Lady Vixen (71 page)

"My
dear, I would do anything for you, but I cannot stand the thought of that
fellow escaping with nothing more than a wound given to him by a woman! He
needs to face a man!"

"He
will, Robert, he will. But tomorrow, please? The hour grows late, and as no one
else knows where I am, they all must be frantic with worry, so please, please
take me home?"

Robert's
face was turned away from her, and so she didn't notice the peculiar expression
that flitted across it. Apparently taking one last look at Edward's disabled
coach, he said, "Very well, my dear, if that is what you want. I shall
have my satisfaction of him later. That you cannot deny me!"

"Nor
would I want to, Robert. Nor would I want to."

Without
further ado Robert climbed swiftly back into the gig, turned his horses, and
once again, Nicole was on the way back to Brighton, this time in much, much
more convivial company, and actually enjoying it, despite the cramped seating
and the bite of the cool night air. She spared no thought for Edward, only
thankful that she had escaped with so little injury.

Nicole
erred in her judgment of Edward's state. She should have realized that Edward
was an extremely desperate young man. Edward had recognized Robert Saxon's
voice, and clutching the sword cane, he had slipped out the other side of the
disabled coach and hid behind it. Facing an angry and furious Saxon was more
than he could bear at the moment. He needed time to gather his flagging courage
once more about him. Oh, he would fight to keep Nicole, but not here, here on a
main road, with four witnesses.

From
his place of concealment he watched narrowly as Robert swung his gig about and
started on the journey back. Feeling safe from retribution, he stepped out
boldly from behind the carriage, and ignoring the twinge, of pain in his
shoulder and the bloodstains that marred his beautifully cut pale blue jacket,
he demanded that one of the horses be cut loose—he would go for help! He
definitely wasn't sitting the night out in a cold uncomfortable carriage
waiting for them to do something.

There
was a brief acrimonious argument, but eventually Edward got his way. A few
moments later, precariously astride a strapping barebacked coach horse, he set
off down the road, presumably on his way for help.

Edward
had no intention of going after help. Marriage to Nicole was now out of the
question—but murder wasn't. With the sword cane strapped firmly to his waist by
a strip of leather from the harness of the coach team, he set off in pursuit.

It
would be a tragedy, he thought proudly, a mysterious tragedy. Lord Saxon's son
and Miss Nicole Ashford and her maid murdered on the Brighton Road by an unknown
assailant! Brilliant! The answer to all his problems. And no witnesses.
Precisely how he was going to get the three of them calmly to let him stab them
to death was a point Edward had not yet decided upon. At the worst, his
identity hidden behind the handkerchief that would be tied across his face, he
would just make a wild thrust for Nicole and escape.

Unaware
of the desperate stalker a short distance behind them, Robert and his
passengers made their way toward Brighton. Except Robert, like Edward, had very
different plans from the ones stated.

Robert
had not started out on this journey with any real plan other than to rescue
Nicole from Edward's dastardly plot. It wasn't until he had Nicole safe that
his decision not to return her to Kings Road was made. Instead he would take
her to the small house of his near Rottingdean. There he would convince her of
his love and make her realize that she must marry him!

Nicole
had no idea of what Robert was planning, but she had been uneasy from the
moment she had learned that no one else knew what had happened. Her liking and
admiration for Robert had long since died and she was wary and suspicious of
him. But he had rescued her from a very dangerous situation and for that she
was grateful. Resolutely she quelled the disobliging wish that her rescuer had
been someone other than Robert Saxon. And as they traveled down the moonlit
road, Robert made polite, relaxing conversation, deftly turning her thoughts
away from the trauma of the night. She felt a prick of remorse—he was being so
kind.

Her
feeling of remorse lasted for all of thirty-five minutes. Then as Robert
casually guided his horses off the main road onto a side road leading to the
left, she asked sharply, "Where are we going? Brighton is ahead of us, not
this way!"

"I
know, my dear, but I thought we should stop by my house. It is much closer. You
are chilled to the bone, and my housekeeper will prepare a hot mulled wine that
will drive the cold from your body," he replied smoothly, his eyes on his
horses. "There will be a fire on the hearth to warm you, and I shall
immediately send one of my servants with news of your whereabouts. As you said,
they all must be worried beyond belief about you. When my message reaches my
father, I'm positive it will not be many minutes before they all arrive at the
house. Then instead of a cold and drafty gig to take you home, you will travel
there in comfort, surrounded by my relieved family."

It
was an enticing picture, but Nicole mistrusted it. And unless Robert's house
came into view very shortly, she would mistrust his words even more.

Edward,
cold and decidedly uncomfortable, but still following doggedly behind them, had
whistled silently in surprise when Robert turned the gig off the main road.
What was Saxon up to? A sneer curved his mouth, and he laughed to himself. A
little seduction, perhaps? It would serve Nicole right, he thought viciously.
Whatever reasons Saxon had for following this particular road, they suited
Edward admirably. A deserted country lane this time of night was far more
appropriate for cold-blooded purposes than the main road to Brighton.

Fondling
the sword cane, he kicked his horse viciously on the sides, intending to
overtake the gig and have the business done. But his mount, trained as part of
a team of coach horses, proved recalcitrant. Not only did the animal not
respond to Edward's urgings, but it began to wheedle and cavort, fighting
against the reins. Fearful of falling off, for Edward was no expert rider, he
instantly desisted and with growing fury had to allow the horse to proceed at
his own pace, an unwavering, steady plod. Sometimes Edward feared he would lose
sight of his quarry altogether. But while the gig would occasionally disappear
around a curve or down a dip in the road, somehow Edward always managed to get
just enough speed from his horse not to lose track of his prey.

As
the miles went by them it was obvious, at least to Nicole, that in one respect
Robert had lied outright. By now if he had stayed on the main road, they would
have been home, and her uneasiness grew. Galena must have sensed her
uneasiness, for like a child she had slipped her small hand into Nicole's.

Robert
was driving to the southeast toward the sea, and Nicole could smell the scent
of the salt-laden air. Turning her head to look at him, she asked quietly,
"Exactly where is your house?"

Robert
smiled charmingly down at her. "Not more than a mile from here. It is on
the sea; I often lie awake at night listening to the pounding of the
surf." Lowering his voice, he said softly, "Your mother claimed it
was one of the most delightful houses she had ever visited."

Nicole
felt her stomach lurch at the implication, but not wishing to bring up the
whole ugly story at the moment, she forced herself to give a careless shrug.
Fortunately Robert's house came into view approximately a mile down the road.

Robert's
house was not large, but it was extremely cozy and comfortable. The entrance
hall was tiny, but the drawing room where Nicole was ushered by one of Robert's
servants was handsomely appointed. A fire leaped merrily on the stone hearth,
and Robert's housekeeper instantly served her a steaming cup of hot spiced
wine.

Her
stained pelisse was thrown carelessly on a nearby chair, and standing in front
of the fire, Nicole warmed herself and sipped the hot liquid. Eyeing Robert
over the rim of her cup, she asked steadily, "When are you going to write
to your father? Shouldn't you be doing it before the hour grows much
later?"

"Ah,
yes, my dear, I shall do it, this very moment," Robert agreed swiftly and,
sitting down at a rosewood-inlaid desk, proceeded to do so. Sending her a
smiling look, and taking the folded note with him, he walked to the door and
stepped out into the hall. Suspicious of him, Nicole flew across the room, carefully
slipped the door open a slight crack, and watched him intently.

Robert
was alone in the hallway, standing with his back to Nicole. She watched as he
methodically ripped the note into shreds and dropped the scraps in a large
copper urn. He turned so quickly, coming back toward the drawing room, that
Nicole had no time to shut the door and had barely enough time to race across
the room to her earlier position before the fire.

It
was with a decided effort that she met his guileless smile when he reentered
the room. Inwardly she was seething, damning herself for being goose enough not
to realize that under no circumstances was Robert to be trusted. Lowering her
lashes to hide the furious expression in her eyes, she surveyed the room. There
appeared little that would be of use to her. It was simply a masculine room,
with a comfortable yet elegant air— the furniture covered in dark shades of
leather and damask, the rugs muted pools of gold and brown, with heavy drapes
of russet velvet pulled across the windows to keep out the fall chill. With
consideration Nicole examined a set of glass doors that apparently led to the
outside. A gathered drape of some diaphanous material screened them. For just a
moment she had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching her, but dismissed
it as a silly fancy.

If
the doors were not locked, it would be a simple matter to pluck up her pelisse
and run out into the night. This stretch of coast, she recalled vaguely, was
rocky and pitted, offering her several places to hide until morning. She began
to edge toward her pelisse, but Robert unknowingly blocked that move by walking
between her and her objective. Grasping her hand, he brought it to his lips and
said, "My dear, you don't know how often I have dreamed of you here with
me. Dreamed of you as you are now, your hair in the firelight, shining like
flame itself, and your skin bathed in gold."

Nicole
swallowed, uncertain whether to laugh or to slap his face. Hastily she looked
away, afraid her eyes would betray her, and determinedly she removed her hand
from his, stepping back as she did so. Not looking at him, she murmured,
"I do hope that Lord Saxon will come immediately! I am so exhausted and I fear
that I have a sick headache coming on. You must forgive me, sir, if I do not seem
appreciative of your compliments, but I am so distressed by this evening's
events that I cannot think clearly." It was a blatant lie, and if Robert
had not been so besotted, he would have recognized it as such. Christopher
would have snorted with disbelief and told her roundly to drop her missish
airs! But Robert was blind where Nicole was concerned; so tenderly he said,
"If you would like to lie down, I can have my housekeeper Mrs. Simpkins
show you to one of the bedrooms."

That
wasn't precisely what Nicole had planned on— a bedroom was the last place she
wanted to be with Robert Saxon in the vicinity! Despairingly she glanced around
the room, her gaze momentarily riveted by a pair of dueling swords hanging
crossed above the mantel. But even Nicole's mind boggled at the thought of
stabbing a second man this incredible evening. Besides, she argued
realistically, it wasn't likely she would be able to wrest one of the swords
down from the wall before Robert stopped her.

The
bedroom it would be—but with Galena in attendance. Putting a hand on her head,
she cried in fainting accents, "Oh, how my head aches! Yes, I believe I
will lie down. But please, please, send my maid to me. She knows how to cope
with these attacks."

Her
request was accomplished with an ease that startled her. In a matter of seconds
she was whisked up the stairs by Robert's housekeeper, an extremely worried
Galena in close attendance. Acting like a spoiled beauty, Nicole muttered
pettishly, "Oh, please, Mrs. Simpkins, do leave us! My maid knows exactly
how to cope with these terrible headaches."

Galena's
mouth nearly fell open at such an outright lie, Miss Nicole never having been
sick a day since she had known her. She was a clever girl, though, and said
nothing, only nodding her head as if agreeing with every word Nicole said.

Mrs.
Simpkins, suspecting she was waiting on her employer's intended wife, did
exactly as told. No use upsetting the new mistress—this was a good placement
and she wouldn't want to lose it. And so she went back down the stairs to her
kitchen.

Nicole
barely waited until the door closed and Mrs. Simpkins's steps had died away
before she sat up impatiently and somewhat disgustedly threw away the
lavender-soaked cloth that had been so gently placed on her brow a moment before.

Nervously
Galena regarded her as she ran to one of the windows and stared down at the
ground below. Then with an exclamation of triumph she raced back to the bed and
began ruthlessly tearing down the silken bed-curtains. Unable to help herself,
Galena burst out, "Miss Nicole, what are you doing? What is
happening?"