A Lady Never Surrenders (28 page)

“Since we seem to be all right,” Celia murmured as they began walking down the road, “do you think we could go back and check on Lady Bell?”

“That’s unwise,” Jackson said. “Whoever tried to kill you might anticipate just such an action and even now be lying in wait for you there.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. And what about
your
horse?”

He sighed. “If no one steals him between here and London, he’ll make it to Cheapside well enough.”

“I hope Lady Bell survived,” she said wistfully.

“As soon as we reach the estate, we’ll send someone back for her, I swear.” He had his doubts about whether Lady Bell had made it but didn’t voice them. Celia had enough to worry about at the moment.

Like his sobering pronouncements in the cottage. All right, so perhaps he’d done it up a bit too brown, but he wanted her going into marriage with open eyes. He wanted no recriminations when he couldn’t live up to her expectations.

Yet her words stuck in his memory:
I know what your point is. That you don’t live as well as my family does. That being your wife will mean giving up some things. I don’t care.

She said that now, but she might not feel the same later.

Have you changed your mind about marrying me?

That made him wince. He didn’t want to leave her with that fear. “Celia,” he murmured, “about our earlier discussion…”

“You made yourself very clear. I’m not sure there’s much more to say.”

“Ah, but there is.” He caught her gloved hand in his. “I do mean to marry you, you know. I would never abandon you now that … well…”

“I’m ruined?” she said dryly. “How kind of you.”

“That’s not what I meant, damn it.”

“Of course it is. You’re an honorable man, and honorable men behave honorably when they’ve ruined a woman. Whether or not they want to.”

That fired his temper. “Now see here, I never said I didn’t want to marry you. I certainly never—” He broke off at the sound of horses on the road, then hurried her into the woods.

“What the dev—”

“Shh,” he muttered, placing his fingers over her mouth. “Someone’s coming.”

Her eyes went wide as she glanced to the road. They both held their breaths until a lumbering wagon came into view, drawn by two cart horses and driven by a skinny farmer with a pipe clenched between his teeth and a floppy beaver hat on his graying head.

Immediately, Jackson drew her back out onto the side of the road, then left her so he could step into the path of the oncoming wagon, waving his hands.

“Whoa!” cried the man as he pulled up on the reins. As soon as the horses halted, the farmer stood up on the wagon. “Are ye mad? I could’ve run ye down!”

Then he caught sight of Celia and blinked. “Beg pardon, madam.” He tugged at his hat brim. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

Jackson forced a smile, hoping to look less alarming to a stranger. “My wife and I were robbed by highwaymen last night, sir, and we could use your help.”

The farmer eyed him suspiciously. “Highwaymen? On
this
road?”

Celia came to his side and curled her hand about his arm. “They shot my horse, and we ran into the woods to escape being shot ourselves. You didn’t happen to see a dead horse as you came this way, did you?”

“No, but I heard tell of a horse found wounded in the shoulder when an early coach drove past. I believe they sent someone from town to look after it.”

Celia sagged against Jackson. “Thank God.”

“It’s urgent that we go on to our destination,” Jackson said. “If you’d be so kind as to let us ride with you as far as you’re going…”

“I’m headed for the market in Ealing,” the farmer said. “But I got a wagon full of apples, and there ain’t no room back there for people, so—”

“There’s ten pounds in it for you.” Jackson drew out his purse and shook it until the coins clinked. “We ran off before the highwaymen could get it.”

That changed the man’s demeanor entirely. “Ten pounds will buy you a seat on the perch with me, it will,” the man said cheerily. “Hell, ten pounds will buy you a seat and the apple cake me missus sent with me.” He held up the pipe. “Not to mention a drag on this if you’re so inclined.”

Jackson fought a grimace. “Thank you, but seats on your perch will be quite enough.”

It was only after they were settled next to the farmer that Jackson realized he couldn’t carry on his discussion with Celia in front of the farmer who thought they were already married. That would have to wait until they were alone.

But they got no chance to be alone. When the farmer discovered that they were headed for Halstead Hall, he insisted upon bringing them through Ealing and right to the manor.

So that’s how it happened that they rode up the drive to Halstead Hall midmorning with a wagon full of apples and a farmer who was eager to see, as he put it, “that place what’s as big as a town.”

Servants came running before they even reached the house. To Jackson’s surprise, there was no sign of the Sharpe brothers, whom he’d expected to be out riding the estate looking for her.

Instead, Mrs. Plumtree herself and Mrs. Masters met them at the entrance to the manor.

“Are you married?” Mrs. Plumtree asked in a hard voice after Jackson had paid the wide-eyed farmer and sent him off happy.

“Not yet,” Celia said, looking as confused as he felt.

“So you ran off to get married and then changed your mind, is that it?” Mrs. Masters asked.

“We didn’t elope,” Jackson said. “Someone tried to shoot Celia. We hid in the forest all night to elude them.”

Mrs. Masters cried, “Good Lord!” while Mrs. Plumtree took control of the situation, hurrying them through the archway and ordering the servants to go fetch Lord Jarret and Lord Gabriel from the fields.

“Where are Oliver and Mr. Masters?” Celia asked her sister as they headed across the Crimson Courtyard.

“In London, attempting to discover what happened to Mr. Pinter,” Mrs. Masters explained. “After you and I had our discussion night before last, I thought perhaps…” She cast Jackson a furtive glance. “We assumed that you had eloped.”

That must have been quite the discussion. He would give anything to know what the two women had said.

Just then, Devonmont wandered out into the courtyard. “Ah, I was wondering where everyone was. Gone out shooting early, did you, Pinter?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Plumtree said quickly, “Mr. Pinter was shooting, and Minerva and Celia went out to fetch him for breakfast.”

“So your headache is better today, is it?” Devonmont asked Celia without a hint of suspicion.

What the bloody devil? Had none of her suitors noticed they were gone?

“Much better, thank you,” Celia mumbled.

“If you’re headed for breakfast, I’ll join you,” Devonmont said and offered Celia his arm.

“You go on,” Mrs. Plumtree said quickly. “Mr. Pinter and the girls saw something suspicious on the grounds while they were out, so I need to talk to them about it a moment. They’ll be in shortly.”

That made Devonmont’s eyes narrow, but apparently he knew better than to gainsay Mrs. Plumtree. With a shrug, he walked off toward the breakfast room.

They headed for Stoneville’s study.

“What’s going on, Gran?” Celia asked. “Why doesn’t anyone seem to know we’ve been gone?”

“Don’t you see, my lady?” Jackson said cynically as the truth dawned. “Your grandmother has managed to cover up our absence. She has apparently worked out a way to unruin you.”

Celia glanced from him to her grandmother, incredulous. “You kept it entirely secret?”

Mrs. Plumtree shot him a dark look. “We’ll discuss it once we reach a more private place, my dear.”

Jackson snorted. And so began the undoing of his foolish hopes for a life with Celia. Mrs. Plumtree was determined to make sure they didn’t marry. Which meant she would probably hold to her threats to cut Celia off.

Damn the woman to hell.

Now what? Should he reveal that he’d taken Celia’s innocence?

Then he really
would
appear the devil in sheep’s clothing, out to wrangle a marriage to Celia however he could. Besides, how could he embarrass her like that? She would never want her family to know what he and she had done; of that he was certain, given how she’d hidden Ned’s near deflowering of her.

But neither did Jackson mean to abandon her. He was
not
going to behave like his father, refusing to be responsible for his actions.

If
the tale he’d always believed about his father was even true. Jackson winced, remembering what Celia had said. …

No, she was wrong. He didn’t resemble his uncle. No one else had ever said so. His father was some damned nobleman who’d ruined his mother. And Jackson wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps by refusing to marry her.

But what if that’s what Celia wants—freedom to marry whom she pleases?

His throat tightened. Now that she’d been saved the ignominy of being ruined, it might be exactly what she would want.

Even if she thought it wasn’t, it might be best. The duke might marry her regardless—he only wanted a wife who wouldn’t mind his family’s madness. And though she said she didn’t care about the money, how could she possibly understand the ramifications of losing her fortune? She had nothing to compare it to. Did he have the right to expect her to give it all up for him?

They entered his lordship’s well-appointed study, with its Rembrandts and crystal brandy decanters and its mahogany and brass furnishings, and hopelessness swept over him. This was where she belonged, not in some cramped home in Cheapside, no matter how cheery and warm
he
found it.

“Now, Mr. Pinter,” Mrs. Plumtree said, “please start at the beginning and tell us everything. Because if you did not set out to elope with my granddaughter, how the hell did the two of you end up in a position to be shot at?”

T
he entire time Jackson was explaining the events of the past two days, Celia marveled at his calm. She was a wreck of confused feelings while he spoke in his usual investigator’s voice, as if they hadn’t spent the night in a wildly passionate embrace, as if there were nothing between them.

How did he do it? Would she ever know the real him?

Coldly and unemotionally, he described Celia’s dream and how she’d asked him to look into it, which had resulted in their traveling to High Wycombe together. But when he got to the part about Mama having an affair, both Minerva and Gran gasped.

“No,” Minerva protested. “It can’t be. I don’t believe it.”

“At first I didn’t either,” Celia admitted. “But I fear it might be true. It fits the circumstances in too many ways.”

“Mrs. Plumtree,” Jackson said, “have you any idea who might have been involved with your daughter?”

“I swear, this is the first I’ve heard anything of the sort.” Gran looked visibly shaken. She paced to the fire, her cane coming down on the rug in choppy strokes, then returned to where Jackson stood. “But after Josiah died, I was struggling to keep the brewery going. I rarely spent time here. I wasn’t aware that Lewis and Pru knew the Rawdons as well as all that. As for any other lover Pru might have had…” She trailed off with a sigh.

“You have no one to suspect,” Jackson asked.

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps Celia is mistaken,” Minerva put in. “Perhaps it really was just a dream.”

“Perhaps,” Jackson said. “But given what your old nurse said, I doubt it.”

“As soon as Oliver returns, we shall have to discuss this more,” Gran said. “He may know more than he realizes. I will send for him—last I was told, he and Masters were at the town house hoping for word of your whereabouts.” Her voice hardened. “But first, I want to hear about why you spent the night hiding out from killers in the forest.”

Celia let out a shuddering breath. This would be sticky indeed.

With a terse nod, Jackson told a highly truncated version of what had happened. Celia expected nothing less—he
was
a gentleman, after all—yet it rankled that he could do it so easily. She was sure that if
she’d
told the tale, she’d be blushing to the tips of her ears.

His gaze locked with Gran’s. “You understand, don’t you, that we had no choice. We couldn’t risk Lady Celia’s safety by moving through the woods blindly at night, especially with no moon.”

“Of course,” Gran said. “You acted to protect her, and we are most grateful for that. Indeed, I am sure Oliver will compensate you most handsomely—”

“I don’t want compensation for saving Celia’s life,” Jackson snapped, the only betrayal of his true feelings until now. Then he seemed to catch himself, and his tone turned more formal. “I behaved as any gentleman would.”

“You certainly did,” Minerva put in. “Gran didn’t mean to insult you, I’m sure.”

“In any case,” Jackson said stiffly, “no matter what the circumstances, the only appropriate thing for me to do, having spent the night alone with her ladyship unchaperoned, is to offer marriage.”

Appropriate?
Marriage to her was the only
appropriate
thing to do?

Proper Pinter had arrived with a vengeance, and Celia was ready to strangle him. How could he propose a marriage to Gran as if it were merely some solution to a pesky problem? He wouldn’t even look at her, for pity’s sake!

“That is very good of you,” Gran said. “Very gentlemanly, indeed. But I see no need for either of you to make such a precipitous decision right now.” Her tone hardened. “Unless, of course, something more … scandalous occurred during your sojourn in the cottage?”

A short, tense silence fell on the room before Jackson said, “Certainly not.” His voice softened a fraction. “Her ladyship is incapable of behaving scandalously.”

How sweet of him to defend her honor to her family, but why wouldn’t he look at her? And why had he offered such a cold proposal of marriage?

Last night, she’d thought she knew him. He’d seemed so gloriously infatuated with her, if not in love. But then this morning he’d turned into a different creature entirely, more proud and arrogant than any lord she’d ever known, and seemingly determined to convince her that a marriage between them would never work. Did he honestly think she could never fit into his world?