Hurst 02 - Scandal in Scotland Page 16

  “That’s Arabella, our niece,” Jane said proudly.

  Emma beamed. “She married Wexford and now she’s a duchess.” She looked at the closed door again before she leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I think he married her because of our sheep tonic.”

  “Emma, don’t say such a thing! Wexford married Arabella because he loves her.”

  “I know he loves her, but our sheep tonic helped him figure out that he loved her. He was ill, you know, but wouldn’t stay in bed. You can’t get out of bed if you take sheep tonic. That made him heal, and he stayed long enough to realize that he loved our niece.”

  Marcail didn’t know how she kept from laughing. “Do you often use your sheep tonic on people?”

  Jane shrugged. “Only when necessary.”

  “And it works?”

  “Lud, yes! Wexford didn’t rise for weeks.”

  “And he was in love with Arabella.” Miss Emma uncapped her flask and added a splash of cognac to her empty teacup. “Don’t forget that part! Many people think of sheep tonic as a love tonic, but it’s more of an immobilizer. If you dose someone with it, they can’t move.”

  “But they can still talk,” Jane added in a reflective voice.

  “Oh yes, they become quite chatty. Perhaps that’s the part that makes them fall in love—staying in one place long enough to talk things through. People don’t do that enough, you know.”

  Marcail thought wistfully of William. It would be nice if he were in love with her again. She sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Does this sheep tonic work on everyone?”

  “I don’t know,” Jane said. “We haven’t tried it on everyone.”

  Marcail smiled. “I hope you—” In the hallway she distinctly heard William’s voice.

  Pure happiness flooded through her and she had to fight herself not to jump to her feet and run to the door.

  She took a dignified sip, placed her cup on the tray, and stood. “There’s my—” She didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t her friend or her lover—not formally. “My companion has arrived. He’s helping me find my cousin.”

  “Ah, the redhead.” Emma stood unsteadily.

  “Please sit back down.” Marcail helped the older woman back into her chair. “I think you should stay sitting for a little while longer.”

  Emma beamed. “You are a dear!”

  “Thank you. And before I forget, here.” Marcail pressed the vial and chain into Emma’s hand.

  “Oh, no!” Emma handed it back to Marcail. “Take this. You might need it.”

  “Thank you, but … what would I do with this?”

  Jane looked surprised. “Don’t you own any sheep? Everyone in Yorkshire does.”

  “No, I live in London.” She saw the hurt on their faces and added, “But perhaps now’s the time to get one.”

  “Oh, get two,” Emma said happily. “With the tonic, you’ll need at least a pair.”

  “Two sheep it will be, then.” Marcail tucked the vial away. “Thank you both. It was lovely meeting you.” She curtsied, listened to the good-byes of her new friends, and then hurried to the door.

  William, please tell me you’ve found her!

  Letter from Michael Hurst to his brother Robert, from a barge on the Nile River.

  We hope to leave tomorrow, although the weather might once again interfere. The rainy season here is quite unlike the rainy season in England, where one is forced to submit to a constant drizzle alleviated by an occasional mind-numbing deluge, all permeated with a bone-freezing cold. Here it’s always warm, and it’s either raining buckets or it’s not. There’s no in between, no lingering, no indecision. Just rain or no rain.

  I sometimes wish all of life was like that.

  CHAPTER 14

  M arcail found William in the foyer, water dripping from his coat and puddling on the floor. On a normal day William was a sight to behold, all tall, dark haired, and broad shouldered, and with that damnably challenging captain’s swagger. But now, as he removed his coat to reveal equally wet clothes that clung to his muscular frame, he set her heart to pattering.

  She hurried forward. “Did you find her?”

  William raked his wet hair from his face. “No, but she can’t have gone far in this weather.”

  “What happened?”

  “Poston and I followed Miss Challoner and her men to an inn not far from here. We arrived less than twenty minutes after they did. The innkeeper had seen her and was certain she was in his taproom, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere. Everyone remembered her arrival, for she was apparently in a splendid temper, but no one remembered her leaving. Not the ostlers, the postboys, the chambermaids—no one. It’s as if she vanished.”

  Marcail grimaced. “How does she do that?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “As do I. I warned you she had a tendency to disappear.”

  “I remember,” he said drily. “Unfortunately, being warned about something doesn’t always prevent it.”

  She had to laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a know-it-all.”

  “Good, for I’d hate to disabuse you of that notion.”

  She lifted her brows. “A challenge, Hurst?”

  “Not until I’ve had something to eat; I’m famished.” He grimaced. “Damn it, we were so close! Poston thinks he can identify her now, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, through one of the horses. One hoof has a shoe that wasn’t properly cast. And once this rain stops, there will be plenty of mud to help us find that track.”

  “That’s promising.”

  He unwound the wet muffler from his neck and tossed it over the overcoat he’d hung on a peg. “Fortunately for us, no one can travel in this weather. As soon as it lets up, four of our men will search the other inns along this stretch of road.”

  “That’s an excellent idea.” The firm line of William’s mouth told her that he was determined to catch their foe. But that gave her little hope; she knew just how elusive Miss Challoner could be.

  She turned away so he wouldn’t see her doubts, and her boot hit a puddle caused by William’s soaked attire, making her heel skid on the slippery flagstone.

  She gasped as her feet flew out from under her, but William’s strong arm caught her firmly about the waist and pulled her tight against his broad chest.

  “Easy, my sweet.” His deep voice rumbled in her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. “I didn’t bring you this far for you to break your neck on a slick floor.”

  Her heart pounded so loudly that her ears rang from it. “It wasn’t slick when I got here,” she said breathlessly. But then you arrived, and everything that was safe suddenly became dangerous. Like this. She leaned her head back against his broad shoulder. “I—I’m quite safe now. You may release me.”

  He lifted a brow. “You’re lucky I was here.”

  “If you hadn’t been here I wouldn’t have fallen, for there wouldn’t have been any water on the floor,” she retorted, though she made no effort to pull away.

  The entire front of her gown was sopping wet, but she ignored it. For so much of this trip she and William had been at each other’s throats, bitter and suspicious, and she wanted to savor the moment.

  Considering all they’d faced in the last few days, they could be excused for some ill temper. They both had so much at stake, they were dealing with their own fears and worries on top of their past history.

  She rested her cheek against William’s shoulder and briefly closed her eyes. She was wet and cold and tired, the anxious day made all the worse by the unforgiving weather. She wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a clean bed … and the warmth of his touch.

  She suddenly realized that her relationship with Colchester hadn’t just protected her from unwanted advances, but from wanted ones, as well. In fact, over the years she’d managed to isolate herself from practically everyone except Grandmamma.

  She would have sworn that she liked her life this way, that peace and quie
t were all she desired. But this journey with William had exposed the shortcomings. She wasn’t just alone; she was lonely.

  Standing here, with William’s massive body radiating heat through his soaked clothing, his strong arm about her waist, his broad shoulder supporting her completely, she felt protected, and part of something bigger than she was alone.

  Her eyes stung, tears clogging her throat. What is this? I have a perfectly lovely life, with wonderful sisters and a Grandmamma who loves me dearly. And Colchester has always been a friend who cares for me deeply, and who …

  She bit her lip. Who has been living as much of a lie as I.

  When a relationship was based on how deep your twin falsehoods ran, how real could it be? William was right to ask why she hadn’t trusted Colchester to help her when she was first blackmailed. She hadn’t asked for his help because their relationship couldn’t have borne the weight.

  It was a difficult truth to face. Colchester wasn’t here; a true friend would have been.

  She clung to William and buried her face against his wet shoulder. It would be so easy to get used to this—a strong arm to catch me when I fall, someone to lean on when things get difficult.

  Marcail realized that William was completely still, his arms around her, his chin resting against her head. He must be wondering what’s wrong.

  “I’m sorry. I was just cold and—” She reluctantly stepped clear of his warm arms, goose bumps rising due to her now wet clothing. “Thank you for catching me.”

  “You’d have landed right on your arse,” William agreed in a pleasant tone. “We don’t want that to happen.” He scooped her up, carried her to the bottom of the stairs, and gently set her down. Then, his amused gaze finding hers, he leaned forward and said softly, “If I were you …”

  His voice made her shiver, his firm lips so near.

  She leaned forward as well. “If you were me?” she asked hopefully.

  His gaze locked with hers, and the simmer of heat she felt burst into flames. She suddenly wanted him with a fierceness that was almost painful.

  “If I were you,” he continued, “I’d cover that.” His low voice was as intimate as a caress.

  “Cover what?” she asked breathlessly.

  He looked down at her gown. She did the same, and saw that her cold nipples were clearly outlined by the wet, clinging fabric.

  “Oh!” She crossed her arms over her chest, her cheeks burning hotly. “My cloak is on the peg beside yours. Would you please fetch it?”

  He did so. “Here you are. Your bags have already been delivered. I will bring my bags in and bespeak us rooms.”

  “Oh—I already asked and there was only one left. The innkeeper’s wife said they were uncommonly busy because of the rain.”

  Should she invite William to stay in her room? It would be scandalous, to be sure, but once this wild chase was over, there would be nothing holding them together.

  But even as she parted her lips to ask, it dawned on her that inviting him into her room would only make their eventual parting even more difficult. And she feared it would already be hard enough.

  So instead of following her heart, she said, “I suppose you could sleep in the stables with Poston and the footmen.”

  William’s smile fled. “I could, I suppose.” He raised his brows. “Or, I could join you in—”

  “I think the stables will suit very well.” Though the sentence cost her dearly, her voice sounded distant and uninterested.

  William’s jaw tightened. “Fine. I’ll find my own accommodations.”

  She managed a faint air of interest. “Do you expect we will leave early in the morning?”

  “Yes, unless the rain continues. Right now the ditches are full, and if we slid off the road—” He shook his head. “We’re here for the night, at least.”

  “I can’t say that I’m sorry. I’m looking forward to a warm bath and a clean bed—though I’d give up a year of sleep to be rid of Miss Challoner and her master.”

  “A soldier to the end.” His deep voice was tinged with admiration and—was that disappointment?

  Her heart ached. “Thank you for all you’ve done. You’ve been remarkably patient about everything.”

  “I’m quite a bit older than when we knew each other before. A lot of things are different.”

  That was true; they were both more knowledgeable. And perhaps sadder, too.

  She was, anyway.

  She realized she was staring at him, her gaze caressing the strong line of his mouth and chin. There was something about this man, so stern and unyielding, that made her want to tease the softer side from him.

  William’s brows lowered. “What’s wrong? Something on my chin?” He swiped his chin with his hand. “It’s probably mud. It’s as thick as tar out there.” He sent her a humorous glance. “The only thing that makes this weather bearable is that our quarry is facing it, too.”

  “Amen,” Marcail said fervently.

  He stepped away. “I shall see to the cattle. Perhaps the horse thief of an innkeeper can be convinced to lower the price of hay for our horses.”

  “I daresay you will prevail.” She liked the way he said “our” horses. She was sorry that soon this would be only a memory.

  She hugged her cloak tighter. “I should retire since we may be leaving early.”

  “More than likely.” And with that he donned his cloak and was gone, leaving Marcail alone in the empty hallway.

  Having no idea which room was hers, Marcail went in search of Mrs. MacClannahan. She found the woman pouring a bucketful of complaints into her husband’s ear. The poor man looked so relieved to see Marcail that she allowed him to escort her to her room.

  Once there, she looked around with approval, glad to see her requested bath awaited her. The room was quite pleasant, with a wide bed piled high with large feather pillows, a good-size wardrobe on one wall, and a washstand filling the corner near the fireplace.

  She dug into her trunk and portmanteau and removed a night rail and a heavy silk robe, along with a small case that held her lavender soap. Then she undressed and wearily lowered herself into the tub.

  The tepid water was cooling even as she sat, so she soaped herself briskly, washing her hair last. When she was done, she dried off in front of the fire, then tugged on her robe and wrapped her hair with the towel.

  A little more unpacking revealed her silver-backed brush, and she settled before the fire to dry her hair. It was hard not to think about William while she sat there, brushing her hair, but she tried not to do so. To keep her mind occupied, she recited the lines she could remember from the new play she was supposed to be preparing for, and even tossed in some Romeo and Juliet for good measure.

  But it seemed that every scene of every play was about one thing and one thing only … love or the loss of it. Damn it, when had theater gotten so maudlin?

  She tried to recite the words of various poems she knew instead, but the same problem plagued her. She finally had to resort to saying the alphabet forward and backward. She made it eight entire minutes before she abruptly stood, tossed her damp hair over her shoulder, and set the brush on the dresser.

  The mirror was slightly wavy, making her look taller. Did William prefer a taller woman? He’d surely been with some over the years. And shorter ones, too. Definitely thinner ones and—

  She frowned. “This is ridiculous,” she informed her reflection, which looked back so expectantly. “You’re just making yourself jealous—and you have no right to be.”

  Her heart sagged as much as her reflection’s shoulders did. “You’re allowing your pride to ruin tonight. You want to be with him, and soon he’ll be gone. As for worrying about it being more difficult to let him go, how can it get any worse than it is now?”

  Her reflection nodded in complete agreement.

  “Furthermore, we may find Miss Challoner tomorrow, which will mean an abrupt end to ever seeing him again.”

  A flicker of sadness crossed her refle
cted face.

  “Exactly. So, what are you going to do about it?”

  There was only one thing she could do. She spun around and removed a chemise and her blue morning gown from her trunk. She quickly changed, loosely pinned her damp hair up, and stuffed her feet into a pair of blue kid half boots. Then she grabbed her cloak and opened the door, slinging her cloak over her shoulders.

  As she turned around to lock the door, a large, warm hand took the key.

  She knew who it was the second his skin touched hers. Holding her breath, she turned. “William. What are you doing here?”

  A letter from William Hurst to his brother Michael, written from the deck of the Agile Witch.

  The new information Miss Smythe-Haughton has brought to light about our famous family amulet is most intriguing. I am eager to know what you discover once the papyrus has been translated.

  Still, I’m sure it won’t intrigue me as much as it will you. Over the last six months, you’ve been writing more and more about your search for the family amulet and less and less about your other endeavors—the ones that pay your bills and add to your fame as an adventurer. While it’s admirable that you wish to return the amulet to our family coffers, you should be cautious not to lose sight of your real purpose, which is to continue adding to your collections. I speak from experience when I say that it’s a sad day when you forget your purpose in life. I once was distracted from mine and I rue it to this very day.

  CHAPTER 15

  William looked into Marcail’s violet eyes. He had just been asking himself the same question. He’d made it all the way to the stables before he’d realized that the last place he wanted to be was somewhere Marcail wasn’t. He wasn’t sure why he’d allowed her to dismiss him, and it annoyed the hell out of him that he had.

  What was it about her that turned his thinking so inside out? Whatever it was, he decided then and there to put a stop to it.

  He’d just reached her door when he heard the key turn in the lock. He’d stepped quickly out of the way and watched as she came out, her skin flushed, her hair loosely piled upon her head, and smelling faintly of lavender.