St. Raven (29 page)

Her lips threatened to wobble. “I was in no danger.”

“How can you tell? Go home, love. Leave the rest to me.”

Love.

It sapped all her fighting spirit, leaving only sadness. She began to say farewell, but then she rebelled. “I don’t want to. Go home. I want to be part of this.”

“How? And—forgive me—what use could you be?”

Hooves and rattling wheels alerted them.

“Hell!” He took the bonnet from her hand and dropped it down the nearby stairwell, then pulled her into his arms. She was pressed her against the railings as if he were kissing her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

“We might as well,” she murmured.

“I need a scrap of sanity.”

She kissed his set jaw. “But madness is so appealing.”

“Only if you aspire to Bedlam.”

“A heaven if there with you…”

He pushed away from her. “Cressida! The woman is supposed to be strong enough for both.”

The coach had passed.

“How very unfair. And if true, we should be ruling the world, not men.” She read his eyes. “You don’t want to part any more than I do.”

“Of course I don’t, but even though I’m but a frail man, I’m trying to be strong enough for both.”

She slid her hand up to his shoulder. “I know. We have to be sensible, and I will be, I promise, once we have the jewels. But until then, I want to be this wild creature a little longer.”

She touched his cheek. It was rough. Because of this disguise, he hadn’t shaved. “Take me with you to hunt the Crow, Tris. I can’t bear to sit at home waiting!”

He trapped her hand. “How? How can you leave again and get away with it?”

He wasn’t saying no.

It all suddenly seemed clear. “I’ll tell my mother some of the truth. I’ll say that I have a way to repair our fortunes, but it means my going away unchaperoned for a few days. And that she must trust me to do the right thing.”

“She will permit this?”

“She’s a realist now she has her wits back. She knows we face disaster.”

“This could
lead
to disaster.”

“Only if we… I don’t think we should…” Words failed her.

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “You credit me with Herculean strength.”

“Yes, I do. Will it be unbearable torture?”

He pushed away from her. “You damnable woman. You know I can’t deny you when you look at me like that.”

She blinked. “You can’t?”

He pulled her back and gave her a quick kiss. “I can’t.”

He released her and went down the narrow stairs to retrieve her bonnet, then came back and put it on her head.

“Go home,” he said, tying the ribbons. “If you can get away without disaster, meet me at the corner of Rathbury and Hay. It’s not too far from your house, but it’s a place unlikely to be under the eye of anyone of fashion. I’ll be driving my curricle.”

Cressida knew her smile was too bright, too wide. “Thank you!”

“Thank me when you’re safely home in Matlock. Go on. We need to be ahead of Miranda.”

He turned and walked away.

Cressida watched for a moment for the sheer pleasure of it, then hurried in the other direction, excitement fizzing. Such wicked folly, this new adventure, and it would make the rest of her life seem even bleaker, but she couldn’t pass it by.

In fact, she thought, as she turned into Otley Street, she was wicked at heart. If not for her parents—if she were alone in the world—she might become the Duke of St. Raven’s acknowledged mistress and to hell with propriety and pain!

As she entered her house, however, the practicalities hit her. How was she going to do this? She hated to lie. She’d hated to lie before, but going with Crofton had been essential. This excursion would be for her own wicked pleasure.

She needed time to think, and she didn’t have time.

But she needed to take the statuette. Tris would be able to practice opening it, and they might have a chance to do a switch. She was in the study picking it up when her mother walked in.

“Oh, I thought you were still out, dear. I thought it might help your father if I read to him. What book would interest him?”

“A good idea, Mama.” Feeling as if guilt were written all over her, Cressida took down the book about Arabia. “Try this.”

Her mother took it, but sighed. “If he revives, it will only be to the burden of disaster.”

Cressida licked her lips. “As to that, Mama… There might be a way.”

“What?”

Cressida used her thumbnail to click the back of the figurine free and slide it open. “There’s another figurine very like this one, Mama, but it contains jewels.”

Her mother stared. “But… But all the rest are at Stokeley! Oh, how infuriating that that man should have even more!”

“Except that I have learned that he doesn’t have them.” How much to say? But then Cressida realized that she was treating her mother like a child.

“Lord Crofton gave the statue with the jewels to someone else, and then the highwayman, Le Corbeau, stole it. Someone I know is willing to take me to try to get it back. I need to do this, Mama.”

Her mother was staring at her. “But how do you know all this?”

Cressida felt her face burn. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Were you at Cecilia’s these past days?”

Cressida gulped. “No.”

“Cressida!”

“Please don’t think the worst of me, Mama. Father showed me those jewels at Stokeley Manor, and I’ve been trying to get them back. We must if we’re to have any kind of life. We can return to Matlock, return to our comfortable life there…”

She felt that future winding around her, binding her, but she pushed that away.

“My goodness. What a lot of goings-on I’ve been blind to. And you think you can find these jewels?”

Cressida made it more certain than she felt. “Yes.”

“Who is this friend? Is it… a man?”

A lie formed, but she resisted it. “Yes, but there will be no impropriety.”

By putting it in the future, she could be truthful, though it was scarcely proper to be fondling a man’s back on a public street, or kissing him.

“A
young
man?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Are you sure you can trust him, dear? Men can be carried beyond good manners so easily when a lady does not behave with complete propriety.”

Cressida felt as if wild laughter might choke her. “I’ll be strong enough for both, Mama. Please. Will you trust me to manage this?”

Her mother bit her lip, but then she stepped forward and took Cressida’s hands. “You remind me so much of your father, darling. Confess, a little of this is sheer adventure, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But will you be content to return to Matlock when it’s over?”

Cressida sighed, staring at a wall of books. “I doubt I’ll have other exciting possibilities.”

Her mother touched her cheek. “I am a conventional woman, but I’ve suspected for a while that you are not. I set your father free. He would have returned to England with us, but I knew it wasn’t his place to be. He loved me, but he loved adventure more. So I set him free. Now, I set you free, too. Go adventuring, Cressida, but always know you have a home to return to, tomorrow, or twenty years from now.”

Cressida saw her mother through tears, understanding so much, but not really understanding at all. Now, however, she felt she had to tell more.

“It’s the Duke of St. Raven, Mama. My friend. We met… by accident. It’s amusement for him. A quest. But—”

“But you’ve fallen in love with him. Hardly surprising.” Her mother sighed. “Poor Cressy. It seems you have the most dangerous parts of your parents. My tender heart and your father’s bold spirit. The duke is very handsome.”

“That’s not why I love him.”

“No, it wouldn’t be. If he asks, will you become his mistress?”

The direct question made everything clear.

“No. It wouldn’t be right for us for long, and the wounds would last a lifetime. And he has to marry, so it might be hardest for him…” She breathed deeply. “If I’m going, I must go. Thank you!”

“Remember, I’ll always be here, waiting for the wanderer’s return. I believe I can deal with little wounds, at least. A touch of basilicum ointment, some soothing warm milk…”

Cressida gave her mother a fierce hug, then ran upstairs to gather a change of linen and her toiletries. How to carry them? Walking through the streets with a valise could look strange. She pulled out the hatbox for her tall bonnet and packed her things into that, adding the statue.

She didn’t wear that bonnet, however, but kept the small one from Matlock days. Would she still be recognized? Talk would fly if anyone saw Miss Mandeville driving out of town with the Duke of St. Raven.

She really shouldn’t go.

But she couldn’t give up this opportunity.

She glanced at the clock, then grabbed Roxelana’s thin blue veiling. She tied it around the brim of the bonnet and then pulled it down over her face. Ladies did sometimes wear veils when driving in an open carriage.

It turned everything a dim blue, however, making it hard to see. That reminded her. She pushed the veiling up, but grabbed her spectacles. She’d never worn them in public in London, so they’d be another disguise.

After one last hasty glance around, she picked up the hatbox, rushed downstairs, and left the house. She knew that one way or another, her life would never be the same.

Cressida forced herself to walk steadily to the rendezvous, praying that she not meet anyone she knew; praying especially that no one delayed her by wishing to speak.

She turned into Hays Street and saw him. At least, she saw his back and his splendid curricle. She faltered for a second, then hurried on. Her soft half-boots made no sound, so when she said, “I’m here,” he started.

He must have jerked on the reins, for his horses sidled and he had to work to settle them. Then he held out a gloved hand and pulled her up into the seat.

She couldn’t tell if he was surprised, pleased, or reluctant.

“Hatbox?” he queried.

“I thought I should bring a few things. Including the statuette. We might be able to exchange them.”

“Ah, good thought. Ready?”

I
don’t know
! Cressida tugged the veiling down over her face, relieved to be able to hide her expressions. “Ready,” she said.

He flicked his long whip over the horses, and they set off.

As he turned into a wider street, she became desperate to say something. “I’m sure I should make some admiring comment in praise of your horses, but the best I can manage is that they seem good at this.”

“So they are.”

She thought she saw the hint of a smile, but through the veiling it was so hard to tell.

She could see when they came up behind a huge cart laden with bales of something. It was traveling at a walk and taking up most of the road. Occasional vehicles coming the other way pinned them there until she wanted to scream. There wasn’t that much urgency, she supposed, but she couldn’t stand this dawdle.

Then he said, “Hold on.”

Cressida realized a moment too late that he meant it literally, and had to make a mad grab for the rail beside her as the curricle surged forward to fly past the cart in a small gap in the traffic. Once they were past, the road ahead was clear, and they whirled by people and houses at terrifying speed.

“All right?”

Cressida unglued her stare from the buildings flashing by at her side. “Can we go a little slower?” She sounded strangled.

“Come now”—he steered around a hole in the road with alarming nonchalance—“is this my intrepid Roxelana?”

“No, this is your terrified Miss Mandeville of Matlock, who doesn’t want to die just yet!”

“You won’t. Trust me.”

Trust. Trust. She forced her fingers to release the rail.

Then he added, “I haven’t overturned in at least six years.”

“You’ve overturned?” she squeaked, gripping again.

“When I was young and foolish and racing with Uffham.”

“Uffham?” Talking was some distraction. She prayed it wasn’t distracting him.

“Heir to the Duke of Arran. A kind of foster brother.”

“Oh, yes.” She remembered there being almost as much flurry among the society hopefuls about Lord Uffham as about St. Raven. “Do you know anyone who isn’t from a ducal family?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Feeling better?”

Cressida realized that she was, a little. She eased her painful grip on the iron rail, though she didn’t let go entirely. “This is a foolhardy way to travel.”

“This is the best way to travel as long as the weather is fine. It’s also the fastest.”

“That’s what I mean.”

“We need speed. We want to be ahead of La Coop. Now, why are you swathed like a veiled mourner?”

“So that if anyone who knows me sees me, they won’t. Know me. With you.” Her brains must be blowing away with the wind of their speed.

“Ah. Quick wits, as always. You can put it up for now, though. We’re passing through nursery gardens with no vehicles in sight. I can’t see anyone from the ton strolling here.”

Cressida pushed the veiling up as best she could with one hand. She still was not ready to release her grip on the rail. Clear vision did help her nerves, and Tris’s relaxed confidence helped even more.

He, after all, wasn’t holding on to anything except the reins, and they wouldn’t keep him from falling out. Instead he was riding the movement of the curricle with a foot braced on the board in front of him. Unfortunately, her foot wouldn’t reach there.

She made herself release her grip on the rail and tried to sway with the carriage. The road was quite smooth, kept in good condition by the tolls. Even though they were whirling past pedestrians and people on donkeys and placid cobs, she was not tossed off the flimsy vehicle into the air.

She began to almost enjoy it.

But then he said, “Coach up ahead. Mail or stage coming this way.”

Cressida yanked down the veiling, and in moments the coach passed by and was gone on its way to London in a swirl of dust. At least, it was them speeding by. The coach was doubtless trundling on its steady way.

“You’re better off where you are than traveling on the outside of that,” he said.