Gail Eastwood (10 page)

His dark brows drew down for a fraction of a moment, and his eyes narrowed. Then his face smoothed. “Well, then. I suppose that is to the good as we shall be spending much of the day together. I understand that you are not pleased with our plan to go to Worcester, but I must echo your brother’s sentiment that it is a reasonable course.”

Gillian thought of their journey to Bath and the closeness of riding in the curricle with the earl. She dreaded repeating the agony of such proximity for an entire half day to Worcester. “Very well. I shall be pleased to ride the extra mount.”

“What?” Brinton was obviously taken aback. “I think not, young lady! It is most certainly out of the question.”

Gillian’s heart sank. Was he going to insist that they sit together? “I am perfectly capable of riding astride. I did it all the time at home. And you must admit I am dressed for it.”

Brinton’s gaze hardened, and his eyes raked over her. “Yes, you are certainly dressed for it, and I can well imagine you rode that way at home. Judging by what you have told me, you lived like a hellion, with no restrictions and no training or regard for proper behavior. I don’t know where you come by that virginal innocence that shines in your eyes. But by God, you will observe at least a modicum of propriety when you are with me. I will not allow you to make an exhibition of yourself. You will ride in the curricle.”

Gillian felt as though he had slapped her. Her mouth dropped open for a moment in shock and confusion. Then she closed it firmly as her anger took over. “I will not ride there if I have to sit next to you!”

“You needn’t worry.
I
shall ride the extra mount. I trust your brother can handle the curricle.” He stepped around her and moved decisively toward the door. “Now, if you would please get the rest of your things together? I wish to leave as soon as possible.”

Gillian hurried through the door ahead of him. A lump in her throat made it impossible to say anything more. Today he was behaving so differently than last night! She thought she was relieved to be spared his close company for the rest of the trip. She was surprised to discover that beneath her hurt and angry feelings lurked disappointment.

***

Brinton had ample time to ponder his own behavior and feelings during the long ride to Worcester. The trio had left promptly and made good time, only pausing occasionally to rest or change horses. The earl noticed that Miss Kentwell made certain to avoid speaking with him.

Her power over him was awesome. She had made him lose control of his passions at the assembly, and when he had resolved to bury those under layers of cool civility, he had lost control of that as well. He did not believe he had ever been so openly insulting to a woman in his life. He had come to believe that Cranford and his sister were who they claimed to be, and it made it even worse that he had spoken so to a woman of his own class.

He did not know what to make of the rest of the Kentwells’ story, but he was certain that the sooner he parted from them, the better. His attraction to the girl was undeniable, but where could it lead? If she was in truth affianced to his uncle, then she was already spoken for. If she was in fact running away from the betrothal, the scandal would be doubled if he were to attach her to himself! He couldn’t understand why he was having such trouble resisting her. The chit acted like a hoyden and looked like mischief personified!

He didn’t doubt for a moment that she might have had an equally powerful effect on his elderly uncle. Had she manipulated the old man into an engagement, only to break it off? Was she after the nephew, now, instead? He had shaken his head. Their meeting could not have been anything but coincidence. He believed the twins still had no idea who he really was. Whether or not they were truly being pursued, he could not tell. But the conversation he had overheard between them that morning confirmed that they at least believed it.

He had decided that he should fund the rest of their journey, if only to make sure they reached their destination safely. They were so young and naive. As soon as he parted from them, his life could return to normal. He would put the girl out of his mind, and if he heard later that his uncle’s fiancée had run away to Scotland, he would act as surprised as anyone.

***

They arrived at the Worcester cattle fair at midday. Striped and colored vendors’ awnings fluttered in the breeze, and a thousand sights and sounds both human and animal met the travelers as they entered the market square. Brinton stayed close behind the curricle, searching for a place to secure the horses. Finally, he spotted a farmer trying to ease his empty wagon out of a space, and within a few minutes both the curricule and his own mount were tethered to the same hitching block.

Brinton watched with a frown as Gillian jumped nimbly down from the seat of the curricle to join the two men on the ground. “You would do well to stay here in the carriage,” he said in a low voice. “There are rough characters about and rough language not fit for a young lady’s ears. It is also too warm to stay muffled up in your cloak, and any man worth his salt will see in a moment you are not what you seem.”

“But I want to see everything! I won’t be shocked by the language. I have spent enough time around our own stables to have heard it all by now. I will keep my cloak wrapped around me, I promise.” She began to move with them along the pavement. “What are you going to look at first?”

“I am here to look at horses. Having missed my chance in Taunton, I am still hoping to acquire some prime blood to add to my stables.”

“For riding? For driving? Gilbey and I can help you. We know a thing or two about horses.”

“For breeding,” Brinton said, arching an eyebrow in Gillian’s direction. He had certainly never had a woman offer to help him choose a horse before.

They made their way slowly through the crowds gathered around pens of cows, hogs, and ponies. They passed by a gypsy who was attempting to hawk a sway-backed piebald amidst unhelpful comments from the onlookers.

“I suppose you are going to tell me I shouldn’t consider that one,” Brinton couldn’t resist saying.

“Would I insult you so?” Gillian quipped back.

They stopped quite abruptly in a crowd gathered around a big Scotsman selling a gleaming chestnut stallion.

“Now there’s a beauty,” breathed Gilbey in admiration.

“He must be at least seventeen hands,” Gillian added.

“Hm,” said Brinton. “Makes you wonder why he didn’t already sell this morning, before we ever got here.” He was speaking in a low voice, almost to himself. “Let’s take a better look.” He began to search for a way through the crowd, but before he could move, a small, sturdy man in a tweed jacket and red waistcoat grabbed hold of his coat sleeve and pulled him back.

“Excuse me? Lord Brinton, I believe?”

Rafferty rounded on the man with a fierce expression that would have left most people quaking. He did not like having his coat sleeves pulled at, nor having his identity advertised in the marketplace to ruin his hopes of a good bargain.

“Ah, yes, ’tis you, my lord,” said the little man, apparently quite unperturbed. “Thought as much when I first saw you riding in.” He nodded toward the twins. “They with you?”

There was something sly about the man’s approach that made Brinton wary of answering. Matching question with question, he summoned his most intimidating growl. “What is it you want? Be quick—I am busy here.”

“Yes, o’ course, my lord. A moment only.” The man’s rough accent contrasted oddly with his polite words.

Who the devil is this?
Brinton puzzled.

“Such an odd coincidence, running into you, my lord. Not two hours ago I got a report about your uncle, Lord Grassington.”

Damn the man! He was already making matters worse.
This was not the way Brinton had wanted the twins to learn of his connection. “You had a report?”

“Seems your uncle’s intended and her brother have run away from Devonshire. Twins they are, although a more mismatched pair I never heard of. The lad is tall and blond, while the girl is a little thing, short with reddish hair.”

“What has this to do with me?”

“Seems the pair are heading north, maybe to Scotland, and we’re to be on the lookout. Their uncle is paying handsomely to get them back.” The man attempted to peer past the earl to get a better look at the twins. “Next thing I know, here you come, riding in with them two. Just seemed odd, you know. Worth a look into, no offense intended, my lord.”

Brinton reminded himself to exhale. He could detect no reaction from the young pair behind him, and he hoped they all three could appear calm and unconnected. Even so, his words came out more forcefully than he had intended.

“If I thought it was any of your business, perhaps I would tell you that I have no connection to these people except that I rode in behind them and we are sharing a hitching block. Perhaps not. Why the devil I should tell you, I haven’t the faintest clue.”

“My apologies. I should have said sooner. I am employed by Bow Street, part of the northern network. Name’s Orcutt. Considering that you’re Grassington’s supposed heir, I thought these matters might interest you. Don’t mean to be impertinent, your lordship.”

“Well, you are. You assume a great deal, Mr. Orcutt. I have little if anything to do with my uncle’s affairs, and I care even less about them.” Brinton tried to sound thoroughly bored, “If you’ll excuse me, now, I came here to buy a horse. I do not appreciate the interruption. Good day, sir.”

As Brinton hoped, Mr. Orcutt accepted the brusque dismissal, but the man did not go far. Brinton began to elbow his way back into the crowd, passing between the twins.

“He is still watching us,” he said in a low voice, without looking at either of them. “We had best get ourselves out of Worcester as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. Can you get yourselves back to the carriage?”

Chapter Ten

The twins had no time to react to the shock of learning Brinton’s connection to Lord Grassington. In one hurriedly exchanged glance, they communicated their unspoken misgivings and also their agreement that, for the moment, the Bow Street agent was a greater and more immediate threat.

They answered Brinton with an almost imperceptible nod, even as they started to move. Quickly they slipped into the crowd and made their way through the marketplace, taking advantage of the flimsy wood and canvas booths to cover their movements as much as possible. When Gilbey finally stopped, Gillian nearly crashed into him.

“I just want to reconnoiter,” he explained. “See? There’s the curricle just ahead of us.” In the crowded marketplace they could see no sign of either Brinton or the Bow Street agent.

“I’d like to know what Brinton is doing,” Gilbey said as he climbed up into the seat.

“I couldn’t care less,” Gillian replied as she clambered in beside him. “If this carriage did not belong to him, I would say we should set off in it right now without him!”

“Oh, that’s fine! We are in trouble enough without adding theft. Besides, we wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to go.”

“Anywhere that is away from him would be a safe wager in my book! Grassington’s nephew! He must have been delighted when he learned who we were. I admit that I don’t understand why he didn’t just serve us up on a platter to that Bow Street man.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t like his uncle! Or perhaps he is against the marriage. Did not the agent say that Brinton is Lord Grassington’s heir apparent? Brinton would be cut out of his inheritance if Grassington produced a son!”

“A son!” Gillian gave an involuntary shudder. The thought of sharing a bed with the old man had so appalled her, she had refused to even consider the possible consequences. “But Brinton assisted us in Taunton before he knew who we were. He couldn’t have already known then, could he? I think it more likely that once he found out, he thought he could keep helping us, right into a trap. Was it not his idea for us to come to Worcester?”

“Yes. But then, as you said, why would he help us to escape that Bow Street Runner? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, I have it in mind to get back out of this carriage and walk away from the problem. We could disappear into the streets of Worcester and go back to making our own way north.”

“The few crowns we have would not get us very far.”

“We could earn more! We could perform some kind of work.”

“Oh, right. And what might that be? No one would ever mistake us for laborers.”

Gillian tossed her head and stared off at the buildings bordering the square. “I suppose you think we should just sit there waiting for Brinton. Well, I don’t.” Before her brother could so much as utter a protest, she jumped down from the curricle.

She did not get far. As soon as she landed, she crashed full-length against a tall man who had just come up on her side of the vehicle. It was Brinton.

“Where do you think you are going?” he ground out between his teeth, grasping her by the upper arms. “If you do not get back into that carriage this instant, I will throw you in bodily.”

He stepped back just in time to avoid the kick she aimed at his shins, but his iron grip on her arms never loosened. He spun her around to face the curricle, speaking quietly into her ear. “I will, too, little witch, make no mistake.”

Gillian put a foot on the step and raised herself up, her back as straight as a ramrod. No longer at a disadvantage in height, she shot a look of pure loathing over her shoulder at Brinton and, shaking off his hands, climbed into the seat.

The earl looked across at Gilbey. “We have to leave—now,” he said, his voice low but filled with unmistakable urgency. “Follow me as closely as you can, and don’t stop for anything until I do.” Without another glance at the twins, he moved to unhitch the horses and mount up.

Gilbey hesitated, glancing at his sister. Then he flicked the reins briskly and clucked at the pair of bays who had been standing so patiently. Protest and rebellion were smoldering on the seat beside him, he could tell. He urged the horses to follow Brinton, nevertheless. Was there really any other choice?

Brinton led the twins out of the market square by the nearest street. They followed him through the traffic as best they could, squeezing through openings that Gilbey normally might not have dared to try. Worcester was busy and noisy. It was a relief when they reached a quiet back street in the shadow of the cathedral. Brinton reined in his horse beside the curricle.

“We cannot stay in Worcester, and the sooner we are gone, the better. I dare not stop now to call upon the solicitors through whom I had planned to borrow your money. We shall have to manage on the sum I had put by for horse buying. We’ll go north, but we’ll try to avoid the main roads and towns.”

“You are going with us?” asked Gilbey.

“As I seem to be under suspicion, it seems best if I disappear for a time. I know this area, and we haven’t enough money to split up.”

“How did you get clear of Mr. Bow Street?”

Brinton laughed. Gilbey thought a devil seemed to dance in the earl’s eyes for a moment. “Remember the gypsy we passed in the market, trying to pass off his ruined animal as a horse? I suggested that our Mr. Orcutt was bad-mouthing his reputation and trying to steal his business. I didn’t think the gypsy would stand for that, and when I last looked, he had Mr. Orcutt backed up against the wall of the apothecary’s shop, embroiled in a rather intense, er, discussion.”

Gilbey chuckled appreciatively. Gillian was silent.

“I have no doubt that the diversion has gained us only a little bit of time,” Brinton added seriously. “We are going to need food, but I think we will stop for it after we are out of the city.”

***

“Where do you think he is taking us?” Gillian asked Gilbey a short while later. “I am quite sure we are not heading norm.” Anxiety had supplanted all other emotions in her voice for the moment. “What if Lord Grassington and Uncle William are waiting for us at one of these outlying taverns?”

“Grassington is too ancient and fragile to have come this far. As for Uncle William, I cannot say. I don’t see how they could have arranged it, Gillie. When could they have been in contact? Quite frankly, I think you are sniffing the wind in the wrong direction, regarding your suspicions about Brinton.”

“Surely you agree now that he isn’t to be trusted?”

“Yes, but not in the way that you think. Gillie, have you not noticed the way he looks at you?”

“No, I have not.” A telltale blush gave away the lie.

Gilbey kindly refrained from pointing it out. “Well, I have. I don’t know what his intentions are, but I assure you I am keeping a close eye on him.”

There was no trap awaiting them at the roadside inn where Brinton finally stopped to purchase food. He, in fact, went in alone, bidding the twins to stay in the carriage, where they were less likely to be seen. The saddlebags he carried in with him were bulging when he came back out.

“This should do us for a while,” he said, slinging the bags up behind his horse’s saddle. He gave the animal a pat and added, “Let’s give these fellows a good, long drink, for they will be well-tired by the time we stop again.”

“Exactly where is it we are going?” Gillian demanded, unable to stop herself. “I know by the sun and the position of the hills that we have not been heading north!”

Brinton raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you’d like to know that, would you? I think I might enjoy seeing how bedeviled you could become if I refused to tell you, but that would be most ungentlemanly, would it not?” He gave Gillian an extremely roguish smile. “As it happens, we have been heading west. We will be turning north shortly, heading for a place where we may hide ourselves and decide what to do next. We will have to provide our own accommodations, but they will cost us nothing.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Gillian could not keep the exasperation out of her voice, even though she knew it gave him satisfaction.

“It means we are going to camp in the Wyre Forest.”

The twins looked at Brinton as if he had quite lost his mind.

***

Two hours later, the three travelers found themselves on foot in the sun-dappled glades of the ancient forest. Following a rough track that was barely wide enough to accommodate the carriage, they formed a small procession under the lacy canopy of branches. Brinton led the way beside his mount, and Gilbey brought up the rear with the tired pair drawing the curricle. Gillian walked in between, entranced by the beauty around her.

Stands of firs splashed their darker green against the other soft colors of the spring woods—the infant greens and golds of the larches, birch, and beech trees growing among the old oaks. Clouds of white cherry blossoms could be seen in places, along with bright carpets of bluebells in the glades.

“Oh, it is so beautiful!” Gillian exclaimed, drawing a deep breath. “It smells so wonderful; do you not wish they could bottle a scent that smelled like spring woods?”

“You would never get me to wear it.” Gilbey chuckled.

“Watch out for the mud!” Brinton called suddenly from ahead.

His warning came too late for Gillian. As she stepped forward, her boot sank into the soft edge of a muddy rut, throwing her off balance. She tried to save herself, but her counterstep struck deeper mud. Down she went with a little cry of dismay.

Gilbey had to halt the bays before their forward motion overran his sister sprawled in the mud. As she struggled to sit up, Brinton and his horse turned back to her, carefully skirting the treacherous patch.

“Miss Kentwell! Are you quite all right?” Holding the ribbons in one hand, the earl extended his other one to Gillian.

She ignored it. “I am still in one piece,” she replied. “The mud is quite soft, although the ground beneath it is not.”

Gillian felt shaken, wet, and thoroughly embarrassed. Part of her wanted very much to take Brinton’s hand, to have him help her up, hold her and comfort her. Part of her wished the earth would open up and swallow her, or at least, failing that, perhaps it could swallow Brinton instead. She stared at his hand as if it were a hot poker.

“Please allow me to assist you,” he said, still holding out his hand.

“No, thank you. You will only get mud on your gloves,” she managed to say civilly. She looked down at herself, surveying the damage. Mud covered her front all the way to her waist. Her forearms were caked to the elbows, where she had caught herself as she fell. Her cap lay in the mud two feet away. Ironically, her cloak sat, clean and dry, on the seat of the curricle where she had left it in the warmth of the sunny afternoon.

“Gillie, you are a picture,” her brother said, beginning to laugh. “I am glad you are not hurt.”

“If you continue to laugh, you may be the one who is hurt,” she replied, glowering at him. She began to look about for some less muddy spot to place her hand and get up.

“I hope this assisting you up out of roadways is not becoming a habit.” Brinton chuckled. Before she could realize what he was about, he stepped closer and seized her by the elbow, hauling her to her feet.

He had caught her unprepared. Off-balance again, she tottered against him, and they stood frozen for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes.

There was no escaping it. Gillian felt the wave of attraction rush through her more strongly than ever. Her face tingled, and she thought she must be blushing, but the sensation spread from her face to every part of her body. Could a person blush all over?

The earl’s eyes were dark but brilliant, seemingly lit from somewhere within. She could see distinctly all the colors that usually blended into the smoky hazel that fascinated her. Did Brinton feel the same pull that she did? Could a man tell if a woman wanted to feel his arms around her?

Brinton’s horse jerked restlessly on the reins, and Gilbey coughed discreetly. Gillian realized with horror that she did not know how long she and Brinton had been standing there. Had it only been a second, or had it been more?

She jumped back from the earl, focusing her distress on the mud that now soiled his coat and gloves. “My lord, your coat! I tried to warn you . . .”

He reached up his free hand to soothe his horse, stroking the animal’s nose with a slightly muddied glove, but he did not take his eyes off Gillian. “It is of no consequence, Miss Kentwell. A little mud will brush off as soon as it dries. I’m afraid your own circumstance is not so easily remedied. I believe we should make camp without further delay.”

A quick survey of the surrounding area revealed a small clearing adjoining the shelter of a large beech tree. The men unharnessed the horses and secured them and the carriage close by, where scrubby brush helped to conceal them. They then tried to remove the evidence of broken twigs and branches where they had forced the bays to pull the curricle off the track.

The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen as Brinton turned to the twins. “I think we must risk having a fire. The air will be cold once the sun has disappeared. I doubt that Orcutt or anyone who works for him would have managed to track us here. We will need kindling and firewood, and if we can find them, stones to put around the fire to keep it contained.”

He paused, looking dubiously at the twins. “Have either of you ever camped before?”

“No,” answered Gilbey.

“Yes,” replied his sister.

“Gillie, I don’t believe you can count the night you and Mary Feathers spent in Chester Norton’s orchard.” Gilbey said.

Brinton’s eyebrows went up like a pair of question marks.

“She was trying to help Mary run away,” the young viscount explained. “Half the people from Prawle Point to Kingsbridge were out looking for them that night.”

“Never mind, Gilbey,” Gillian said impatiently. “We will just do as Lord Brinton bids us.”

“I expect you are wet and uncomfortable in those clothes, Miss Kentwell. You may wish to find a suitably private spot in the bushes to change your apparel. But it is important for us to gather the firewood before it is too dark to see. I might add that darkness falls very quickly in the woods once the sun sets.”