Anne Gracie - [The Devil Riders 02] (16 page)

The only person Nell had ever been able to rely on was herself. She didn’t need her life to be any more complicated. And she didn’t give a snap of her fingers for any handsome, lusty, stubborn charmer.

Mrs. Beasley jumped. “What was that for?”

Nell blinked. “What?”

“You snapped your fingers.”

“Oh, sorry. I just thought of something.”

“Well, don’t.” Mrs. Beasley sipped the hot mineral water with distaste. “Vile stuff. I can feel it doing me good, but thank God it’s the last dose.”

They sat in silence for a while. Nell would meet him, all right, she decided. And she’d give him a piece of her mind.

She shifted uncomfortably on her seat. A moment later she wriggled again.

“For heaven’s sake, girl, sit still.”

“I can’t,” Nell confessed. “I think I need to visit the necessary. Immediately. The veal olives last night, perhaps . . .”

Mrs. Beasley waved her off distastefully. “Well, run along then. I hope to goodness you’re not going to cause any delays on the road, because I’ll warn you now, I won’t tolerate it.”

Nell hurried away toward the back of the room. She slipped through the baize-covered door and let herself quietly into the storeroom. It was empty, then Harry Morant slipped in behind her.

Suddenly the storeroom felt a whole lot smaller.

“I suppose you thought I wouldn’t come?” she said. The skin of his jaw had that fresh-shaved look she found so appealing in men. She could smell the faint tang of some cologne.

“I knew you’d come.” His eyes crinkled in a faint, triumphant smile.

The smile fanned the flames of her temper. “Only because you’d blackmailed me!” She poked him in the chest with her finger. “How dare you threaten my livelihood?”

“Livelihood!” He snorted. “Working for that witch isn’t a livelihood.”

She threw her hands up in frustration. “It’s not your business. Now, you’re wasting my time. We leave for London within the hour.” She tried to push past him but he stopped her.

“I’ll take you to London.”

Nell was dumbfounded. “What?”

“You heard me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “But you don’t want to go to London. You hate London, you said you can’t breathe there.”

He made an impatient gesture. “Do you or do you not want to go to London?”

“I do, but—”

“Then I’ll take you.”

“You can’t. It—it wouldn’t be proper. If I arrived with you in London, everyone would think I was your—” She broke off.

“My—?” He raised one eyebrow.

“You know very well what,” she retorted.

“Perhaps. But it would be quite proper if you came as my wife,” he said. “Marry me and I’ll take you to London.”

Nell started to tremble.
Marry me and I’ll take you to London.

He moved closer. “Look, it’s not love’s young dream I’m offering you but it makes sense. You and I desire each other—you know that. I need a wife and you need someone to take care of you. And I’ll take you to London.”

She put out her hands and held him back. He made no attempt to take hold of her, but he didn’t move away. His waistcoat was smooth and silken under her fingertips. She could feel the strong, steady thud of his heart beneath her palms. She wanted to pull them back, but she knew he would only move forward again.

“I—I told you I couldn’t marry you,” she said shakily. “Why won’t you listen?”

“Your lips say one thing . . .” He looked at her lips and his voice deepened. “But when I kiss you, they say another.”

“It was a stolen kiss,” she muttered.

“Perhaps, but you kissed me back. You pulled me closer. You pressed your body against me and ran your fingers through my hair.” His voice was deep and intense. “You took my tongue into your mouth.”

She made an embarrassed gesture of denial, and he immediately took advantage, moving closer, until he was so close that they stood, breast to chest and thigh to thigh. The heat of his big, hard body burned through her brown stuff traveling gown as if it were the lightest silk.

“You know you want it as much as I do.”

She did, God help her.

“You work for that witch because she’s going to London. Convenient, you said it was. Marry me and you’ll have convenience
and
security. Till death us do part.”

Oh God, why did he have to put it like that? Nell thought. As if he knew how much she craved security after twenty-seven years of the shifting uncertainties of life with Papa.

And she did desire him. What red-blooded woman would not? The mystery was why he would desire her, but she didn’t question it. She could feel the desire radiating from his big, tense body in the close confines of the storeroom.

She swallowed. And now he wanted to take her to London.

The temptation was enormous. If she said yes, she could have everything she wanted . . . almost.

But she would have to lie to get it. Lie by omission.

She turned her head this way and that, trying to escape that intense gray gaze, but it was no use. She was trapped.

He thought her an innocent. He would change his tune if he knew about Torie, she was certain.

He didn’t love her. It would take love of an extraordinary degree to take on a wife with an illegitimate child—one she had no intention of giving away or hiding or being ashamed of. What happened was neither Torie’s fault, nor hers.

It would take love . . . or perhaps utter indifference. If the latter, then perhaps there was a chance for them . . .

She opened her mouth to explain.

“So this is how you behave!” Mrs. Beasley throbbed from the doorway. “Sneaking off behind my back to fornicate in a storeroom! At nine o’clock in the morning! You little trollop! How long has this been going on?”

“I didn’t, it’s not what you think—” Nell stammered. “Mrs. Beasley, I promise you—”

“Don’t lie to me, strumpet!”
Slap!
Her hand flashed out, leaving a livid mark on Nell’s tender cheek.

Enraged, Harry pulled Nell back. “Touch her again, madam, and so help me, though I’ve never laid a finger on a woman in my life, you’ll be the first.”

Mrs. Beasley took one look at his white face and glittering eyes and stepped back out of reach. She looked at Nell and said in a loud, spiteful voice, “I always knew you were a trollop! You’ve been eying off all the men ever since I’ve taken you on—”

“Silence!” Harry snarled. “Speak to Lady Helen with respect or suffer the consequences.”

She flushed angrily and said to Nell. “You know he’s a bastard, don’t you, Lady Helen? Some lord rutted with his whore of a maidservant and got himself a bast—”

Slap!
Nell’s hand made a white imprint on Mrs. Beasley’s cheek. “How dare you speak about him like that!” Nell flashed.

“You little bitch!” La Beasley surged forward, her arm raised to deliver a back hander.

Harry caught her fleshy arm in mid-swing. “That’s enough.”

“She’s my employee, I can do whatever I like.”

“No, madam, she’s my affianced wife, and if you touch her, I’ll throttle you.”

“Get your filthy hands off me, you fornicating bast—” Nell surged forward to defend him again. Harry dropped Mrs. Beasley’s arm and caught Nell around the waist. Trapped between two furious women, he could think of only one thing to do.

He swung Nell over his shoulder and shoved past her gibbering, enraged employer. Ignoring Nell’s kicks and demands to be let down, he strode unevenly through the silent, staring Pump Room crowds, his limp very much in evidence.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, as if nothing untoward was taking place. “Just taking my fiancée for a stroll.”

“Arr, those waters,” one old man said into the hush. “Marvelous what they can do for a body.”

“
P
ut me down,” Nell insisted for the twentieth time. She pummeled him with her fists to add force to her demand.

“Not till I’ve got you safe,” Harry stumped on, unperturbed by the stares of strangers on the street. “My aunt’s house is around the next corner.”

“This is kidnapping.”

“So it is.” He patted her on the rump and she squeaked with annoyance and thumped him on the back.

Nell subsided as he reached his aunt’s house and rang the doorbell. “Good morning, Sprotton,” Harry said. “Lovely morning.”

“Beautiful, Mr. Harry,” the butler responded smoothly, quite as if Mr. Harry didn’t have a woman draped over his shoulder.

“My aunt in?”

“No, sir, you’ve missed her by half an hour or thereabouts.”

“Pity. Oh well, when she returns, let her know we have a lady come to stay with us.” He bent and placed Nell on her feet, saying, “Lady Helen Freymore, this is Sprotton, my aunt’s butler. Sprotton, she’ll be staying in the best spare bedroom.”

Her hat had fallen off somewhere in the street, her hair was straggling out in all directions, and she was certain she looked like she’d been pulled through a hedge backward, but Nell extended her hand to the butler, saying calmly. “How do you do, Sprotton?”

“Welcome, my lady,” Sprotton said and shook her hand with equal dignity.

“Sprotton, Lady Helen’s baggage is currently at—” Harry turned to Nell. “Where were you staying again?”

There was no point arguing. She had no future with Mrs. Beasley anymore. Nell gave the butler the address of her lodgings and told him what to fetch. He bowed, issued instructions to two waiting footmen, and sent them off.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Lady Helen?”

“That would be lovely, thank you, Sprotton,” Nell said.

“In the withdrawing room?” the butler inquired, indicating the room with a subtle gesture.

“Perfect,” Nell said and stalked into the withdrawing room. She was hopping mad.

Harry followed her, his eyes twinkling. She seated herself on a small hard chair and regarded him coolly. “So, as I told you it would, that meeting cost me my job.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry at all,” she flashed. “You’re as pleased as punch about it.”

“I know. And once you’ve calmed down a little, you’ll realize you’re much better off. I’ll take you to London and help you do whatever it is you need to do.”

“And what if I don’t want to do it with you?”

That wiped the pleased expression from his face. But only for a second. He shrugged. “Better with me than with that harpy.”

“At least with her my personal business would have remained private,” she muttered ungraciously.

“And it wouldn’t with me?”

“No.”

“But you’ve lived with her for several weeks and you’ve only met me four times.”

“Yes, but even after two weeks with her, she’s still a stranger, whereas—” She stopped, aware she was giving too much away. It was frightening how quickly he’d got under her skin.

They sat for a moment in silence. “Thank you for coming to my defense,” he said eventually. “I was very touched.”

She made an embarrassed gesture.

“It actually doesn’t upset me, being called a bastard,” he told her. “I’ve been called one all my life. One becomes inured to such things.”

“I could
never
become inured to it,” she said vehemently. “I
hate
that word and I won’t have it spoken in my house. My presence,” she corrected herself belatedly.

He gave her a thoughtful look. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” she began, but just as she was about to explain, Sprotton entered with the tea tray. To Nell’s surprise, as well as the pot of tea, there was a large plate of sandwiches, some ginger cake, and half a dozen jam tarts.

“Surely it’s not time for luncheon,” she said.

“No, my lady, but Cook thought seeing as Mr. Harry left the house before breakfast he might be glad of a little something before luncheon.”

Mr. Harry, whose mouth was already full of ham sandwich, nodded at Sprotton and winked at Nell. When he’d swallowed, he said, “Delicious. Tell Cook she was spot-on as always. I’ll pop in myself and thank her later.”

He saw Nell’s look of surprise and said, “I first met Cook when my brother Gabe and I were growing lads and always hungry. She made it her mission in life to feed us.” He took another sandwich and added plaintively, “She still thinks I’m a growing lad.”

Sprotton said dryly, “I shall correct her misapprehension, Mr. Harry.”

“Do so at your peril, Sprotton,” Harry said with a grin and reached for a third sandwich. The butler bowed ironically and glided from the room.

It was the first time Nell had seen Harry Morant in his home environment. She liked the easy way he had with the servants. It made him more appealing than ever.

She drank her tea. She had to tell him.

The door flew open and Lady Gosforth sailed in. “Such a to-do,” she declared, removing her hat and handing it to the butler, who’d followed her in. “Another cup, Sprotton. The Pump Room is in uproar, my dears. Such excitement. The whole of Bath is agog.” She removed her coat, plumped herself down on the sofa and regarded them with sparkling eyes. “So, we have a wedding to arrange.”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“No,” said Nell.

“Yes,” Harry repeated more firmly.

“He’s right, my dear,” Lady Gosforth told Nell. “There really is no choice after the public scene he made. Did he really carry you bodily from the Pump Room and up the street?”

“Carried her all the way into this house,” Sprotton murmured as he filled a cup with tea, added lemon, and passed it to her.

“Wonderful. What a tale! Harry, dear boy, I never thought you had it in you. Will we have the wedding in Bath or in London?”

“There won’t be a wedd—” Nell began.

“In London,” Harry said. “Nell wants to get to London as soon as possible.”

“Excellent. I’ll make all the arrangements.” Lady Gosforth drained her teacup and bounced to her feet. “Oh, I do so love a wedding.”