Miss Lindel's Love (22 page)

The best plan, he decided, would be to watch the house and follow them. If their path led to a chaise and team bound on a northward road, all well and good, for their destination would be Scotland. If Rigby hired only a pair and went any direction but north, Sir Rigby would very soon find himself laid out for his funeral, not his wedding.

It was dark under the great tree in the square as Kenton stood by, his horse’s reins passed under his arm. There had been some delay in acquiring his horse from the stables where his cattle resided, and he now feared that he might have missed Maris altogether. On the way out of the Gardens, they may have made some more definite appointment than merely “tonight.”

In the end, he had only to wait half an hour, but it seemed far longer. The mellow chiming of Bath Abbey’s bells over the old stone city gave the quarter hour as a chaise and pair
rolled up in front of the house. Sir Rigby leaped down, then stopped and looked anxiously at the horses.

Apparently he was expected, for Tremlow did not ask him to wait. As he passed in, he said, “I say, do you hear a funny noise?”

“Of what category, Sir Rigby?”

“Sort of a grinding noise. I thought it was my horse but it was a damn funny sound for a horse to make, unless it’s got something wrong with its teeth.”

“I know little of horses, Sir Rigby. They have not often fallen within my sphere.”

What was Tremlow doing being so chatty? Kenton expected his butler to be as taciturn at this square as he was at Finchley. There, his sense of consequence hardly permitted him to speak to Kenton, let alone a young man calling upon a lady of the house.

Within fifteen minutes, the door opened again and both Sir Rigby and Maris came out. No bandbox or valise encumbered either of them. Kenton frowned anew, feeling that the lines in his forehead would never smooth again. Maris couldn’t imagine she was going as far as Gretna without a change of clothing. What if she thought she was only going on a short jaunt, but Rigby meant to abduct her? Or perhaps she was a willing participant in whatever scheme was afoot.

Kenton wished he had a flask with him. Instead, he decided to stop making wild surmises and stick to the facts he could observe.

With a creak of the saddle leather, Kenton followed the chaise. It wasn’t hard; Rigby wasn’t much of a whip and his job horses were the sort of great slugs palmed off on such undiscerning men. Kenton’s only difficulty lay in holding his own horse to such a halting pace.

His first fact was a simple one. They crossed the Avon to the south over the old Bath Bridge. No Gretna Green this trip. The new Wells and Westminster road rang beneath his hooves and he dropped back so the fugitives couldn’t hear.

He didn’t know the southern routes so well as the ones to the east, and his concentration was focused forward rather than to either side. They kept a fairly straight road, always heading slightly south and west. Only about five miles had been covered, taking hardly any time at all, even when matching his pace to Rigby’s caution, when the chaise drew into the courtyard of a small inn. Kenton could see over the wall that surrounded the inn yard from horseback.

“We shan’t be more than an hour,” Rigby said to the ostler.

Maris had halted on the threshold to hear this, yet still showed no signs of alarm. Whether she had chosen Rigby out of loneliness or love, Kenton couldn’t stand by any longer. Not to interfere in her choice of husband was one thing; to make no shift to stop her headlong slide into ruination was quite another. He owed his interference to her mother as well as to herself.

He dismounted and tossed the reins to the ostler’s boy. “I shall be somewhat less than an hour,” he growled as he strode into the inn.

“Quality,” the ostler said with a shrug.

The inn’s hall was dark and smoky, lit only by a lamp glowing on a table at the entrance. From behind one of the doors came a noise as of many merry people gathered together. A memory of another such hall flickered through Kenton’s mind, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to track the impression to its source.

A heavyset woman, her low-cut gown filled in with a many-pleated lace tucker, passed at the end of the hall, a branch of candles held high in her hand. “Yes, sir?” she said, spying him.

“I’ve a message for the young lady who just arrived.”

“Young lady? Would that be the Spanish madam?”

“No. This one’s English. She drove up not ten minutes ago.”

“Indeed, sir. With the young gentleman?”

“Yes,” Ken ton said, controlling himself. “With the young ... gentleman.”

Her experienced eye ran over him, appraising boots, coat, and cut. She put the candles on the table and wiped her hands on the pinafore that covered her dress. “It’s not an elopement, is it? My man’s very strong against this eloping. We had a runaway couple from Exmouth pass through here last year and I’ve only just heard the end of it from Mr. Ponsonby. I’d not want to be stirring him up again.”

He forced a laugh. ‘‘No, indeed it’s not an elopement. May I see the young lady?”

“What name shall I say?”

“She wouldn’t know it. I’ve been chasing her since she left town with a message. From her mother.”

“Ah, her mother, is it?” Mrs. Ponsonby’s large mouth unfolded in a smile. “This way, sir. Such a taking thing,” she said, picking up her candles. “Every other word is ‘If you please’ and ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ Not like that Spanish one, ordering me about like a slave. If it weren’t it being the slow time of year, I’d have turned her out.”

Kenton wasn’t listening. He tried to plan what he would say to Maris, as he’d tried on the road. All his speeches fell through before his overwhelming curiosity as to what she thought she was doing.

“Here’s a gentlemen to see you, miss,” the landlady said, opening the door to the coffee room.

“Yes?” Maris said, turning away from the fire. For a moment, her eyes still dazzled from the flames, all she could see was a tall shadow, his riding coat sweeping the floor as he entered. The door closed behind him.

“What in the name of God do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

“Kenton?” Her hand flew to the base of her throat. “I beg your pardon. Lord Danesby, how came you here?”

He swept toward her, throwing his hat aside. She caught one glimpse of his face, hard, set, his eyes brilliant, before he clasped her against his body. With one hand, he pushed her chin up, none too gently, and then he kissed her.

Shock held her rigid but nearly as quick and far stronger came delight. She didn’t know how to kiss him in return, though in dreams she often had. Surely, though, she could do more than just stand here while he made all the effort.

At the first intimation of her struggle to get her hands free, he misinterpreted her move and let her go. Maris pressed her fingers to her lips, hardly believing what had happened. She shut her eyes tightly, sure that when she opened them, he’d vanish like the figment of her imagination he must be. One moment, she’d been waiting for Rigby to return and the next she was being unmercifully kissed by Kenton. Perhaps there’d been a carriage accident she didn’t recall and she was at present lying somewhere either unconscious or under opiates. She didn’t care how badly she was hurt so long as this hallucination held.

Kenton paced several times up and down in front of the fireplace. Her eyes dwelling on him in loving amazement, she saw that he wore riding dress and his boots were rather dusty. His hair was more disarranged than she’d ever seen it. She wanted to smooth it down, especially the one twist that rose from the back of his head.

He came to her and took her hands. “Maris, I swear I’ll never ask you again what you are doing here with Barrington. But I must ask you to come back to Bath with me now.”

“Back to Bath? But yes, that’s where we’re going.”

“In an hour? Are you worth no more time to him than that?”

Now she was even more confused. “You may not ask me what I am doing here, Lord Danesby, but I must ask you. Unless the Coachwheel is your usual evening haunt?”

“Hardly,” he said with a twist of his lips. “I overheard you and Harrington talking in the Sydney Gardens this afternoon.”

“Oh, I see. No. You couldn’t have possibly thought this an assignation, which I assume you are hinting, if you overheard us there.”

“I only heard part.”

His clasp on her hands had gradually loosened, rather to her disappointment. Now he released them, and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. She saw that the laughter had come back into his eyes. That was a relief, but at the same time, she had thrilled to the blazing brilliance she’d seen there just before he’d kissed her. She’d been unable to interpret that look then. Now she could hardly wait to see it again.

“Start at the beginning, Maris. If you please.”

“It’s very simple. Three years ago, Rigby went to Spain to visit his younger brother.”

“During the war?”

“Yes. His brother was stationed in Barcelona—is that the right word? Stationed?”

“What does Barrington’s travels have to do with you being here alone with him?” Ken ton asked.

“I’m not alone with him; I’m alone with you,” she said saucily. For an instant, she thought she saw that blaze again as he straightened. She decided, as he once more assumed his relaxed pose, that it had merely been a reflection from the firelight.

“At any rate, Rigby went to Barcelona and there he met a girl. To hear him speak, one would think she is an angel from heaven but to hear the landlady tell it, I have my doubts,”

“The ‘Spanish madam’? You mean the girl is here?”

“Yes, upstairs. Rigby went up to her not fifteen minutes ago, though I think he rather underestimated the time necessary for a reunion. They have been parted for so long, you see.”

“Did he marry her in Spain?”

“Yes. It was quite the romance, though sadly they were separated soon after they were wed. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead until just a few months ago.”

“Most touching,” he said dryly. He shook his head, disarranging his dark hair even more. A stray lock fell over his forehead and Maris’s fingers itched to brush it back. “I cannot picture Rigby Barrington wooing and winning a Spanish beauty. Even if he did, how do you come into it? He never drove you here at this hour of the night to meet his wife.”

“But he did. She only arrived today. He is hoping, as his mother quite likes me, that I can give Yolanda a few hints on how to please her. I told him that the mere fact of his marriage should be enough, but he doesn’t believe me. You see, his brother died in Spain and he’s afraid Lady Barrington will hold that against his wife.”

“This is the greatest rigmarole I’ve ever heard in my life,” Kenton said. “Lady Barrington is more likely to fall on the girl’s neck than turn her from the door.”

“That’s what I thought,” Maris said, an uncontrollable chuckle on her lips. “Poor Rigby. I fear he’ll never know another moment’s peace. I couldn’t refuse him; he painted such a touching picture of his poor little lost bride, all alone in a great strange country.”

Kenton nodded. “The man’s a romantic fool. Unless she was wafted across the sea by angels, she must have managed quite well on her own.”

“I believe he spared no expense once she was located.”

That seemed to dispose of Sir Rigby Harrington’s affairs. The memory of Ken ton’s entrance and the kiss hung between them. Maris glanced up into his face. Finding him studying her, she found the fire fascinating once again.

“Maris ...” he said quietly. “I’m not going to apologize.”

“I didn’t ask you to. You ... you had your reasons, no doubt.” The expectant quivering in her heart spread to her whole body. Could she be such a fool as to allow her feelings for him to reanimate?

“Yes, I had. They were good reasons. Would you care to hear them?” She didn’t care what his reasons were, so long as they still held true. “I couldn’t let you throw yourself away on a popinjay like Barring-ton. I know how lonely you must be, Maris, but don’t choose a mate because of that.”

“How did you know I was lonely?” she asked wonderingly. “I didn’t think anyone guessed.”

His smile held all the tenderness she’d dreamed of. “I’m lonely too. I never realized how much I needed you until you refused my offer at Durham. I didn’t propose because of that nonsense with Mrs. Paladin. You didn’t believe me then but I was so happy that I’d been handed that chance. It made me see the truth.”

“What truth?” she asked, wanting him to stop talking and wishing he would go on.

He reached out and gathered her in, hands, shoulders, waist “That I’d fallen in love with you the first time I saw you, laughing in St. Paul’s.”

Borne away on the bliss of Kenton’s embrace, she did not think it necessary that he’d seen her once before that and had not found her at all prepossessing. Perhaps she’d tell him about that some other time, or perhaps not.

“Did you?”

“I must have,” he said, kissing the corner of her mouth, right on the dimple. “I cannot imagine why else I would have suffered such a sudden revulsion of feeling at the thought of continuing with Flora Armitage. The only element that had changed was your presence there.”

Standing this close to him, cradled against his chest, Maris could smile at his previous association. “How do you usually break off your connections?”

“With delicacy and tact. But you needn’t worry. There won’t be any more.”

“So if you suddenly become terribly tactful, I should have a care.” The immediate tightening of his arms and the gratifying roughness of his kiss relieved her mind. This time, she had her hands free and felt a wild new sense of freedom as she slipped her hands shyly about his neck, smoothing the wayward lock of hair at the back of his head. His hair was thick and soft. She ran a finger over the edge of his ear and down his throat, so different from her own.

His voice grew gruff. “Maris. I’m in love with you.”

“Yes,” she said dreamily, lifting her chin for another kiss.

He gave it to her, then, putting his hands to her shoulders, he pushed her back an inch. Maris rocked slightly on her heels, opening her eyes. His smile was half amused, half eager. “Maris, did you hear me?”