Patrica Rice (16 page)

She had to do something soon. Last night the madmen had decided they couldn’t acquire enough gunpowder to blow up Parliament, but they almost had sufficient funds for a nobleman’s house. They intended to wait until all the cabinet officials had one of their dinners together. The Duke of Anglesey had planned such a dinner the first week of May.

Fiona watched the Runner disappear around the corner and sighed. She owed the duke naught. Did she dare risk herself and her family to warn him?

* * *

Blanche allowed Michael to feign sleep for as long as she could. Perhaps he truly did doze upon occasion, but she knew he was awake now. Even Michael hadn’t the willpower to stop his eyelids from flickering.

“Your coffee will grow cold if you don’t finish it soon,” she said aloud. “And you really should have something in your stomach to settle it.”

He opened his eyes and glared at her, then closed them again. Perhaps the sunlight hurt his head. “I must go back, Michael. I can’t leave those poor people out of work. It’s an outrage. I shall just go in and tell that horrible man who I am, and set things right.”

Michael groped for the cup without opening his eyes. “You’ll ruin your reputation by appearing there without an appropriate escort, and you will do it for naught. He doesn’t even know the mill owner’s name. He’ll demand written notification from Barnaby. You’ve done all you can. When you interview men for Barnaby’s position, you can make certain they’re prepared to travel at once. That’s all you can do.”

Blanche took his cup and filled it. She enjoyed the way Michael sipped gratefully at the coffee she handed him, as if making him happy mattered.

“It’s not enough,” she insisted. “Many of those people were injured because of me. They won’t have any way of providing food for their tables. Children could go hungry. If nothing else, I must go back and distribute food.”

He opened his eyes to narrow slits. “I took care of that. Our traveling funds are now quite limited. We won’t be staying in such elegant inns from here on.”

It didn’t surprise Blanche that Michael had divested her of her money to provide for others without asking permission—or even discussing the matter. But still it frustrated her that she could do nothing else.

“I want that manager removed,” she said. “And I want those people back to work.”

Michael unbent his long legs and stretched them across the carriage. Blanche had the uneasy feeling that he was staring at her breasts. She squirmed at the thought.

“I’ve taken care of that, too,” he admitted wearily. “I forged Barnaby’s name on a letter remanding earlier orders. The mill will begin twelve hour work days and the workers are receiving a wage increase. Of course, the same needs to be done at every mill you own, but since I don’t know the extent of your holdings, I could only correct the one situation.”

She kicked his large boot with her small one. “You forged Barnaby’s name! How could you? And shouldn’t you have at least consulted me before going to such lengths?”

He shrugged. “I doubted you would approve of forgery and saw no reason to blot your pristine conscience with my actions.”

“And here I thought you different from other men!” she exploded. “Why must you all think of me as some mush-brained ninnyhammer who can’t do anything for herself? Isn’t it possible that I might like to be consulted about things that affect my interests? Or must all of you believe that only a man knows what is best for a woman?”

Michael opened his eyes enough to glare at her. “I did precisely what you just suggested, only a little more effectively. Had I asked your permission to forge Barnaby’s signature, you would have gone all proper on me, and nothing would have got done.”

“How do you know what I would have done since you didn’t bother asking?” she demanded. “And how could you have forged Barnaby’s signature? You’ve never seen it.”

With a scowl, he produced a rumpled piece of paper from an inner coat pocket. “I stole this from your desk that day I heard you arguing with him.”

Blanche swept the bill of sale from between his fingers, noted the familiar signature of her man of business, and slapped it back in Michael’s hands. “Why in the name of heaven would you have stolen such a thing?”

The paper disappeared somewhere about his person. “I find such things useful from time to time. Gavin tries to correct inequities from his position in Parliament, but he might as well try carrying the world on his shoulders. Those stiff-necked aristocrats won’t surrender one inch of their power unless someone holds a gun to their heads. I simply find more efficient, if less legal, means of achieving what Gavin wants. Of course, I can only do a little at a time, but that’s better than nothing at all.”

Blanche slumped against the carriage seat. “I don’t suppose you were in Derbyshire earlier this year?”

Michael watched her warily. “Could be.”

“When the squire discovered someone had sold his fabled gun collection and distributed the proceeds to his tenant farmers?”

Michael drained his cup, leaned his shoulders back against the seat, and closed his eyes. “Providential that someone wanted to buy the collection, I’d say.”

“Providential that an entire armament room could empty itself overnight,” she returned with sarcasm. “I had wondered at the time. It didn’t seem the work of ordinary thieves.”

He twitched his shoulders restlessly beneath his tight coat. “That’s neither here nor there. Tonight, we’ll reach the village where I found Fiona. My inquiries into how she arrived may take a while. Shall I arrange for a post chaise at the next inn and return you to London?”

The idea of returning to London alone chilled her. She’d enjoyed traveling with Michael, even if he was the most frustrating, irritating man alive. And last night...she couldn’t stop thinking about last night. She didn’t want to give up that beautiful connection. How could she find a way past Michael’s remarkably odd code of honor? Forgery and theft didn’t stop him, but he drew the line at bedding willing women. She would never understand the man.

“I thought it unsafe for me back there,” she answered stiffly.

“It’s obviously unsafe for you with me,” he said dryly.

She caught a fleeting glimpse of remorse in his expression and hope rose. He wouldn’t deny last night, then. “Or do you feel unsafe with me?” she asked with more boldness than she would have dared had she given her retort any thought at all.

His gaze lowered to her bodice. “I’ve spent these last hours wondering what else you wear between that pretty blue gown and your skin.”

He said that deliberately to scare her. And it did, just a little, at the realization he’d been mentally stripping off her clothes. At the same time, her breasts tightened against the fabric of her chemise. She daringly rubbed a pointed nipple concealed in velvet. “I can feel you inside even when you aren’t touching me,” she said with wonder.

He groaned low in his throat, and closed his eyes again.

“Does your head still hurt?” she asked guiltily.

“Among other things,” he muttered. “Unless you’re willing to climb on my lap and service me now, I wouldn’t repeat that little maneuver anytime soon. Why don’t you read a book? We’ve a long day ahead.”

Her cheeks flamed. Michael was no gentleman to say anything so crude, except she wasn’t thinking like a lady. She actually tried to imagine his proposition, but she thought such a position would be more than a trifle awkward. Michael’s stiffly uncomfortable posture warned her not to ask about kissing instead.

When he closed his eyes again, she darted a glance at his tight trousers, and the color rose in her cheeks again. He’d meant what he said, if the bulge there was any indication. He’d take her like a whore anytime she was ready.

* * *

The next inn they stopped at had only one room available, and Michael signed them in as Lord and Lady Michael Lawrence. Blanche watched with trepidation as he ordered their baggage carried up. The wheels of his formidable mind had had hours in which to spin plans he wouldn’t explain to her. He seemed entirely too calm after the anger of earlier.

This inn lacked the amenities of their earlier stops. She wondered how many coins they had left. She supposed if she really wanted to know, she could check the hem of her skirt and cloak. She’d long since given him the money in her bag.

Michael escorted her upstairs and disappeared immediately thereafter. Since they’d reached the town where he’d found Fiona, Blanche had hoped she could help in his inquiries, but he didn’t ask for her help, and she didn’t dare put herself forward after what she’d already done. She eyed the lumpy mattress askance and removed her pelisse.

She ate her supper alone. No doubt she tried Michael’s patience as much as he tried hers. They didn’t suit, except in bed, she amended, glancing in that direction. And even then, she supposed he could find more compatible women. She was the one so isolated she could find no one to suit her taste but Michael.

After supper, she read for as long as she could stand it, then washed and donned her nightshift. She smoothed the soft linen over her body and wondered if she would ever feel Michael’s touch again. Watching his hands as he juggled silverware, disappeared cards, and produced roses in winter had excited her imagination long, long ago. He had magic in his fingertips, and she coveted their touch.

Of course, she coveted a child, too. If he’d succeeded in giving her one, she would have to go to the Continent for a year or so. She could easily acquire a paper husband and become a paper widow while there. She’d known other women to do the same, although most just gave their children away and never admitted having them. She wouldn’t do that. She would admit it for all to see. By that time, Michael would have gone on to other places, other activities, and would never know the difference.

But as the night grew late, Blanche gave up the hope that Michael meant to return to her bed. She watched out the window for a while but saw no sign of him in the sleepy little village. A tavern down the road spilled light onto the roadway. People came and went from there, but none resembled Michael’s familiar silhouette.

She turned down the light and crawled between the fresh linens. The bed wasn’t as large as the one last night. If Michael returned, he’d have to lie close to her. Only that thought let her drift into sleep.

Michael returned some hours later. His loins quickened as he stared longingly at the fall of golden hair across the pillow. He’d almost succeeded in shutting this amazing woman from his mind as he’d searched for Fiona’s transport. For a short while, he’d almost felt himself again, wearing his juggler’s clothes and taking handouts. But watching Blanche like this, he didn’t know who he was any longer.

He’d welcomed a gentlewoman into his bed, filled her with his seed, and now he must pay the price. He’d given marriage an idle thought or two upon occasion, but he’d never dreamed of a wife so far above him. Well, he’d
dreamed
of Blanche. He’d done nothing but dream of her since he’d first laid eyes on her standing frail and wistful in her garden and immediately set out to put himself into her employ. He’d just never dreamed of her as wife.

Of course, he hadn’t really won her. He knew how Blanche’s mind worked. She didn’t have marriage in mind. He didn’t fit her plans any more than she fit his.

But there were some things in life that one had to do, regardless of the consequences. The minute he’d planted his seed in her body, he’d sealed their fate. He wouldn’t renege on a solemn vow just because neither of them had known what they were doing. Blanche would be his wife, and any child she bore would be his own.

They would reach Scotland on the morrow.

The Duke of Anglesey paced up and down the richly hued Oriental carpet. “Dashitall, Effingham, if you are making up this sorry tale just to distract me from that labor bill, I will have you strung up! Men are entitled to make a profit as they will. It is none of our concern how they go about it. And if we raise wages, the cost of everything will escalate, and then no one will afford anything.”

“You mean the cloth for your fine cravats will cost a penny more and you must find some better way of persuading the coins out of Blanche’s bottomless purse,” Gavin, the Marquess of Effingham replied, twisting a letter opener between his fingers. “That’s nothing to do with anything at the moment. You have not told me: do you know where Lady Blanche is?”

“I’d thought her returned to the country,” Neville replied crossly. “I’m not her keeper, after all. She’s a headstrong baggage, thanks to your wife. She never consults me on any matter, and she particularly delights in thwarting me when she can. She hired that wretched aunt of hers as companion, then never takes her anywhere. The old hag is currently ensconced in one of my best guest rooms because she claims her rooms are being refurbished. And I have an important dinner planned in a few weeks. How does one go about telling a lady she is not welcome at the table?”

Effingham hid a grin at His Grace’s dilemma. As the elder by some years, Gavin thought Neville as badly spoiled as his lady cousin, but the duke held a powerful position that Gavin did not. As an outsider, an American who had come into his title only recently, Gavin lacked influence.

“We will worry over the lady’s companion after we’ve decided what to do with our wayward relations. I suggest you find out if Lady Blanche is at Anglesey or in Dorset. She can probably answer our questions.” Effingham sent up a prayer that Lady Blanche was right where she should be, but in his heart, he knew better.

“And you think some of those radical labor leaders may have set that carriage explosion?” His Grace asked.

“I come from a country that became independent through such violence,” Gavin reminded him. “England is ripe for revolution. If those old bastards in the Lords don’t pull their collective heads out of the sand, the radicals will tear down the walls of parliament just as the mobs tore down the Bastille in France.”

“That is why we must not give power to mobs!” the duke replied indignantly. “If we let them have what they want, they’ll only demand more. We must use military strength to keep them under control and in their places.”