Breathless (10 page)

“Leopold will see to your servants. In fact, he'll see to everything. As for clothes, you won't be needing any. You've been dancing on the edge for long enough—we may as well seal our devil's bargain immediately.”

“But where are we going?”

He shook his head. “I think you're better off not knowing. But you'll be pleased to know I'll ride while you have the carriage to yourself. I think I'd find the trip a bit too…arousing. And I certainly don't want this to remind you of your last elopement.”

“It's
exactly
like my last elopement,” she spat. “I was abducted against my will that time, as well.”

“But at least I'll marry you,” he said in a silken voice. “Whether you want me to or not.”

And a moment later he was gone.

L
ady Jane Pagett was not having a good day. Ever since the night at the Carrimores' ball she'd been in a terrible state of upheaval. Half the time she didn't want to get out of bed in the morning. Despite Miranda's warnings, all she wanted to do was think of the tall man who'd kissed her, and wrong as it was, she wanted to lie in bed and touch herself through her fine lawn nightdress and pretend they were his hands on her body. She didn't want to think about Mr. Bothwell and his chaste, dry kisses, she didn't want to think about her future life in the dreary north. She wanted to dream of pirates and smugglers and wicked licentiousness that nevertheless felt so good.

Because the truth was, all her life, beneath her timid exterior, beat the heart of an adventuress. She wanted to travel to strange and distant places, she wanted wild adventures and passionate love. Instead she was marrying Mr. Bothwell because no one else had wanted her.

She was tall and thin and plain and shy, doomed to an ordinary life with an ordinary man, and just once she wished she was brave enough to have even the mildest
of adventures. The kiss in the dark had been a taste of all the richness life offered and she was denied.

The fact that she hadn't been able to get the blasted diamond ring off her finger didn't help matters. Nothing worked, not soap or duck grease or sheer force. It seemed stuck for good, and she didn't dare return home to her family with it adorning her hand like a blazing sign of her wickedness.

She'd summoned up enough courage to have Miranda ask the Earl of Rochdale about it but he'd denied any knowledge of jewel thieves, and she was half tempted to believe him, if he weren't known as the Scorpion, with the reputation to match. A pirate indeed, but a little too frightening even for Jane's wild fantasies. She wanted the man in the dark.

On top of everything else, she had the beginnings of a putrid sore throat, and she planned to spend the day in bed, nursed by Miranda's most excellent lady's maid.

But Brandon Rohan had made such a row she'd had no choice but to get up and put her best face on, listening to him as he stalked around the dining room, ranting about some wicked crime that Lucien de Malheur
hadn't
done. To be sure, the scarred man unnerved her, and she would have warned Miranda to beware. If she hadn't seen the way he looked at her, when he thought no one would notice. It didn't matter how much Brandon ranted and raved—Jane knew people, and always had. She'd seen the way the earl looked at Miranda and known she was safe.

Of course, hours later she was rethinking that. It had been a dark, gloomy day, and Miranda had taken off on foot, anger vibrating through her, gone before Jane could offer to accompany her. Brandon had finally taken
himself off to his club, but Jane had no idea whether he was coming back to spend the night or, having delivered his warning, considered his duty done and was devoting himself to the pleasures of town the way any normal seventeen-year-old male would.

And there was the damned ring. Trust Brandon to notice it. “Did old Bore-well give you that diamond?” he'd asked with an appreciative whistle. “He must not be the nip-farthing, cold fish he seemed to be.”

She'd said nothing, of course. What were the chances a boy like Brandon would remember what ring his sister's friend was wearing? Normally nil, but the way her luck had been running there was no guarantee.

It was getting late, and there was no sign of Miranda. Apparently the footman had returned hours ago, alone. Cousin Louisa lay ensconced on the divan in the morning room, nibbling on fresh-baked almond biscuits and trying to convince Jane there was absolutely nothing to worry about. As long as Louisa didn't have to move she was the most placid creature in the world.

It took Jane another hour to screw up her courage. Something was wrong, something was off, though Jennings assured her that Miranda had arrived safely. She was probably worrying about nothing. Jane had joined the earl and Miranda on several occasions, having wonderful conversations, and Jane hadn't seen her friend that animated, that happy, in years. Everything was perfectly fine.

But it was late, cold and dark, and Jane could either think about her mysterious encounter in the darkened bedroom or she could worry about Miranda. Miranda won.

She was going to go about it in a perfectly respectable
way. No haring across town in a rage, she would have the carriage brought round, be driven to the earl's house on Cadogan Place, keep Jennings and perhaps even a maid with her for propriety's sake. But just as she was about to order the carriage Brandon came stomping back in, and she had no choice, grabbing her coat and her reticule and sneaking out a side door into the garden, then through the gate into the rain-slick street.

She'd never hailed her own hackney before, but luck was on her side, though the driver expressed doubts about taking a “nice young lady like yourself” to
that
part of town. She wasn't quite sure how to depress his pretension since he was clearly just an overprotective male, but after his first warning he drove in silence, through the darkening evening.

The first thing that met her eye wasn't the dark, gloomy house. It was the large traveling carriage that was standing in the front portico, a matched set of six black horses, no less, waiting and ready. She told the driver to let her down at the end of the square, which he did after expressing one more warning, and then she started back toward the house, keeping to the shadows, astonished at her own bravery. She was half tempted to call the hackney back, but he'd already disappeared in the fog.

Jane straightened her shoulders. She had to be brave. This was for Miranda, after all, and Miranda would face an army for her.

Her nose was beginning to run from the cold, wet air, and she struggled in her reticule for a handkerchief. Her throat was worse, and she wasn't sure whether she was cold or hot. She only knew she'd probably been an idiot
to come out in weather like this when she was clearly coming down with something.

Two uniformed servants came up the side alley that lay next to the earl's townhouse, so busy talking they didn't notice her hasty move back against the wall. “Wish 'e'd give us some warning. Why would 'e want to go off on a night like this, when he's got a nice warm bed at home if he wants to tumble her?”

“Don't let 'im hear you talkin' like that. This ain't one of his society whores, mark my words. If I were you I'd keep me trap shut and do what 'e says.”

The other man responded with a cheerful profanity that nevertheless seemed to signify agreement. They moved past the coach to where three other men stood talking amidst themselves. There was a beautiful thoroughbred horse, saddled and ready, and she assumed Lord Rochdale was going to be riding. So who was traveling in the carriage? And where the hell was Miranda?

She straightened her spine, starting for the front door, when it opened, and panic swept over her. The door to the carriage stood open and waiting, the steps were already down, and she didn't stop to think. She simply scrambled inside, crouching down in a far corner and pulling a heavy fur throw over her. With luck no one would notice.

It took her only a moment to realize her instinctive movement was mad. The earl had most assuredly sent Miranda home, and right now was planning on an assignation with his current mistress, who would find a strange young woman hiding in the carriage and Jane's embarrassment would be monumental. She started to push the throw aside when she heard voices, the earl's
deep one, warm and caressing. “Try to sleep,” he was saying, and Jane felt the coach sway as someone climbed up into it. “You're going to need your rest to keep fighting me.”

“I'm not fighting you,” came Miranda's calm voice, and Jane almost swooned with relief. “I have no choice.”

“Very true, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Have a peaceful journey. We won't be making many stops.” And she heard the door close, plunging the interior of the carriage into darkness.

Jane didn't move. If she did she might startle Miranda into making a sound, and then they might drag her out of the carriage, and she couldn't allow them to be separated. She held herself very still, barely breathing as she felt the carriage begin to move forward, smoothly with the skill of an experienced driver.

Miranda wasn't making any sound at all, and Jane scrunched down in the corner, trying to decide when to announce her presence. Her body took care of that decision, with a loud, uncontrollable sneeze.

“Who's there?” Miranda demanded, her voice edgy but calm. “Please show yourself. I've had a very difficult day and I'm not in the mood for playing games.”

Jane pushed the cover off her head. The interior of the carriage was very dark, but she could see Miranda quite clearly, and the expression on her face terrified her. “Just me,” she said brightly, sneezing again, and she climbed onto the seat next to her dearest friend. “So…are we being abducted?”

 

Miranda didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She did both, hauling Jane into her arms and then giving
her a shake. “You idiot. It's bad enough that I made a thorough mess of things. I didn't want to destroy your life, as well.”

“We're best friends,” Jane said with barely a tremor. “And I haven't noticed that your life has been destroyed.”

Miranda shook her head, leaning back against the squabs. “It is now.” Jane was doing her best to look fearless and failing, and Miranda realized it was up to her to calm her fears. “What in heaven's name made you come here? You sound like you should be home in bed, not chasing after me. And why did you hide in the carriage?”

“I had every intention of marching right up to the front door and demanding to see you,” she said, her voice wobbling slightly. “But at the last minute I panicked and hid in the carriage. You know what a coward I am. As for what made me do it—Brandon. He came home acting like a bear with a sore paw, and I decided it was better to sneak out and see what was keeping you than have him start badgering me.”

Miranda thought fast. The last thing she wanted to do was bring Jane into this horrific mess she'd brought upon herself. “We need to get you home before we go much farther,” she said, leaning forward to rap on the roof of the coach.

“As long as you come with me.”

Miranda shook her head. “I'm afraid not. I'm eloping, dearest, and much as I love you, I really don't want you on my honeymoon.” She thought she'd done a creditable job of it, but Jane was giving her a peculiar look.

“Miranda, you've always been my dearest friend, but you've never been a terribly good liar, and it's a waste
of time trying that with me. I know you too well. What in the world is going on?”

“I'm in love.” She tried not to choke on the vile words. “Surely that comes as no surprise? I've been obsessed with the man since he first…rescued me after my accident.” Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears, and she leaned forward and rapped on the roof again, doing her best to look properly besotted when she was vibrating with anger and pain.

No response, of course. The driver would have orders to ignore her. Miranda sank back against the seat. They were moving swiftly, and in no time they'd be past the limits of town, though in which direction she could only guess.

Jane was looking at her doubtfully. “He said something to you about fighting.”

Bloody hell, Miranda thought. At that point she'd lost the ability to judge. She had absolutely no idea how terrible Lucien de Malheur was capable of being. If he'd been willing to risk a stranger's life in a carriage accident, if he would murder her younger brother in cold blood, then there was no guarantee that Jane would be safe anywhere around him.

The safest route was to lie to her, and keep lying. Surely she could manage. “We have a tendency to argue,” she said in brisk tones. “It's nothing you need to worry about. I'm hardly likely to be abducted twice in one lifetime. Trust me, I want to be with Lucien. I'm simply worried about you. As soon as we stop to change horses we'll make arrangements for you to travel back to London, none the worse for wear. You shouldn't be out and about when you're sick, dearest Jane. I can't imagine what possessed you to come out after me.”

“Can't you?” Jane said, sounding absurdly brave.

Miranda sighed. She should have known she'd drag others down with her. She simply had to make sure Jane was left in good hands before they continued onward. “I love you, too. And Lucien will take care of things when we stop. In the meantime we may as well make the best of it. I expect I won't be visiting London for quite a while, so we need to enjoy our time together.”

“But, Miranda, my wedding is only three months away! You were to be my maid of honor—now I suppose my matron of honor. We'll have lots of time then, won't we?” She was looking worried again.

“Assuming you don't run off with your brigand in the meantime,” Miranda said in a light, teasing voice.

Jane frowned. “I'm no longer finding the memory quite so delightful. It really was quite shocking of me to enjoy it so, wasn't it?”

“Quite shocking. And perfectly understandable. Don't worry, love. Mr. Bothwell never need find out anything about it. You'll be counting yourself lucky to have made such a close escape.”

Jane's small, cold hand slipped into Miranda's. “Are you certain you know what you're doing, Miranda?”

“Quite,” she said firmly, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Perhaps practice made perfect in the art of lying.

At least the earl made certain his hostages traveled in style. The coach was magnificent—well sprung, with warm bricks, several magnificent throws, pillows, a basket of food and wine. Poor Jane was feeling more and more miserable, and Miranda would have soon eaten snakes than touched anything provided by her host, so they simply curled up together under the shared
blankets and talked, not about the present or the future, but about the past and the happiness of shared childhoods and doting parents. Jane drifted off to sleep first, and slowly, slowly Miranda forced herself to release her fury enough to get some rest herself.