At times like this, his scar ached like the devil, and he had to fight the urge to claw at his face as though doing so would somehow stretch the puckered skin. While Ruby noisily licked around the bowl, he pulled down his scarf and rubbed at his cheek, wincing as he pressed his fingers into the old wound. Unexpectedly, the memory of fingers, much gentler than his, tracing the scar, gently rubbing a healing salve across the inflamed skin came into his head. He’d been told that the unguent was the reason the wound had remained free of infection - the reason he’d actually survived.
Catching his breath, Nate dragged his attention back to the present before he was lost in the recurring nightmare of that day. Heart thudding, his mind sought something,anythingto break the grip of the past. He felt himself slipping, slipping … untilabruptly, the image of a woman’s face through a window halted the onslaught.
He became aware that Ruby was nosing his hand, whining anxiously. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the little dog to him and leaned down to kiss the top of her silky head as his thoughts grasped the lifeline that had been offered.
Who was she? The only thing he’d been able to discern clearly through the window was the colour of her hair – as black as a raven’s wing. But still he’d known the minute she caught sight of his scar. He’d waited for her to turn away in disgust, but she hadn’t. Her hand had come up to the windowpane, almost in a gesture of sympathy, as she continued to watch him solemnly.
For some reason, he found himself wishing fervently that he’d seen her face clearly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at someone – reallylooked. Then with a grimace, he shook his head. What was he – some kind of goat to ogle her so? He shook off his idiocy and picked up the empty bowl, intending to return it to the kitchen while giving Ruby a last opportunity to do her business before they both bedded down for the night.
He was just about to get to his feet, when suddenly the door was pulled open. Instinctively, he sank back into the straw, invisible behind Duchess’s flank, watching between her legs as two pairs of feet entered the stable. Beside him, Ruby gave a low, warning growl and Nate laid his hand gently on her head to quieten her.
‘She’s travellin’ wi’ a couple o’ relatives – one of ‘em’s a priest.’
There was a short bark of laughter. ‘I think I spoke to him earlier. Any bodyguards?’ Unlike the first voice, this one was cultured, albeit with an accent implying the speaker wasn’t English.
‘Five wi’ the two coachmen. If yer plannin’ on takin’ ‘er, you best make sure they don’t get a look at yer face.’
‘Dead witnesses can’t tell any tales.’ Nate caught his breath at the casual callousness. Were they planning an abduction of some kind? Clearly, they were looking for a young, gently bred female. Abruptly, the woman with the midnight hair came into his mind.
‘But what about the priest? He might do the deed wi’ the right persuasion.’
‘If he’s a relative, no amount of coin will convince him to marry the chit against her will.’ The voice gave a dark chuckle. ‘And there was I, thinking a pastor had been handed to me on a plate – a quick ceremony, then straight down to Plymouth. We could have caught an earlier ship…’
The voice paused and uttered a soft expletive before continuing. ‘No, the plan stands. I’ll drag her whining arse to Salisbury. I have another priest there ready and waiting, and it will only waste another two or three days. We’ll still be leaving this cursed island a lot earlier than if we’d waited to snatch her in London.’ There was another pause, and for a second Nate thought they were about to leave, then the cultured voice continued.
‘About two miles past Corsham, there’s a copse of trees. We’ll wait for them there. In the meantime, make sure Smith and the others don’t drink themselves under the bloody table. We’ll meet here at dawn.’
The door opened, and seconds later they were gone. Nate swore softly to himself, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. So much for keeping himself to himself. Should he put the conversation out of his mind? After all, many would say it was none of his bloody business if some fellow thought to marrya woman against her will. That kind of thing happened all the time. The man must be a fortune hunter which meant the girl had to come from a wealthy family - considerably wealthy considering the lengths he was prepared to go, up to and including murder…
Could he live with himself if he ignored the woman’s plight? He had a pistol, but he’d be no match for a group of hardened criminals. He glanced up at Duchess. The mare was in no fit state to go gallivanting round the countryside, so clearly the answer wasn’t galloping to the damsel’s rescue like some erstwhile knight in shining armour. Whatever he did would have to be done this night. And he didn’t even know which deuced woman they were after.
There were enough clues though. The woman was evidently a lady, and he’d overheard the kidnappers say she was travelling with a priest. That knowledge alone should be enough to discover her identity. If he could convince both her and her companions that they were in danger – that they needed to leave the inn as soon as possible without being seen… Nate bit back a humourless laugh. What was the likelihood of them believing anything that came out of his mouth?
And where the hell would they go?
‘Shit.’ He sighed and shut his eyes. He’d have to take them to Carlingford Hall.Ifhe could convince them to leave.
With another sigh, he climbed stiffly to his feet. First things first. He hadn’t got a look at either of the speakers, but he’d recognise their voices if he heard them again. If either of them was in the dining room, he’d know. Sadly, his appearance would attract attention, but there was nothing he could do about that.
He brushed the straw off his breeches and boots, then tidied his hair, retying the cue. Lastly, he took off his great coat, tucked in his shirt and straightened the cravat at his neck. There was no use in covering the scar. If he attempted to walk into the dining room with his face covered, he’d likely be thrown out on his ear within minutes. He gave a dark chuckle. They might do that anyway once the landlord got a look at his ruined face.
After giving Duchess a last scratch, he made sure she had plenty of fodder, and went out into the cold, Ruby at his heels.
***
Unsurprisingly, with the inclement weather, the dining room was very busy, and Mercy was glad her father had booked a private room. Usually she enjoyed being around people, but tonight she was tired. Though not particularly arduous, the journey had been long, and she’d spent most of it in her own head. She was weary, and not just in body.
Fortunately, the private dining room was cosy and warm thanks to a large fire crackling in the hearth, and as Mercy waited for her companions, she thought back to the letter she’d sent to Victoria. In the end, it was nearly six pages long – almost a novel.
She and Jennifer had met Victoria following Anthony Shackleford’s marriage to Tory’s twin sister Georgiana. Though the circumstances of their meeting were particularly extraordinary, the three had since become firm friends, attending their first two seasons together. To date, only Jennifer had found her soulmate, though it had happened about as far from thetonmarriage mart as one could get.
Originally, Tory had intended to accompany Mercy to Caerlaverock, but with the unexpected early arrival of George’sfirst child, she correctly surmised her help would be needed and elected to go and stay with her sister and Anthony instead.
Mercy was well aware that her friend was every bit as weary of the strutting peacocks parading round the ballrooms of London, but unlike Mercy, if she chose not to undertake another season, she could simply refuse.
As the granddaughter of the late Earl of Rutledge, and through a complex twist of fate, Victoria was in full control of her inheritance and could do as she wished. Mercy felt a momentary pang of envy. Oh, to have that kind of freedom. Then she took herself to task. Her father was no ogre and would never force her to do anything she really didn’t want. And she knew that Tory had spent so much of her life alone. Only discovering she had a twin sister and subsequently being taken under the wing of the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore had saved her from becoming a complete recluse.
Tory hadn’t yet decided whether to do another season. Indeed, Mercy had a suspicion that she might simply remain with her sister and travel with her to Blackmore for the Duke and Duchess’s house party in July. Mercy had been invited of course, being the stepdaughter of one of the Duchess’s sisters, and she assumed the rest of the Shackleford clan, together with their spouses and offspring would likely be there. Even Jennifer was hoping to make the journey from Scotland. Mercy was looking forward to it immensely and not simply because it would give her an excuse to leave London.
