Miss Marcie's Mischief (11 page)

Cole suffered her wily ways only because she was his passenger and because, quite frankly, she was a woman and he was a man. It was not at all a puzzle to Cole why the Regent had deigned to cast his royal eye her way. The woman was very adept at the fine art of seduction.

So why the devil did he continue to wonder about the mischievous Miss Marcie, Cole asked himself. He'd not seen her in the entrance or in the common room. So where could she be?

He hadn't a clue, and as the minutes dragged by, he found himself fretting about her safety. He could only imagine what trouble she'd cast herself into now. Left alone, to her own self, the possibilities were indeed endless.

"Cole, you are daydreaming, I fear," scolded Nan.

Cole brought his mind back to the present. "What's that, Nan?"

"Our breakfast is served, silly. Do sit down and join us, else you'll have Miss Deirdre thinking you are rude."

Cole forced a smile in the general direction of Miss Deirdre. "Forgive me. It has been a long night."

"Why, there is nothing to forgive," said Miss Deirdre. "I cannot imagine how you keep yourself awake for hours on end. But I must admit to you that I have heard murmur of the famous Cole Coachman during my many travels. You seem to have amassed quite a legion of admirers, and now that I've had the pleasure of meeting you, I understand why."

Cole nodded his thanks at her pretty compliment. He pulled out a chair for her, motioning for her to be seated.

Miss Deirdre took that moment to touch her bared hand to his. "Always the supreme gentleman. That is what those along the road say about you... among other things," she added, a low, sensuous note in her voice.

Cole knew better than to allow her hand to linger overly long on his. "They are too generous by far," he replied.

Miss Deirdre had the good sense to reach for her napkin once she'd been seated, but as soon as Cole took his own seat to her right, he immediately felt the unmistakable pressure of her silken leg against his.

As Nan made quick work of devouring the varied feast of bacon, eggs, fresh buttermilk, porridge, and even toast and marmalade—there hadn't been a kipper to be found at the inn—Cole was left to deal with the overt attentions of Miss Deirdre. He found his appetite sorely lacking as the woman centered her attention solely upon him.

By the time Nan had eaten the food on her plate, and had downed an unholy amount of tea to boot, Cole realized he could take no more of the prolonged breakfast. He pushed his chair from the table, telling the women he must check on the matter of fresh horses.

Miss Deirdre, sipping at a third cup of tea she'd recently ordered from a harried servant, insisted that he leave the matter to others.

Cole politely reminded her that obtaining the best horses was of extreme importance to a coachman. He did not add that he was, in all actuality, more concerned with the whereabouts of his mischievous Miss Marcie.

"I do so hate for you to go out into the cold," said Miss Deirdre. Her lush mouth formed a perfect pout. She eased back in the chair, allowing Cole full view of her comely shape. "But if you must..." Her voice drifted off. She gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. "Do you remember that I—and Nan, of course—shall be waiting for you here. Should you decide to come back inside and warm your toes before we again take to the road, I'll not object. Indeed, I'll see to it another warm pot of tea is set in wait for you. And I'll even be certain to move your chair, and mine, closer to the hearth."

Cole stared at her, quite mesmerized, and nodded his thanks. But it wasn't Miss Deirdre's beauteous face he saw as he gazed at her. For some confounded reason he kept seeing a pair of flashing green eyes, coupled with a bewitching smile and a wealth of riotous red curls framing a pixie face. Marcie!

Cole cursed himself. Hell and damnation, but the chit was too much on his mind. Imagine, thinking of a runaway schoolgirl when a worldly woman was all but throwing herself at his feet.

Cole turned abruptly on his heel, reached for his greatcoat, hat, and gloves, then departed the parlour, wondering all the while if indeed his heart had become so much mash due to one Marcelon Victoria Darlington.

Rubbish! he told himself sternly. He was simply concerned about the girl. Nothing more. That he kept seeing her face flashing in front of his eyes was testament only to the fact that Miss Marcie had stalked off, alone and un-chaperoned. Cole was merely and correctly concerned about her fate. She was, after all, his passenger. And whether he liked it or not—which he didn't, most assuredly—he felt responsible for her safety. God only knew what kind of trouble the girl could create while at this busy inn!

As he stuffed his hat onto his head, jammed his muscled arms into his coat, then forced his gauntlets onto his hands with too much energy, he was suddenly overcome with horrid visions of the mischievous Miss Marcie taking up with all sort of riffraff. The scoundrels of the world would doubtless make a feast of her and then spit her out!

"Bother it all," Cole muttered to himself as he failed to find Marcie within the busy common room.

He quickened his pace, deepened his search.

She wasn't in the cavernous kitchens; all he found there was several harried maids, a cook who screeched at his interference, and a few plucked geese awaiting the roasting spit.

A further search of the inn turned up nothing more than a lusty lord chasing a willing milkmaid around a scarred table, an abigail and her mistress drying their stockings near a roaring fire, and a snoozing scholar nodding over his books.

There remained only one other parlour to barge into.

Cole, hearing a female scream and the sounds of boots being tossed off and landing on the floor, forced the door open. The latch, severed from its hinges, skittered across the floor as two bemused faces glanced up at him. Cole knew one of those faces as well as he knew his own hand.

"I never expected this from you, of all people!" he said.

"My lor—Cole Coachman!" exclaimed John Reeve, caught as he was in a most compromising position with one of the chambermaids.

A mobcapped girl blushed furiously but made no move to cover herself. "Oh, no, John, you'll not be leavin' me side so quick! I've waited near six months to get you here. Stay. Tell your driver to leave us." The chambermaid clutched Reeve's quivering body against her own as she gave Cole a devilish smile. "You'll not be ruinin' our fun, now will you?"

Cole felt a perfect fool.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was looking for someone. I thought I heard her scream."

"Oh, that was me you heard," said the chambermaid. "John here brought me two pretty new bonnets, the finest you ever did see!"

"Forgive me," Cole said again. "I did not mean to—to interrupt." What an idiot he felt! He tried to back out of the room.

Reeve heaved a huge sigh. "You'll find her in the stables, Cole Coachman."

Cole straightened to his full height. "And how do you know for whom I am searching, Reeve?"

Reeve, giving a quick wink to his most willing partner, turned his face to Cole. "Call it a wild wager." The girl beneath him tugged his attention her way yet again. "She's in the stables, Cole. Now be a good coachman and get on your way, will you?"

Cole turned crimson. The stables! She'd wandered off to the bloody stables? Cole tipped his hat to Reeve.

"My thanks to you, Reeve," he said, stepping back. "Carry on, my good fellow. Carry on."

"That I shall," replied John Reeve.

Cole closed the door, hearing a smothered giggle as he did so. Ah, if only his own life could be so carefree, thought Cole, leaving the lovebirds to their clandestine affair.

But images of Marcie, alone and with no protection, wandering into the stables of the busy inn, filled him with dread. Visions of ill-usage danced in his brain. God only knew what scoundrels she would face there. Heavens, but she could be robbed of what little coin she had. The cutthroats that haunted such establishments would make a game of teasing and toying with her. They would doubtless take advantage of her youth and inexperience. As for what such persons would do when they spied her comely shape and fiery beauty—oh, it did not bear thinking of!

Cole headed for the stables, his heart beating an unnatural rhythm, and his brain creating a number of odious scenarios.

He had to find Marcie.

He had to save her, all else be damned!

* * *

Marcie leaned back against a warm pile of hay, Prinny propped on the straw above her, and sized up the pile of booty she'd amassed during the last roll of Jack the Highwayman's crooked dice.

"I'll see your stolen ruby, and add a necklace of pearls," said Marcie, digging out a string of pearls she'd purchased in London. She wasn't extremely proud of the pearls, though they were worth a fortune. She'd bought them on a whim, but only because Mistress Cheltenham had said it was most unbecoming for a young miss to purchase jewelry for herself.

Marcie felt a great deal of satisfaction as she dropped the pearls on the hay-strewn ground.

Ostlers, bootboys, and the few farmboys who'd come to the inn for some fun, exclaimed over Marcie's wager.

"Mayhap you should take back those pearls, mistress," said Jack the Highwayman. "They be too fancy for our purses."

"Nonsense," said Marcie. "I wish to wager them, and wager them I shall!"

Jack leaned closer to Marcie. "I wouldn't want to see you be taken advantage of, mistress," he whispered into her ear. "In fact, I've come to like your spunk. Still, I must warn you to take care. Flash pearls like these and someone might choose to stab you in the back."

The other players, overhearing Jack's remark, protested loudly.

"You wound us, Jack my man," said the head ostler. "You wound us with your words as well as with your shaved ivories! We men o' the north don't fancy cheatin'. Now take those queer dice of yours and put 'em back in your pocket!"

Jack looked alarmed.

Marcie laughed. "Oh, Jack, when will you learn you needn't cheat people? We are all just the same, don't you think? I knew you were rolling shaved dice the minute we sat down to play. How do you think I've continued to win such a purse?" So saying, Marcie dumped her winnings down onto the ground. "I say we start anew, and all of us are equal."

Jack cringed, possibly fearing he might be dragged to the magistrate. "I was only trying to see that my horse and I have enough feed to last us through this blasted winter."

"And so you shall, Jack," said Marcie confidently. "Now take my dice, Jack, and see what winning numbers you can roll. They are lucky. You shall see."

Jack took a roll, and much to his amazement, he won. "Well, I'll be!" he exclaimed.

Thirty minutes later all of the gamesters had each amassed a nice pile of winnings. One of the farmboys scooped up Marcie's string of pearls when it was his turn to roll, but Marcie did not mind for she'd won a warm and wooly scarf made of the softest lamb's wool. Jack took in several sugar chunks for his horse, and the head ostler became owner of one shiny silver spoon. Verily, everyone soon agreed that Marcie's ivories were indeed lucky.

One by one they began lifting their battered tins of hot chocolate, taking turns toasting Marcie's pretty lashes, her good health, her smile, and, of course, her lucky dice.

Marcie, thoroughly enjoying herself, made a few toasts of her own. By her third toast, she began to realize the drink had been laced with something headier than chocolate.

"Oh, dear," she murmured. "I dareswear I am beginning to feel a bit light-headed."

"And well you should be, mistress," said Jack. "That chocolate is more rum than anything else. Warms the toes, does it not?"

"Oh, yes!" Marcie giggled, then hiccoughed.

Jack took the tin from her hands. "I do believe you've had more than enough."

"Why, Jack, your concern is touching. Surely, you are not the horrid highwayman you'd hoped us to believe you to be!"

Jack wagged his head. "I did make a blunder of it all, didn't I? Truth be known, mistress, I never stole a thing in all my life, and I'd never pointed a gun at anyone. Sorry I am that I frightened you."

"All is forgiven, Jack... but only on one condition."

Jack eyed her closely. "And what might that be, eh?" he asked, suddenly wary.

Marcie leaned close and whispered, "That you'll help me find a way to the inn at Burford. I fear I've angered the great Cole Coachman. No doubt he hopes to be rid of me posthaste. I've done nothing but make him miserable during our ride and so have decided it best not to burden him further with my presence.

"But that does leave me in a perfect pickle, for I've no idea when another coach heading for Burford might come along. And if one does come along, then I fear what might become of me if I travel the distance without a chaperone."

"Say no more!" he said. "Jack here shall find you a seat bound for Burford, and I promise to stick close until you are safely at the inn!"

Marcie blinked. "You would do that for me?"

"That and more. As I see it, mistress, you saved me from the hangman's noose. You did me a good deed. I might be down on my luck, but Jack never forgets a favor. I would be honored to see you safely to your destination."