How the Earl Entices Page 12

  When he looked back at her, she gasped at the grief that darkened his face.

  “I promised his widow that I would catch the men responsible, and I won’t stop until I’ve found them. Wentworth is only the start of the work I have to do.” So much determination rang in his voice that it dripped with resolve. “Now you know what I’ve done to be accused of treason and murder, why I was out on the Channel during that storm, why I forced myself into your cottage…why I’m innocent.”

  But she wasn’t at all certain of that. “It only proves that you stole those documents. For all I know that letter and hotel register have nothing to do with your story, that you were the one who forged the ambassador’s name on the embassy log to place blame on him, while you planned to give that list of names to the French yourself.”

  His eyes narrowed on her for a beat, studying her closely. Then he shrugged a shoulder, a forced gesture of nonchalance that contrasted sharply with how his jaw tightened beneath his week’s growth of beard. “Then turn me in. Call out to the driver and make him stop, reveal who I am, and claim your reward.”

  “You know I can’t,” she shot back, keeping her voice low even as her frustration rose.

  He shook his head, dismissing that. “You don’t trust me because I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

  “Because I am keeping my son safe!” she ground out, her alarm and unease almost too much to bear. Revealing Ross’s identity would rain all kinds of unwanted attention down upon her.

  “The woman who captures England’s greatest enemy since Napoleon would surely be awarded her son’s inheritance.” His midnight blue eyes gleamed like the devil’s own as he tossed out that temptation. Fitting. Since he was offering up her dearest wish in exchange for her soul. “But the ambassador also goes free to sell more secrets, to reveal more of our agents to the enemy. Can you live with their deaths?”

  She fisted her hands in her lap. The impossible choice he was presenting to her was far more complicated than it seemed on the surface. This wasn’t about choosing between revealing his identity or not. It was about deciding to trust him. The blasted devil knew it, too.

  “Better make up your mind soon. We’re almost to the inn. If you wait until then to send up the alarm, you’ll have your reward ripped away from you by every driver and hostler in the yard.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together between them. His eyes were piercing. “What’s it going to be, Grace? Does it all end here, or do you trust me enough to help me the rest of the way to London?”

  Damn you. Her eyes burned, blurring with hot tears. After ten years, to come so close to giving her son the life he deserved, the one he was meant to have— All her hopes for Ethan’s future were slipping through her fingers as easily as the miles beneath the coach’s wheels. Damn you to hell.

  Not answering, she slumped back in the corner of the seat and turned her head to stare out the window. But she saw nothing, her tear-filled vision blurring until the landscape became nothing more than a mass of dark reds and golden yellows of a smeared sunset, edged by the oncoming darkness of night.

  Over the final mile of the stage, her fear gave way to frustration, which turned into silent fury that she should discover now the odds that they were up against. He’d warned her before they left Sea Haven that he might not be able to help her, but she’d gambled on him anyway. What other choice did she have? But now, unless she continued to help him, they would never reach London, and whatever small chance she had at successfully pleading her case would crumble to dust. So she sat there, doing nothing to signal to the driver to stop.

  The coach slowed before passing through a narrow archway into the inn yard. She’d opened the door and had her feet on the ground before it came to a complete stop, to stay as far away from him as possible.

  But his hand closed around her elbow from behind, halting her.

  “You said you needed me,” he murmured, his mouth lowering to her ear to keep from being overhead by the hostlers around them. “Now I need you, Grace. I can’t do this without you.”

  Her chest tightened, and not because she needed him in kind, to help her with Ethan’s inheritance, but because it had been a very long time since she’d been needed by a man.

  That it was him, of all men, made her heart bleed.

  “All right,” she whispered grudgingly, blinking the stinging anger from her eyes.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” He affectionately squeezed her arm.

  “I’m not keeping silent because I trust you,” she flung back just as quietly. “I did it because keeping you from being arrested is in my own best interests.”

  Wordlessly, he lifted her hand and placed a kiss to her fingers. His eyes gleamed at that wholly blatant lie.

  She snatched her hand away and grabbed up her bag that a hostler had unloaded from the rear luggage rack and dropped to the ground, then stomped away toward the inn door. Not caring if he followed her or not.

  A flash of red—

  She halted. Half a dozen soldiers gathered on the far side of the inn yard, their red uniforms torn and dirty, all of them travel weary. But it was the soldiers’ arms and legs that caught her attention. Because they were missing.

  She stared, gripped immobile by the harrowing scene. None were whole men anymore. Two had wooden spindles fashioned where their legs should have been. Three others were missing hands, and one had lost an entire arm. Another was missing half of his face, with no chin or jaw beneath the wide bandage tied around his head. They were waiting for transportation to take them onward, finally going home to families and loved ones.

  “Now you know why I risked my own life to save the lives of every agent on that list,” Ross said quietly over her shoulder, following her stunned gaze to the soldiers. “How do I tell men like these that I couldn’t find it within me to sacrifice my life to save others who are fighting for England, when they’ve given so much?”

  Harsh remorse assaulted her. When his hand closed around her elbow again, she grudgingly let it stay.

  “We’re both exhausted. Let’s take a room and settle in for the night.” He placed her hand on his arm and led her toward the inn. “We can argue more about my treason over breakfast.”

  “But there are guards here.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. Three soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders stood on the opposite side of the inn yard, keeping their distance from the others. As if being wounded in service was contagious. Their bright red uniforms stood out boldly in the darkness of the foggy, rain-drizzled night.

  “I see that.” Playing the part of the doting husband, he slipped his arm around her waist as he lowered his lips to her ear with a casual smile. “They’re taking the coach home, that’s all. They’ll be gone in a few hours and won’t bother us.”

  Her fingers trembled against his sleeve, but she fought to make every inch of herself appear calm and composed. She forced a smile in case anyone was watching. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.” That was clearly a lie. But when she parted her lips to challenge him, he took her bag from her hand and nodded toward the wet ground to distract her. “Watch your step.”

  As he led her toward the inn’s entrance, she lowered her head and pulled the hood of her cape further down over her face. She’d grown more self-conscious about hiding her scar the closer they drew to London. She didn’t dare tell Ross, knowing he would demand more information from her, but that afternoon, when they’d stopped at an inn to stretch their legs and buy food, she’d thought she’d seen Vincent among the crowd of other travelers. A mistake, of course, one that left her momentarily gripped by terror, then feeling like a fool for seeing ghosts when she realized that the man wasn’t her brother-in-law. But it was also a warning not to take any chances that she might be recognized.

  A commotion rose behind them. The strike of horseshoes across cobblestones, shouts, the creak of wood and ping of metal—

  A team of horses broke loose and scattered th
e grooms who were changing them out. The coach lurched forward out of control. The rattle and movement frightened the horses more as they scrambled to find footing on the slippery stones. The team charged forward, right toward a little boy who had toddled away from his mother.

  Ross dropped the bag and sprinted into the path of the uncontrolled horses.

  Grace’s scream pierced the clattering noise of onrushing hooves. But Ross didn’t hesitate as his arms went around the child, tackling him to the ground and rolling away, just inches from the horses’ hooves and crushing wheels.

  They lay together on the wet ground for a long moment. Grace gaped at them, terrified they’d been hurt. Or worse. All of her flashed numb with fear.

  Then Ross slowly sat up and drew the boy onto his lap. “It’s all right,” he assured the child as he quickly checked him over to make certain he hadn’t been hurt. “You’re fine.”

  But the toddler looked at Ross with frightened horror, then let out a wail at the top of his little lungs. His face contorted with terrified cries, and he punched at Ross to move away from him, blaming this big stranger for frightening him by hurling him to the ground.

  “John!” His mother ran to them. She fell to her knees on the wet cobblestones to grab the crying child to her bosom and poured out an endless stream of relieved tears and gratitude to Ross as he climbed to his feet.

  With a grimace, he reached down for his hat that had fallen off when he’d tackled the boy. New fear stuck Grace— His face had been revealed for all to see, including all the drivers and hostlers in the courtyard, and now all the people in the inn who poured outside to see what the commotion was about.

  Including the soldiers.

  Knocking his hat against his leg to shake off the mud, he returned to Grace’s side. The faint smile of reassurance he gave her wasn’t enough to vanquish her worry.

  “You saved his life,” she whispered. And in doing so, jeopardized his own.

  As if reading her thoughts, his gaze darted past her to the soldiers, who were now staring openly at him and talking with one of the drivers, who gestured from Ross to the mail coach.

  “Let’s go,” he said calmly, collecting her bag and taking her arm to lead her inside.

  “But they—”

  “Won’t bother us.”

  Grace ignored that and glanced at the three soldiers, who were now walking straight toward them.

  With a panicked gasp, she halted in mid-step and threw her arms around Ross’s neck. She leaned against him as she rose up onto tiptoes and brought her lips against his.

  Ross froze, startled by the unexpected kiss. He took her arm to steady her as she slowly pulled back, forcing a brilliant smile onto her face that belied her increasing panic.

  “Isn’t my husband just the most wonderful man in the world?” she called out over his shoulder as the soldiers approached, her beaming smile and the affectionate expression meant to throw off their suspicions. But it didn’t hide the true terror she’d felt when she saw him run in front of the horses, which still had her shaking. “He’s a store clerk, so he thinks he isn’t important,” she continued. “But he risked his own life to save that boy.”

  She directed her proud smile at Ross and ran her fingers lovingly through the hair at his nape. Fingers which trembled harder as the soldiers drew nearer, their boots scuffling softly over the wet cobblestones. Dear God, please let them believe me!

  With a trace of legitimate pride in her voice, she asked as the soldiers stopped just behind Ross, “Did you gentlemen see that?”

  “Aye, ma’am, we did,” one of the men answered.

  Ross forced his own smile and shook his head. “My wife is exaggerating. It was nothing.”

  The soldier stepped up to his side, and a small smile tugged at his mustached lips. “’Fraid I have to agree wi’ yer wife, sir.” A touch of a northern accent colored his voice. “Ye hit the ground a bit hard. We wanted t’ make certain ye were all right.” His eyes glinted as they slid over Grace. “An’ yer wife.”

  “Thank you.” Grace blew out a tired sigh and gave a relieved sag of her shoulders as she placed her hand over her abdomen and arched her back in exaggeration to jut out her belly. “Especially a woman in my condition.” She lowered her voice as she clarified in a whisper. “Enceinte.”

  She saw a flash of amused surprise glint in Ross’s eyes, but his well-trained expression never changed.

  “Aye, ma’am. The scare must’ve startled ye.”

  “Terrified me, more like.” Her eyes never left Ross’s as she touched his cheek. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, Christopher, you understand?”

  Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she rose up on tiptoes and kissed him again.

  As she pulled away, her eyes locked with his. She only half pretended when she murmured, “What would we do if we lost you?”

  His lips twisted with amusement, not catching her deeper meaning. “Yes, Mrs. Thomas. Next time I’ll let the boy be trampled, shall I?”

  “Impertinent,” she scolded, falling back into her role of irritated wife.

  “And on that,” he muttered, giving the long-suffering sigh of a beleaguered husband as he took her arm and led her forward, “we’ll depart. Gentlemen, I wish you a good night’s rest away from your wives.” He cast a roll of his eyes at them and muttered, “Lucky devils.”

  The three soldiers laughed. Grace’s cheeks grew redder with peevishness that she’d been the butt of his joke, which only added to their disguise of a bickering married couple.

  They crossed the courtyard to the inn, and Ross held the door open for her.

  “Do you really think those soldiers only wanted to find out if we were all right?” she whispered as she started past him.

  “No.” He reached for her arm, stopping her close to him in the small doorway. “Did you really kiss me just to throw them off?”

  She didn’t dare answer. The truth would undo her.

  His eyes fixed on her mouth for a long moment, as if he were contemplating kissing her again, right there in the doorway. And not a peck like she’d given him, but one that would have left her begging to be ravished.

  Hearing his explanation of the papers and why he’d done what he had, and then seeing him risk his life to save that child, she couldn’t remain furious at him. He was proving himself to be the selfless, courageous hero she’d suspected him to be.

  Although trusting him again would take more time.

  As if recognizing the conflict he spun inside her, he mercifully looked away from her mouth and dropped his gaze to her belly. “Enceinte?”

  “It seemed a good disguise at the time.”

  He drawled dryly, “Is it mine?”

  She flashed him the most mischievous smile she could summon. “I’ll never tell.”

  Then she stepped past him into the inn.

  Chapter 12

  The soldiers were moving again.

  Ross stood beside the window in their dark room and watched the activity in the yard below. Not because he worried that the men would realize that he and Grace had lied to them, but because he couldn’t sleep.

  He raked frustrated fingers through his hair. It was official now. England had declared him a traitor, when all he’d ever done was fight to protect his country. Even now he was risking his life for it. Yet everyone who saw those bills posted across the countryside or read the reports in the London papers would believe he’d turned his back on England, when that was the very last thing he’d ever do. But if he couldn’t convince the Court of the truth, he’d go to his grave marked as a traitor.

  To think that he’d once wanted nothing more than to be an ambassador, that he’d admired Wentworth and considered him a mentor—lies. Nothing but lies now, leaving the taste of ashes in his mouth.

  And Grace…Christ! He’d wanted to punch his fist through the coach wall that afternoon. Not because those two gossipy old women had identified him, but because of the terrified look Grace had given him.
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  As if he were some kind of monster.

  He bit back a curse. He shouldn’t have revealed the truth about the pages and how they fit together. Telling her put her life at risk. Yet he needed her to trust him, and he couldn’t bear the cold accusation he’d seen in her eyes, the fear and doubt. He’d wanted her to trust him—

  No, he’d wanted her to believe in him.

  At that moment, caught up together in the coach, with the full ramifications of what he was doing staring him in the face, he’d needed to know that what he’d done mattered. That someone like Grace, a good and caring woman, could believe in the importance of his mission and support him in his actions.

  Leaning his shoulder against the casement, he glanced at her as she lay in bed, drawn up beneath the covers as she slept, once more in that frumpy tent of a night rail. She might not believe in him, but at least she hadn’t given him up when she’d had the opportunity. He’d claim his victories wherever he could. Especially with Grace, because every minute with her was like being immersed in a game of chess in which she constantly challenged him to keep up.

  Who the devil was she?

  She said she’d been part of his Mayfair world, but how was that possible? How could he not remember someone like her? A woman with that much fearlessness moving among those spoiled society ladies who fainted at the first sign of distress. A woman who was filled from head to toe with determination, whose sharp mind could have run circles around most of the men in Parliament. A woman who had the spine to tie him up, then blackmail him into helping her.

  He should have been furious at her for that. Should have left her behind in Sea Haven when he had the chance, tied up to her own bed in revenge. But she also intrigued him, flaming all kinds of wicked thoughts, until revenge was the last thing he wanted from tying her up.