Never to Part (22 page)

Easing her to the ground Richard kept his hold until he was certain she was steady on her feet. Then he moved his hands to her waist. “Ready?”

Daphne nodded and took hold.

Richard sensed her hesitate when his hands tightened about her waist. The cold rain did nothing to deaden the explosion of pleasure.

Richard lifted and pushed as Daphne struggled upward until she climbed onto the seat of the phaeton. He watched as she slid to the far edge. With a scowl of concern at the bedraggled sight, Richard joined her. He unfastened the reins from the brake lever with one hand and held the other out to her.

Before she turned her head Richard saw unshed tears in her eyes. He longed to comfort her but decided that would be the wrong tack. “I don’t care to arrive at The Hound with a corpse beside me,” Richard growled. When she refused to move closer he sighed and took up the reins. “You may be immune to the cold but I am not. If you’d but sit close we’d both be warmer,” he coaxed.

“Let them go,” Richard called to his tiger.

While he waited for the lad to get back on the perch Daphne slowly edged closer to him.

Richard flicked the reins. The phaeton jerked forward.

Continuous sheets of wind driven rain washed away any warmth. Richard was grateful for several reasons when Daphne slid over and grabbed hold of his greatcoat. When she pressed her face into it and clung to him, Richard knew that no matter how nasty the weather the journey would be far too short.

 * * * *

Eldridge arrived at The Hound shortly after the coachman and demanded a chamber. He downed the last of the hot rum punch he had purchased and headed to his room just as the call rang out that another carriage had arrived.

In his chamber Eldridge tossed a small portmanteau onto the bed. He wrinkled his nose at the stale odours and the despicable size. The room was hardly big enough for the cot-like bed and decrepit chair. He shrugged his soaked greatcoat off and draped it over the chair back. “I won’t ever have to abide a chamber like this again once I have the treasure.” Eldridge took off his damp blue coat, threw it aside, and drew a drab brown one from his portmanteau.

“Daphne Stratton. Should I have stopped for her? No, that’d be too obvious. Ruin everything. ‘Sides the chit no longer trusts me. For that alone she should suffer the cold and rain.” Malice glittered in his eyes. He pulled on the dry coat.

“Shall I have her? Throw her back to Wardick when I finish with her?” Eldridge chuckled malevolently. “’Haps it’ll be best if she shares Dremore’s fate.”

“The treasure must be here,” Eldridge said as he rummaged in his portmanteau. “Why else would Dremore hare toward this God forsaken place on such a night? Luck was on my side when I saw him at that last posting inn. I’d lay odds that he took up Miss Stratton.” He laid aside a woman’s handkerchief and then took out a box and opened it.

Using the small mirror and the spirit gum inside the box, Eldridge affixed a moustache and short beard. His reflection pleased him. He gave the moustache a last pat. His disguise complete, he primed his pistol.

“If all goes well this eve,” he said triumphantly as he checked the weapon, “I may e’en be Lord Dremore by morn.

“If not,” he glanced down at the initials on the handkerchief, “that will keep the kettle brewing.”

The ancient coaching inn nestled in a curve of the road to Gretna Green had long welcomed young couples with a blind eye and few questions. But when a muddied be-drenched young man strode in carrying an equally bedraggled young woman, the innkeeper wrung his hands in consternation.

“Show me to a chamber at once,” Richard ordered.

“We’re full up—‘xpectin’ passengers from a coach thet broke down a ways from here,” the innkeeper protested.

Daphne raised her head from Richard’s chest. “Saddie,” she managed. “My—companion—came—with—coachman.”

The innkeeper’s wife appeared at her husband’s shoulder wiping her hands on her apron. “Take’m to thet chamber wit ta cot fer the maid. Follow me husband, sir.

“Rest easy miss,” she told Daphne. “I’ll fetch yer woman.”

“I also require a chamber,” Richard told the innkeeper as he followed him up the stairs.

“A maid’s chamber’ll have ta do ye on a night like this. Near o’er flowing,” the innkeeper said over his shoulder. “’Less yer wed, o’ course and share the best room.”

Lady Laurel sighed. “If only Daphne hadn’t brought her companion with her. Two more sensible fools I have ne’er seen.”

“But would Richard take advantage of such a situation?”

“He’s proven quite amorous on occasion—the mausoleum, his library—”

Lord Ricman brightened. “Ahh, blood will run true.”

 * * * *

Richard rested a comradely arm across his tiger’s shoulders as he and the lad tromped through the mud to the door at the back of the coaching inn. “The rain is easing.” Exhaustion coated his words.

“Yer friend’s bloods earned a couple days rest afore they’re put in harness ‘gain,” the lad said. He flicked a questioning look at his master.

“Right you are.” Richard hadn’t seen anything worth hiring in the stables. He was doomed to spend at least two days confined with Miss Stratton. His groin reacted as it did to any thought of the damnable miss. “Think with your brain until you’ve sorted matters out,” Richard muttered angrily.

“What’s that, milord?” his tiger asked. “Need me ta take yer bag?”

“No, ‘tis nothing,” Richard assured him. He pushed open the back kitchen door. Light, warmth, and heavenly odours of well-prepared country food poured over them.

“Come in, yer lordship,” the innkeeper’s wife greeted him. “Yer lad can eat here. I’ll bring a tray to the public room when ye wish it.”

Richard looked down at his soaked, mud spattered clothing. He was too tired to change. “Have you any place I can wash up?” he asked. He summoned a wan smile knowing the woman would regard such a wish as one of the foibles of the gentry.

The woman raised her eyebrows but motioned to a basin of water on a narrow table to one side.

Managing a smile of thanks, Richard set down his portmanteau and removed his black beaver. After a quick glance around the room he set it on top of his bag. “If you don’t mind, I’ll eat here with my lad,” he said as he shrugged out of his soaked greatcoat.

The innkeeper’s wife nodded. She took the greatcoat and draped it over a chair before the fire. “Like as well leave this o’er night,” she told him. “Won’t dry afore morn.”

After Richard finished washing he sat down and accepted the plate the innkeeper’s wife handed him before setting a similar plate full in front of his tiger. He toyed with the food, looked up with a question, and just as quickly looked down.

“Miss Stratton’s probably asleep by now,” the innkeeper’s wife said. “Her woman fetched her some soup quite a time ago. Said the gel came to no harm.”

Richard smiled his thanks at the information. The last bite of roast had tasted like ash but the next filled his mouth with scrumptious flavour. Like his tiger, he ate heartily.

“Thank you for a wonderful meal,” Richard told the innkeepers’ wife as he rose from the table. “Can my tiger sleep by the kitchen fire?” He held out a guinea. “For blankets and a glass of porter.”

She took the coin, bit it, and smiled. “He’ll be comfortable ‘nuf.”

More than I’ll be
, mused Richard as he trod tiredly to the door. “Ned, can you take my portmanteau to my room?” he asked his tiger.

“Aye, milord.”

When the baron entered the public room, the innkeeper called out, “Good eve, milord.”

Richard nodded. “Have you any decent brandy?”

“I'll bring it ta yer table,” the innkeeper replied.

One look at the chair and Richard knew if he sat he’d never make it to his feet before morning. “If you don’t mind I’ll take it up to my chamber,” he said and laid the coins on bar.

Richard opened the door to the tiny maid’s chamber. He took a long drink as he studied the door he knew opened into Daphne’s chamber. Finishing the brandy after he shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his cravat, Richard pulled back the thin coverlet on the bed. He frowned at the sight of a sprig of laurel. Mumbling an oath, he tossed it to the floor and laid down on the narrow cot. Richard mentally noted it wasn’t comfortable as he drifted off to sleep and into a dream.

Richard found himself before a fireplace filled with flames dancing amidst burning logs. He looked around the Spartan chamber wondering where he could be and why he was no longer so chilled. Then he noticed the couple in strange dress. A costume ball? Richard mused.

“’Tis much the same as the first time we were here,” the woman said. The pair exchanged a long kiss.

Richard watched with an odd detachment. But when they drew apart his thoughts stuttered. He knew this pair. But who were they? He listened as they again spoke.

“Where art thou going?” the woman asked when the man headed toward the door.

He flashed her a wide grin. “I have to see if it still be here.”

“Centuries have passed,” the woman said gliding to his side.

“But wouldn’t it be grand if it ‘tis?”

“Especially since thou used it in the verse,” she said.

The man took her hand. “’Twas grand that day. That giant jug’s contents laid them all under the tables. But not me. If thou wilt but recall what we did later that eve.”

“Let’s see if it still sits on its ‘throne,’” the woman said.

“Even if it is there how are we ev’r going to get them to look in the right place? To look beneath the jug?”

Lord Ricman and Lady Laurel, Richard thought with a gasp of recognition of the faces in the first Dremore’s portrait. The verse.

Richard woke on the instant to find he had turned over and lay on his stomach. He pushed up with his hands, felt a blinding pain in his head, and knew no more.

 * * * *

Daphne towelled her wet hair before the fire while Saddie finished cleaning their half boots. The memory of Richard’s scent haunted her. Prickles of excitement fluttered every time she thought of being carried in his arms. Neither diminished as warmth slowly returned to her limbs.

“’Twas kind of Lord Dremore,” Saddie told her yet again. “Who’d have thought he’d bring you here when he must know you tricked him.”

Daphne knew colour that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire flared across her face. She rubbed her hair with unnecessary vigour.

“Not that it wasn’t necessary,” Saddie continued. She put down Daphne’s shoe and then checked the black daydress hanging from the fireplace’s mantle. “’Tis dry.” She turned to Daphne and planted her hands on her hips.

“It’s abed you should be. I’ll see that his lordship don’t disturb you.”

Daphne flushed more deeply at the thought of the small room next door with only a cot for Richard.

Saddie shook her head. “You aren’t exchanging rooms with the baron. There’s not room for both of us in that bed.”

With a grimace of acquiescence Daphne laid down the towel and picked up her brush.

Saddie took it from her hand and brushed the unruly curls into some semblance of order. Then she gathered it at the nape of Daphne’s neck and tied a ribbon about it. “Give up this nonsense about going downstairs.”

“I cannot.” Daphne rubbed her forehead. “You know I must solve the verse this eve. We need to be gone by morn.”

“Why do you believe the answer is here? You may have guessed wrong about the verse. “As for leaving by morn?” Saddie shook her head. “’Twill be a wonder if the London bound coach would be on time even if the storm abates this eve.”

Daphne covered her face with her hands. She feared another confrontation with Richard but equally longed for one. They had exchanged no words on the way to the coaching inn. But something had encircled them; had whispered to her that they should be one. On a sob Daphne admitted she wished it were possible to forego her plan. Richard’s presence told her his mother had told him about The Hound.
But what about the rest of the verse? All fair in love and treasure
, she thought yet again.

“There, there miss.” Saddie wrapped an arm about Daphne’s shoulders. “’Haps you’re right in thinking the treasure is at hand.” She hugged her and then took the dress from where it hung off the mantle. “Let’s get you dressed.” She motioned for Daphne to raise her hands.

Daphne winced at the black gown she had packed. She had worn it while in mourning for her father. It seemed a desecration to wear it. This would be thievery without Dremore’s agreement of all fair in love and treasure.
Father’d understand
, she thought.

Oh Geof, why can’t you see what you’ve become? What you force me to do
?

“I won’t let you leave this chamber until you eat the soup,” Saddie grumbled as she put the gown over Daphne’s head.

A series of sounds from the next room told Daphne that Richard had entered the maid’s chamber as she ate her soup. She tried to ignore it and was glad when all fell silent next door.

After ordering Saddie to bed on the cot near the door, Daphne sat before the fire. She waited there until soft snores came from Saddie’s still form. Then Daphne tiptoed past the abigail’s cot and with a forced calm demeanour, quietly closed her chamber’s door behind her.

Please Lord, let the baroness be correct about the vast jug that the first Dremore brought to The Hound. And more, that ‘tis still here
.

On the landing, Daphne paused, then slowly crept down the stairs. As she neared the open side of the stairs she thought she heard someone speak. Bending over and peering around the open wall toward the public room she waited. Too many people were still about. She went back up the stairs.

At the top of them she saw a bearded moustachioed man come out of the room across from hers. Something about him struck Daphne as familiar. But even as she wondered about it the man glanced at her and went into his chamber.