His Forbidden Debutante (25 page)

‘I doubt you have the possession to kill. Sometimes the illusion of doing something pales when compared with the reality.’ She brushed her fingertips across his jaw, easing the tension there and then strayed, her fingertip resting near the corner of his mouth, coasting across the bottom and then top where she caressed the deep cleft of his upper lip. ‘Then other times the reality exceeds even one’s bravest imaginings.’ She sighed. ‘You’re very handsome.’ She stole her fingers back and waited for his response.

‘You’re not wearing your spectacles.’ He tapped the tip of his nose. ‘But that doesn’t matter. You look all muzzy from our lovemaking. Drowsy and delicious. And in this case, the reality was far better than any illusion I’d conjured. Are you warm enough? I’ve never been so thankful for clean horse blankets.’

They shared a soft laugh and Livie found the more she looked at him, this man who’d become the core of her life for longer than she could remember now, the more she wanted to look at him. ‘I feel very well loved.’

‘As you should. Always.’ He cuddled her against his chest, their bodies as close as two sides of the same coin. ‘Let’s get some rest. As much as I’d like to keep you cosy and share stories, morning will arrive in a few hours and I intend to level Allington and exact our escape. He’s tangled with the wrong earl, and without laudanum to assist, he will soon discover he doesn’t stand a chance.’

There wasn’t anything to add to that vow and, content to be held in Randolph’s safe embrace, she closed her eyes and found sleep.

The new morning began much as they predicted, but unlike the series of events which led them to be locked in the stable overnight, Livie and Penwick were ready. They’d risen at the first ray of sunlight through the loft window, the undercurrent of escape ever simmering below a visage of fitful sleep, a sporadic reminder that daybreak brought danger. Few words were spoken, whether to preserve the fragile beauty of the night shared in each other’s arms or because each considered that in view of the pending confrontation, inescapable and threatening, nothing could be said.

Now, assembled as best possible, for with irony she still lacked shoes, they waited. One of her overskirts was positioned in the stall where she’d been locked, partially covered by hay to provoke Allington to enter and investigate. With luck he would arrive alone, not wishing to involve others in his deranged perpetration. Penwick hoped to lock him in once he entered the stall to rouse her. Of course, the two had planned for several other outcomes should events not unfold as hoped.

‘Are you ready, my love?’

Her soon-to-be hero husband looked dashing in his rumpled, dishevelled appearance. More accustomed to his pristine attire, viewing him now, bruised and beaten, his coat and shirt dirtied, warmed her heart in a strange condition she could not label. Danger awaited them and yet here she stood considering how handsome her future husband appeared and the glory of their intimacies the night before.

Her neck still burned from the rub of his fresh whiskers and she touched the tender place, the sensation a cherished reminder of their love play. The action stirred the scent of his cologne, cashmere and bergamot alive on her skin, and she smiled with secret delight.

‘Yes.’ He spanned his fingers and flexed his fist, then repeated the motion. ‘I’d much rather teach Allington a lesson with my foil, but it seems fisticuffs will have to serve. The few tools in here are too unwieldy and I cannot take a chance on anything unreliable. We’ll have one opportunity to subdue him and escape.’

‘It will work, our plan. I’m sure of it.’ Confidence fortified the declaration.

‘Well, that makes one of us.’ He dared a half smile. ‘I hope to have the help from an old friend.’ He glanced towards the third stall on the right, then walked to where Livie stood and tipped her chin upward, his brown eyes searching her face, his expression grave. ‘I need you to promise me something, love, and you must keep that vow just as well as you keep my heart.’

‘What is it?’ The words stuttered past her lips and the firm set of his jaw softened by degree.

‘I cannot fathom what Allington hopes to achieve with this scheme. He’s made a royal mess of things and thinks to force me to bend to his plans. I’m unsure how far he will carry his machinations.’ He paused to ensure she listened with purpose. ‘No matter what happens to me you must continue your escape and get to the main road beyond Clipthorne House. It is not so very far once you are on your way. Hail any passing carriage or hackney, explain the urgency of our problem and give the driver this.’

He made haste to remove the signet ring from his finger before snatching her hand and crushing the jewellery into her palm. She’d admired the ring as they’d whiled away the previous night. From what she could determine in the moonlight, an engraved gold crest embodied the background where a crown emblazoned two glittering stars above the Penwick title. Anyone would know its value and authenticity. She held the ring tight though her hand trembled.

‘Tell them to take you straight to Kirby Park and I will forever be in their debt. State that you have this on my honour and trust.’

His solemn words evoked a shiver.

‘I’m not very good at keeping these kinds of obligations. I promised my sister I wouldn’t buy any more slippers and I disobeyed. I promised myself I’d return the shoe clips which led me into this horrendous predicament, placing Esme and everyone in danger, and now you wish me to promise that I will leave you when perhaps you need me most.’ Emotion had conquered all attempts at bravery and her voice trembled. Tears smarted her eyes. ‘After my legs were injured I vowed never to be helpless again. And at that I failed as well. Allington took my spectacles and I was of little good without them. Now that I’ve recovered my health, my glasses and you…’ She squeezed his forearm, the muscles beneath as solid as her trust in him. ‘I shan’t be making any more foolish promises that I will surely break because my heart is engaged.’

He pulled her into his embrace, kissed the top of her head and held her a long minute. She refused to show emotion when he counted on her most and somehow he knew, allowed her the extra moment she needed to reassemble her composure. At last he placed his hand atop hers, tightening his fingers around her fist, the ring safely tucked within, and withdrew with a sideways glance towards the locked stable doors. ‘Put it in your pocket, Livie, and know that I love you.’ He walked towards the front of the stable and melted into the concealment of the stable hands’ quarters. ‘Now we wait.’

Chapter Twenty

As anticipated, Allington arrived soon after first light, the element of surprise on their side, but it was fleeting at the least. Allington would know Penwick was conscious, angry and waiting. He was no fool and would likely bring a pistol, though Penwick omitted the consideration when he’d planned with Livie the night before. It would be cruel and likewise unnecessary to distract her with the dangers.

He matched eyes with Livie across the width of the stable as the chains tapped against the main door, the metallic message a harbinger begging they prepare. And as predicted, Allington entered, pistol at the waistband of his trousers, hair in disarray as if he’d already committed an offensive confrontation or had a sleepless night. With the new sun silhouetting his approach, he appeared a spectre of disaster, a madman losing hold on sanity.

Penwick ran through options, discarding and amending with alacrity. He would do nothing to endanger Livie, even if it meant bending to Allington’s demands.

The man was not so easily foiled. With hardly a glance inside the stall where they’d arranged Livie’s skirt as a ploy, Allington ascertained his captive had been set free and, with slow, fluid dauntlessness, drew out his pistol. A horse nickered and Allington jerked to the left, his boots soundless as he strode forward.

‘Let’s not prolong the fun, Penwick. Come out and bring your little friend with you. We have much to settle before the vicar arrives.’ Each syllable echoed and overlapped inside the otherwise quiet barn, yet once the last word dissipated, silence resumed.

‘If you insist on creating a scene.’ One by one, Allington checked the stalls. ‘It’s not as if you have anywhere to run.’ He glanced over his shoulder to where he’d left the double doors gaping; an error in judgement unable to be fixed without turning his back. ‘You’ll have to get past me, though, wouldn’t you?’

His retort of anticipation lent an eerie chord. The shuffle of hay and horse hooves was the only response until a sharp whistle rent the air. Decorum, the obedient white mare Randolph had sold to Allington, galloped from her pen with a furious whinny, nostrils flared and mane flapping. Livie, barefoot as an angel, rode high on her back. They aimed straight towards the door and with simultaneous purpose Randolph bolted from the grooms’ quarters, striking Allington across the shoulders to knock him forward, the pistol flung aside as he absorbed the impact of the combined assault.

Decorum snorted her approval and with a valiant step pivoted to reclaim her master, to which Randolph grabbed a handful of mane and mounted, the entire episode over in a matter of minutes. He took control as Livie slid into position and clasped his torso from behind. Her arms held fast as they rode towards the door. A smile quirked his lips, as mad a thought as satisfaction, although the moment was short-lived. As they aimed towards the barn doors to exit, a pistol shot whizzed past their left side not more than two inches out. It startled a sharp gasp from Livie, her hold tightening, but he smiled with the knowledge Allington would never have time to take another shot. Pity, that.

Randolph didn’t rein in until they were well down the main road, far away from Clipthorne. They were ragged, dirty and somewhat deranged by the series of events consuming the last day and a half, but when Decorum found an elegant canter, he reached behind and grabbed Livie’s elbow, hauling her in front of him to take her mouth in a long, deep kiss that spoke of trust and devotion. Her hands wound around his neck for security, and perhaps because he’d noticed she enjoyed playing with the ends of his hair; and with her nestled against his chest, half across his lap, his barefoot captive, he rode into London centre and further on to Kirby Park.

‘Dashwood.’ Penwick’s strong beckon resounded on the gravel drive. It was late morning. No need for soft voices existed and besides, he meant to return Livie home where her sister and family had suffered, frantic with worry. If Esme had managed to make sense of what happened and explained, or if the absence of Lavinia had prompted their concern, mattered little.

He never expected what occurred next.

He’d accomplished the end of the drive as the double doors flung open, an outpouring of persons flooding the brick stoop. He recognised Dashwood at the forefront, Jasper’s older brother and familiar face. Behind him was a slight woman with the same colouring as Livie though she was more petite. Beside her stood an even older version of the same; a tiny sprite of a woman who could only be Aunt Kate, as Livie had described them all when they shared secrets and conversation in the hay loft the previous evening.

He expected appreciation. At the least some type of sincere gratitude for returning Livie home unharmed aside from a lost pair of slippers which truly presented no problem. To his delight, she’d confessed to owning nearly one hundred pair.

But as before, he was caught unaware.

Decorum had hardly stopped before they were surrounded, Dashwood’s face an intense scowl as he thundered towards the slowing horse.

‘Lavinia.’ His tone was hard though he appeared conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say next.

‘I can get down,’ Livie answered with curt efficiency, anticipating her brother-in-law’s difficulty. ‘Randolph will assist me,’ she added in defence.

This hardened Dashwood’s stentorian expression. ‘He will do no such thing.’

The idiocy of the latter statement was not lost on Livie who stifled a small giggle. Currently she was nestled across his lap, her limbs tangled with his to keep her secure while they rode, and she hadn’t made a move to disentangle, which was fine with Randolph. He intended to become tangled with Livie for the rest of his life.

‘The grooms will be here any moment with the steps and then you will dismount as a lady.’ He flicked his eyes upward. ‘Touch her any more than necessary and I’ll shoot you.’

Randolph clenched his teeth and contained a chuckle when he heard Livie mutter
not again
.

Livie couldn’t fathom why Dashwood was behaving so ridiculously. With just cause, she realised her family would be concerned, her sister and aunt plain sick with worry, for she’d disappeared overnight after having vowed not to go anywhere without specific explanation, but lud, this was not a situation where she had any choice and no matter the danger, inconvenience or loss of a lovely pair of silk slippers, the incident had allowed her to spend the evening within Randolph’s embrace. They’d vowed their love and planned their future. Life seemed rather good.

Dashwood dismissed Randolph and focused all attention on her; where she did her best to appear unperturbed, still the situation simmered with ironic amusement. While Dash had ordered her not to dismount with Randolph’s assistance, the wait for the grooms with the portable steps left her strewn across his warm body all the longer. A very comfortable and cosy place, actually. Oh, how she loved him well and thoroughly.

As if Dash realised the verbal corner he’d created, he returned attention to Randolph and with vehemence issued yet another command. ‘You will not touch her.’ Then, over his shoulder in a thundering tone aimed at no one in particular, he barked, ‘Where are the boys with the stairs?’

As if his anger conjured the lads, two young grooms lumbered from the side of the house and out onto the gravel with the wooden platform. They dropped the block unceremoniously and, as they departed, shook their limbs with brisk invigoration as if their arms stretched a bit from the unexpected effort and hasty summons.

‘Take my hand.’ Dashwood extended his palm, while Whimsy and Aunt Kate, who up to this moment had remained unusually silent, huddled closer to Decorum. The mare hardly sidestepped though Livie could feel Randolph control the horse with pressure from his thighs, the same legs which remained underneath hers.