To Pleasure a Duke (17 page)

Chapter 21

E
ugenie was surprised her nerves weren’t shredded by the time they reached Belmont Hall. Her mother was already in a terrible state and when they found a letter awaiting them from Terry, she insisted Eugenie read it.

By now all the family were gathered about, uncharacteristically silent, wide-eyed and waiting.

“
My dear mother and father, forgive me for my haste in leaving. I was not planning to go for several days, but Annabelle’s mother sent word she was returning early and we had no choice. We are traveling to Scotland. Loving her as I do, I have no option but to help her. Your fond son, Terry.
”

The silence was broken by a shriek from Mrs. Belmont, who promptly threw herself upon the sofa, prostrate. Her husband hovered over her, useless in an emergency, while Jack stared on. Even the twins were subdued, huddled together near the door, ready to bolt to safety.

“He’s eloped!” she sobbed.

Mr. Belmont gave a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t think the boy had it in him. A duke’s sister, eh? That should raise our family’s fortunes.”

“How can you?” His wife turned on him. “The duke will go after him and then what will happen to our son? He will be gaoled, I know it! Locked up for the rest of his life! Or—or challenged to a duel and killed. Oh dear Lord, my son, my son . . .”

Eugenie let their histrionics roll over her. Her last hope was gone. It was all true. Terry really had run off with Annabelle to Scotland. There was no doubt that Sinclair would go after them. With his position and his power he would be able to cover up his sister’s situation, quash the gossip, and marry her off to the man they had already chosen for her.

And what of Terry?

Would he really be thrown into prison, as her mother said? Or would Sinclair shoot him and leave his cold body to be buried somewhere far away from home? Eugenie knew she was becoming hysterical herself, but she couldn’t help it. She kept remembering the duke’s expression as he stood in Major Banks’s library and she wouldn’t put it past him to revenge himself upon Terry. And, possibly, through him her? Was he still so angry with Eugenie that he would use Annabelle’s elopement as an excuse to punish her in so awful a way?

Don’t be ridiculous,
a calming voice warned her. But the emotion was building inside her, panic and a desperate need to do something. Anything! To save her brother from Sinclair’s wrath. And as usual Eugenie felt that this was probably all her fault. If she hadn’t been distracted by her own problems she would have realized what was happening. She could have put a stop to it before the situation reached these catastrophic proportions.

The fault was hers; it was up to her to put things right.

“Don’t worry, Mama,” she said in a voice that betrayed little of her inner turmoil. “I won’t let the duke hurt Terry. I will go with him and bring Terry home.”

“Such a terrible calamity to befall my family,” Mrs. Belmont moaned. “I will never recover from it.”

But Eugenie’s quick mind was already busy, putting plans in place. She looked about her, fixing each member of her family with a serious look. “None of you must mention this, not to anyone. Do you understand? If no one knows and we can get them back home again then there need not be a scandal. As long as no one knows.”

They all nodded and gave their promises in somber voices, even the twins. Eugenie tucked Terry’s letter into her pocket. “Good. I’ll go and quickly pack a bag. I must hurry to Somerton before the duke sets off.”

It said something for their shocked condition that no one thought to protest or point out that Eugenie’s own reputation would be ruined beyond repair by setting off on such an adventure, alone, with the duke. They had simply accepted that Eugenie would step in and make everything all right.

Just as she always did.

Only Jack followed her out of the room to the foot of the stairs. “Do you want me to come with you, Genie?”

Eugenie didn’t want to linger, but he looked so worried. She gave him a reassuring smile. “No, Jack, I’ll be fine. The duke is likely to be cross and you won’t like that.”

“Somerton won’t be cross with you,” Jack assured her confidently. “He likes you. Are you riding the mare? You know what she’s like, and it’s been raining. I’d better come, too.”

Practical as always, Eugenie thought, as she hastily threw a few belongings into her bag, hardly knowing what she was doing. Wrapping her warm wool cloak about her, she hurried back downstairs and followed Jack to the stables.

“You knew about Terry and Lady Annabelle, didn’t you, Jack?” she said, as he saddled the mare.

“He told me not to tell.” He gave her an anxious sideways glance. “I didn’t know he meant to run off with her. He said they were friends, that was all, and he was going to help her out of her pre-predicament.”

“What was her predicament?”

But he just shrugged.

“Didn’t he mention it at all?”

“Well, he asked me once if it was right to do something to help someone even if it meant you’d get into trouble.”

“He asked me something similar.”

So Terry must have had his doubts but he’d gone ahead anyway. Run off with the duke’s sister! Eugenie sighed. Terry really had set a new Belmont standard for harebrained behavior.

On the ride to Somerton she clung to Jack and tried to be calm despite the maelstrom of panic in the pit of her stomach. Jack, misreading her tension, assured her they’d reach the estate before Sinclair left. “And if we don’t then I’ll follow on until we catch up with him.”

Eugenie’s angst was more about coming face-to-face with the duke. The thought of being on the receiving end of his icy anger yet again was making her feel nauseous.

He’d refuse to take her. Of course he would. He would leave her standing on the road while he drove away and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.

When they reached Somerton the house was brilliantly lit, bizarrely, as if the St. Johns were about to host a grand gala. They cantered up the side of the driveway, keeping to the few shadows thrown by shrubs and a trellis of vines, and Eugenie saw the duke’s coach waiting outside. A pair of burly servants were busy strapping luggage to the back, while a coachman in a great coat, an old tricorn hat over his grizzled gray hair, held steady the four horses.

Behind them were the doors to the house, wide open, light spilling over the curve of the stairs. As if daring her to climb them.

Her heart began to thump harder than ever. She knew what would happen if she climbed those stairs and demanded to speak to Sinclair. He would refuse to have any conversation with her. And if she insisted, then he would refuse to take her with him. She couldn’t win, not on his terms. And she had to win, for Terry’s sake.

Eugenie needed a better plan; she needed to hand Sinclair a fait accompli.

“Jack,” she whispered, “will you do something for me?”

While she explained her idea he nodded seriously, but there was a twinkle in his eye. He was only a boy, after all, and to him this was probably a great adventure. Eugenie slipped from her mare, taking her bag with her, and made her way as close as she could to the coach without revealing her presence. Jack waited until she was in position, and then dug his heels into the mare’s flanks. The silly creature darted forward, kicking up gravel, and flew past the coach, servants, and the waiting coachman.

The sudden commotion made them all jump and shout. The burly servants started after Jack, waving their arms, while the coachman followed a short way, then seemed to remember that it was his job to look after the duke’s horses and turned back. But the distraction gave Eugenie time enough to reach the coach, quietly open the door and slip inside.

Creeping into the farthest corner, she curled up and made herself as small as possible. There was a neatly folded travel rug which she spread over herself, hoping she resembled some lumpy piece of luggage that had not fitted onto the back of the coach. She could not hide here for long, she knew that with a stark sense of inevitability, but perhaps it would be long enough for her to persuade him it was easier to let her stay than to waste time turning back.

S
inclair drew on his gloves as he strode down the steps. He didn’t feel cold, although his breath was white in the night air. The urgency of the situation was keeping him warm. Behind him in the doorway his mother stood with a stiff back and a white face, watching him go. As he’d expected she blamed him for the entire dire situation, and because he felt it was justified, he’d bowed his head and accepted her anger.

“I will bring her back,” he swore, when she was spent.

“I never did trust that Gamboni woman. She is behind all this, you can be sure of it. Annabelle would never do such a thing without encouragement. She is at heart a sensible girl, Sinclair.”

They had still not found Miss Gamboni, although the clothing in her bedchamber was untouched and her luggage was still in the box room.

“What of the scandal?” His mother’s eyes were red-rimmed with grief. “How can that be dealt with?”

“The scandal can be managed. Once she is married to Lucius and living in London all will be forgotten. You will see, Mother. We will get through this without too much tarnish attached to our name.”

“You do not understand, Sinclair. Her life will be ruined. She may think she wants to be free of all this,” she waved a hand about her at the pomp of her home, “but she will soon come to realize her mistake. When it is too late.” She took a deep breath, trying to quell what she would see as too much emotion. In his mother’s world one did not display one’s feelings in front of others, not even one’s son.

“I promise you it will not come to that.”

“And what of this boy? His family will crow from the rooftops when they know he has secured himself such a prize.”

“They may well crow but no one of any importance will listen to them. I will make sure the boy never speaks of what he has done and we never set eyes on him again.”

His mother opened her mouth and then closed it again. Perhaps something in his voice, his face, made her think it was wiser not to ask how he was going to achieve that.

“Very well,” she said instead. “Remember who you are and what you represent, Sinclair. The family is relying upon you to set this matter to rights.”

He kissed the cold cheek she turned to him, and hurried down the steps. The coach was ready and waiting and he climbed in, calling for Robert the coachman. He’d decided against any other servants or outriders, thinking the less people who knew what was happening the better. And then there was a question of speed. A large retinue would slow him down and he needed to catch the runaways as soon as possible.

Sinclair had barely settled back against the leather seat when the vehicle lurched forward and then began to roll across the gravel, swinging around the circular drive and heading out between Somerton’s grand gateposts and their stone lions.

Deep in thought he did not notice the shape in the corner, or if he did, it did not strike him as anything to be concerned about. He knew that time was of the essence and according to Annabelle’s maid the eloping couple was heading northward, so they should be easy to trace. Sinclair had the advantage. He kept horses at some of the inns along the way, to enable his mother to visit her family in the north whenever she wished. He could travel with speed and would not have to deal with inferior horseflesh. No, this nightmare would soon be over and Annabelle would be back, safe in the dowager duchess’s care.

A question niggled at him. How could his sister have done such an insane thing? He knew she was unhappy and anxious about her coming marriage—she had spoken with him about it—but he never for one moment imagined she would behave with such deceit. Such wanton recklessness. He’d believed that she was simply betraying her youth and inexperience, and once she married Lucius all would be well. That was the way of their world and in time she would come to accept it.

Just as he had.

He’d underestimated her willfulness and her determination to throw aside the traces of privilege for the sake of that wretched boy.

Restlessly, Sinclair stretched out his legs and knocked against something tucked by his seat. He gave it a kick and when it remained in his way, reached down. He found himself in the possession of a luridly flowery carpetbag. Confused, he stared at it, and then with growing suspicion he unfastened the straps and peered inside.

Women’s clothes, badly packed. Curiously he lifted up a well-worn chemise and then a pair of darned stockings. A nightgown with a line of lace about the throat drew his eye, and before he knew it he was holding it to his face. Breathing in the scent.

He knew the scent well; he’d even dreamed of it. He did not need to see the hairbrush with a few strands of curly hair still caught in the bristles—brown with more than a hint of red—to know who it belonged to.

Sinclair thrust the carpetbag aside, reaching for the traveling rug that covered the lump occupying the seat in the far corner. He tugged it hard. As he’d suspected his stowaway was none other than Eugenie Belmont.

Chapter 22

L
izzie closed her eyes and tried not to panic.

It had never been her intention to join Annabelle and Terry on their insane journey north. When she finally discovered what they were up to, it was too late to stop them. One moment she was standing beside Annabelle, arguing with her, begging her to see sense, and the next she was inside the coach with the pair of them.

It was a momentary madness, her decision to accompany them. At the time it made more sense to stay with her charge. At least then she could watch over and perhaps persuade her to turn back. Now she wondered what she could have been thinking. Would the duke commend her for such ramshackle behavior? More likely he would dismiss her without references and send her packing, if he didn’t send her to gaol instead!

What would her father say about that? This was no way for a vicar’s daughter to conduct herself. In every direction she looked Lizzie saw nothing but disgrace.

Perhaps that was the reason she didn’t want to open her eyes. What was the point in facing the situation she was in? No, she would keep them closed. Just a little longer. That way she could pretend she was still at Somerton, tucked up in bed, and everything else was a bad dream.

S
he reminded him of a cornered vixen, all huge green eyes and tangled curls, with her lips slightly parted. At any moment, he thought, she would take flight, escaping into the night. But she didn’t. Probably because she couldn’t.

“What are you doing here?” he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

She licked her lips like the wild and frightened creature he’d likened her to. He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees, so that he could better see her in the gloom. She had a cloak on over the same dress she’d worn at the major’s house, but she looked windswept and her hem was muddied, as if she’d been running about the countryside. Perhaps she had. He wouldn’t put anything past her.

“Are you going to answer me, or will I stop the coach and throw you out?”

The threat worked. Her voice came in a breathless rush.

“Terry spoke to me about doing a bad deed for the sake of something good, for the sake of helping someone in need of help. I didn’t understand at the time. I should have. I see that now. I wish I had understood because I could have stopped him before this!”

“Yes,” he said grimly, preferring not to remember his own sense of guilt.

She bowed her head a moment as if she was accepting all the blame. “I want to come with you. I want to be there when you find them.”

Words failed him. He curled his lip.

“I know Terry has behaved foolishly but he doesn’t deserve to be . . . to be hurt.”

“Do you think I’ll hurt him?”

“I know you’re very angry with—with me. I don’t want you to take it out on him.”

“So because you have made a fool of me you expect me to revenge myself upon your brother?” he said. “What a pleasant opinion you have of me, Eugenie. Thank you very much.”

But she rushed ahead, refusing to apologize. “Whatever Terry’s done he’s still my brother, and he has not acted alone. He would never kidnap your sister against her will.”

Sinclair supposed she was right regarding his sister, although he preferred to imagine Annabelle as the injured party and Terry the villain. But if she imagined he was so lacking in self-control that he would take out his frustrations with her on her brother then she was . . . He paused. Well, perhaps she was partly right, but he wasn’t going to admit it to her. And he wouldn’t harm the boy, beyond perhaps a bloodied nose and a black eye, if it came to a punch-up when they were caught. Nothing like a bit of bare-knuckle fighting to clear the head.

“I’ll set you down in Torrisham and arrange for you to be taken home,” he said coolly.

She leaned forward until her face was only inches away from his, her eyes feverish and wild. “If you do then I’ll follow you. I’ll follow you all the way to Scotland if I have to. And I’ll tell everyone along the way what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Even as he said it he knew he wouldn’t put it past her to pursue him across the length and breadth of Britain.

“Wouldn’t I? You forget, I have my father’s ability to tell a good tale. By the time I’m finished the scandal will have spread from here to the border.”

He wanted to dismiss her words as bravado, but he remembered all too well the letter she wrote to her friends.

He had an insane urge to laugh. Last night at Major Banks’s supper he’d found himself drawn to her again, that insane need in him overcoming all that had happened between them. The intensity of his feelings had worried him. The last thing he wanted now was to be in her company day and night.

“What of your reputation, Eugenie? My sister’s is quite possibly tainted forever. Do you want to join her in ruination?”

Her green eyes gazed frankly into his. “My reputation did not concern you before. You were more than happy to lead me into ruination, as you call it. Why should you care now?”

“This is different,” he muttered grumpily, and threw himself back into his seat, feeling uncomfortable.

“Well, I don’t care about my reputation,” she said impatiently. “What matters is finding Terry and your sister and bringing them safely home. I want to help, Sinclair. You need not speak to me, if you prefer it. You can pretend I am not here. But I want to join you in this search. I could not bear to sit at home waiting—I am not that sort of girl.”

He sighed. “No, you are not.”

She opened her mouth to say more, then closed it again. Perhaps she’d said all there was to say.

Sinclair knew he should refuse. He must refuse. She would be an added complication on what was already going to be a difficult journey. Who knew what they might encounter along the way? And what if he could not find the runaway pair and they had to come home and admit failure?

There were plenty of reasons he shouldn’t agree to her accompanying him, and yet he found himself wavering.

The baggage sensed it and took advantage.

“Please, Sinclair,” she said in a soft, wheedling voice. “I could not live with myself if I did not try to bring them home. I know my brother; I know he is at heart a good boy. I don’t want the rest of his life to be blighted because of one silly mistake. I know you feel the same about your sister. We should be working together. As a—a team.”

She sounded honest and sincere. He believed her—another concern because he well knew her propensity to lie. With a groan, Sinclair shook his head. “Eugenie, I don’t think you realize what you would be letting yourself in for. I will not be stopping for hot soup and a nap at every inn we pass. I will be driving myself to extremes to catch them before they reach the border. No concessions will be given for the weaker sex.”

“I do not ask for any.” She tilted her head proudly.

He looked away from her, noticing her bag, where he’d tossed it on the seat. “Is this all you’ve brought with you?”

“Yes. Apart from the big box of teacups and crockery and my mother’s best dinner setting—”

“This is no time for levity,” he growled. By this time he knew her well.

“I’m sorry.” She looked down, repentant, or pretending to be. “It is a bad habit of mine to make jokes during moments of stress.”

“Then you should curb it while we are together.”

A smile hovered about her lips, although she tried to hide it. She knew she had won, the minx.

He said no more, allowing the silence to grow. One thing about Eugenie, she didn’t chatter. He heard her moving about, snuggling into her corner of the coach and getting comfortable. After a time, when he couldn’t resist a glance at her, he found that her eyes were closed and she was resting her cheek against her arm.

Sinclair watched her through his lashes, enjoying the wash of shadows across her face as the coach raced through the night. He still didn’t know what had come over him to agree to let her stay. Had her arguments been that persuasive? Perhaps. Or perhaps in his heart he’d wanted to lose.

E
ugenie found that it was best if she said as little as possible to her companion. Then he couldn’t glare at her, or worse, curl his lip at her in that appallingly arrogant manner. She knew, she just knew, that there would come a moment when she would no longer be able to control herself. He would curl his lip and she would slap it right off his mouth. And then where would she be? Tipped out of the ducal coach and onto her tail, most probably.

They had stopped to change their horses two or three times since they set out, and once they sat in a chilly parlor while a wide-eyed maidservant—clearly overawed by Sinclair’s consequence—served them cold ham and warm bread and butter. There was hardly time to gulp it down before Sinclair was on his feet again, marching up and down like a Sergeant Major on parade, impatient to be gone. Eugenie had only just managed to stuff some bread and ham into her pocket, before she was out the door and back in the coach.

Not that the coach wasn’t far better than anything she had ever ridden in before. It was well sprung and comfortable, with soft leather seats and padded squabs to rest one’s head on. But despite the luxury the endless hours of travel grew tedious and her stomach churned from the constant rocking movement, as well as anxiety about her brother. She had had no time to pen even a brief note to her family, although she fully intended to do so as soon as possible. She also longed to wash her face and change her clothes and brush some of the dust out of her hair, but Sinclair did not offer to wait while she did so, and Eugenie had the feeling he’d probably take advantage of the opportunity by driving off and leaving her behind.

She was still bemused by the fact she was here at all.

Not that she was sorry to have won, but the question niggled at her: Why had he agreed? She could only imagine that he was planning some dreadful punishment and no doubt she would discover what that was in due course. She might have asked him straight out, but she didn’t think he’d tell her. He’d probably just curl his lip at her. So for now most of their journey was spent in silence.

When they reached their next horse changing station, Sinclair spent more time than usual conversing with the woman whose inn it was, and then his coachman, Robert. Gratefully, Eugenie used the opportunity to walk about the yard and stretch her legs, at the same time taking deep lungfuls of fresh air. It had been raining and water dripped from the eaves and ran between the cobbles in the stable yard. A mother duck and her brood were making use of a small pond, and Eugenie couldn’t help but smile as she watched them splashing about.

Sinclair’s hand closing on her arm caused her to jump.

He ignored her nerves. His serious expression told her, even if he didn’t, that he had no time for such female nonsense.

“Your brother and my sister passed through here last night. I gather their horses are inferior to mine so we cannot be far behind them.”

“Then . . . we should catch up with them soon?” Eugenie’s relief turned to anxiety. “But what if they know we’re getting close? This is a busy road. Some other travelers might tell them we are following them. What if they change direction . . . take another road?”

“They won’t know we’re getting close—I haven’t told anyone, have you?—so they have no reason to deviate from their route. They are no doubt blissfully unaware that we are on their trail. Don’t indulge yourself with useless speculation, Eugenie. We will hunt them down before any real damage is done.”

How many days and nights had Terry and Annabelle been alone with no chaperone? No, he was wrong, real damage had already been done. The facts would have to be covered up, money would have to be paid for the silence of those who knew too much, but she knew Sinclair would do all of that for the sake of his family. He would have planned for every eventuality.

Now he was smiling in grim satisfaction. “I calculate we will have our hands on them before nightfall.”

Eugenie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that, but at least she was here to make sure there was no violence done when the moment of capture came. A wave of relief spread through her when she realized her adventure was nearly over. One more day in the coach and Terry would be safe. She could take him home and scold him—and hug him—as she longed to do.

And if she had any regrets about never seeing Sinclair again, then she would keep them to herself.

“Do you wish to wash and change?” His voice startled her. Deep in her thoughts she’d forgotten he was standing so close beside her. Now he leaned down, his breath warm against her cheek. “Eugenie, did you hear me?”

“I heard you, I’m just not sure I believe you,” she retorted, made nervous by his presence, and even more so by the fact he was being nice to her.

He gave a chuckle. His good humor appeared to have returned.

“Will you wait?” she added suspiciously. “Or is this a trick to be rid of me so that you can challenge Terry to a duel?”

His smile turned into a frown, because of course he considered her words a slight upon his character. “Of course I will wait,” he said. “And I have no intention of challenging your brother to a duel. I am a crack shot and he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Unless you fired into the air.”

“If I did that he’d probably aim at my heart.”

“I’m relieved to hear you have one.”

“Have one what?”

“A heart.”

“Eugenie, go and tidy yourself,” he said irritably. “You are frightening the horses.”

Hardly the words of a gentleman, let alone a duke, she thought crossly. It was only when she reached the room she was directed to and looked into the mirror that she understood what he meant.

Her hair was dull from dust and riotous from the rain, making her wild curls even more irrepressible. There was a dusty smudge on her chin and her dress was wrinkled and creased, with mud dried in patches on the skirt from her ride to Somerton with Jack, and the hastily eaten bread and butter had caused greasy stains.

With the help of warm water and soap she quickly set herself to rights, grimacing as she dragged her comb through her hair. When she was clean and neat again, she went downstairs and found Sinclair in a private parlor with his boots on the hearth before a roaring fire and a tankard of the inn’s best ale in his hand. He looked up at her, quirking his eyebrows.