Brighton Road (11 page)

"Yes, yes, I'll just be going," Freddy
concluded. "Pleasant seeing you again, my lord." The dandy took to
his heels and fled back to the inn.

Ravenel battled an urge to charge after him
and give him the thrashing he deserved. Freddy Skeffington had ever
been an insolent dog. At the very least, Ravenel should have drawn
his cork and—Appalled by his own thoughts, he uncurled his fists.
What in the blazes was the matter with him? Although he frequently
enjoyed a bit of exercise with his fists in the privacy of
Gentleman Jackson's salon, never had he come close to doing
anything so vulgar as actually engaging in a brawl. He had the
feeling that he had just made a complete spectacle of himself. To
add to his sense of mortification, he spun around to find Gwenda
nearly doubled over with the effort to suppress her chuckles.

"Don't you dare laugh at me." Furiously,
Ravenel shook one finger at her. "As usual, this entire wretched
scene is your doing, laying yourself open to the advances of one of
the most unprincipled rattles in England who…" His words trailed
off, becoming incoherent when she startled him by seizing his hand
and pressing it between her own. Her mirth faded; her smile waxed
more gentle.

"I wasn't laughing at you, Lord Ravenel, "
she said earnestly, a soft light coming into her eyes. "I must
confess I didn't think that Mr. Skeffington appeared much of a
dangerous rakehell, but all the same you were perfectly splendid.
No knight charging to the rescue of his lady could ever appeared
more fearsome."

"That will do, Miss Vickers. No need to turn
this into a scene from one of your novels." The baron hastily
disentangled his hand from hers. He was not accustomed to being
admired by a lady, and never had any woman shown a tendency to see
him in the role of a knight errant. He had to admit the image was
not entirely displeasing.

"You will at least allow me to thank you,"
she said.

"The best thanks would be if you could
contrive to stay out of trouble for five minutes." He attempted to
maintain a stern front. "You shouldn't go about risking your
reputation by drawing the attention of strange men, especially one
the cut of Freddie Skeffington."

"As much as I appreciate your defending my
honor, I am sure I could have dealt him a sharp cuff to his ears
that would have discourged him."

"If you think that, you don't know
Skeffington."

"Why? Is he really such a loose screw?"

"You should not use such cant terms, either,
but yes. That is exactly what he is and—"

"He seemed like a complete idiot to me, but
he did have the most interesting cloak," Gwenda interrupted.

"I was not discussing his cloak, Miss
Vickers, but your habit of—"

"You would look well in a cloak like
that."She tipped her head to one side in a thoughtful, considering
manner. "Of course, not with such a ridiculous number of capes. Two
or three tiers would suffice."

"Miss Vickers!"

"Yes, two capes would accent the width of
your shoulders nicely."

Ravenel resisted the ungentlemanly urge to
clap a hand over her mouth so that she would be forced to listen to
him. "Would you kindly stop changing the subject," he said
irritably. "What were you doing out here alone, anyway?"

"I was looking for Bertie. He has run off
again."

"That cursed dog! Whose shoe has he pinched
this time?"

"No one's. He spotted a cat to chase. It is
Bertie's other fatal weakness."

His lordship heaved an exasperated sigh.
Seizing her by the elbow, he started to propel Gwenda back toward
the inn. "You might have asked me to look for the infernal creature
instead of waltzing about where you could be accosted by any
ruffian chancing through here for a glass of ale."

Although she went along meekly enough, Gwenda
voiced a mild protest. "I assumed a spinster such as myself would
be safe, especially while garbed in this mousy gown. I am hardly a
green girl anymore, you know.

Ravenel snorted. "Miss Vickers, you are just
about as green as those eyes of yours. As for that gown, dismal as
it is, that fabric does nothing to disguise the fact---"

He slowed his step as his gaze was drawn
involuntarily to the outline of Gwenda's hips, the tantalizing
curve of her bosom. Damn! The baron swore under his breath She
would never be safe left on her own. The lady was too heedless, too
trusting, and far too attractive. She strolled about with her head
poked somewhere in the clouds with little notion of either the
conventions or the perils of the real world.

He halted in his tracks, the decision looming
up before him like a tangible barrier, the decision that was as
inevitable as the payment of land taxes or the occasional visit to
the tooth-drawer. His shoulders slumped with resignation.

"Come along," be said. "It is high time we
returned to the carriage?'

"We?" Gwenda asked, angling a surprised look
up at him. "You mean to say there is no conveyance for you to hire
here at East Grinstead, either?"

"No." Ravenel averted his eyes as he uttered
the bald lie. "It would seem I must impose upon your hospitality a
while longer. At least as far as Lewes."

Aye, Lewes. There he could hire a rig and
follow her the rest of the short distance to Brighton. They would
not be seen to arrive together and he could still be sure she was
deposited safely upon her family's doorstep, thus satisfying all
that conscience, honor, and Jarvis could possibly demand of a
fellow.

The baron cut off all of Gwenda's assurance
that she would be delighted to have his continued company and
hustled her toward the stable-yard.

When Jarvis was informed of the change in
their plans, he replied in wooden accents, "Very good, my lord."
But Ravenel thought the old man had a most disquieting twinkle in
his eye as he followed the baron and Miss Vickers toward the
coach.

"But what about Bertie? " Gwenda asked,
trying to hang back.

"I'll find him. You wait inside the coach. If
Skeffington spots us together again and realizes you don't have an
aunt, you won't have shred of reputation left."

Gwenda dug in her heels even as her footman
moved to open the carriage door. "You should have told Mr.
Skeffington I was with my uncle and then Jarvis—"

"Skeffington would have no difficulty in
recognizing Jarvis as my valet. Get in, Miss Vickers." Ravenel
braced his arm about her waist and all but lifted her bodily into
the vehicle.

"And don't let her escape," he ordered
Jarvis, " He did not wait for any acknowledgment of his command. He
started off at once in pursuit of Spotted Bert. The task did not
take him as long as he feared, for he had not gone many steps when
Bertie came loping around the side of the stables. But he was
obliged to waste considerable precious time removing some burrs
from the animal's smooth coat.

"Serves you right," Ravenel said as Bertie
let out a yelp when one prickly thorn stuck a little deeper than
the rest. "Perhaps next time you'll think twice before you..." He
let his words trail off. Damn it, now he was starting to talk to
the dog in much the same manner as he heard Gwenda do.

Ignoring Spotted Bert's licks of gratitude,
the baron shooed the animal up onto his perch beside Fitch. Upon
second inspection of Miss Vickers's coachman, his lordship decided
he was no more impressed with the fellow than he had been earlier.
Granted, Fitch appeared a little more relaxed, but his face was
flushed, his eyes shifting in a most guilty fashion away from
Ravenel's when he informed the man they were finally ready to
depart.

His sense of unease was not mitigated by
noticing that the sun seemed to be slowly vanishing. Gray clouds
scudded over the day's previous brightness; ominous shadows
darkened on the horizon. If Ravenel's own coachman had been sitting
on the box, he would have directed him to spring the horses in
order to gain some time before the rain broke. But with Fitch,
Ravenel issued a stern admonition for him to drive with care.

"Shurtainly, my lord," Fitch mumbled, tipping
his hat with a bovine smile. Then he gathered up the reins, his
deep baritone voice breaking into a loud chorus of "The Girl I Left
Behind Me."

As the baron took his seat in the carriage,
he wondered in what unlikely place the Vickerses had found Fitch,
but he was afraid to ask The coach lumbered down the rutted lane,
leaving East Grinstead behind them.

The gathering gloom beyond the carriage
windows seemed to cast a pall over their party. They had not gone
many miles when Gwenda felt her eyelids growing heavy despite the
increased jouncing of the coach. After her drugged sleep of the
night before, one would have thought she would feel well rested
today. Instead, she waxed more tired than usual. She struggled to
stifle a yawn, but it was not easy, especially watching Jarvis
nodding off in his corner.

She thought it would be intolerably rude of
her to do likewise, but then Ravenel did not seem at all inclined
for conversation. He was far too preoccupied with stealing frowning
glances up at the sky and checking his pocket watch at periodic
intervals

Nestling her head against the squabs, Gwenda
regarded the baron dreamily through half-lowered lids, her mind
reverting to the incident in the garden of the Dorset Arms. Ravenel
had been a sight to stir any maiden's heart: charging to her rescue
with that fiercely protective light in his eyes, every muscle in
his formidable masculine frame tensed for battle.

She had never been rescued before, Gwenda
reflected with another yawn, had never had reason to be. It would
have all been so perfect if, instead of a mincing, ginger-haired
fop wielding a quizzing glass, Freddy Skeffington had been a shade
more villainous, satanically dark, his fingers gripping a twisted
dagger. With such thoughts teasing her imagination, Gwenda's eyes
drifted closed...

She was running across the deck of a ship,
the tall masts lost in a ghostlike mist; her heart thumping in
terror. Hunched beneath his layering capes, Captain Frederici was
but a breath behind her. Risking one glance over her shoulder, she
saw the glint of the evil pirate's single eye, heard his chilling
laugh as his bony fingers reached out to grasp her arms.

"Oh," Gwenda moaned, slumping down farther on
the carriage seat. "Roderigo, help me!"

Even as she struggled in Frederici's cruel
grip, another dark form leaped down from the rigging, the familiar
scarlet-lined black cloak sweeping back from stalwart shoulders.
Strong hands reached out to pluck the villain away from Gwenda,
hurling the fiend into the sea. With a glad cry, Gwenda flung
herself against her rescuer's chest, burying her face against
stiffly starched white linen
.

Gwenda's nose twitched as she mumbled,
"Roderigo, what are you doing with that cravat?" Her sleep-smoothed
brow furrowed with confusion.

The mists parted for once clearly revealing
to her the features of Roderigo, Count de Fiorelli. She caught a
glimpse of a hard angular jaw and cheekbones, a full, sensual
mouth, and flashing dark eyes set beneath heavy black brows—all
somehow disturbingly familiar. But the next instant his face
vanished as the deck pitched beneath Gwenda's feet, the ship
heaving in the grip of the storm. Roderigo lost his balance and
fell on top of her.

"Ow," Gwenda breathed, her eyes jerking open.
Wide awake, she was astonished to find herself still pinned beneath
Roderigo's hard-muscled frame. No, it wasn't Roderigo at all. It
was Ravenel who was struggling to ease his weight from her—not an
easy task considering the way the coach was rocking and swaying
like a small ketch caught in a tidal wave.

"What…what?" she faltered.

"It's that blasted coachman of yours,"
Ravenel grated, managing to wrench himself to his feet. "He's been
picking up speed the last half mile or so." Bracing himself, he
strove to help Jarvis, whom Gwenda suddenly realized lay tumbled on
the floor.

She snatched at the back of the seat to
prevent being tossed about any more that she already was. From the
slant of the carriage, she realized they must be thundering up a
hill at an appalling rate. Through the window, she obtained a
rollicking glimpse of what seemed a world gone gray.

After hauling Jarvis back onto the seat,
Ravenel tried to bang on the coach roof and was nearly overset on
top of her once more. "That fool can't take a hill at such an
out-and-out clip," he shouted at her, "or he'll never be able to
check the team going down."

"I know that," Gwenda screamed back. "What do
you expect me to—oh! "

Her reply was cut off as the carriage crested
the hill and started on a mad downward plunge. As Ravenel collapsed
on top of his valet, Gwenda lost her grip on the seat and tumbled
across the baron's lap. For the next terrifying seconds, she,
Ravenel, and Jarvis seem nothing but a bruising tangle of arms and
legs.

With a muttered oath, the baron shoved her
ruthlessly off him As Gwenda hit the coach floor with a jarring
thud, she brushed the hair from her eyes to glare at him.

Ravenel had somehow gained his feet. "Damned
fool," he muttered. "Got to do something before he kills us all."
His jaw steeled with grim determination, he reached for the coach
door.

With a flash of horror, Gwenda realized what
he was contemplating. Her heroes often did such mad feats as
climbing out of a racing coach to do battle with villains or to
halt a runaway, but to see the baron about to attempt such a thing
in earnest caused her heart to give a wild leap of fear.

"Ravenel! No—" she started to cry out, but a
cracking noise split the air and the coach gave a sickening lurch
to one side. The door was flung open, and before Gwenda's terrified
gaze, Ravenel lost his balance and pitched out into the blur of
dust beyond.