Seductive Wager (7 page)

Sympathy and a little understanding sounded in his voice, and Kate held tightly to his hands; the strength and warmth of his fingers comforted her. “I said I wouldn’t wake you until the footpads were at the door,” she managed to say with a tremulous smile.

“So you did, but I wasn’t expecting you to keep your promise quite so strictly.” He smiled at her for the first time,
truly
smiled at her, and Kate felt an overwhelming impulse to bury her face in his broad chest and deny the grim reality of what she had done. Instead, she struggled to pull herself together. He was a virtual stranger, and even though he did look like the answer to a maiden’s prayers, it was unthinkable that she should take such liberties with any man not related to her.

“I didn’t mean to come apart like that. It’s just that I’ve never shot a man before, much less
killed
one. I never held a pistol in my hands more than a couple of times in my life. I did it without thinking.” She favored him with a grim smile. “It’s going to take some getting used to.”

Brett gave her fingers a tiny squeeze and released her hands. “Probably,” he said, not unsympathetically, “but it’ll be easier than being stripped naked in the middle of the road and raped by the whole damned gang. They’re bound to have a hideout somewhere near here.”

Kate’s heart almost stopped beating. How could he talk about the possibility of her abduction as calmly as if he were discussing an invitation to a party? Didn’t he have feelings? Didn’t anything have the power to unnerve him? Just look at him now.

Brett had gotten out of the coach and was impassively inspecting the bodies of the slain men. He’s not even upset, she thought, and there’s blood everywhere. The sight was too much for her frayed nerves, and she quietly fainted, slumping back against the cushions.

Outside, Brett regarded the three bodies with disgust before directing his harsh glance toward his servants, a question in his cold eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking, sir,” Walker, the coachman, said to forestall Brett, “but those hedges were too close to the road. And Charles and me are cold and tired from being up here since morning.” Brett’s gaze did not relent. “It’s more than a body can do to be wakeful all day with the cold freezing your wits. We should have stopped long ago, but Miss Vareyan wouldn’t let us wake you.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” was all Brett said. He picked up Kate’s purse and started to climb back into the coach.

“What are we going to do with them bodies?” Walker asked. Brett paused with his foot on the bottom step.

“What do you propose I should do with them?” he asked ominously.

“I don’t know,” Walker responded, shaken but determined, “but we can’t leave them lying in the road.”

“Why not?”

“Someone might come on them unsuspecting,” Walker explained. “Bound to give them a nasty shock.”

“Do you think it would be better to put them in the coach next to Miss Vareyan or should we tie them on the roof with the trunks?” Brett asked. “Of course we could bury them by the roadside, but what shall we use for shovels? I packed for France, not America.”

Walker realized the futility of the situation and gave up. “Where do you want to stop?” he asked.

“There’s a village called Littledean about an hour from here. You can make arrangements to have the window repaired as soon as you see about fresh horses for tomorrow. Then you can report these bodies to the sheriff.” Without a backward glance at the dead highwaymen, Brett climbed into the coach and closed the door.

He was brought up short by the sight of Kate slumped in the corner of her seat. He felt her pulse; it was strong and regular. His face relaxed, and he settled back in his own seat as the coach began to move again. The poor girl had endured a very trying day, and it might be best to leave her alone. She would come around soon enough on her own, and there was nothing to be gained by trying to wake her before they reached Littledean.

The sight of her lying there, crumpled up in the seat and looking utterly vulnerable, aroused his protective instincts, and he found himself fighting down an impulse to gather her into his arms and safeguard her until she woke.
You’d do better to keep a safe distance,
he told himself bluntly.
She’s already thrown your plans into a turmoil; you cant afford to let her take up any more time if you’re to be in France on schedule.

Still, unable to help himself, Brett let his fingertips brush the back of her hand. He could manage a couple of days to see her settled in London. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave England unless he were certain she would be safe until his return.

Kate opened her eyes, but they would not focus and she couldn’t remember where she was. She lay there, floating half in and half out of consciousness, enjoying the pleasant rocking sensation. She felt like a little girl again, being rocked to sleep on her old nanny’s lap. She smiled and almost slid back into unconsciousness, but the movement of the coach was too erratic. Gradually she made out the shape of a person in the mist and heard a voice from far away calling her softly. She couldn’t see the face, but she was sure it was her nanny calling her to come in from play. She tried to run, but she couldn’t move. It took all her strength to call out; her voice sounded strange to her ears. The words echoed back at her, like they were being spoken into a long, narrow, empty room, but the sound didn’t seem to come from her body.

Then she came suddenly awake and realized she was staring into the face of a man she had never seen before; a muffled scream escaped her and she sat up with a start. Brett was bending over her trying to wake her, his face so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek.

He moved next to her, genuine concern in his face. “Are you all right? I thought you’d just fainted, but when you screamed, I wasn’t sure. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

She tried to smile, and failing, shook her head instead.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” he said doubtfully, “but tell me if you begin to feel sick. I’m not much of a nurse, but between Charles and me, we can think of something.”

Kate sat up. She removed her hands from his grasp and tried to tidy herself.

Brett laughed at this feminine trick. “You look fine. For a woman who’s just shot a thief and recovered from a fainting spell, I’d say you looked marvelous.”

Kate’s eyes opened wide in alarm. “Shot a man? I didn’t dream it then. It
really
happened!” She began to shake and lose her color. Brett took her hands again and she didn’t protest this time.

“There’s nothing to fear, either from the constabulary or from your conscience,” he said. “It’s not easy the first time you kill a man, but you shot him in self-defense, and I’m damned glad you did.”

Kate could neither contain her horror at his words nor stem the rising tide of hysteria within her. “How can you
not
feel something? Even highwaymen are human.” She lost the last shred of control over herself; tears streamed down her face and her voice escalated to a pitiful wail. “Are you human or the devil my brother said you were? How many men have you killed, or don’t you know?”

Brett tried to talk to her, but the features of her exquisite face were distorted by shock and she didn’t even seem to hear him; he chaffed her hands, but the wild look in her frightened eyes was not calmed; he took her by the arms and gently shook her, but her soft, pliable body had become rigid and it only served to increase her hysteria. Finally, Brett could think of nothing else to do, but still she seemed to be moving farther and farther beyond the grasp of reason. In desperation he dealt her a sharp slap across the face.

Kate stopped in midsentence, her hands flying to her cheeks in eye-popping amazement. Her disordered wits returned to normal and she turned blazing eyes on her attacker. “How
dare
you strike me!” she cried in a voice dripping with fury. “You’re no better than Martin, knocking women around like the horses you ride, never once attempting to understand us or our fears.”

Brett stared at her in burgeoning anger, but Kate was shocked by her outburst. She made a tremendous effort to pull herself together. When she continued, her voice was calmer, but it had lost none of its icy edge.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you, and I regret more than I can say that I fainted,” she stated with rigid formality. “I can only blame it on the shock of knowing I had become a murderess.” She sat bolt upright. “I’m better now, and I assure you I won’t embarrass you again, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would not speak to me until we reach the inn.”

Brett nearly lost his temper. Who did she think she was, this little nobody from the backwoods, to talk to him like he was a lackey?

“Rest easy,” he said. “I am equally anxious to be spared the necessity of conversing with a virago who responds to courteous concern with ear-splitting wails. You know, you don’t do much to raise a man’s spirits. The sight of you tempts my senses almost beyond bearing, but your unreasonable temper slays all feeling of pleasure.”

“It’s a little hard to be grateful for a ringing blow across the face. Maybe with a little practice I can learn to smile and say thank you.”

“I didn’t slap you out of anger. I just didn’t happen to have a pitcher of water handy.”

“You must forgive me if I failed to distinguish between a slap given in anger and one meted out for my own good,” she said scornfully. “There must be something in the nuance I missed.”

“I promise to keep my hands off you for the remainder of the journey,” Brett said, his response coming from between clenched teeth.

“I wish you would hurry up and find a place for us to stay,” Kate replied, recovering as best she could from the harshness of his words. “I’ve been in this coach since seven o’clock this morning, and I’m tired and sore all over. I’m also hungry and I want to go to bed.”

“We’re going to stop in less than an hour. It’s only a small inn, but you’ll be well cared for. I’ll see that your dinner is served in your room, but you’re going to have to overcome your dislike of me sufficiently by tomorrow to discuss your future. I’m due in Paris in two days, and I have very little time to devote to resolution of your situation.” He turned from her and stared into the gathering blackness outside.

Kate sat quietly in a chastened calm. She had had time to allay her fears and realize Brett had only been trying to help. In return, she had acted like a frenzied cat, clawing and biting. She swallowed her ire and made herself speak as calmly as she could. “I apologize for my rude outburst and spiteful remarks, but this whole thing has shaken me rather badly. I appreciate your concern, and I am indeed grateful for what you’re doing on my behalf.”

“I don’t want your thanks,” Brett growled, obviously not mollified.

“Well I
am
grateful, even if you are the rudest man on earth,” she said with a spurt of temper. “I don’t see why you should take pride in being so unfeeling, even if you are ten times as rich as anyone else in England.”

“And you, my beautiful shrew, should have a care what you say before you become known as the most sharp-tongued female in all the kingdom.”

For a moment, two pairs of blazing eyes locked and the space between them threatened to become incandescent. Kate was the first to lower her eyes and break the spell. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. Neither spoke again for the remainder of the afternoon.

It was immediately apparent upon reaching Little-dean that something out of the ordinary was happening. Fashionably dressed men strolled through the streets or stood in idle groups, while inns and taverns did a thriving business. Brett cursed when he recognized a dozen men before they had gone halfway through the village. How was he to keep Kate’s presence a secret with so many of his acquaintances gathered in this out-of-the-way spot? Then he remembered the fight at a nearby farm and damned himself roundly for not stopping earlier. There probably wouldn’t be a room at the Cock-in-the-Cradle, or anywhere else, for miles around, but it was too late to try to reach the post road. They pulled into the courtyard and his coachman gave a shout for the ulsters.

“Stay here and keep the blinds closed,” Brett told Kate as he prepared to alight. “I’m going to see if I can find a room and get you inside without anyone being the wiser.” He disappeared into the gathering dusk, and Kate huddled down in the corner to await his return.

Brett was tempted to enter through the kitchen, but he knew his disappearance from the courtyard would focus additional attention on his movements so he went through the front door and was hailed immediately.

“Westbrook! I thought you’d never get here,” Stephen Wyndom shouted as he elbowed his way through the crowd. “I bet Hubart you’d never stay at Ryehill above one day. Come join us. We have a table, and the ale’s not bad.” Brett liked Stephen, even if he was a little slow-witted, but he couldn’t stand Hubart Sedley.

“Later,” Brett said. “I’ve got to see about a room. I wasn’t expecting to be met by half of London.”

“There’s not a bed within twenty miles of this place,” Hubart assured him. “You’ll probably have to sleep in your coach. You know,” he said half to himself, “it must be damned boring in London this season if such an unimportant fight can draw half the blades in the city. Can’t you drum up some excitement?”

“Not now. I’ve spent the whole day in my coach, and I shudder to think of spending the night there as well. What happened to your little widow? Did she give you the slip?”