe, Joy could still feel the gooseflesh on her skin.

"Aren't they freezing out there?"

"They are Belmore servants and as such wear only the best winter clothing—heavy caped leather coats with fleece inside. They are surely much warmer than we are."

"Oh." She pulled the robe tighter around her and still shivered.

"Are you warm enough?"

She nodded, trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Quite sure?"

"I'm sure." She held herself stiff to keep from shivering.

They were silent for a time. Then she could feel her husband's look.

"Scottish?"

She glanced up, the sound of that name doing funny things to her belly.

"Come sit over here." He patted the seat next to him with one hand and held out his other to her.

She paused, biting her lip, her eyes wary.

"To keep warm."

She took a deep breath and placed her hand in his, letting him draw her over to sit so close beside him that their bodies touched from shoulder to knee. His arm slipped around her shoulder.

After a quiet minute she looked up at him. "Who's Willie?"

"The outrider. I sent him on ahead after the fourgon broke down, but that was before the storm hit." He looked out the window again, but could see nothing through the foggy window but the mist of falling snow.

"I truly had nothing to do with the broken axle," she whispered.

He was silent, watching the snow, his face unreadable.

"Do you believe me?"

After a moment he conceded. "I realize you wouldn't jeopardize the servants."

She shook her head in agreement and joined him in watching the snow fall. The carriage lurched and slipped and the sound of the coachman's cursing and the team's whickering was all they could hear. "Do you suppose they're safe?"

"Who?"

"Polly, Roberts, and Henson." She paused. "And Beezle." She took a deep breath and watched the snow, hoping the servants weren't caught in the same storm, in a broken carriage.

"We went past the turnoff to
Swindon
just a few minutes before the axle broke. There's an inn little more than a mile from that turnoff. By now they're surely inside that warm inn waiting for the carriage to be repaired. I had left instructions for them to meet us in the inn in
Reading
. That's where I thought we'd be staying tonight."

"How far is that from here?"

He was silent, then said, "I'm not sure. We're somewhere on the edge of the Cotswolds. It's hard to tell how far we've traveled in this weather. There are no villages for miles on this stretch of road."

An instant later the carriage swayed. The driver shouted. His whip snapped. The horses neighed just as the carriage rocked forward, then listed to one side.

"Bloody hell." Alec gripped Joy's arms, and his leg pinned her to the seat. They slid to one side and a loud crack echoed about them.

The carriage settled at a sidewise slant, and all was silent. Alec pushed himself upright and settled Joy in the seat. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Stay here." He climbed over her and moved to the door. "I have to check on the others." He opened it and snow drifted inside. A second later the door slammed shut.

She could hear him talking to the footman; then she heard Jem swearing. From the voices she could tell that they were unharmed. She looked toward the window but all she could see was white. Their voices drifted off and she snuggled down deeper into the carriage robe.

It was truly cold and when Alec had opened the door it became even more so. She shivered and closed her eyes, finally feeling her lack of sleep from the night before when she had wandered all over the house in search of that rascal Pan. She'd spent hours combing hallway after hallway and even a brief time in the Bramah where she tried to conjure him up. But it was all to no avail. She'd never even caught a glimpse of him.

In desperation she had gone up to the roof again, after receiving directions from a footman who rushed to take one of her trunks downstairs. On the roof she picked up the pipes, thinking she could use them to lure Pan out from wherever he hid. Then she'd taken another precious ten minutes to wander down the halls off the grand staircase, playing the pipes off-key and hiding them behind her back when any servant chanced by. She couldn't find Pan, though, and no spell made him appear.

Finally she found him in the pantry, stuffing his little fat face with kumquat jelly and an entire pan of freshly baked honey buns. It took her two incantations to restore the wee devil to his rightful place on the roof. On her first try, they both ended up in the stable. A slip of her tongue—"hoof" instead of "roof."

But she'd finally crawled between the cool sheets and managed an hour of sleep before Polly awakened her with breakfast,
sans
honey buns, which Polly said had disappeared during the night . . . .

That thought brought to mind the safety of her maid, Beezle, and the others. She hoped they were tucked away in some warm inn.

The coach shook, and something banged against it. She could hear the horses and the jangling of the harness. Then there was some more talking, but she couldn't make out any words. A few moments later the door opened, snow spilling inside like flour from a fallen barrel. Alec entered and closed the door behind him. His face said everything. There was something wrong.

He tossed some things on the seat and sat down. "The horses are skittish, and the lead veered into a rut. The wheel's broken and the snow is coming down at about an inch a minute. It's a blizzard out there." He slipped his arm around her. "The coachman and footman have taken the horses and gone in search of help. They seemed to think there's an inn not too far from here."

"We shall stay here in the carriage?"

He nodded. "There's no way you would last out there in those thin clothes."

"I could do—"

"No."

She wiped the window clear and tried to peer out. "I cannot see anything."

"It's snowing very hard." He shivered, then squirmed a bit in the seat as if he was trying to disguise it.

"Please, Alec . . . ”

"No." He grabbed the things he'd set on the seat and shook them out. "Here, put this on." He held up a wide cape and a heavy leather jacket.

She slid her arms into the jacket, which was miles too big, and he slipped the cape around both of them and pulled her against his body.

"We shall wait here until help comes." He sat there stiffly, holding her but acting as if he didn't want to.

Very slowly she lowered her head onto his shoulder and took advantage of the chance to snuggle against him. He was so warm.

He cleared his throat loudly, then shifted a few times finally adjusting his long legs so they rested against the carnage door.

She shivered again.

"Lie down here beside me."

She stretched out so she was almost lying on top of him. "How long do you think it will be before they rescue us?"

"Not long," he answered confidently. There was no anger in his voice, just calm and control. She gave in to the warmth of having him hold her, even though she knew he didn't want to. She felt so right in his arms, as if she'd found the lost half of her. They were married and he was hers —sort of. At least he would be someday, and that meant there would always be someone there for her. The thought warmed her even more than his body. She closed her dreamy eyes and said good-bye to the cold and to loneliness.

***

"Scottish."

Joy wrapped her arms tighter around Alec and burrowed deeper against his chest and wiggled her legs between his. "Hmmm, your legs are warm."

He groaned then said, "Wake up, Scottish."

"No. So cold," she muttered.

His arms tightened around her. "I know. That is why you must wake up." He shook her, but she didn't care. It was too cold to open her eyes.