The Wicked Wedding of Miss Ellie Vyne (10 page)

***

James swung open the door, flung off his damp coat, and marched to the fire. The rowdy noise of the tavern below rumbled up through the floor joists and the soles of his boots. “Any sign, Grieves?” he bellowed at the valet, who was by the window, watching the inn’s galleried yard.

“Not yet, sir. The mail coach is late. You made inquiries below?”

“Yes.” He grabbed a tankard of ale that sat waiting for him by a tray of roast pheasant and baked potatoes. “No one here by the name of Vyne.”

“We are certain she heads in this direction, sir?”

“Of course. The only aunt she has lives in Sydney Dovedale. Eliza Cawley is her stepfather’s sister.” He sipped his ale and glared at the fire. “She could, of course, be traveling incognito.”

Grieves turned in surprise. “Why would she do that, sir?”

He growled into his ale, “To hide from me.”

“Hide from you, sir? I understood the lady had agreed to marry you.”

“Not exactly.”
But
I
spent
one
thousand
pounds
on
her
already,
he thought churlishly. Not that he could tell Grieves about that. Explaining the blank space in his ledger beside the expenditure must wait until Mr. Dillworthy’s next visit. “After what happened last night,” James continued briskly, “she won’t get away from me. That creature simply cannot continue blundering through her life, never listening to good advice. She’s a woman prone to desperate impulses.” He paused. “Why the face, Grieves?”

“Face, sir? I fear this is my usual one.”

“No it isn’t. You’ve something to say. Out with it.”

The valet released a shallow sigh. “What exactly, if you don’t mind my asking, sir, did happen last night at Lady Clegg-Foster’s party? I heard several differing reports of it myself. Although I never listen to gossip, of course.”

James paced before the fire, tankard clutched in his hand. “I asked her to marry me and explained the advantages to such an arrangement. She resisted naturally, being stubborn and contrary, but since she lured me into chasing her, I can only conclude she’s come to her senses.”

“One wonders, sir, why the lady did not remain in London to accept your proposal. Why she thought it preferable to have you chase her about the country in this dreadful weather.”

“She’s a woman, Grieves. They like to complicate matters. She does it better than anyone.” She’d been complicating things for the last six months, since she kissed him in that maze and then ran off.

“I must say I am relieved, sir,” Grieves ventured, “that you found your Marie-Antoinette from Brighton. Although I am not sure how Lady Hartley will take the news.”

“Probably with a large dose of smelling salts.”

“Aha,” Grieves exclaimed, still looking through the window. “I see things are about to get even more tangled, sir.”

“What is it?”

“Two things, sir. One—the mail coach has just arrived.”

James strode across the room to watch over the other man’s gray head. The bulky, dark vessel trundled into the yard, hooves clattering over the cobbles, boxes and people hanging on seemingly by willpower alone. Although the yard was lit by rush torches, it was still too dark to identify faces, and as heavy rain began to fall, even the torch flame dimmed until it was little more than a smoky, sullen flicker. The noise of disembarking passengers and shouting grooms now combined with the rattle of rain across the slate roof overhead and the general noise from below. James watched the passengers dashing about, rescuing their luggage from puddles.

“Why on earth travel in such company?”

Grieves remarked somberly that some people had no choice in the manner of their transport. “Most lives, sir, are decidedly less comfortable than your own. As I’m sure you’ve observed.”

“If she’d waited for me this morning, I could have brought her in my carriage.”

“Perhaps it did not occur to the lady, sir. Some folk learn to make do with the little they have.”

“This is not another sly request for a raise in salary, is it by chance?”

“Indeed not, sir. I merely point out that some of us go about our business with little fuss. We just get on with it, sir. No matter how hard.”

“Your life is so hard, Grieves?”

The other man’s reflection in the crooked windowpanes was slightly smug, masquerading as grave. “I do think, sir, that if you ever had the chance to walk a day in my shoes, you might be surprised.”

“You don’t think I could handle the life of a valet?”

Grieves stared out at the grim evening and changed the subject. “I daresay it will rain all night, sir. Abysmal weather.”

James shook his head. Not at the weather, but at Ellie Vyne having disregard for her own safety. Anything could happen to a young woman traveling alone with the mail coach.

“Do you wish to know what the second thing is, sir? The second thing that has occurred to cause you trouble of a most inconvenient kind?”

He was almost afraid to ask. “What?”

“Lady Ophelia Southwold just exited a small equipage and entered the tavern below in some haste.”

“Oh, good Lord, Grieves. You’ll have to get rid of her somehow.”

“Do we have a sack and some heavy stones, sir?”

“Unfortunately, no. Go down and waylay her. I don’t care how you do it. Then see if Miss Vyne has arrived, Grieves. Ask discreetly. She won’t know you, and I don’t want her to see me yet.”

“Very good, sir.” Grieves disappeared at once on his mission, and James stood a while, watching the weary, bedraggled folk in the yard. He’d never traveled with the mail coach in his life, as the valet pointed out. The sole heir to a large export and import business begun by his great-grandfather, James had known only luxury from his earliest years. Because of the Hartley wealth, he was always treated with deference by others and accustomed to getting material things when he wanted them. Only true love was beyond his means. He was not the loveable type, it seemed. He vaguely remembered once trying to embrace his grandmother for a kiss as he left for boarding school at the end of a holiday.

“For pity’s sake, James!” She’d pushed him away with cold, bony hands. “We’re not on the opera house stage.”

So he’d sought what he needed in the arms of a parade of pretty women. It was an empty sort of affection. They
loved
being seen on his arm and lavished with presents.

Icy drops spattered the old leaded window, and some of the torches below were extinguished altogether, but nothing dampened the new determination burning inside him. If anyone lived their life like an opera, it was Ellie Vyne. She liked drama and mischief. Teasing him, making him chase her.

This time,
he’d
play a prank on
her
.

Apparently there was only one room left at the inn. The landlord handed her a lit candle in a small brass holder. “Up the stairs. Turn right. Door at the very end of the passage. I’ll have my lad bring your trunk.”

Ellie had no great hopes for it, considering this was the last empty chamber. She made her way up the narrow stairs, dripping rainwater and mud, so tired and aching from being squeezed into the overcrowded vehicle that her bones were almost unable to hold her upright. A thumping ache still vibrated in her temple just above her eyes, where it felt as if her head had hit the road that day as often as the hooves of the coach horses. Her mouth was dry, her stomach miserably clenched in a knot, and she could not get the stench of the mail coach out of her nostrils. It had taken hold of her airway and her lungs like invasive mold, but there was another day of it still to come. It was unthinkable, yet it must be faced, for she had no other form of transportation.

Expecting little more than a cupboard in which to wait out the night, she lifted the door latch and discovered instead, much to her pleasant surprise, a good-sized paneled room, with a cheery fire burning in the hearth and thick curtains drawn across the windows to keep out drafts. Ellie pinched herself, afraid she’d fallen asleep in the rocking mail coach and this was all a pleasant figment of her imagination.

No. It was real. She could smell the coal in the hearth and the mouth-watering aroma of roasted pheasant, tainted only by a slightly stale waft of beer that must soon cling to everything in her possession. A low rumble of laughter trembled up through the floor, and when she touched the wall, it was solid under her fingertips. Reassured, Ellie explored the room with a renewed burst of vitality, shaking off her weariness. Beside the door a fearsome suit of armor stood guard, proudly holding a medieval pikestaff. Something to add a sense of grandeur to the place, she mused, giving his hollow chest a friendly tap.

“Keep an eye on me, Sir Lancelot,” she whispered. “You never know what I might do next.”

Across the room a small, round table, lit with candles, held a supper fit for a queen. Or, at least, for one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting. The hungry creature in her belly reacted with a needy cheer, but she was temporarily distracted from that supper by the equally enticing sight of a large Tudor-style bed. Her head begged for sleep, and now a battle raged between that and her stomach.

Ellie had just set her candle down and begun warming her hands by the fire, when a tap at the door announced the arrival of her trunk. She rushed across the room to let the boy in. He was not alone; a short, bright-eyed gentleman also waited there, smiling benevolently.

“Good evening, Miss Vyne. I hope you find the room satisfactory?”

“Yes, indeed. Thank you. Mr…?”

“I am Grieves, Miss Vyne.” He bowed stiffly. “I am the gentleman who gave up the room for you. I trust you’re comfortable and have everything you require?” He was an older man with a kindly face, his gestures polite, reserved, and somber.

She hadn’t realized anyone made a sacrifice for her, and it took a moment to compose her countenance. Of course, she might have known this room was far too good for her.

“I am immensely thankful, sir,” she managed finally, “but I’m afraid I cannot accept this generosity. It is not proper.” Alarmed, she wondered where she could spend the night now, if all the other rooms were indeed taken.

“It is not a matter for debate, Miss Vyne,” the gentleman replied.

“Oh but I—”

“Miss Vyne, you are in my custody until I hand you over to the proper authorities tomorrow. I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.”

“No choice?” She stared, nonplussed. “Proper authorities?”

He smiled again, sadly, almost apologetic. “You are under arrest, Miss Vyne. For theft of the Hartley Diamonds.”

She opened her mouth and tried to push words out. None came.

“I have kept you from your sleep long enough, Miss Vyne. Good eve to you.” Again he bent his head, revealing a small bald patch as he swept off his hat, backed out swiftly, and shut the door. Immediately, she heard a key turn in the lock.

Startled, she flung herself at the door and rattled the handle, but it was secured. She sank to her knees, peered through the keyhole, and found a gray eye blinking back at her.

“Sir,” she exclaimed. “There has been some mistake. A very dreadful mistake. I insist you unlock this door at once.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Vyne. It is more than my life’s worth to let you out.”

“But I can explain everything.”

“Indeed, madam, and so you will. To the justice of the peace tomorrow in Morecroft.” The eye disappeared.

Fuming, Ellie tossed her bonnet across the room. That damned rake Hartley had not bothered to come after her himself, but sent this man to apprehend her. He didn’t know her so well as he imagined, if he thought she’d go meekly to a hanging. She ran to the window and tried the latch, only to find it thickly painted over, impossible to open. Returning to the door, hatpin in one hand, she knelt again and thrust the sharp end into the keyhole, intent on working the lock free.

She heard a low cough, and then Mr. Grieves’s voice through the door again. “I do not advise it, madam. Evading justice will only make things worse. And you will find no horses free to take you anywhere tonight.”

She sat back on her heels.

“I suggest you enjoy your supper, Miss Vyne,” he added. “It may well be your last.”

***

“Did she fall for it, Grieves?”

The valet climbed up into the hayloft beside his master and sneezed hard. “I believe so, sir. Her comments as I left her locked in were quite strident, and her oaths fulsome.”

James grinned, falling back on one elbow. “Good. And Ophelia Southwold?”

“She awaits you in the darkened recesses of a small buttery behind the kitchens. I explained to the lady that you are on a mission of the utmost secrecy and that you will be with her in due course.”

“How long do you think that will keep her out of the way?”

“A considerable duration, sir.” Grieves showed him a small key. “I took the liberty of locking her in also. The kitchen maid is a particular friend of mine.”

“Really, Grieves? You are a dark horse.”

“One tries one’s best, sir. Pleasures should be taken where they can be found.”

James chuckled. “Indeed.”

Grieves rustled about in the hay, burrowing deeper. “’Twill be a bitter-cold night.”

“Could be worse. At least it’s not snowing.”

The valet rubbed the end of his nose, where a drip of water had just landed after falling gracefully through the air from a hole in the roof above. “Forgive me, sir, but you did say this is a prank on Miss Vyne?”

“Yes.”

“I see, sir. Yes. She must be greatly put out. In that large, warm, comfortable room. That should have been ours.”

“I hear your tone, Grieves, and I remain unmoved by it.”

“I am just too ill educated to understand the jest I suppose, not having the benefit of a Cambridge education.”

James sighed and shook his head. “You keep my coat, Grieves. I’ll manage without it.” He was hot enough, thinking about the punishment soon to be carried out on the wayward Miss Vyne.

He gave her half an hour before he returned to the room, unlocked her door, and stepped inside. He expected to find her in a state of panic, ready to repent and plead for his help; instead he found the woman calmly seated, filling her face with his supper.

“There you are, Hartley. Now you can explain to that man, Grieves, that this is all a silly misunderstanding.”

She took her arrest with a pinch of salt, he thought grimly. Probably been in similar situations before. The wretched liar looked quite at home in her imprisonment. She’d cost him a thousand pounds, he reminded himself yet again. She’d better be worth every penny. Every damn penny. It must be almost twenty years since he’d raced about the country after a woman.

Crossing the room toward her, he swept off his damp hat, aware of his unsteady hands. Twitches of anticipation moved through his body like dominos falling and tipping into one another. The bed in the room loomed large—as if it had grown since he was last there. He took a breath, reminding himself that he was in charge of this game. He was a Hartley, and Hartleys were always in control.

He managed a tight smile. “Misunderstanding?”

“That’s right. I didn’t steal those diamonds, and you know it.” Brazen chit.

“Do I?”

Fork halfway to her mouth, she paused. “You know the count won them at cards.”

“The count?”

“That’s right,” she replied, slowly and condescendingly, as if to a child.

He pulled up a chair to sit across the table from her. “I’m not certain I can convince my grandmother of your innocence, since you, and not he, possess the diamonds. She will blame you, naturally, for the theft.” He licked his lips, tasting the rain. “I’m inclined to find you guilty myself. It goes against the grain to do otherwise with you.”

“James Hartley!” She pushed back her chair and stood swiftly. “Those diamonds were never stolen, and you know it. They were acquired over a game of cards.” She jabbed a finger at him. “Given to the count by
your
floozy Ophelia Southwold. Can you deny that you are as much at fault for losing them as he is for taking possession?”

Again he thought she’d missed her calling. Should have been on the stage.

Leaning back in his chair, James kept his face stern. “The diamond I received this morning came from you, madam. How did you get your hands on his loot?”

She had a ready answer. “I asked the count to give them to me.”

“Perhaps you were in it together all along?” He needed to know how much she’d participated in knowingly. “Or is he out to get something more from me, by using you and my diamonds as bait?”

She shook her head, and agitated curls bounced around her face.

“I’ll see what can be done to clear your name, but if the count can’t be found…” He slowly crossed his legs and set his hat over his knee. “Save yourself and tell me where he is.”

She began to pace, and her muddy hem swirled around her ankles. “You know he did not steal that necklace.”

“Lady Southwold will swear he did steal it from her.”

“She’s lying, of course! She gave them to him, and she offered much more. Things I am too ladylike to speak about.”

He laughed scornfully. “And I should believe you…why, exactly?”

“Don’t then! I’m sure I don’t care.”

“Where is your lover now? Does he know you’re here with me?”

She stopped with her back to him, her shoulders tense. “I don’t know where he is.”

Fibber.
He
and
I
have
a
very
close
connection. We are almost inseparable.

Spinning around, she suddenly ran over and knelt before him, fingers steepled under her chin. “I know you can save me, James. Please. I didn’t mean any harm. Surely you can speak on my behalf to the justice of the peace in Morecroft.” Her eyes were very big, shining. “I’ll do anything.” She laid the side of her face on his knee, and he almost leapt out of his chair. “Dear James.”

“Well,” he coughed. “I’ll try my best.” He shifted uncomfortably on the chair, aroused by her closeness, her sudden vulnerability—something he’d never seen in her before. She kissed his knee and then, with her shoulders, nudged his thighs apart, working her way between them. Her soft hands slid up his chest, finally reaching his neck, where she clasped them tightly around his nape. Her face was close enough to kiss.

“I know you can save me, James,” she whispered.

With her body pressed against his, he couldn’t speak. The ravenous stirring of desire held him down in that chair, at her mercy.

“You will save me, won’t you?”

She kissed his chin, then all the way along his jaw to his ear.

“I can see now I’ve been a very bad girl.” She licked his earlobe. “Only you can amend my ways.”

Aha! At last she saw it too. His hands went to her bottom, gripping it tightly, holding her against him. “Yes,” he ground out, eyes closed, teeth grazing her cheek. “Yes.” He stroked her through her gown and squeezed her rounded flesh, lurid ideas of how to amend her ways filling his mind.

Hands to his shoulders, she pushed back to see his face. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He stared as his pulse pounded in his temple.

“Let’s not be foolish. We each have something the other needs. You need a wife and, unfortunately, I need money.” She patted his cheek, hard enough to shake raindrops from his stubble. “But I will not beg you for your help, James. I’ve survived twenty-seven years on my own wits, and I daresay I can find another way to keep my family solvent. I’ve managed this long. So, if you want a weak woman dependent on you for everything, choose someone else.” As she rose to her feet and brushed down her skirt, she added, “If you want a relatively painless marriage with a woman who won’t ask questions, or expect your love and affection, or demand you spend time in her company and sulk when you don’t”—she finally drew a sharp breath—“then you’ll speak to this Grieves person, let him know it was a misunderstanding. Otherwise, I’ll take my chance with the judge, and you can find another woman to marry you. Something you’ve evidently had no luck at, or you’d never consider me.”

Point made, she returned to her seat and continued her meal.
His
meal!

James retrieved his hat from the floor and tapped it on his thigh. So that’s how she wanted to play. She still protected the count—the man who used her for his own blackmail schemes. Perhaps she’d taken a share of that thousand already. It could have been her idea.

“Why did you drag me into the country like this, Vyne?” No doubt her excuses were colorful and entertaining.

“I had to get you away from London and all its dissolute distractions, because I want your sole attention.”

“Why?”

She sipped her ale, those wide violet eyes watching him over the rim of her tankard. “I’ll give you those diamonds back on one condition. Five conditions, actually.”