The Earl's Enticement (Castle Bride Series) (31 page)

CHAPTER 32

Three days later, Roark at her elbow, Adaira made for one of the remaining barns, her well-used crop once more in hand. Fading hues of peach, pink, and lavender attested to the sun’s recent arrival on the horizon. A riding tour of Cadbury Park was planned for those braving the early hour. Later, a visit to Ashby, a nearby village, to sample the best spice cake in all of England, according to Roark, was on the day’s program.

Three blissful days of peace and quiet had passed. Well, as much peace and quiet as there could be with a house full of giddy guests. The worst disaster befalling anyone had been Sir Harrison’s bout of gout and Lady Arterbury’s tendency to spill whatever beverage she had in hand. Usually on the unfortunate soul nearest her.

Roark sent to London for a special license, and an intimate wedding was planned in three weeks’ time. Adaira stopped arguing against the match. She’d reconciled herself to the inevitable.

Truthfully, she wanted the union. After Roark’s visit to her bedchamber, her opinion on marital intimacies had improved dramatically, although she yet harbored a few qualms. Well, perhaps more than a few.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to a ride?” Roark eyed Adaira, giving her a smile that would melt the ice of Loch Arkaig in February.

Her pulse danced a distracting jig before settling into a steady rhythm once more. “I’m fine. The wound was scarcely more than a scrape. I never even—”

Pounding hooves and the creaks and groans of a fast-moving carriage interrupted her. Startled, she turned to look over her shoulder. “What in the world?”

Roark thinned his lips at the lathered horses. “By thunder, there had better be a good excuse for abusing horseflesh in such a manner.”

He reversed their direction. With firm strides, he closed the distance to the coach. Adaira trotted beside him striving to keep up with his long-legged gait. The door swung open before the driver alighted. Ewan jumped to the ground. He turned and spoke into the carriage. Swinging around, he loped to the house’s granite steps.

“Ewan!” Adaira waved at him. “Oh, wait until he hears we’re betrothed. He’s not going to believe it.”

Spying the dark look on Ewan’s face, her steps faltered. Confused, she tossed Roark a glance. “Do you think something’s amiss?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ve never known Sethwick to misuse horseflesh. He’ll have a good reason for the team’s condition.”

As he spoke, the driver handed Yvette down. Instead of her usual cheerful smile, worry shown in her eyes and pinched face. She hustled behind Ewan who, uncharacteristically rude, didn’t wait for his wife.

Ewan reached them. Without a greeting, he blurted, “Clarendon, Adaira, I don’t know what the hell happened here, but I’ve arrived three, maybe four, hours ahead of the Bow Street Runners. And that’s only because we traveled throughout the night.”

“Bow Street Runners?” Adaira and Roark exclaimed at the same time.

A wicked suspicion niggled in the recesses of her mind.

Ewan plowed a hand through his hair. “Let’s go inside. We must come up with a plan, and quickly.”

Minutes later, Adaira and Yvette sat on the settee. Roark relaxed against his desk, watching Ewan pace. His long legs periodically disrupted the bright rays slanting through the windows onto the carpet. With each stride, Ewan absently slapped his gloves against his thigh.

“If the matter is urgent, shouldn’t you get on with the telling of it, Ewan?” Running a finger along the corded braid edging the pillow in her lap, Adaira raised a brow. She sent her sister-in-law a questioning glance.

Yvette attempted a smile. It failed to reach her troubled eyes. She obviously knew what the hullaballoo was about. Her serious expression spoke volumes, as did her hands clenched in her lap. Unease flipped Adaira’s stomach and tripped across her nerves.

Ewan planted his hands on his hips. “The head of the Bow Street Runners, Edmond Fletcher, has issued a writ for Adaira’s arrest.”

“Pardon?” She gasped, grasping the reassuring hand Yvette extended.

“The devil he has!” Roark bolted upright, hands fisted at his sides. A ferocious scowl distorted his face. “On what charge? Who filed the complaint? When was it laid?”

“Roark, I’m capable of questioning my brother,” Adaira said quietly, her mind reeling with shock.

“As your betrothed, it’s my responsibility to protect you!” Roark thundered. He looked rather like a wrathful god glaring down at her.

“Betrothed?” Ewan and Yvette exclaimed simultaneously.

Adaira gave them a tight-lipped smile. Despite this appalling situation, the astounded expressions on their faces were priceless. Laughter from the garden wafted inside. Adaira whipped her gaze to the French windows. Closed. There’d be no eavesdropping from that quarter again.

Roark, now pacing about the study, waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, she saved my life during a fire, after McVey attempted to ravish her. She was compromised past redemption and a betrothal was necessitated.”

Adaira stared at him. His flippant callousness pierced her to the core. She squished the pillow in a crushing grip. Icy disdain dripping from each word, she said, “Thank you, for that concise rendition, my lord.”

His head snapped up. “I. . .”

He took in Ewan’s disapproving expression, then Yvette’s puzzled one before finally meeting Adaira’s eyes. She made no attempt to hide the wounded disappointment she knew simmered in her gaze. She felt it settle, a sickening glob, in the pit of her stomach as well.

Roark wiped his hand across his face exhaling a hefty puff of air. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Please, don’t take umbrage. . .”

“It doesn’t matter.” Adaira sought Ewan’s attention. “So, a complaint has been lodged against me? The charge?”

He spread his hands. “Take your pick: abducting and imprisoning a peer, assault, arson, robbery, attempted murder—”

God above. Complete fabrication . . . except for the first.

Roark scowled, his brows drawn into a tight vee. “Seize it, someone dared to lay a complaint on my behalf?” He jabbed at his chest with his thumb. “What unmitigated gall.”

Adaira held up her hand. “Let me guess. Where these charges brought by Helene Winthrop?”

The bloody, fat trollop.

“Her and a Count von Schnitzer, Lord and Lady Bradford, the Marquis of Hedonford, and Lord and Lady Bellingsworth.” Ewan paused, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There were a couple more, but I don’t recall who they were.”

Her heart plunging to her half-boots, Adaira slumped into the settee, hugging the pillow to her chest. “How can there be so many?” she whispered.

She’d just met Mrs. Winthrop and the count. The others couldn’t even be claimed as acquaintances. Why would strangers bring such malicious allegations against her?

As if sensing her bewilderment, Roark rested his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Surely Sir Lawrence didn’t believe such claptrap.”

“As magistrate he had no choice. He might have been persuaded to ignore one, or even two complainants, if the charges had been less serious. But you know the English’s hatred of the Scots. That many influential peers combined with those serious allegations, not to mention von Schnitzer’s status as a foreign diplomat, persuaded Sir Lawrence.”

Ewan shook his head. “Sir Lawrence couldn’t disregard the complaints, especially after seeing Mrs. Winthrop’s, ‘pitiful swollen and bruised countenance
.
’ Those were his words, not mine.”

Adaira smothered a snort and pretended absorption with the weapons displayed on the wall.

Ewan folded his arms and cocked his head. “What exactly did you do to her, Adaira, if I may ask?”

“I hit her with a parasol. After she and those Austrian curs pointed guns at me, Mother, our sisters, and a maid.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I think I broke her nose.”

“Well done, then.” Ewan grinned. “I only wish I’d been there to see it.”

Yvette clapped her hands, a broad smile lighting her face. “Me as well. Good show!”

Expecting censure not praise, Adaira wasn’t sure how to respond.

Ewan sent her an apologetic glance before meeting Roark’s agitated gaze. “Sir Lawrence directed Fletcher to issue the writ.”

“Speaking of which,” Roark said, while stepping to his desk, “how did you come by the information?”

Withdrawing a key from his coat pocket, he proceeded to unlock a drawer. After removing a thick stack of sterling notes, he set them atop the desk. A pistol followed. He sank to the padded leather chair behind the desk, sliding another drawer open. Roark retrieved three crisp sheets of paper, and after placing them on the desktop, closed the drawer.

Whatever was he doing? Adaira sent Ewan, now sitting on the arm of the settee beside Yvette, an alarmed glance.

Roark looked up to see everyone staring at him. “The information, Sethwick?”

Ewan took Yvette’s hand in his. “Harcourt sought me out. If you recall, Sir Lawrence is uncle to Harcourt’s brother-in-law. He let slip the news. Harcourt suspects the blunder was deliberate, to allow us a little time.”

Dipping a quill in the ink bottle near his elbow, Roark began writing. The nib scraped across the page with his quick, deliberate strokes. Done with the first paper, he set it aside, and scratched away at the second.

“Who is Harcourt?” Adaira asked softly. Must be a decent sort of fellow if he went out of his way to inform Ewan.

Roark and Ewan’s gazes swung to her.

Roark answered. “His Grace the Duke of Harcourt, a chum from our university days.” Returning his attention to the paper before him, he signed his name. He sprinkled sand on the wet ink. Setting it aside, he began scribbling on the third sheet.

Standing, Adaira shook out the folds of her pale blue riding habit. The forgotten pillow tumbled to the floor. She’d never been more frightened in her life, and she’d experienced a pair of colossal scares in the past few days. Clasping her gloved hands, she strove for composure. “What am I to do?”

After setting his seal on the pages with his signet ring, Roark scooted them to the edge of his desk before gathering the money and pistol. Stuffing the notes into the inside pocket of his coat and the gun into his waistband, he angled his head at the missives. “Sethwick, one of those is for Sir Hugh. One for Yancy. The third is for my solicitor, which I hope Yancy will do me the favor of conveying posthaste.”

Ewan searched Roark’s face. “As you say. When should I deliver them?”

Roark approached Adaira. He took her hand. “How fast can you change into your boy’s garb?”

She gaped at him. How did he know she had it with her? Even Maisey wasn’t aware.

Pressing her fingers, he cast a glance at Yvette. “How soon if Lady Sethwick helps you? I don’t want your maid to know our plans. The fewer people who do, the better.”

Adaira swallowed. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Perfect. Sethwick, will you please see that my gelding, Atlas, and Fionn are saddled? Not a sidesaddle, either. Have the horses waiting in the stables.”

“I’ll see to it at once,” Ewan said, pulling on a glove. “You’re not riding Tenacity?”

Roark shook his head. “She’s in heat. No sense in asking for more trouble.”

Straightening his coat, he flashed a glance at the French window, then spoke to Yvette. “Lady Sethwick, after your husband delivers my notes, may I impose upon you to inform my guests of my departure and offer my apologies? Those wishing to stay are welcome to remain and entertain themselves until my return.”

Ever the gracious lady, Yvette smiled warmly. “Of course. I’m happy to be of assistance.”

He slanted a brief look at the desk. “As for the notes, wait thirty minutes after our departure before delivering them.”

A puzzled frown lining his forehead, Ewan gave one sharp nod. “What are you about, Clarendon?”

Roark smiled. He took Adaira by the shoulders and pointed her to the study entrance. “Go. Hurry. Meet me in here in no more than fifteen minutes.”

She examined his face and recognized the determination in his eyes. “Not until you tell me what you’re planning.”

Roark brushed Adaira’s cheek with his thumb. “It’s to Gretna Green for us. We can’t risk traveling to London for a special license when there’s a writ for your arrest.”

With his forefinger, Roark edged her sagging mouth closed. “Once you have the protection of my name, none will dare attempt to take you into custody.”

Eyes huge in her wan face, waves of emotion successively swept across her delicate features: fear, worry, disbelief, and astonishment.

“Gretna Green,” she choked, clearly on the verge of panic. “I cannot travel to Scotland with you unchaperoned!”

Roark had no doubt she couldn’t bear any more censure.

“There’s no other recourse. We must make extreme haste. We cannot afford the delay a journey by carriage would cost us. And I don’t know another woman capable of matching my pace on horseback.”

Roark spoke soothingly, understanding the hypocrisy of his words. He had demanded propriety from her. Now, he insisted on heaving decorum aside to make her his wife. Ironically, to protect her from the very type of person he’d attempted to mold her into. Thank God Adaira had not succumbed to his misguided advice.

Catching Sethwick’s eye, Roark received a tight smile and a nod of approval.

He took Adaira’s elbow. “Yancy, Lord Ramsbury, will hasten to London and contact my solicitor. My man will immediately refute the charges of abduction and imprisonment. I will, of course, refuse to substantiate those charges.”