Corey McFadden (24 page)

He handed Joanna into the carriage, noting with approval the good fit of the deep blue silk gown he had purchased for her today, quickly taken in by the modiste so that she could wear it tonight.

It had been fun dressing Joanna, watching her face as the dressmaker brought out bolt after bolt of the finest silks and satins that could be found this far from London. Indeed, the woman, styling herself a
couturier
, had assured him in her ridiculously inaccurate French accent that her materials and her styles were straight from the very fashion plates of London,
au courant
, up to the very minute. Joanna and Madame DuPré had had a disagreement over her necklines, Joanna favoring a height that Madame deemed hopelessly prudish and unfashionable. But Giles had broken the deadlock by siding with his bride. As much as he looked forward to the delights so fetchingly covered by her prim, tailored gowns, he had to agree that the entire north of England needn’t be intimately acquainted with her bosom.

Indeed, this entire trip was for the purpose of dressing his beautiful Joanna—that and having a new will drawn up for himself. He had also wanted to get her away from Queen’s Hall for a bit. Eleanor seemed reluctant to leave for some reason, and was making herself as unpleasant as she knew how to be. He had entrusted the children to the care of Annie and Mrs. Davies, and brought Joanna away, hoping some of the dark poison of Queen’s Hall could be washed away by the sights and sounds of Carlisle, a small town to be sure when compared with London, but great indeed compared to Little Haver.

Joanna had been aghast at the prices of things, refusing point blank to make a number of purchases she insisted were unnecessary, forcing him to signal to the shopkeepers over her head to add them to his bill. He had quite assured himself that he was not marrying a fortune hunter, having spent all day arguing her out of trying to purchase the least expensive, most meager selections. In fact, if she kept on this way throughout their married life, he was going to die a very wealthy man.

He settled her into the carriage, then knocked on the front for Will to get started.

“I will take you to London soon, Joanna,” he murmured into her ear, his lips tickling her neck. “I like having you all to myself in a carriage.”

“I like being in a carriage with you, but I am not at all sure I wish to see London again,” she answered, closing her eyes while he laced his fingers through her hair.

“London’s not so bad if you’ve got money enough to enjoy it. Wouldn’t you like to see David Garrick at Drury Lane? His Shakespeare is impeccable, and I hear his leading lady, Peg Woffington, is much admired, and he has concealed the stage lighting from the audience, a remarkable dramatic effect, I understand.”

The carriage gave a sudden lurch and came to a halt.

“What the devil?” Giles said, sitting up sharply. “Stay inside, Joanna, while I see what’s wrong. On no account are you to open the door after I get out, do you understand?” He reached for the door handle and stepped out, not bothering to wait for her agreement.

In truth Joanna was frightened, not so much by the fact that the carriage had stopped as by the hard, apprehensive look in Giles’s eyes as he stepped out. She listened, hearing nothing, then quietly raised the window flap. All was blackness outside. She closed the flap and sat for a moment.

It was no good. She could not sit here like a ninny and just hope Giles was all right. Slowly she pushed the carriage door open, then, seeing nothing, stepped out into the darkness. Still there was silence all about her, and she began to grow truly alarmed. Surely if Giles and Will were discussing a problem with the carriage or the horses, she would hear the sounds of their voices.

She stepped carefully forward, her kid slippers making no sound on the rough pavement. As she came to the front of the carriage, she looked up to the box and saw that Will was slumped over, lying half on, half off the seat. Suppressing a gasp, she stepped up, then climbed as quietly as she could onto the box. There was still no sign of Giles. She put her hand to Will’s neck, relieved to feel a pulse.

She froze as she heard a harsh, whispering voice on the other side of the carriage. It did not sound like Giles. As carefully as she could, she leaned over Will and peered around the side of the box. The street was in darkness, but she could make out a figure directly below her and in his hand, the glint of a pistol. Giles stood a few feet away to the rear of the carriage. He appeared to be leaning, almost negligently on the side of the carriage. There was a taunting grin on his face. He had not seen her.

“You’ll have to take it from me if you want it,” she heard Giles say. “Come and try it, why don’t you?”

“I could just shoot you now and take it off yer dead body, sir,” came the man’s voice in his gruff whisper.

“You could, couldn’t you?” replied Giles. Joanna marveled that he could sound so bored looking down a gun barrel as he was. “But considering the noise that cannon of yours will make, the horses will bolt with the carriage. And within seconds a crowd will come running. We are only a half block away from an inn, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Throw me the purse now or I’ll have at yer woman after yer dead,” the man snarled, brandishing the pistol.

“I am alone. What makes you think I have a woman?” Giles replied, but Joanna had seen him stiffen and heard the suppressed rage in his voice. A sudden thought struck her and looking down, she saw the coach whip sitting in its bracket next to her hand. Hoping her movement would not draw attention to her perch, she lifted the whip silently. Her heart was hammering in her throat. She had never used a whip in her life. It looked easy, but suppose there was a trick to it?

“I saw the lady, mate, gettin’ into yer carriage. A lovely bride-to-be she is, too. Dark hair, just like I like ’em, and had a blue dress on. I’ll enjoy her, won’t I?”

Giles started forward, his face feral, just as the man raised his pistol to Giles’s chest. Like lightning, Joanna flicked out with the whip, aiming for the pistol in the man’s hand. She missed the gun, but the tail of the whip caught the man’s arm and jerked it up, just as he squeezed the trigger. Joanna had time to see the shock on Giles’s face as his eyes met hers, before the horses, mad with the explosion, bolted forward, throwing Joanna against the back of the box.

Joanna could see that Will had been dislodged and was slipping down off the box. If he fell through the front, he would be hit by the carriage, and likely mauled by the impact. She grabbed at his arm and with all her strength fought his dead weight as it tried to pull her down, too. The horses were running wild through the narrow, cobbled street, and Joanna was bouncing so hard that she thought she, too, would be thrown off. Finally, she managed to drag Will back onto the seat. Looking forward, she could see the reins dangling over the horses’ backs, well out of her reach. She clutched at one of the coachman’s holds and leaned out, looking behind her, but the darkness had swallowed up all signs of Giles and his attacker.

“Whoa!” she cried, knowing that the horses would not respond to a voiced command.

But the horses, having heard no further loud noises and free to decide for themselves what they wished to do, seemed to agree that they had put enough distance between themselves and whatever menace had threatened a few blocks back, and they slowed sedately, then stopped, as if it were no longer of any concern to them.

Sobbing softly, Joanna climbed down from the box and grabbed the reins, careful not to pull too hard on them as she climbed back onto the box.

“Oh, Will, I wish you’d wake up!” she cried to the inert form beside her. He didn’t move.

She held the reins in her hands, wracking her brains to remember anything she had watched a coachman do.

“Come on, let’s go!” she said, flicking the reins over the horses’ backs and making clucking noises. To her surprise, the horses began to amble forward.

“But I want to turn around!” she said, as much to herself as to the horses. That, she knew, was impossible. She allowed the horses to continue forward, while she looked for a side street on which to turn. If she couldn’t turn around, perhaps she could take the carriage on a roundabout and wind up back on the street going in the right direction. She refused to allow herself to wonder what she would find when she returned to the spot where she had left Giles and the assailant. Mumbling prayers for his safety, she spotted a side street, then set herself to convincing the horses that this was where they wanted to go. She pulled lightly on the reins to her left, then when that got no response, she pulled harder.

“Good horse!” she cried when the horses turned and plodded down the side street. With horror she realized that the street ahead seemed to be a dead end. She nearly sobbed in her frustration when she felt a violent tug on the reins, nearly jerking them from her hands and making the horses skittish again.

She grabbed for the whip as she saw hands reach for the box. Then Giles’s face appeared as he hoisted himself up.

He grabbed the reins from her and, with no movement at all that she could discern, halted the horses.

“Are you all right?” he rasped out. His chest was heaving as if he could not get enough air into his lungs. He turned to her and put out an arm, drawing her close.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, throwing her arms about him. “What happened to that man? Is he after us?”

“Not in this life, he isn’t,” Giles said, his voice grim. “We scuffled and he hit his head on the cobblestones. The bastard’s dead, and more’s the pity that I did not get a chance to ask him some questions.” He flicked the reins and the horses started forward
again.

“What questions, Giles?” Joanna asked. “He was just a bandit, wasn’t he?”

“I am not so sure,” replied Giles, as he deftly maneuvered the horses about the turnaround at the end of the street. “Apparently, he watched us get into the coach. It was far enough away from the theater and dark enough there to accomplish his mission. And he got rattled too easily. He let me argue with him when he should have just shot me dead and grabbed what he wanted. It was almost as if he were following a script that didn’t go as planned.” Not for anything would Giles mention to Joanna that the ruffian had known she was his intended bride.

Joanna said nothing, resting her head on his shoulder as the carriage made its sedate way through the streets. Giles seemed to know where they were going, which was a good thing, for Joanna was utterly lost.

She reached down and felt again at Will’s neck. She was relieved to feel the strong pulse. But she was troubled at Giles’s words. If the attacker was not a simple bandit, then who was he, and why had he wished to kill Giles? She shuddered and held Giles more tightly, praying that they would reach the inn before any more horrors arose in the dark.

* * * *

Joanna sat in the warm tub and steamed away the terrors of the evening. Giles had had to move heaven and earth to get this bath for her at such a late hour, but it felt so good. He had pressed a glass of brandy on her before leaving the room, promising to return when she had finished. She used the lilac soap he had purchased for her this afternoon, shunning the soap provided by the inn, which smelled harsh and felt worse.

At last the cooling water drove her from the tub and she dried herself on the large towel provided with the bath. Drawing on her long white cotton nightgown and tying her quilted dressing gown about her, she sat at the dresser and began brushing out her hair.

There was a tap on the door which connected their two rooms. The door opened and Giles came in. He was wearing a dressing gown over his shirt and breeches and looked uncommonly handsome.

“I was rather hoping to catch you still in the bath,” he said, coming up behind her and taking the brush from her hands. He ran the brush gently through her long hair. “I cannot decide whether to thank you for saving my life or to be angry that you disobeyed me and exposed yourself to such danger.”

“I think you should settle for just thanking me,” she replied. “And I do have a request.”

“And that is?” he asked, tangling his hands in her curls.

“I want to learn how to ride a horse and drive a carriage. I don’t want to go through life not knowing how to do such simple things.”

He laughed softly and bent over to kiss the nape of her neck. “Done, my lady. You’ll be the finest whip in Cumberland when I’ve done with you.” His hands slipped to her shoulders, rubbing them hard. She turned abruptly and buried her face against him.

“What is it, Joanna,” he asked softly, his arms coming around her. “You’re trembling.”

“Do you think he was really planning to kill you, Giles?” she asked, looking up at him, the fear back in her eyes. “I saw him raise the gun and he tried to fire it directly at you. I couldn’t have borne it if...” she broke off and clutched him more tightly.

He bent down and lifted her effortlessly from the chair and carried her to the bed. Laying her down, he lay down beside her and took her in his arms.

“I think I must have been overly upset, Joanna,” he lied. “He was just a highwayman, that’s all, and now that he’s dead, we have nothing more to worry about.”

“Stay with me,” she whispered.

“All night, my love,” he answered, drawing the covers up over them both.

He held her tight against him, giving her a chaste good night kiss. After a while he felt her breathing slowly to a steady, sleeping rhythm. But it was long before he slept, turning the incident over and over in his mind. It had not been a random robbery; he was sure of that. But what was it? The only thing he knew for certain was that he would have to protect Joanna with his life. And have a new will drawn up tomorrow, making Joanna his heir, and guardian of the children.

Chapter Twelve

If a simple country wedding required this much effort, Joanna shuddered to think what an elegant city affair would entail. And three weeks was not much time, no matter how eager the bride and groom. Giles had been ridiculously generous about providing Joanna with a new wardrobe, overriding all of her protests that such finery was an unnecessary expense. In fact, the more she had insisted she needed nothing of the sort, the more he had insisted she did. A dressmaker procured on short notice from Carlisle had worked magic, and now on the morning of her wedding, Joanna and Emma were fingering the gossamer wedding gown as if it were enchanted.