In the Garden of Disgrace (2 page)

That idea seemed more sensible than most,
considering she’d had little time to think and was trying to do
that thinking with a mind gone numb with fright. She dreaded having
to navigate London without a chaperon, but compared to her present
predicament she believed she could manage nearly anything. Having
made her decision, Jillian leaned back against the squabs and
closed her eyes.

The carriage still traveled dangerously
fast. She knew when the vehicle turned and sailed onto the main
thoroughfare, leaving behind the graveled road leading to the
dueling field, because at that same time she sailed across the
seat. The earl would have them in the city limits presently, she
thought, provided they continued at this speed and provided this
was the road that had brought the hackney earlier. Jillian glanced
out the window.

Now that’s odd.
She did not recognize
the scenery. With the lack of recognition came a feeling of
disorientation. Where were they, she wondered, and in which
direction were they headed? That thought brought a thrill of dread
so intense, Jillian clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a
scream.

It couldn’t be! But she should have known.
Lord Wickham was running away from a duel gone terribly wrong. Any
thinking person would have realized the earl did not intend to head
into the lion’s den, possibly to face charges.

Jillian looked out the window again, this
time considering how badly she would be hurt if she tried to leap
to safety. She felt desperate enough to try—and desolate enough to
cry. Since she didn’t have the courage to do the first, she decided
on the second. Dignity be damned, she thought, as she put her head
down and wept into her skirt.

*****

“Adrian, we must stop for a change of
animals. These horses were not fresh when you appropriated
them.”

Adrian St. John sat morosely on the box of
the hackney. He was glad his shirt had dried, as he’d been forced
to leave his coat on the dueling field, and even with the emergence
of the sun the September breeze had a chill in it.

“I agree. We’ll lose time if we push these
nags anymore. Next posting inn we see we’ll stop.” He turned to the
young man driving the carriage. “I’m glad you’re here, my friend.
I’ve done it this time.”

“Aw, you know I wouldn’t have it any other
way.” James Endicott smiled, his round face growing pink, a
circumstance that accentuated his freckles and red hair.

“Just the same, there may be trouble when
you return to London.”

“There were many witnesses, Adrian. You had
no choice.”

“Nice of you to say but I suspect you are
prejudiced. My reputation precedes me. There are those who will not
be inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

James frowned. “What were you supposed to
do, let the bugger shoot you in the back? I’ve never seen a
gentleman act with less honor. The man’s despicable. He deserved to
die.”

Adrian slumped further on his seat. “You
believe he’s dead then?”

“Yes, ‘fraid so. I only say afraid because I
think his death bothers you. I’ll reiterate—the man earned his
just deserts
. Better him than you.”

“Be that as it may, James, I’ve never killed
anyone before. I’ve been in scrapes, I admit, but I’ve managed to
avoid becoming a murderer. Lord, if my father weren’t already dead
this would put him under for certain.”

“Ah yes,
Lord Wicked
and his fondness
for dueling.”

“I hate that name,” Adrian grumbled.

James sent him a knowing smile. “They could
call me ‘Lord Dung’ if it would capture the attention of the ladies
the way that moniker has for you. My God, man, know when to be
grateful.”

“Does me no good. When was the last time I
went to a society function?”

James shrugged. “When was the last time you
weren’t trying to live down a scandal?”

Just so.

The posting inn came into sight and James
steered the hackney into the stable yard. He tossed aside the reins
as he climbed down from the bench. “Adrian, you might want to sleep
awhile. You don’t have to keep me company.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep when I get back to London. You
have that miserable packet ride ahead of you when we get to Dover.
You need the rest more than I do. Go on. I’ll see to the
horses.”

Adrian thought he should argue but didn’t
have the energy. When he had fought Lord Findley he had felt strong
as a bull, able to conquer anything. But as soon as the immediacy
of his situation had eased, all he felt was drained and miserable.
He did need sleep. And he certainly was not looking forward to that
wretched trip across the Channel.

He descended to the ground, patting the
pocket of his breeches as he did so. Fortunately he had some coins
on him. His first order of business once he made it into France was
to contact his man of business. He shook his head wearily. How had
he come to this? he wondered as he reached for the handle on the
hackney, opening the door.

“What the…Who the hell are you?” he
demanded.

Crouched on the seat, a young female fumbled
with the opposite door latch as though desperate for escape. She
turned and gave him a round-eyed stare. After the brightness of the
morning sun the interior of the hackney was dark, but he had the
impression of a tear-streaked face under a mobcap and an enormous
pair of brown eyes. At least he thought they were brown.

“Answer me,” he barked as he hauled himself
onto the seat facing her. “What are you doing in here?”

“My lord, I-I’m sorry. I…you’re angry.” She
sniffed loudly and ran her hand indelicately under her nose.

She looked terrified and Adrian suspected if
he did not temper his approach, rather than getting answers he
would have to revive her.

“I think surprised is more apt,” he said
after a moment. “Have you been in here all along?”

Now there’s a stupid question, he realized
even as the words left his mouth. Unless she had managed to hitch a
ride as James and he had sped down the highway, she had been in the
coach when they left the dueling field—a circumstance he now
surmised the hackney driver had been trying to tell him. Frightened
as she appeared, something shifted in her eyes, and he suspected
she found the question as ludicrous as he did.

“Well?” he said when she did not respond,
annoyed that she had made him feel foolish.

“Yes, my lord, I have.” She looked at him
squarely though her voice still trembled.

He was right. Her eyes were brown.

“Does your master know you went abroad in
the middle of the night to witness a duel? That is what you were
doing, right?”

She blinked. “Master?” She glanced down at
her clothing, a maid’s uniform, as though she had never seen it
before. “Oh y-yes, my master.” She licked her lips—very attractive
lips, he noted. “No, he doesn’t know.”

“What’s your name?”

Again she hesitated. “Uh…my name is
Jane.”

There was something odd about the way she
responded to his questions that piqued his curiosity. Seemed
strange, for though she was dressed like a servant she didn’t sound
like one. “And, Jane, who is your master?”

She turned white as chalk. “You’re not going
to tell on me, are you?”

“Your secret is safe with me. In a few hours
I’ll be taking a packet for Calais. Who knows when I’ll be
back?”

The reality of that statement depressed
Adrian enough to change the direction of his thoughts. He glanced
out the window, for the moment lost to all but his own misery.
Twenty-six years of age and life as he knew it was at an end.

“Dover…”

He looked at the maid, curious.

“I should have realized we were headed for
Dover,” she said.

He started to respond but felt the carriage
move as James climbed back on the box. Shortly thereafter they
rolled onto the highway. Adrian turned to the maid again and was
met by an expression of consternation on a face he had decided was
really quite lovely. Too bad she wore that oversized cap.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t you think I should have stayed at
that inn? I mean, I could have taken a coach back to London.”

“Should have thought of that before now. I
can’t waste time on the chance I’m being pursued. Besides, do you
have any money for purchasing your fare?”

She shook her head.

“Well, Jane—if that’s your name—I’ve very
little blunt on me and I need that for my trip into France.”

“I forgot about money,” she said in a small
voice.

“Look, I know it is an
inconvenience—although I won’t apologize since it’s not my fault
you are here—but my friend Mr. Endicott has to return this hack to
its owner, so he’ll be returning to London as soon as I book
passage for Calais. You won’t reach home until tomorrow morning,
but I think it is the best we can manage. After all, I am in the
act of fleeing.”

She must have caught the irony in his words,
for she once again gave him a look that made him uncomfortable.

“It’s your fault that you stole my hack,”
she muttered. “Why didn’t you take your own carriage?”

Oh ho.
The little maid has teeth, he
thought, his interest once again engaging. If she could fend for
herself verbally, he had no difficulty trading words with her. In
fact it might make the ride to Dover more agreeable. At once Adrian
found himself wishing she would remove that ridiculous cap.

“The hack doesn’t carry my crest,” he
offered. “Not quite so easy to follow.”

The only reply he received was a disdainful
sniff.

“Do you begrudge me my escape, Jane?” he
asked in a silky voice.

She eyed him, and he could see his tone had
made her wary. “I saw the duel, my lord, and…and what came after.
You had no choice and that’s what I would tell anyone who asked.
That is if I could admit to being there.”

“Dear Jane, have you become my
champion?”

A blush stained her cheeks. “No, but I try
to be fair. Lord Findley would have shot you had you not stopped
him.”

“How old are you, Jane?”

As he intended the abrupt change in the
conversation seemed to confuse her. “How old am I? Why, ah…eighteen
years.”

Though Adrian believed she had not been
entirely truthful with him, he decided the statement of her age
came close to the mark. A little younger than he liked but still
old enough to be interesting.

“I have a favor to ask. I’m finding it more
and more difficult to converse around that cap. What say you remove
it so I can see with whom I’m speaking.”

She began to shake her head, slowly at first
then more rapidly until Adrian grew impatient. He plucked off the
offending cap.

She glared at him. “Now see what you’ve
done!”

Indeed he did see what he had done.

She must have stuffed all her hair under the
lace piece without using pins, for her hair fell past her shoulders
in a glossy cascade of sable brown. Static caused feathery strands
to float tantalizingly around her face.

She snatched the cap from his grasp, a grasp
gone suddenly slack. So had his jaw.

“My, my,” Adrian murmured as a flicker of
heat stirred in his groin. “Seems I’ve absconded with a treasure.
What do you think, Jane, have I the right of it?”

She appeared anything but gratified by his
pretty words. “If a tangle of uncrimped hair makes you think so, my
lord, then I’m certain you must be right.”

“This may come as a surprise but I hate
crimped hair. Women have a habit of tampering with nature, often
not for the better.” He allowed a slow smile to ease his mouth.
“Leave your hair alone, Jane. You cannot improve on
perfection.”

She sent him a look of incredulity—mixed
with scorn?—and Adrian acknowledged her silent disapproval with a
wink. Little Jane was a disrespectful baggage who did not know how
to treat her betters. Of course, his interest in her had little to
do with her station in life. He found himself surreptitiously
examining her figure.

The young woman clamped her lips together
and, with an obvious effort to put him in his place, primly folded
her hands in her lap and found something to occupy her interest
outside the hackney window.

A challenge—there was nothing Adrian liked
better than a challenge. He left his seat, moving to the maid’s
side of the carriage, and plunked down next to her. When she turned
to glare at him, he gave her a wolfish grin.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I like it better over here. More
comfortable, don’t you think? I’m not making you nervous, am
I?”

“Hardly.” The slight tremor in her voice
belied her words. “However, since this seat is more to your liking,
I give it to you.”

She came to her feet, but the Gods must have
decided to atone for the poor start to his day. One of the carriage
wheels hit something in the road and she lost her balance.

Adrian instantly reached out and, wrapping
his hands around her trim waist, pulled her onto his lap. She went
still, probably too shocked by her sudden difficulty to
struggle.

“Most comfortable of all,” he murmured, his
speech turning thick when he realized her mouth was now inches from
his own.

His breathing accelerated as he permitted
his scrutiny to travel from her lips, over a flawless complexion,
to a pair of magnificent brown eyes staring back at him with
reproach. His own eyes narrowed as he continued to study her lovely
features, features somehow oddly familiar.

“Do I know you, sweet Jane?”

He saw fear flash across her face as she
finally placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed away from
him.

“Are you quite finished with your
inspection, my lord?” The words no more than a shaky whisper.

“And if I am not?”

She swallowed and Adrian found his gaze
wondering to the smooth column of her throat, where his attention
lingered as desire intensified and washed over him. He could not
remember the last time he had so wanted to kiss a female. Perhaps
the savage emotions that had erupted within him on the dueling
field had turned into another form of aggression. He sent his
regard back to hers, and for a moment they shared a tension-filled
look. Some of what he was feeling must have been apparent in his
expression, for the young woman began to wriggling in earnest in an
effort to get away. That only served to heighten his awareness of
the proximity of her body.