A Lady Never Surrenders (22 page)

“Stay here,” he whispered, then went to the single window at the front of the cottage. So much growth lay over it that she doubted he could see much, though he tried, rubbing the panes with his elbow in a vain attempt to clear the grime.

Overhead came the sounds of hoofbeats, or perhaps even a couple of people tramping about. She couldn’t be sure which. To her alarm, the activity shook some debris down the chimney into the hearth.

Oh, Lord, please don’t let them see the chimney.

A sudden gunshot made her jump and clamp her hand over her mouth. Was their pursuer trying to get them to betray their hiding place? Or simply firing at shadows?

Casting her a warning look, Jackson returned his gaze to the window. He held his pistol at the ready, and she could tell from his grim expression that he was prepared to fight for her life.

The sounds of someone searching continued for what seemed like a long time. He and she stood frozen in their positions, until her back started to ache from being held stiff so long. She glided over to the mattress and sat down gingerly. He barely spared her a glance as he stood guard near the window.

It grew darker. This time of year the sun set at four, and since they’d left High Wycombe around two and had already been traveling for an hour when they were shot at, it would probably turn completely dark soon.

After a while, the sounds of searching moved away until all they could hear were the noises of the forest—birdsong, the rustle of small animals, wind whining through the trees.

She rose to approach Jackson. “Do you think they’re gone?” she whispered.

“Probably. But we should stay put a while longer to be sure.”

“Then what?”

It was barely light enough to see his face, but she could hear his breathing. “We’ll stay here tonight. I fear we have no choice. By the time it’s safe to leave it’ll be too close to sunset, and there’s no moon. We could never find our way back to the road through the woods in the dark, and even if we could, I’m not risking the possibility of your assailant lying in wait for us up ahead somewhere. We’re lucky as it is that he—or she or them—didn’t find us.”

She digested that. “Are you sure it wasn’t just an attempt at robbery?”

“In broad daylight? Hardly likely. Besides, there hasn’t been a highwayman along this road in years. And why pursue us into the woods? A thief wouldn’t go to that trouble if they hadn’t been seen.”

“So … so they really were after us.”

“You,”
he said harshly, his eyes dark with anger. “They were after
you.
It was you they fired at, your horse that was hit.”

“Lady Bell,” she said in sudden anguish. “They shot Lady Bell.”

“Only in the shoulder. She may still survive. With any luck, someone will find her on the road and care for her.”

“I do hope so. Because I owe her a great debt. If she hadn’t reared at the first shot, the one that missed, I might be lying in that road instead.” A shudder wracked her. “And if you hadn’t pulled me from the horse—”

“I lost half a lifetime when I realized—” He choked off whatever else he was about to say. “Best not to think about it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You survived, and that’s all that matters.”

“You saved my life.”

He smiled faintly. “If you can’t trust a Bow Street Runner to protect you, who
can
you trust?” His tone turned fierce. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.”

“I know.” She gazed up at him, her heart full.

He flushed, then jerked his gaze back to the window. “Can you hear anything?”

“Not anymore.” She peered out the window, but all she could see were vines. “I don’t understand how they found us. How could anybody have known I’d be traveling this way today, when even I didn’t know?”

“Someone must have followed you when you left the house this morning.”

“Why didn’t they shoot me then?”

“You were carrying a rifle, remember? Perhaps they didn’t want to risk it.”

“Or perhaps it was
you
they followed.”

“Though I told some people I was going off to pursue a lead, I deliberately didn’t tell them where. And I can’t see how anyone could have followed me without my realizing it.”

“They wouldn’t have had to follow closely,” she said. “There’s a hill where you can see the whole estate and the road. If they were watching for you from the hill, they would have seen us head off for High Wycombe together.”

He nodded. “And they might have decided it was a good time to take their chance at eliminating you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because you heard something important the morning that your parents were killed? Because you know who the killer is without realizing it?”

“Then why not attack me on the road
to
High Wycombe? Weren’t they worried about what I might learn from Nurse?”

“The road was too busy then, remember? They waited until it was deserted, when they were more likely to get away with murder.”

“As they did with Benny.”

“Exactly.”

Her blood chilled. Someone had killed to silence Benny, had been willing to kill to silence
her
, probably the same someone in the nursery that day. It had to be Mama’s lover, Captain Rawdon, because his wife wouldn’t have known about Celia hearing that conversation.

But his being the killer made no sense in light of the facts. Besides, the Rawdons were in Gibraltar, as far as anyone knew.

“And there’s another possibility,” Jackson went on, his tone hard.

She swallowed, still having trouble comprehending that someone wanted her dead. “Oh?”

“Desmond might have decided to eliminate his competition for your grandmother’s fortune. If you marry, he loses all chance at it, so he may think that killing you would give him a shot since that would defeat your grandmother’s demand.”

“Surely he’s not stupid enough to believe that Gran would hold to her ultimatum if something happened to one of us.”

A low laugh escaped him. “Desmond doesn’t strike me as particularly bright.”

“True.” She gazed out the window at the dying light, and a shiver wracked her.

“You’re cold,” he murmured.

“No,” she said, then realized that she was indeed cold, not only from the merciless truths hitting her, but from the plain fact that it was winter and night was falling.

Jackson removed his surtout and laid it over her cloak. “I should start a fire before it gets too dark to see.”

“Don’t you need supplies for that?”

He smiled. “I’ve got gunpowder and a spare flint for the pistol. That, and some straw from that mattress over there, should be all I need.” He glanced back at the hearth. “There’s still logs by the fireplace.”

“Aren’t you worried our pursuers will see the smoke come out of the chimney?”

“We’ll just have to pray that they’re far enough away not to notice. Which reminds me…” He removed his coat and handed it to her. “After I get the fire started, hang this over the window. We don’t want any light showing through.”

When he walked to the fireplace, she realized she’d never seen him in shirtsleeves. He was always much too formal for that.

But he didn’t look the least bit formal as he knelt to start the fire. He looked rough and disheveled and thoroughly capable of eluding murderers and taking care of her while hiding deep in the woods.

A thrill coursed through her. Being forced to survive in such primitive conditions was far beyond her experience, but she suspected that he felt perfectly comfortable with it. If she had to be in danger, she couldn’t think of any man she trusted more to keep her safe.

She watched until he got the fire going. Then she covered the window before going to join him at the hearth, where he fed logs into the blaze. “Aren’t you glad now that we had something to eat at Mrs. Duffett’s?” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “If we’d left earlier—”

“I know. We might have avoided this.” She tipped up her chin. “Or we might not.”

A chuckle escaped him, relieving her tension. “Have it your way.” He rose and walked to the saddlebags to fish out a wrapped package. “Though I’m even gladder that your cook is fond of me.” He tossed the package to her, then pulled out another. “She wouldn’t let me leave this morning without loading me down with food for the day.”

She tore open the paper to find a ham and cheese sandwich. “Oh, I do love Cook,” she breathed as she fell on it with gusto. The tea and cake hadn’t held her for long. “At least we won’t starve,” she said between bites.

He eyed her askance as he devoured his own sandwich. “I believe we can survive for one night without a sumptuous dinner at Halstead Hall, don’t you?”

Noting his condescension, she asked, “Does it bother you that we eat so well?”

He blinked, then frowned. “Of course not,” he clipped out. “Why shouldn’t you, if you can afford it?” Finishing off his sandwich, he picked up the pail. “I’m going to make sure the chimney is clear and see if I can’t find some water while there’s still light. The former residents must have had some source of it.”

“You’re leaving me alone?” she squeaked.

“You’ll be fine.” He handed her the pistol. “Shoot if you have to.” His eyes gleamed at her. “I know you know how.”

He headed for the door, and she cried, “Wait!”

When he paused to look at her questioningly, she hurried up to hand him his surtout. “You’ll need this. It’s freezing out there.” As she helped him into it, she whispered, “Be careful.”

He tipped his hat. “Always, my lady,” he said in that husky rasp that never failed to make her heart turn over. Then he walked out.

After he was gone, she took off her bonnet and gloves and surveyed her surroundings. The fire wouldn’t last long with so little wood. It would be difficult to keep warm all night when the wind blew through the cracks in the walls as if through an open window.

But perhaps she could do something about that. She searched the room and found a broken-down chair in one corner. She dragged it over to the fireplace, then examined the cupboard to see if she could break it up and use it for firewood, too. It was made of flimsy deal—it wouldn’t burn long, but it was something.

Now if only there were some stones or bricks to heat in the fire and use to warm their feet …

After a quick search, she found bricks under the bed that must have been used for that very purpose, and she put them in the fire to heat. In rummaging through the saddlebags, she discovered a flask of something pungent. She took a swig and nearly choked on the strong liquor. My, my, wasn’t Jackson full of surprises?

After another gulp that burned all the way down, she began to feel quite a bit warmer. Removing her wool cloak, she hung it on a hook by the fire to heat so they could use it as a cover. She tossed the moth-eaten blanket aside and thumped the mattress to make sure there weren’t any nasty creatures nesting inside it, then put the blanket back on. But she was
not
going to sleep with that next to her skin.

Her petticoats! She removed one, ripped it in half and spread it over the moth-eaten blanket. That was better. Not that anybody could sleep well on a straw mattress anyway, but—

That’s when it hit her that there was only one bed. She caught her breath. It was only logical that they would share it. It was also only logical that sharing a bed could lead to sharing other things…

Her cheeks heated. If that happened, there would be no going back. She’d be irrevocably ruined.

Oh, what was she thinking? She’d be ruined either way, even if they spent the entire night here as chaste as nuns.

Of course, it was possible that Jackson wouldn’t
want
to share her bed or anything else. They’d been together all day, and he hadn’t once tried to kiss her. And even if he did desire her, he might balk at seducing her, with him being so honorable and all.

On the other hand, if he were interested in her fortune, he might take this chance to secure her.

But she couldn’t believe that. He didn’t seem the sort. And even if he were, it hardly mattered anymore. Once they returned home after a night spent in the woods together, Gran would almost certainly
insist
that they marry. And if Gran didn’t, Oliver would.

So if she had to marry him anyway, they might as well…

She blushed again. Oh, she truly was brazen. But why not? If for some reason he refused to marry her tomorrow, she’d be ruined all the same, so why not take this chance to see what it was like to experience lovemaking with a man she cared for? Mama had taken a lover, blast it—why shouldn’t she?

A little fluttering started in her belly that wouldn’t be quelled, even after she took another swig of Jackson’s liquor.

At that moment the door opened, making her start. She glanced about her for the pistol, which she must have laid somewhere, but it was only Jackson.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said as he set down the pail to survey the room.

“You found water!”

“There was a stream close by.” His gaze fixed on what she held in her hand. “I see you found my brandy.”

Refusing to be embarrassed, she walked over to hand the flask to him. “I did indeed.” She shot him a mischievous glance as he drank some. “Who would guess that the estimable Mr. Pinter, so high in the instep, drinks strong spirits?”

He scowled at her. “A little brandy on a cold day never hurt anyone. And I’m not high in the instep.”

“Oh? Didn’t you tell Gabe only last week that most lords were only good for redistributing funds from their estates into all the gaming hells and brothels in London, and ignoring their duty to God and country?”

When he flushed, she felt a twinge of conscience, but only a twinge. He looked so charming when he was flustered.

“I wasn’t implying that your family…”

“It’s all right,” she said, taking pity on him. He
had
saved her life, after all. “You have good reason to be high in the instep. And you’re not far wrong, in any case—there are many lords who are a blight upon society.”

He was quiet a long moment. “I hope you realize that I don’t think that of your brothers. Or your brother-in-law. They’re fine men.”